STRAIGHTFORWARD.
"I hope, Cousin Catherine," said Emma, "that you will not think it is
any want of civility on my part. I wished very much to come the first
day. I went out with Hester Vernon, who is constantly at
grandpapa's--and I was quite distressed, when I found we had to pass
here, that she would not bring me in to call. But she seemed to think
you would rather not. Of course I know that there are often tiffs in
families, so I wouldn't say anything. There are times when Elinor
wouldn't call on William's wife not if life and death depended on it; so
I understand quite well, and of course a stranger mustn't interfere.
Only I wish you to know that I had no wish to take sides, and didn't
mean to be rude. That was the last thing in the world I intended. Elinor
has always told us younger ones so much about you."
"It is very kind of Elinor, I am sure; and you have behaved most
judiciously," said Catherine, with a twinkle in her eye. "It is
unnecessary to say to a person of your judgment that in the best
regulated family----"
"Oh, you needn't tell me," said Emma, shaking her head. "Nobody can know
better than I do. It is very awkward when you are the youngest, and when
you are expected by everybody to take their part. Of course they have
all been very kind to me. I live part of my time with one, and part with
another, and that is why every one thinks I should be on their side. But
now I am very independent," Emma said, "for Roland has taken me. I dare
say he would tell you, Cousin Catherine, when he was here."
"That must be a very pleasant arrangement," said Catherine, with a
smile. "I suppose when you were with Elinor you had a good deal to do."
"I do Roland's housekeeping now. I don't wish to be idle," said Emma.
"But to be sure when there are children to be seen after you are never
done, and especially boys. Elinor has five boys!--it is something
dreadful! The stockings and the mending you can't think! It is very nice
being with Roland; he is most kind. He gives me a regular allowance for
my clothes, which I never got before, and I am sure it is very good of
him; but you can't have everything, you know, and it is a little dull.
He is out all day, and often in the evenings, for of course I shouldn't
wish him to give up his gentlemen-engagements for me. I don't think
people should ever do that sort of thing. Tom Pinch is all very well in
Dickens, but it would be inconvenient in actual life; for suppose you
married?--and of course that is what every girl expects to do."
"To be sure," said Catherine. "Is there anything of that sort in
prospect, if I may be permitted to ask?"
"Of course, I am quite pleased that you should ask," said Emma. "It
would be such a comfort to have somebody like you to come and talk it
over with, Cousin Catherine, if there was anything--for I should feel
sure you could tell me about my trousseau and all that. But there is
nothing, I am sorry to say. You see I have had so little chance. Elinor
took me out sometimes, but not much, and she was far more disposed to
amuse herself than to introduce me. I don't think that is nice in a
married sister, do you? and speaking of that, Cousin Catherine, I am
sure you will be kind enough to help me here. Grandpapa will not take
any trouble about it. I asked the gentleman whom we met coming out of
here, Hester and I--Mr. Edward I think is his name."
"What of Edward?" said Catherine quickly, with a touch of alarm.
"But nothing seems to have come of it," said the persistent Emma. "He
said he would try, and Hester made a sort of promise; but there has been
one since and I have never been asked. It is your niece's dance--Mrs.
Merridew, I think, is her name. She gives one every week, and both for a
little amusement, and that I mayn't lose any chance that may be going, I
should like very much to go. I don't doubt that you could get me an
invitation in a moment if you would just say you would like it."
Catherine's consternation was ludicrous to behold. She was herself so
much amused by the situation that she laughed till the tears stood in
her eyes. But this matter-of-fact young woman who sat by and gazed upon
her with such a stolid incapacity to see the joke, was of the side of
the house to which Catherine could pardon anything--the old captain's
grandchild, Roland's sister. What would have been vulgar assurance in
another, was amusing _naïveté_ in Emma. When she had got over her laugh
she said, with amused remonstrance as if she had been speaking to a
child--
"But you must know, Emma, that these family tiffs you are so well
accustomed to, come in to prevent this too. Ellen would not care for my
recommendation. She is a very self-willed little person, and indeed the
chief rebel of the family."
