GLADYS
I do not know how the majority of people feel when they sing, but with me
the love of music was almost a passion. I could forget my audience in a
moment, and would be scarcely aware if the room were empty or crowded.
For example, on this evening I had no idea that the gentlemen had entered
the room, and the first intimation of the fact was conveyed to me by
hearing a 'Bravo!' uttered by Mr. Hamilton under his breath.
'But you must not leave off,' he went on, quite earnestly. 'I want you to
treat us as you treat poor Phoebe Locke, and sing one song after another
until you are tired.'
I was about to refuse this request very civilly but decidedly, for I
had no notion of obeying such an arbitrary command, when Miss Hamilton
touched my arm.
'Oh, do please go on singing as Giles says: it is such a pleasure to hear
you.' And after this I could no longer refuse.
So I sang one song after another, chiefly from memory, and sometimes I
could hear a soft clapping of hands, and sometimes there was breathless
silence, and a curious feeling came over me as I sang. I thought that the
only person to whom I was singing was Miss Hamilton, and that I was
pleading with her to tell me the reason of her sadness, and why there was
such a weary, hopeless look in her eyes, when the world was so young with
her and the God-given gift of beauty was hers.
I was singing as though she and I were alone in the room, when Max
suddenly whispered in my ear, 'That will do, Ursula,' and as soon as the
verse concluded I left off. But before I could rise Miss Darrell was
beside us.
'Oh, thank you so much, Miss Garston; you are very amiable to sing so
long. Giles was certainly loud in your praises, but I was hardly prepared
for such a treat. Why, Gladys dear, have you been crying? What an
impressionable child you are! Miss Garston has not contrived to draw
tears from my eyes.'
But, without making any reply, Miss Hamilton quietly left the room. Were
her eyes wet, I wonder? Was that why Max stopped me? Did he want to
shield her from her cousin's sharp scrutiny? If so, he failed.
'It is such a pity Gladys is so foolishly sensitive,' she went on,
addressing Uncle Max: 'natures of this sort are quite unfit for the stern
duties of life. I am quite uneasy about her sometimes, am I not, Giles?
Her spirits are so uneven, and she has so little strength. Parochial work
nearly killed her, Mr. Cunliffe. You said yourself how ill she looked in
the summer.'
'True; but I never thought the work hurt her,' replied Max, rather
bluntly. 'I think it was a mistake for Miss Hamilton to give up all her
duties; occupation is good for every one.'
'That is my opinion,' observed Mr. Hamilton. 'Etta is always making a
fuss about Gladys's health, but I tell her there is not the least reason
for alarm; many people not otherwise delicate take cold easily. It is
true I advised her to give up evening service for a few weeks until she
got stronger.'
'Indeed!' And here Max looked a little perplexed. 'I thought you told me,
Miss Darrell, that your cousin found our service too long and wearisome,
and this was the reason she stayed away.'
'Oh no; you must have misunderstood me,' returned Miss Darrell, flushing
a little. 'Gladys may have said she liked a shorter sermon in the
evening, but that was hardly her reason for staying away; at least--'
'Of course not. What nonsense you talk, Etta!' observed Mr. Hamilton
impatiently. 'You know what a trouble I had to coax Gladys to stay at
home; she was rather obstinate about it,--as girls are,--but I asked her
as a special favour to myself to remain.'
Max's face cleared up surprisingly, and as Miss Hamilton at that moment
re-entered the room, he accosted her almost eagerly.
'Miss Hamilton, we have been talking about you in your absence; your
brother and I have been agreeing that it is really a great pity that you
should have given up all your parish duties; it is a little hard on us
all, is it not, Tudor? Your brother declares occupation will do you good.
Now, I am sure your cousin will not have the slightest objection to give
up your old class, and she can take Miss Matthews's, and then I shall
have two good workers instead of one.'
