ERIC
That afternoon I had rather an adventure. I was just walking up the hill
on my way to the post-office, when a handsome carriage came round the
corner by the church rather sharply, and the same moment a little dog
crossing the road in the dusk seemed to be under the horses' feet.
That was my first impression. My next was that the coachman was trying
to pull up his horses. There was a sudden howl, the horses kicked and
plunged, some one in the carriage shrieked, and then the little dog was
in my arms, and even in the dim light I could feel one poor little leg
was broken.
The horses were quieted with difficulty, and the footman got down and
went to the carriage window.
'It is poor little Flossie, ma'am,' he said, touching his hat: 'she must
have got out into the road and recognised the carriage, for she was under
the horses' feet. This lady got her out somehow.' And indeed I had no
idea how I had managed it. One of the horses had reared, and his front
hoof almost touched me as I snatched up Flossie. I suppose it was a risky
thing to do, for I never liked the remembrance afterwards, and I do not
believe I could have done it again.
'Oh dear! oh dear!' observed a pleasant voice, 'do let me thank the lady.
Stand aside, Williams.' And a pretty old lady with white hair looked out
at me.
'I am afraid the poor dog's leg is broken,' I observed, as the little
animal lay in my arms uttering short barks of pain. 'Happily your man
pulled up in time, or it must have been killed.'
'Oh dear! oh dear! what will the colonel say to such carelessness?'
exclaimed the old lady. 'He's so fond of Flossie, and makes such a fuss
with her. And Mr. Hamilton has gone to Brighton, or I would have sent
Flossie in for him to attend to her.'
'Will you let me see what I can do, Mrs. Maberley?' I said, for I had
recognised the pretty old lady at once. 'I am the village nurse, Miss
Garston, and I think I can bind up poor Flossie's leg.'
'Miss Garston!' in quite a different voice; it seemed to have grown
rather formal. 'Oh, I am so much obliged to you, but I am ashamed to give
you the trouble; only for poor Flossie's sake,' hesitating, 'will you
come into the carriage and let me drive you to Maplehurst?' And to this
I readily consented. I could never bear to see an animal in pain, and the
little creature, a beautiful brown-and-white spaniel, was already licking
my hand confidingly.
I could see Mrs. Maberley was embarrassed by my presence, for she talked
in rather a nervous manner about it being Christmas Eve, and how busy the
young ladies were decorating the church.
'I wanted to speak to Miss Darrell for a moment,' she went on, 'and I
found her and Lady Betty putting up wreaths in the chancel, and that
good-looking Mr. Tudor was helping them. I was so sorry poor dear Gladys
was not there; but Miss Darrell says her cold is so much better that she
is downstairs again. I am afraid she is very delicate and takes after
her poor mother.'
'I saw Miss Hamilton yesterday, and I certainly thought she looked very
ill.'
'So Miss Darrell told me. What a good, unselfish little creature she is,
Miss Garston! I do not know what Mr. Hamilton and his sisters would do
without her. Ah, here we are at Maplehurst, and Tracy is looking out for
us. Tracy, is the colonel at home? No, I am thankful to hear it. Poor
little Flossie has met with an accident, and this lady has saved her
life, but she tells me her leg is broken. Now, Miss Garston, will you
believe it that I am such a coward that I could not be of the least
assistance? Tracy, take Miss Garston into the morning room, and do your
best to help her.' And Mrs. Maberley trotted away as fast as she could,
while Tracy ushered me into a bright snug-looking room and asked me very
civilly what she could do for me.
Tracy was a handy, sensible woman, and in a few minutes I had managed,
with her help, to strap up poor Flossie's leg in the most successful
manner.
'I am sure, ma'am, Mr. Hamilton couldn't have done better himself,'
observed Tracy, looking at me with respectful admiration, while I petted
Flossie, who was now lying comfortably in her basket, trying to lick her
bandages. 'I must go and tell my mistress that it is done, for she will
be fretting herself ill over poor Flossie.'
I expect Tracy sounded my praises, for when Mrs. Maberley entered the
room in her pretty cap with gray ribbons there was not a trace of
formality in her manner as she thanked me with tears in her eyes for
my kindness to Flossie.
'To think of a young creature being so clever!' she said, folding her
soft dimpled hands together. 'My dear, the colonel will be so grateful to
you: he dotes on Flossie. You must stay and have tea with me, and then he
can thank you himself. No, I shall take no refusal. Tracy, tell Marvel to
bring up the tea-tray at once. My dear,' turning to me, when Tracy had
left the room, 'I am almost ashamed to look you in the face when I
remember how long you have been in Heathfield and that I have never
called on you; but Etta told me that you did not care to have visitors.'