"That is all very well, Cousin Catherine," said Emma with the
downrightness of fact and certainty; "but you know you are the head of
the family. You have got the money. If they were in trouble they would
all have to come to you: and if you said "I wish this," of course nobody
would venture to refuse you. The most stupid person must be sure of
that."
There was a commanding commonsense in this view that silenced Catherine.
She looked at the young philosopher almost with awe.
"Your arguments are unanswerable," she said; "there is nothing to be
said against such admirable logic."
"Then you will ask for an invitation for me?" said Emma. "I am sure I am
much obliged to you, Cousin Catherine. It is always best to come to the
fountain-head. And it isn't as if I were going to cause any expense or
trouble, for I have my ball-dress all ready. I have wore it only once,
and it is quite fresh. It is my second ball-dress; the first I wore
about a dozen times. Elinor gave it me, which was very kind of her. It
was only muslin, but really it was very nice, and got up quite
respectably. But this one I bought myself out of the allowance Roland
gives me. Don't you think it is very thoughtful of him? for of course
what a sister buys for you, however kind she is, is never just the same
as what you would choose for yourself."
"I suppose not--I never had any experience," said Catherine, gravely. "I
am afraid, however, that you will not meet anybody who will much advance
your views at Redborough. It is an old-fashioned, backward place. London
would afford a much larger scope for any social operations. Indeed it is
very condescending in a young lady from town to give any attention to us
and our little parties down here."
"Oh!" said Emma, eager to correct a mistake, "that just shows how little
people in the country know. You think London means the London you read
of in books, where you meet all the great people and have half-a-dozen
parties every night. But when London means Kilburn!" said Emma shaking
her head, "where all the gentlemen go to the city every morning, and
there is perhaps one dance given in a whole season, and only the people
asked that you know! and we know scarcely one. You see the people there
don't think of calling because they are your neighbours. There are so
many: and unless you get introductions, or work in the parish, or
something-- Working in the parish is a very good way," Emma added, with a
sudden recollection; "you get invited to a great many evening parties
where you just stand about and talk, or people sing: and not many
dances. Unfortunately I never was much used to parish work. In Elinor's
there was too much to do, and Bee was too worldly, and as for William's
wife, though we should not like it to be known, Cousin Catherine, she
is--a Dissenter."
Emma made this admission with the reluctance it merited.
"I have not told grandpapa," she said, with bated breath.
"I think he could bear it," said Catherine. "I think you might venture
on the communication. In some things he is very strong-minded."
"It was a very bitter pill to us," Emma said.
Here they were interrupted by the entrance of the captain himself, who
had left his grandchild in a cowardly way to make Catherine's
acquaintance by herself. But Emma had not minded. She had not even
divined that his pretence of business was hypocritical. She had not been
alarmed by Catherine, and now she was comfortably confident of having
made a good impression, and secured a friend.
"I am quite ready, grandpapa," she said. "Cousin Catherine has been so
kind. She says she will speak to Mrs. Merridew about my invitation, so
you may make yourself quite easy on that subject. And grandmamma will be
very pleased. Of course I could not expect such an old lady as she is to
exert herself. But Cousin Catherine understands how important that sort
of thing is to a girl," Emma said, with an air of great gravity.
The captain gave Catherine a piteous glance. He did not understand the
new specimen of womankind of whom he had the responsibility, and
Catherine, whose powers of self-restraint had been called forth to an
unusual degree, responded with an outburst of laughter.
"We have got on admirably," she said. "I like a straightforward mind,
with such a power of applying reason to practical uses. You must come to
see me often, Emma. Never mind grandpapa. He will tell you I am busy,
but when I am so, I shall tell you so. You are far too sensible to take
offence."