For an instant Miss Hamilton hesitated; her face relaxed, and she looked
at Max a little wistfully; but Miss Darrell interposed in her sprightly
way:
'Do as you like, Gladys dear. Mr. Cunliffe will be too glad of your help,
I am sure, as he sees how much you wish it. We all think you are fretting
after your old scholars; home duties are not exciting enough, and even
Giles notices how dull you are. Oh, you shall have my class with
pleasure; anything to see you happy, love. Shall we make the exchange
to-morrow?'
'No, thank you, Etta; I think things had better be as they are.' And
Miss Hamilton walked away proudly, and spoke to Mr. Tudor; the sudden
brightness in her face had dimmed, and I was near enough to see that her
hand trembled.
'There, you see,' observed Miss Darrell complacently. 'I have done my
best to persuade her in public and private to amuse herself and not give
way to her feelings of lassitude. "Do a little, but not much," I have
often said to her; but with Gladys it must be all or none.'
'Ursula, do you know how late it is?' asked Max, coming up to me. He
looked suddenly very tired, and I saw at once that he wished me to go: so
I made my adieux as quickly as possible, and in a few minutes we had left
the house, accompanied by Mr. Tudor.
Uncle Max was very quiet all the way home. I had expected him to be full
of questions as to how I had enjoyed my evening, but his only remark was
to ask if I were very tired, and then he left me to Mr. Tudor.
'Well, how do you like the folks up at Gladwyn?' demanded Mr. Tudor.
'Lady Betty was not in the best of humours to-night, and hardly deigned
to speak to me; but I am sure you must have admired Miss Hamilton.'
'I like both of them,' was my temperate reply: 'you must not be hard on
poor little Lady Betty. Miss Darrell had been lecturing her, and that
made her cross.'
'So I supposed,' was the prompt answer. 'Well, what did you think of the
Dare-all,--as the vicar calls her sometimes? is she not like a pleasant
edition of Tupper's _Proverbial Philosophy_,--verbose and full of long
sentences? How many words did she coin to-night, do you think?'
There was a little scorn in the young man's voice. Miss Darrell was
evidently not a favourite in the vicarage, yet most people would have
called her elegant and well-mannered, and, if she had no beauty, she was
not bad-looking. She was so exceedingly well made up, and her style of
dress was so suitable to her face, that I was not surprised to hear
afterwards from Lady Betty that many people thought her cousin Etta
handsome. Now when Mr. Tudor made this spiteful little speech I felt
rather pleased, for my dislike to Miss Darrell had increased rather
than diminished by the evening's experiences; under her smooth speeches
there lurked an antagonistic spirit; something had prejudiced her against
me even at our first meeting; I was convinced that she did not like me,
and would not encourage my visit to Gladwyn. Mr. Tudor and I talked a
good deal about Lady Betty; he described her as most whimsical and
sound-hearted, half-child and half-woman, with a touch of the brownie;
her brother often called her Brownie, or little Nix, to tease her. She
was very fond of her sister, he went on to say, but there was not much
companionship between them. Miss Hamilton was very intellectual, and read
a good deal, and Lady Betty never read anything but novels; they all made
a pet of her,--even Mr. Hamilton, who was not much given to pets,--but
she was hardly an influence in the house.
'She has not backbone enough,' he finished, 'and the Dare-all rules them
all with a rod of iron--"cased in velvet."'
Uncle Max listened to all this in silence, and as they parted with me at
the gate of the White Cottage he only said 'Good-night, Ursula,' in a
depressed voice. He was evidently rather cast down about something;
perhaps Miss Hamilton's decision had disappointed him; she had been
his favourite worker, and had helped him greatly; he seemed to feel it
hard that she should withdraw her services so suddenly. How wistfully she
had looked at him as he pleaded with her! it was the first time I had
seen her look at him of her own accord, and yet she had denied his
request,--very firmly and gently.
'I must be friends with her, and then perhaps she will tell me all about
it some day,' I thought; for I was convinced that there was more than met
the eye; but it was some time before I could banish these perplexing
thoughts.