'Yes, I know, Mrs. Maberley; but that is quite a mistake,' I returned,
somewhat eagerly, for I had fallen in love with the pretty old lady, and
her tall, aristocratic colonel with his white moustache and grand
military carriage, and had watched them with much interest from my place
in church. She was such a dainty old lady, like a piece of Dresden china,
with her pink cheeks and white curls and old-fashioned shoe-buckles; and
she had such beautiful little hands, plump and soft as a baby's, which
she seemed to regard with innocent pride, for she was always settling the
lace ruffles round her wrists and pinching them up with careful fingers.
'Dear, dear! I thought Etta told me,' she began rather nervously.
'Miss Darrell makes mistakes, like other people,' I answered, smiling.
'I shall be very pleased to know my neighbours; it is quite true that I
am not often at home, and just now I am very busy, but all the same I do
not mean to shut myself out from society. One owes a duty to one's
neighbours.'
'My dear Miss Garston, I am quite pleased to hear you talk so sensibly.
I was afraid from what Etta said that you were a little eccentric and
strong-minded, and I have such a dislike to that in young people; young
ladies are so terribly independent at the present day, in my opinion, and
I know the colonel thinks the same. They are sadly deficient in good
manners and reverence. That is why I am so fond of the Hamilton girls:
they are perfect young gentlewomen; they never talk slang or slip-shod
English, and they know how to respect gray hairs. The colonel is devoted
to Gladys: I tell him he is as fond of her as though she were his own
daughter.'
'I think every one must be fond of Miss Hamilton.'
'Yes, poor darling! and she is much to be pitied,' returned Mrs.
Maberley, with a sigh. 'Oh, here comes Marvel with the tea. Now, Miss
Garston, my dear, take off that bonnet and jacket: I like people to look
as though they were at home. Marvel, draw up that chair to the fire, and
give Miss Garston a table to herself, and put the muffins where she can
reach them; there, now I think we look comfortable: young people always
look nicer without their bonnets; it was a pity to hide your pretty
smooth hair. Now tell me a little about yourself. I am sure Etta is
wrong: you do not look in the least strong-minded. Tracy said it was
wonderful how such slender little fingers could ever do hospital work.
She has fallen in love with you, my dear; and Tracy has plenty of
penetration. I never can understand why she does not take to Etta; and
Etta is so good to her; but there, we all have our prejudices.'
As soon as Mrs. Maberley's ripple of talk had died away, I told her a
little about my work, and how much I liked my life at Heathfield, and
then I spoke of my great interest in Gladys Hamilton.
It was really very pleasant sitting in this warm, softly-lighted room and
talking to this charming, kind-hearted old lady. Christmas Eve was not so
dull, after all, as I had expected; it was nice to feel that I was making
a new friend,--that the little service I had rendered Mrs. Maberley had
broken down the barrier between us and overcome her prejudice. I knew
that Miss Darrell had set her against me, and that for some reason of
her own she wished to prevent her calling upon me.
Did Miss Darrell dislike my coming to Heathfield? Was she afraid of
finding me in her way? Was she at all desirous of making my stay irksome
to me? These were some of the questions I was continually asking myself.
I noticed that Mrs. Maberley sighed and shook her head when I spoke of
Miss Hamilton. As I warmed to my subject, and praised her beauty and
gentleness and intelligence, she sighed still more.
'Yes, she is a dear girl, a dear good girl; but she has never been the
same since Eric went. Does she talk to you about Eric, Miss Garston? Etta
says she talks of nothing else to her.'
I opened my eyes rather widely at this statement, for I could not forget
what Miss Hamilton had said to me that night: 'I have never spoken to any
one about Eric.' Was it likely that she would choose Miss Darrell for a
_confidante_? But I kept my incredulity to myself, and simply related to
Mrs. Maberley the circumstance that I had seen the photograph by accident
the previous evening, and only knew then that Miss Hamilton had had a
twin-brother.
'How very singular!' she observed, putting down her tea-cup in a hurry.
'I should have thought every one in the place would have spoken about the
young man, he was such a favourite; and it was no use Mr. Hamilton trying
to keep it a secret. Why, the postmaster's wife told me before Eric had
been gone twenty-four hours, and then I went to Mr. Cunliffe. Why, child,
do you mean your uncle has never told you about it?'
'Oh no, Uncle Max never repeats anything; he would be the last person
from whom I should hear it.'