"Oh, offence, Cousin Catherine? between you and me!" said Emma, "that
would be too ridiculous. I hope I know my place. When you are the
youngest you soon learn that. Your first lesson is that nobody wants
you, and that you must just do the best you can for yourself. There is
only just one thing I should like to mention, and that is, that the
first time it would be a great advantage to me if you would take me. It
is such a fine thing for a girl when she is known to belong to the best
people in a place. It is not even as if my name were Vernon. But people
will say 'Miss Ashton! who is Miss Ashton? I never heard of her!'
Whereas if I were with you, the best partners in the place would ask to
get introduced to me, and that would give me a start. Afterwards I could
get on by myself, as I hear Mrs. Merridew does not care for chaperons,"
Emma said.
Once more Catherine was struck dumb. She pushed her chair back a little
and regarded this dauntless young woman with a mixture of dismay,
admiration, and amusement.
"But I assure you I have never gone to any of Ellen's junketings," she
said.
"That will not matter," said the persistent Emma, "Of course she will be
pleased to have you. It will be a great honour. And then to me it would
be such an advantage. I should feel that I really was having my chance."
When she left the gate of the Grange, walking by the side of the
bewildered captain, Emma felt that she was tolerably sure of getting all
she wanted, and her triumph, though quite moderate and serious, was
great.
"I am very glad you left me to make acquaintance with Cousin Catherine
by myself," she said, "grandpapa; I was a little frightened, but she was
so nice. She was very nice to Roland too; and it will be such an
advantage to go into society for the first time with such a well-known
person. It makes all the difference. People see at once who you are, and
there is no difficulty afterwards."
"And you think Catherine Vernon will depart from all her habits and take
you to that butterfly's ball?" the captain said.
"Of course, grandpapa," said Emma, in the calm of simple conviction. It
was not a matter which admitted of any doubt.
And the wonderful thing was, that she proved right. To her own great
amazement, and to the consternation of everybody concerned, Catherine
Vernon assumed her grey gown, the gayest of her evening garments, and
most befitting a dance, and took Emma Ashton in her own carriage to Mrs.
Merridew's house on the hill. Catherine was too genial a person in
ordinary society to exercise any discouraging influence upon the young
party in general; but upon the members of her own family there was no
doubt that she did have a subduing effect. Ellen's face of consternation
was the subject of remark in the family for years after; indeed, they
spoke of "the night when Aunt Catherine came to the dance," dating
things from it, as people speak of a great national event. Harry was the
one who showed himself most equal to the occasion. He established
himself by Catherine's side as a sort of guard of honour, relieving the
frightened Algernon, who, what with pride and pleasure on his own part,
and a wondering sympathy with Ellen's dismay, did not know how to
conduct himself in such an emergency. Edward did not appear at all. He
had said he was very busy, and did not think it was possible he could
go, as soon as he heard of Emma's extraordinary request. And though
Catherine was almost displeased by his defection, there was nothing to
be said against so evident a necessity as that the most active partner
in the bank should attend to his work. Her chief point of curiosity in
the scene which she surveyed with amused disapproval and astonishment to
find herself there, was Hester, to whom her eyes turned with the lively
sense of opposition which existed always between the two.
Catherine's eyes, in spite of herself, turned from Emma's insignificance
to the fine indignant figure of the girl whom (she said to herself) she
could not endure, with the most curious mixture of curiosity, and
interest, and rivalship. She, Catherine Vernon, the rival of a trifling
creature of nineteen! Such a sentiment sometimes embitters the feelings
of a mother towards the girl of whom her son makes choice. But
Catherine's mood had nothing to do with Edward. It was more like the
"taking sides," which Emma was so anxious to demonstrate was impossible
to her as a stranger. Hester had no separate standing ground, no might
or authority, and yet it was no exaggeration to say that Catherine, with
all of these advantages, instinctively looked upon her as a rival power.