I saw a good deal of Lady Betty during the next week or two. I met her
frequently on my way to the Lockes', and she would walk with me to the
gate, and two or three times she made her appearance at the Marshall's';
'for it's no use calling at the White Cottage of an afternoon,' she would
say disconsolately, 'for you are never at home, you inhospitable
creature.'
'Why, do you think I live here, Lady Betty!' I returned, smiling. 'Do you
know I am becoming a most punctual person? I am always back at the White
Cottage by five, and sometimes a little earlier, and I shall always be
pleased if you will come in and have tea with me.'
'I should like it of all things,' replied Lady Betty, with a sigh; 'and I
will come sometimes, you will see if I don't. But I know Etta will make a
fuss; she always does if I stay out after dark; and it is dark at four
now. That is why I pop in here to see you, because Etta is always busy in
the mornings and never takes any notice of what we do.'
'But surely Miss Darrell will not object to your coming to see me?' I
asked, somewhat piqued at this.
'Oh dear, no,' returned Lady Betty, jumbling her words as though she
found my question embarrassing. 'Etta never objects openly to anything we
do, only she throws stumbling-blocks in our way. I do not know why I have
got it into my head that she would not like Gladys or me to come here
without her, but it is there all the same,--the idea, I mean; it was
something she said the other night to Mrs. Maberley that gave me this
impression. Mrs. Maberley wanted to call on you, because she said you
were Mr. Cunliffe's niece, and people ought to take notice of you. And
Etta said, "Oh dear, yes; and it was a very kind thought on Mrs.
Maberley's part, and Mr. Cunliffe would think it so. That was why Giles
had invited you to Gladwyn. But there was no hurry, and you evidently
were not prepared to enter into society. You had rather strong-minded
views on this subject, and she was not quite sure whether Giles was wise
to encourage the intimacy with his sisters."'
'Miss Darrell said this to Mrs. Maberley?'
'Yes. Was it not horrid of Etta? I felt so cross. And Mrs. Maberley is
such an old dear: only rather old-fashioned in her notions about girls.
So Etta's speech rather frightened her, I could see. Of course she has
not called yet? I am almost inclined to tell Giles about it.'
'Indeed, I hope you will do nothing of the kind, Lady Betty. I am sorry
Miss Darrell does not like me; but I do not see that it matters so very
much what people think of us.'
'Yes; but when Etta takes a dislike to people she tries to prevent us
from knowing them: that is the provoking part of it. She is so dreadfully
jealous, and I expect it was your singing that gave umbrage. Etta is not
at all accomplished; she never cared much for Gladys to sing, because she
had such a sweet voice, and it put her in the background. Ah! I know how
mean it sounds, but it is just the truth about Etta. And if I were to
drop in for five-o'clock tea, as you say, Leah would be sure to make her
appearance and say I was wanted at Gladwyn.'
I found Lady Betty's confidential speeches rather embarrassing, and when
I knew her a little better I took her to task rather seriously for her
want of reticence. But she only pouted, and said, 'When one looks at you,
Miss Garston, one cannot help telling you things: they all tumble out
without one's will. That is what Gladys means when she says you have a
sympathetic face. I wish you would get her to talk to you.'
As Lady Betty persisted in haunting the Marshalls' cottage, I
determined to make her useful. So I set her to read to Elspeth, or to
give sewing-lessons to Peggy, or to amuse the younger children, while
I was engaged with my patient; and I soon found that she was a most
helpful little body.
Mr. Hamilton found her sitting in the kitchen one day surrounded by the
children. She was telling them a story. The baby was sucking her thumb
contentedly on her lap. Poor Mary was worse that day, and I had begged
Lady Betty to keep the little ones quiet.
Mr. Hamilton came into the sick-room looking very much pleased. 'I only
wish you could make Lady Betty a useful member of society, Miss Garston,'
he said, with one of the rare smiles that always lit up his dark face so
pleasantly. 'She is a good little thing, but she wants ballast. As a
rule, young ladies are terribly idle.'