'And yet he was up at Gladwyn every day,--ay, twice a day; and people
said--But what an old gossip I am! Well, about poor Eric, there can be
no harm in your knowing what all the world knows, even Marvel and Tracy;
it is a very sore subject with poor Mr. Hamilton, and no one dares to
mention Eric's name to him; but, as Etta says, Gladys can never hold her
tongue about him when they two are alone together.' I certainly held mine
at that moment. I began to wonder what Miss Darrell would say next.
'So you have seen his picture, Miss Garston, my dear: well, now, is it
not a beautiful face?--not sufficiently manly, as the colonel says; but
then, poor fellow, he had not a strong character. Still, it was a lovely
sight to see them together: our gardens join, you know, and often and
often, as I have sat under our beech, I have seen Gladys and Eric walking
up and down the little avenue, with his arm round her, and their two
heads shining like gold, and she would be talking to him and smiling
in his face, until it made me quite young to see them.'
'Wait a moment, Mrs. Maberley, please. I am deeply interested; but would
Gladys--would Miss Hamilton like me to know all this?'
'To be sure she would,--though perhaps she would not care for the pain
of telling it herself; but it would be better for you to hear it from me
than from Mrs. Barton, or Mrs. Drabble, or any other gossiping person
that takes it into her head to tell you, for you could not be much longer
at Heathfield without hearing of it, when, as I say, every Jack and Tom
in the village knows it,--though how it all got about is more than I can
say. I tell the colonel, Leah must have had a hand in it: I know it was
she who told Tracy.'
I saw by this time that Mrs. Maberley had quite made up her mind to tell
me the story herself; she was garrulous, like many other old ladies, and
perhaps she enjoyed a little gossip about her neighbours, so I only
essayed one other feeble protest.
'I hope Mr. Hamilton will not mind--' but she answered me quite
briskly,--
'Well, poor fellow, he knows by this time people will talk; I daresay
he thinks Mr. Cunliffe has told you. Now, I do not want to blame Mr.
Hamilton; he is a great favourite of mine ever since he cured the
colonel's gout, and I would not be hard on him for worlds; but I have
always been afraid that he did not rightly understand Eric; the brothers
were so different. Mr. Hamilton is very hard-working and rather
matter-of-fact, and Eric was quite different, more like a girl, dreamy
and enthusiastic and terribly idle, and then he fancied himself an
artist. Mr. Hamilton could not bear that.'
'Why not? An artist's is a very good profession.'
'Yes, but he did not believe in his talent; and then Eric was intended
for the law; his brother had sent him to Oxford, but he would not work,
and he was extravagant, and got into debt,--and, oh yes, there was no end
of trouble. I do not know how it was,' went on Mrs. Maberley, 'but Eric
always seemed in the wrong. Etta used to take his part,--which was very
good of her, as Eric could not bear her and treated her most rudely. Mr.
Hamilton used to complain that Gladys encouraged him in his idleness; he
sometimes came in here of an evening looking quite miserable, poor
fellow, and would say that his sisters and Eric were leagued against him;
that but for Etta he would be at his wits' end what to do. Eric would not
obey him; he simply defied his authority; he was growing more idle every
day, and when he remonstrated with him, Gladys took his part. Oh dear, I
am afraid they were all very wretched.'
'You think Mr. Hamilton did not understand his young brother.'
'Well, perhaps not. You see, Mr. Hamilton had not the same temptations;
he was always steady and hard-working from a boy, and never cared much
about his own comfort. As for getting into debt, why, he would have
considered it wicked to do so. I know the colonel thought once or twice
that he was a little hard on Eric. I remember his saying once 'that boys
will be boys, and that all are not good alike, and that he must not use
the curb too much.' It was a pity, certainly, that Mr. Hamilton was so
angry about his painting. I daresay it was only a temporary craze. I am
afraid, though, Eric must have behaved very badly. I know he struck his
elder brother once. Anyhow, things went on from bad to worse; and one day
a dreadful thing happened. A cheque of some value, I have forgotten the
particulars, was stolen from Mr. Hamilton's desk, and the next day Eric
disappeared.'
'Was he accused of taking it?'
'To be sure. Leah saw him with her own eyes. You must ask Mr. Cunliffe
about all that; my memory is apt to be treacherous about details. I know
Leah saw him with his hand in his brother's desk, and though Eric vowed
it was only to put a letter there,--a very impertinent letter that he had
written to his brother,--still the cheque was gone, and, as they heard
afterwards, cashed by a very fair young man at some London Bank; and the
next morning, after some terrible quarrel, during which Gladys fainted,
poor girl, Eric disappeared, and the very next thing they heard of him,
about three weeks afterwards, was that his watch and a pocket-book
belonging to him had been picked up on the Brighton beach close to Hove.'
'Do you mean that this is all they have ever heard of him?'
