'THEY HAVE BLACKENED HIS MEMORY FALSELY'
I loved having Jill with me, but I could not deny to myself or other
people that I found her a great responsibility. In the first place, I
had so little leisure to devote to her, for just after Christmas I was
unusually busy. Poor Mrs. Marshall died on the eve of the New Year, and
both Mr. Hamilton and I feared that Elspeth would soon follow her.
A hard frost had set in, and granny's feeble strength seemed to succumb
under the pressure of the severe cold; she had taken to her bed, and lay
there growing weaker every day. Poor Mary had died very peacefully, with
her hand in her husband's. I had been with her all day, and I did not
leave until it was all over.
Jill was as good as gold, and helped me with Elspeth and the children,
and she always spent an hour or two with Robin; but by and by she began
asking to go up to Gladwyn of her own accord, or proposing to have tea
with Mrs. Maberley.
'Of course I would prefer to stop with you, Ursie dear,' she said
affectionately; 'I would rather talk to you than to any one else; but
then, you see, you are never at home, and when you do come in, poor
darling, you are so tired that you are only fit for a nap.' And I could
not deny that this was the truth. After my hard day's work I was not
always disposed for Jill's lively chatter, and yet her bright face was
a very pleasant sight for tired eyes.
I used to question her sometimes about her visits to Gladwyn, and she
was always ready to talk of what had passed in the day. She and Lady
Betty had struck up quite a friendship: this rather surprised me, as
they were utterly dissimilar, and had different tastes and pursuits. Jill
was far superior in intelligence and intellectual power; she had wider
sympathies, too; and though Lady Betty had a fund of originality, and was
fresh and _naïve_; I could hardly understand Jill's fancy for her, until
Jill said one day,
'I do like that dear Lady Betty, she is such a crisp little piece of
human goods; no one has properly unfolded her, or tested her good
qualities; she is quite new and fresh, a novelty in girls. One never
knows what she will say or do next: it is that that fascinates me, I
believe; because,' went on Jill, and her great eyes grew bright and
puzzled, 'it is not that she is clever; one gets to the bottom of her
at once; there is not enough depth to drown you.'
Jill did not take so readily to Gladys; she admired her, even liked her,
but frankly owned that she found her depressing. 'If I talk to her long,
I get a sort of ache over me,' she observed, in her graphic way. 'It is
not that she looks dreadfully unhappy, but that there is no happiness in
her face. Do you know what I mean? for I am apt to be vague. It rests me
to look at you, Ursula; there is something quiet and comfortable in your
expression; now, Miss Hamilton looks as though she had lost something she
values, or never had it, and must go on looking for it, like that poor
ghost lady who wanted to find her lost pearl.'
Jill never could be induced to say much in Mr. Hamilton's favour, though
he was very civil to her and paid her a great deal of attention. 'Oh,
him!' she would say contemptuously, if I ever hazarded an observation: 'I
never take much notice of odd-looking, ugly men: they may be clever, but
they are not in my line. Mr. Hamilton stares too much for my taste, and
I don't believe he is kind to his sisters; they are half afraid of him.'
And nothing would induce her to alter her opinion.
But Miss Darrell thoroughly amused her. Jill's shrewd, honest eyes were
hardly in fault there: she used to narrate with glee any little fact she
could glean about 'the lady with two faces,' as she used to call her.
'Oh, she is a deep one,' Jill would say. 'I could not understand her at
first. I thought she was just bright and talkative and good-natured, and
I thought it nice to sit and listen to her, and she was very kind, and
petted me a good deal, and I did not find her out at first.'
'Find her out! what do you mean, Jill?' I asked innocently.
'Why, that she is not good-natured a bit, really,' with a sagacious nod
of her head. 'She keeps a stock of smiles for Cousin Giles and any chance
visitor. She is not half so nice and charming when Miss Hamilton and Lady
Betty are alone with her. Oh, I heard her one day, when I was in the
conservatory with Lady Betty. Lady Betty held up her finger and said,
'Hush!' and there she was talking in such a disagreeable, sneering voice
to Miss Hamilton, only I stopped my ears and would not listen. And now
she has got used to me she says unpleasant little things before my face,
and then when "dear Cousin Giles" comes in'--and here Jill looked
wicked--'she is all sweetness and amiability, quite charming, in fact.
Now, that is what I hate, for a person to wear two faces, and have
different voices: it shows they are not true.'
'Well, perhaps you are right, dear'; for, without being uncharitable
to Miss Darrell, I wished to put Jill on her guard a little.
'I don't like the way she talks about you,' went on Jill indignantly.
'She always begins when we are alone; not exactly saying things so much
as implying them.'
'Indeed! What sort of things?' I asked carelessly.
'Oh, she is always hinting that it is rather odd for you to be living
alone; she calls you deliciously unconventional and strong-minded,
but I know what she means by that. Then she is so curious: she is always
trying to find out how often Mr. Cunliffe or Mr. Tudor comes to see you,
or if you go to the vicarage; and she said one day that she thought you
preferred gentlemen's society to ladies', as they could never induce you
to come up to Gladwyn, but of course you saw plenty of her cousin Giles
in the village.'