I had called up at Gladwyn a few days after we had dined there, but, to
my great disappointment, I did not see Miss Hamilton. Miss Darrell was
alone, so my visit was as brief as possible.
She told me at once that her cousins had gone over to Brighton for an
afternoon's shopping, and that Mr. Hamilton had run up to London for a
few hours. And then she commenced plying me with questions in a ladylike
way about my work and my past life, but in such a skilful manner that it
was almost impossible to avoid answering. She was so sure that I must be
dull, living all alone. Oh, of course I was too good and unselfish to say
so, but all the same I must be miserably dull. What could have put such a
singular idea in my head, she wondered. When young ladies did this sort
of thing there was generally some painful reason: they were unhappy at
home, or they had had some disastrous love-affair. Of course--laughing
a little affectedly--she had no intention of hinting at such a reason in
my case; any one could see at a glance that I was not that sort of
person; I was far too sensible and matter-of-fact: gentlemen would be
quite afraid of me, I was so strong-minded. But all the same she pleaded
guilty to a feeling of natural curiosity why such an idea had come into
my head.
When I had warded off this successfully,--for I declined to enlighten
Miss Darrell on this subject,--she flew off at a tangent to Aunt
Philippa.
'It was such a pity when relations did not entirely harmonise. An aunt
could never replace a mother. Ah! she knew that too well: and when there
were daughters--and she had heard from Mr. Cunliffe that my cousin Sara
was excessively pretty and charming--no doubt there would be natural
misunderstandings and jealousies. In spite of all my goodness, I was only
human. Of course she understood perfectly how it all happened, and she
felt very sorry for me.'
I disclaimed the notion of any family disagreement with some warmth, but
I do not think she believed me. She had evidently got it into her head
that I was a strong-minded young woman with an uncertain temper, who
could not live peaceably at home. No doubt she had hinted this to Mrs.
Maberley and other ladies. She would make this the excuse for
discouraging any degree of intimacy with her cousins. I should not be
asked very often to Gladwyn if it depended on Miss Darrell; but Mr.
Hamilton had a will of his own, and if he chose me as a companion for
his sisters, Miss Darrell would find it difficult to exclude me.
One could see at a glance that Mr. Hamilton was master in his own house.
Miss Darrell seemed perfectly submissive to him. There was something
almost obsequious in her manner to him. She watched his looks anxiously,
and, though she coaxed and flattered him, she did not seem quite certain
how he would take her speeches.
'We are a strange household; don't you think so, Miss Garston?' she
observed presently. 'Giles is our lord and master. None of us poor women
dare to contradict him. When dear mamma was alive, she had a great deal
of influence over him. He was very fond of her. Her death made a great
difference in the house.'
'It must have been a great trouble to you, Miss Darrell.'
'Yes, indeed. I was almost broken-hearted. She had been the dearest and
most indulgent of mothers; but Giles was very good to me. Gladys and Lady
Betty were very devoted to her; perhaps you have heard them speak of Aunt
Margaret. Ah! I forgot, you have only seen Gladys twice.' And here she
looked at me rather sharply, but I nodded acquiescence. 'Gladys was
always a favourite with her.'
'Miss Hamilton must be a general favourite,' I replied, a little
unguardedly.
'Ah! I suppose you think her handsome,' in rather a forced manner: 'many
people say she is too pale, and rather too statuesque, for their taste.'
'In my opinion she is very beautiful,' I replied quickly, 'I told Uncle
Max the other day that I thought her face almost perfect.'
'And what did he say?' she asked, rather eagerly. 'Did he agree with
you?' But I was obliged to confess that I had forgotten his answer.
'I know Mr. Cunliffe thinks Gladys cold,' she went on. 'He is too
kind-hearted to say so; but I know he feels hurt at her desertion of her
post. It was a strange whim on her part to give up all her parish work.