'Yes. I believe Mr. Hamilton employed every means of ascertaining his
fate. For some months he refused to believe that he was dead. I am not
sure if Gladys believes it now. But Etta did from the first. "He was weak
and reckless enough for anything," she has often said to me. Of course it
is very terrible, and one cannot bear to think of it, but when a young
man has lost his character he has not much pleasure in his life.'
'I do not think Miss Hamilton really believes that he is dead.'
'Perhaps not, poor darling. But Mr. Hamilton has no doubt on the subject,
my dear Miss Garston. He is much to be pitied: he has never been the same
man since Eric went. I am afraid that he repents of his harshness to the
poor boy. He told the colonel once that he wished he had tried milder
treatment.'
'One can understand Mr. Hamilton's feelings so well. You are right, Mrs.
Maberley: he is much to be pitied.'
'Yes, and, to make matters worse, Gladys was very ill, and refused to see
or speak to him in her illness. I believe the breach is healed between
them now; but she is not all that a sister ought to be to him.'
'Perhaps Miss Darrell usurps her place,' I replied a little incautiously,
but I saw my mistake at once. Mrs. Maberley was evidently a devout
believer in Miss Darrell's merits.
'Oh, my dear, you must not say such things. Mr. Hamilton has told me over
and over again that he does not know how he would have got through that
miserable time but for his cousin Etta's kindness. She did everything for
him, and nursed Gladys in her illness. I am sure she would have died but
for Etta. Dear me! Flossie looks restless. I do believe she hears her
master's step outside.--Yes, Flossie, that is his knock.--But I wonder
whom he is bringing in with him.' And Mrs. Maberley straightened herself
and smoothed the folds of her satin gown, and tried to look as usual,
though there were tears in her bright eyes and her hands were a little
tremulous. I do not know why I felt so sure that it would be Mr.
Hamilton, but I was not at all surprised when he followed the tall old
colonel into the room. But he certainly looked astonished when he saw me.
'Miss Garston!' he ejaculated, darting one of his keen looks at me. But
when he had shaken hands he sat down by Mrs. Maberley somewhat silently.
I was rather sorry to see Mr. Hamilton, for our talk had unsettled me
and made me feel nervous in his presence. I was afraid he would read
something from our faces. And I certainly saw him look at me more than
once, as though something had aroused his suspicion. For the first time
I was unwilling to encounter one of those straight glances. I felt
guilty, as though I must avoid his eyes, but all the more I felt he
was watching me.
I was anxious to put a stop to this uncomfortable state of things, but
I could not silence Mrs. Maberley, who was relating to her husband the
story of poor Flossie's accident. My presence of mind and skill were so
much lauded, and the colonel said so many civil things, that I felt
myself getting hotter every moment.
Mr. Hamilton came at last to my relief.
'I think Miss Garston resembles me in one thing, colonel. She hates to be
thanked for doing her duty. You will drive her away if you say any more
about Flossie. Oh, I thought so,' as I stretched out my hand for my hat:
'I thought I interpreted that look aright. Well, I must be going too. I
only brought him back safe to you, Mrs. Maberley.--By the bye, colonel,
I shall tell Gladys that you have never asked after her.'
'My sweetheart, Gladys! To be sure I have not. Well, how is she, my dear
fellow?'
'As obstinate as ever, colonel. Came downstairs to-day, and declares she
will go to early service to-morrow, because it will be Christmas Day,
and she has never missed yet. Women are kittle cattle to manage. Now,
Miss Garston, if you are ready, I will see you a little on your way.'
I knew it was no good to remonstrate, so I held my peace, Mrs. Maberley
kissed me quite affectionately, and begged me to come whenever I had an
hour to spare.
'I wish I had known you before, my dear. But there, we all make mistakes
sometimes.' And she patted me on the shoulder. 'Edbrooke, will you see
them out? He will be your friend for ever, after your goodness to
Flossie: won't you, Edbrooke?'
I never felt so afraid of Mr. Hamilton before. I was wondering what I
should say to him, and hoping that he had not noticed my nervousness,
when he startled me excessively by saying,--
'What makes you look so odd this evening? You are not a bit yourself,
Miss Garston. Come! I shall expect you to confess. Mrs. Maberley is an
old friend of mine, and I am very much attached to her. I should like to
know what you and she have been talking about?'
It was too dark for Mr. Hamilton to see my face, so I answered a little
flippantly,--
'I daresay you would like to know. Women are certainly not much more
curious than men, after all.'
'Oh, as to that, I am not a bit curious,' was the contradictory answer.
'But all the same I intend to know. So you may as well make a clean
breast of it.'