Hester was in the blue dress, which was the alternative of her white
one. In those days there were no yellows or sage greens; and even before
Catherine remarked the girl's young freshness and beauty, or the
high-thrown head, and indignant bearing, which denoted on Hester's side
a sense of Catherine's inspection, her eyes had caught the glistening
pearls on the young neck--her mother's pearls. Catherine looked at them
with a mingled sense of pity and disdain. If that mother had been such a
woman as Catherine, neither these pearls nor anything else of value
would have remained in her hands. They were Catherine's, they were the
creditors' by rights. Mrs. John was not wise enough to understand all
that; but Hester, if she knew, would understand. Catherine could not
keep her mind from dwelling upon these ornaments. If Hester knew, what
would the girl do? Pocket the shame and continue to wear them as became
Mrs. John's daughter, or tear them from her neck and trample them under
foot? One or the other she would have to do--but then, Hester did not
know.
As she walked about through the rooms, stopping to give a gracious word
there, a nod here, a question about father or mother, Catherine's mind
was not occupied either with the house or the company, but with this
girl. Hester had been in the background till now. A glimpse of her in
the corner of her own drawing-room, standing by her mother's side in her
washed muslin, did not--though Hester's look was always one of
indignation--impress her relation's mind. But here she stood like an
equal, sending glances of defiance out of her brown eyes. Hester had
come in the old fly with the white horse, while Emma was fetched from
her grandfather's by Catherine's carriage. The contrast was striking
enough; but Catherine, though she would not own it to herself, was more
aware than any one else, that no one would look twice at Emma while
Hester was by.
When the evening was about half over, Emma came to her patroness and
kindly gave her her dismissal.
"Don't wait longer on my account, Cousin Catherine," she said. "I am
quite nicely started; thank you so much. I have got my card filled;
quite the nicest people in the room have asked me. I'm sure I am very
grateful to you, for it is all your doing; but don't think of waiting
for me. Chaperons are not at all wanted, and I can go home in Hester's
fly. I am so much obliged to you, but of course you want to get to bed.
Don't stay a moment longer than you wish, for me."
Catherine smiled, but did not take any further notice. She walked about
the rooms for some time after on the arm of Harry, who was always
dutiful.
"And who do you think is the prettiest person in the room, Harry? I
excuse you from telling me it is my young lady, whom for my own part I
don't admire."
"I cannot see there is any doubt about it, Aunt Catherine," said Harry,
in his sturdy way. "It is my cousin Hester. There is an air about her--I
cannot explain it: I found it out long ago; but now everybody sees it."
"Thanks to her mother's pearls," said Catherine, with her laugh.
Harry looked at her with startled eyes.
"The pearls are very pretty on her; but they are nothing, to me at
least," he said.
"You should not let her wear them. She should not have them; knowing her
father's story, as I suppose you do.--Don't you see," cried Catherine,
with sudden energy, "that she ought not to appear in Redborough in those
pearls?"
Emma had been standing near when this conversation began, and she drew
closer to listen, not with any clandestine intention, but only with a
natural curiosity. She caught up the words in a disjointed way. What
reason could there be for not wearing your mother's pearls? She would
have gone and asked the question direct of Catherine, but that just then
her partner came for her; and for the rest of the evening she had no
time to consider any such question; nor was it till she found herself in
the fly in the middle of the night rumbling and jolting along the dark
road that skirted the Common, by Hester's side, that this mysterious
speech occurred to her mind. She had been talking of the advantage of
being introduced by a well-known person and thus put at once "on a right
footing."
"You don't want that. You know everybody; you have been here all your
life," she said. "And I am sure you got plenty of partners, and looked
very nice. And what a pretty necklace that is," said Emma, artlessly
entering upon her subject. "Are they real? Oh, you must not be offended
with me, for I never had any nice ornaments. The youngest never has any
chance. If they are real, I suppose they are worth a great deal of
money; and you must be quite rich, or you would not be able to afford
them."