I am afraid it was a little bit of temper. Gladys has a temper, though
you may not think so. She is very firm, and does not brook the least
interference on my part. Poor dear! if it were not wrong, I should say
she was a little jealous of my influence with Giles, because he likes
me to do things for him; but how am I to help doing what he asks me,
when I owe the very bread I eat to his kindness?'
Miss Darrell was poor and dependent then. This piece of news surprised
me. I thought of the glittering rings and silver-mounted dressing-case
and all the luxurious appliances in her toilet, and wondered if Mr.
Hamilton had paid for them.
Miss Darrell seemed to read my thoughts in a most wonderful way.
'Poor mother left very little except personal jewellery. Yes, I owe
everything to Giles's generosity. He is good enough to say that I earn my
allowance,--and indeed I am never idle; but,' interrupting herself, 'I do
not want to talk of myself; I am a very insignificant person,--just
Giles's housekeeper; Gladys is mistress of the house. I only wanted you
to explain to Mr. Cunliffe that I am not to blame for Gladys's strange
whim. Let me explain a little. She was looking very ill and overworked,
and I begged Giles to lecture her. I told him that there was no need for
Gladys to do quite so much; in fact, she was putting herself a little too
forward in the parish, considering how young she was, and the vicar an
unmarried man. So Giles and I gave her a word. I am sure he spoke most
gently, and I was very careful indeed in only giving her a hint that
people, and even Mr. Cunliffe, might misconstrue such devotion. I never
saw Gladys in such a passion; and the next day she had flung everything
up. She told the vicar that the schoolroom made her head ache, and that
her throat was delicate, and she could not sing. Poor Mr. Cunliffe was
in such despair that I was obliged to offer my services. It is far too
much for me; but what can I do? the parish must not suffer for Gladys's
wilfulness. Now if you could only explain things a little to Mr.
Cunliffe; he looked so hurt the other night when Gladys refused to take
her old class. No wonder he misses her, for she used to teach the
children splendidly; but if he knew it was only a little temper on
Gladys's part he would look over it and be friends with her again. But
you must have noticed yourself, Miss Garston, how little he had to say
to her.'
I had found it impossible to check Miss Darrell's loquacity or to edge in
a single word; but as soon as her breath failed I rose to take my leave,
and she did not seek to detain me.
'You will explain this to Mr. Cunliffe, for Gladys's sake,' she said,
holding my hand. 'I do want him to think well of her, and I can see his
good opinion is shaken.'
But to this I made no audible reply; but, as I shook off the dust of
Gladwyn, I told myself that Uncle Max should not hear Miss Darrell's
version from my lips. She wished to make me a tool in her hands; but her
breach of confidence had a very different result from what she expected.
Miss Darrell's words had cleared up a perplexity in my mind: I could read
between the lines, and I fully exonerated Miss Hamilton.
The following afternoon I had a most unexpected pleasure. When I came
back to the cottage after my day's work Mrs. Barton met me at the door
and told me that Miss Hamilton was in the parlour.
I had thought she meant Lady Betty; but, to my surprise, I found Miss
Hamilton seated by the fire. A pleased smile came to her face as I
greeted her most warmly. She must have seen how glad I was; but she
shrank back rather nervously when I begged her to take off her furred
mantle and stay to tea.
She was not sure that she could remain. Lady Betty was alone, as Giles
and Etta were dining at the Maberleys'. She had been asked, and had
refused; but Etta had taken in her work, as Mrs. Maberley had wanted them
to go early. Perhaps she had better not stay, as it would not be kind to
Lady Betty. But I soon overruled this objection. I told Miss Hamilton
that I saw Lady Betty frequently, but that she herself had never called
since her first visit, and that now I could not let her go.
I think she wanted me to press her; she was arguing against her own
wishes, it was easy to see that. By and by she asked me in a low voice if
I were sure to be alone, or if I expected any visitors; and when I had
assured her decidedly that no one but Uncle Max ever came to see me, and
that I knew he was engaged this evening, her last scruple seemed to
vanish, and she settled herself quite comfortably for a chat. We talked
for a little while on indifferent subjects. She told me about the
neighbourhood and the people who lived in the large houses by the church,
and about her brother's work in the parish, and how if rich people sent
for him he always kept them waiting while he went to the poor ones.