'But--but you have no right to be so inquisitive, Mr. Hamilton.'
'Again I say I am not inquisitive, but I mean to know this. Mrs. Maberley
had been crying. I could see the tears in her eyes. You looked inclined
to cry too, Miss Garston. Now,'--after a moment's hesitation, as though
he found speech rather difficult,--'I know the dear old lady has only one
fault. She is rather too fond of gossiping about her neighbours, though
she does it in the kindest manner. May I ask if her talk this evening
at all related to a family not a hundred miles away from Maplehurst?'
His voice sounded hard and satirical in the darkness. 'I wish you would
not ask me such a question, Mr. Hamilton,' I returned, much distressed.
'It was not my fault: I did not wish--' But he interrupted me.
'Of course; I knew it. When am I ever deceived by a face or manner? Not
by yours, certainly. So my good old friend told you about that miserable
affair. I wish she had held her tongue a little longer. I wish--'
But I burst out, full of remorse,--
'Oh, Mr. Hamilton, I am so sorry! I have no right to know, but indeed
I was hardly to blame.'
'Who says you are to blame?' he returned, so harshly that I remained
silent: 'it is no fault of yours if people will not be silent. But all
the same I am sorry that you know; your opinion of me is quite changed
now, eh? You think me a hard-hearted taskmaster of a brother. Well, it
does not matter: Gladys would have made you believe that in time.'
His voice was so full of concentrated bitterness that I longed to say
something consoling; in his own fashion he had been kind to me, and I
did not wish to misjudge him.
'I know your sister Gladys sufficiently to be sure that she will never
act ungenerously by her brother,' I returned hotly. 'Mr. Hamilton, you
need not say such things: it is not for me to judge.'
'But all the same you will judge,' he replied moodily. 'Oh, I know how
you good women cling together: you know nothing of a man's nature; you
cannot estimate his difficulties; because he has not got your sweet
nature, because he cannot bear insolence patiently--Oh,' with an
abruptness that was almost rude but for the concealed pain in his voice,
'I am not going to excuse myself to you: why should I? I have only to
account to my Maker and my own conscience,' And he was actually walking
off in the darkness, for we were now in sight of the parlour window, but
I called him back so earnestly that he could not refuse to obey.
'Mr. Hamilton, pray do not leave me like this; it makes me unhappy. Do
you know it is Christmas Eve?'
'Well, what of that?' with a short laugh.
'People ought not to quarrel and be disagreeable to each other on
Christmas Eve.'
'I am afraid, Miss Garston, that I do feel intensely disagreeable this
evening.'
'Yes, but you must try and forgive me all the same. I could not quite
help myself; but indeed I do not mean to judge you or any one, and I
should like you to shake hands.'
'There, then,' with a decidedly hearty grasp; and then, without releasing
me, 'So you don't think so very badly of me, after all?'
'I am very sorry for you,' was my prudent answer; 'I think you have had
a great deal to bear. Good-night, Mr. Hamilton.'
'Wait a minute; you have not answered my question. You must not have
it all your own way. I repeat, has Mrs. Maberley given you a very bad
impression of my character?'
'Certainly not; oh, she spoke most kindly; I should not have been afraid
if you had heard the whole of our conversation.'
'I wish I had heard it.'
'She made me feel very sorry for you all. Oh, what trouble there is in
the world, Mr. Hamilton! It does seem so blind and foolish to sit in
judgment on other people! how can we know their trials and temptations?'
'That is spoken like a sensible woman. Try to keep a good opinion of us,
Miss Garston: we shall be the better for your friendship. Well, so we are
friends again, and this little misunderstanding is healed: so much the
better; I should hate to quarrel with you. Now run in out of the cold.'
I hastened to obey him, but he stood at the gate until I had entered
the house; his voice and manner had quite changed during the last few
minutes, and had become strangely gentle, reminding me of his sister
Gladys's voice. What a singular man he was!--and yet I felt sorry for
him. 'I wonder if he is really to blame!' I thought, as I opened the
parlour door.
The lamp was alight; the fire burnt ruddily; Tinker was stretched on the
rug as usual, but something else was on the rug too.
A girlish figure in a dark tweed gown was huddled up before the grate; a
head, with short thick locks of hair tossing roughly on her neck, turned
quickly at my entrance.
'Jill!'
'Yes, it is I, Ursie dear! Oh, you darling bear, what a time you have
been!' Two strong arms pulled me down in the usual fashion, and a hot
cheek was pressed lovingly against mine.
'Oh, Jill, Jill, what does this mean?' I exclaimed, in utter amazement;
but for a long time Jill only laughed and hugged me, and there was no
getting an answer to my question.