"We are not rich; indeed we are very poor," said Hester, "but the pearls
are my mother's. She got them when she was young, from her mother. They
have belonged to us for numbers of years."
"I wonder what Cousin Catherine could mean!" said Emma innocently.
"About my pearls?" cried Hester, pricking up her ears, and all her
spirit awakening, though she was so sleepy and tired of the long night.
"She said you oughtn't to wear them. She said you shouldn't have them. I
wonder what she meant! And Mr. Harry Vernon, that tall gentleman, he
seemed to understand, for he got quite red and angry."
"I oughtn't to wear them--I shouldn't have them!" Hester repeated, in a
blaze of wrath. She sat bolt upright, though she had been lying back in
her corner indisposed for talk.
"Oh, I dare say she didn't mean anything," said Emma, "only spite, as
you are on the other side."
Hester did not reply, but she was roused out of all her sleepiness in a
moment. She let Emma prattle on by her side without response. As they
drove past the Grange a window was opened softly, and some one seemed to
look out.
"Oh, I wonder if that was Mr. Edward," said Emma. "I wonder why he
stayed away. Is he after some girl, and doesn't want Cousin Catherine to
know? If it were not that you would scarcely speak to each other when
you met, I should say it was you, Hester."
"I wish," said Hester severely, "that you would go to sleep; at three in
the morning I never want to talk."
"Well, of course, it may be that," said Emma somewhat inconsequently,
"but I never want to sleep when I have been enjoying myself. I want to
have some one in the same room and to talk it all over--everything that
has happened. Who was that man, do you know who----"
And here she went into details which Hester, roused and angry, paid no
attention to. But Emma was not dependent on replies. She went on asking
questions, of which her companion took no notice, till the fly suddenly
stopped with a great jarring and rattling, and the opening of two doors,
and glimmers of two small lights in the profound dark, gave note of
watchers in the two houses, warned by the slow rumbling of the ancient
vehicle, and glad to be released from their respective vigils. In
Hester's case it was her mother, wrapped in a warm dressing-gown, with a
shawl over her head, and two anxious eyes shining out with warm
reflections over her little candle, who received the girl in her finery
with eager questions if she were very cold, if she were tired, if all
had gone off well.
"Run up stairs, my darling, while I fasten the door," Mrs. John said.
"There is a nice fire and you can warm yourself--and some tea."
In those days people, especially women, were not afraid of being kept
awake because of a cup of tea.
"Mamma," said Hester when her mother followed her up stairs into the
old-fashioned, low-roofed room, which the fire filled with rosy light,
"it appears that Catherine Vernon says I ought not to wear your pearls.
Has she anything to do with your pearls? Has she any right to
interfere?"
"My pearls!" cried Mrs. John almost with a scream. "What could Catherine
Vernon have to do with them? I think, dear, you must have fallen asleep
and been dreaming. Where have you seen Catherine Vernon, Hester? She
gives us our house, dear; you know we are so far indebted to her: but
that is the only right she can have to interfere."
"Had she anything to do with my father?" Hester asked.
She was relieved from she did not know what indefinable terrors by the
genuine astonishment in her mother's face.
"Anything to do with him? Of course; she had a great deal to do with
him. She was his first cousin. Her father had brought him up. It was
intended----but then he met me," said the gentle little woman, not without
a tone of satisfaction in the incoherent tale. "And she was a kind of
partner, and had a great deal to do with the bank. I never understood
the rights of it, Hester. I never had any head for business. Wait,
darling, till I undo these buttons. And now, my love, if you have got
warm, go to bed. My pearls! She must mean, I suppose, that they are too
good for you to wear because we are poor. They were my mother's, and her
mother's before that. I would like to know what Catherine Vernon could
have to say to them," Mrs. John said, taking the pearls from her child's
throat and holding them up, all warm and shining, to the light, before
she deposited them in their carefully padded bed.
If there was anything in the world that was her individual property, and
in which no one else had any share, it was her pearls: they had always
been one of her household gods.