'Giles calls himself the poor people's doctor: he attends them for
nothing. He cannot always refuse rich people if they will have him, but
he generally sends them to Dr. Ramsbotham. You see, he never takes money
for his services, and as people know this, they are ashamed to send for
him; and yet they want him because he is so clever. Giles is so fond of
his profession; he is always regretting that he had a fortune left him,
for he says it would have been far pleasanter to make one. Giles never
did care for money; he is ready to fling it away to any one who asks
him.'
Miss Hamilton kept up this desultory talk all tea-time. She spoke with
great animation about her brother, and I could hardly believe it was the
same girl who had sat so silently at the head of the table that evening
at Gladwyn. The sad abstracted look had left her face. It seemed as
though for a little while she was determined to forget her troubles.
When Mrs. Barton had taken away the tea-tray, she asked me, with the same
wistful look in her eyes, to sing to her if I were not tired, and I
complied at once.
I sang for nearly half an hour, and then I returned to the fireside. I
saw that Miss Hamilton put up her hand to shield her face from the light;
but I took no notice, and after a little while she began to talk.
'I never heard any singing like yours, Miss Garston; it is a great gift.
There is something different in your voice from any one else's: it seems
to touch one's heart.'
'If my singing always makes you sad, Miss Hamilton, it is a very dubious
gift.'
'Ah, but it is a pleasant sadness,' she replied quickly. 'I feel as
though some kind friend were sympathising with me when you sing: it tells
me too that, like myself, you have known trouble.'
I sighed as I looked at Charlie's picture. Her eyes followed my glance,
and I saw again that tremulous motion of her hands.
'Yes, I know,' she said hurriedly; but her beautiful eyes were full of
tears. 'I have always been so sorry for you. You must feel so lonely
without him.'
The intense sympathy with which she said these few words seemed to break
down my reserve. In a moment I had forgotten that we were strangers, as I
told her about my love for Charlie, and the dear old life at the rectory.
It was impossible to doubt the interest with which she listened to me. If
I paused for an instant, she begged me very gently to tell her more about
myself; she was so sorry for me; but it did her good to hear me.
When I spoke of the life at Hyde Park Gate, and told her how little I was
fitted for that sort of existence, she put down her shielding hand, and
looked at me with strange wistfulness.
'No, you are too real, too much in earnest, to be satisfied with that
sort of life. Mr. Cunliffe used to tell us so. And I seemed to understand
it all before I saw you. I always felt as though I knew you, even before
we met. I hope,' hesitating a little, 'that we shall see a great deal of
you. I know Giles wishes it.'
'You cannot come here too often, Miss Hamilton. It will always be such a
pleasure to me to see you.'
'Oh, I did not mean that,' she returned nervously. 'I may not be able
to come here,--that is, not alone; there are reasons, and you must not
expect me; but I hope you will come to Gladwyn whenever you have an hour
to spare. Giles said so the other day. I think he meant you to be friends
with us. You must not mind,' getting still more nervous, 'if Etta is a
little odd sometimes. Her moods vary, and she does not always make people
feel as though they were welcome; but it is only her manner, so you must
not mind it.'
'Oh no; I shall hope to come and see you and Lady Betty some time.'
'And,' she went on hurriedly, 'if there is anything that I can do to help
you, I hope you will tell me so. Perhaps I cannot visit the people; but
there are other things,--needlework, or a little money. Oh, I have so
much spare time, and it will be such a pleasure.'
'Oh yes; you shall help me,' I returned cheerfully, for she was looking
so extremely nervous that I wanted to reassure her; but we were prevented
from saying any more on this subject, for just then we heard the click of
the little gate, and the next moment Uncle Max walked into the room.