I felt my cheeks burn at this unwarrantable accusation, but Jill begged
me not to disturb myself.
'She won't make those sort of speeches to me again,' she said calmly.
'She had a piece of my mind then that will last her for a long time.'
'I hope you were not rude, Jill?'
'Oh no! I only flew into a passion, and asked her how she dared to imply
such a thing?--that my cousin Ursula was the best and the dearest woman
in the world, and that no one else could hold a candle to her. "Ursula
care for gentlemen's society!" I exclaimed: "why, at Hyde Park Gate we
never could get her to remain in the drawing-room when those stupid
officers were there: she never would talk to any of them, except old
Colonel Trevanion, who is nearly blind! You do not understand Ursula: she
is a perfect saint: she is the simplest, most unselfish, grandest-hearted
creature; and you make out that she is a silly flirt like Sara." And then
I had to hold my tongue, though I was as red as a turkey-cock, for there
was Mr. Hamilton staring at us both, and asking if I were in my senses,
and why I was quarrelling about my cousin, for of course my voice was as
gruff and cross as possible.'
'Oh, Jill!' I exclaimed, much distressed, 'how could you say such absurd
things?--you know I never like you to talk in this exaggerated fashion. A
saint, indeed! A pretty sort of saint Mr. Hamilton must think me!' for it
nettled me to think that he had ever heard Jill's ridiculous nonsense.
'Wait a moment, till I have finished: you are not too saintly to be cross
sometimes. I will tell him that, if you like. Well, when he said this
about quarrelling, Miss Darrell gave him one of her sweet smiles.
'"Nonsense, Giles, as though I mind what this dear foolish child says;
she is indulging in a panegyric on her cousin's virtues, because I said
she was a little masculine and strong-minded and rather looked down upon
us poor women. I have pressed her over and over again to spend an evening
with us, but she always puts us off. I am afraid we Gladwyn ladies are
not to her taste."
'"Don't be silly, Etta. Have I not told you poor old Elspeth is
dying?--Miss Garston will not leave her, you may be sure of that." And
then Mr. Hamilton said to me in quite a nice way,--oh, I did not dislike
him so much that evening,--"I daresay you misunderstand Etta. I assure
you we all think most highly of your cousin, and she will always be a
welcome guest here, and I hope you will induce her to come soon."
Wasn't it nice of him? Dear Etta did not dare to say another word.'
'Very nice, Jill; but indeed I do not want to hear any more of Miss
Darrell's speeches.' And I got up hastily and opened the piano to put
a stop to the conversation. Jill was always pleased when I would sing
to her, but somehow my voice was not quite in order that evening.
The next day Jill surprised me very much by asking me if I knew that Miss
Hamilton was going to Bournemouth for the rest of the winter.
'Mrs. Maberley has invited her, and Mr. Hamilton thinks it will do her so
much good: they are going early next week. She wants to see you, Ursula;
she says you have not met since Christmas. Could you go this afternoon?
Miss Darrell will be out.'
I considered for a moment, and then said yes, I would certainly go up to
Gladwyn. It made me feel a little dull to think Miss Hamilton was going
away; we had not exchanged a word since that Sunday evening, but I had
thought of her so much since then. My patients had engrossed my time, but
hardly my thoughts. Poor Elspeth was slowly dying, and I had to be
constantly with her. Marshall had not yet resumed work, but he was in
poor spirits from the loss of his wife, and could hardly be a comfort to
the poor creature. I put off my visit to Phoebe until the evening, and
walked up to Gladwyn with Jill; she and Lady Betty were going for a walk,
and were to have tea with the Maberleys. I learned afterwards that Mr.
Tudor met them quite accidentally about three miles from Heathfield, and
had accompanied them to Maplehurst, where he made himself so pleasant to
the old lady that he was pressed to remain. Oh, Mr. Tudor, I am afraid
you are not quite so artless as you look! I began to wish Aunt Philippa
would soon recall Jill.
I found Miss Hamilton alone, and she seemed very glad to see me; her fair
face quite flushed with pleasure when she saw me enter the drawing-room.
'I was afraid it was some stupid visitor,' she said frankly, 'when I
heard the door-bell ring. Did it trouble you to come? How tired you look!
there, you shall take Giles's chair,' putting me with gentle force in a
big blue-velvet chair that always stood by the fire; and then she took
off my wraps and unfastened my gloves, and made me feel how glad she was
to wait on me.
'You are going away,' I said, rather lugubriously, for I felt all at
once how I should miss her. She looked a little better and brighter, I
thought, or was it only temporary excitement?
'Yes,' she returned seriously, but not sadly, 'I think it will be better.
I am almost glad to go away, except that I shall not see you,' looking at
me affectionately.
'Oh, if you wish to go,' for I was so relieved to hear her say this.
'It is not that I wish it, exactly, but that I feel it will be better:
things are so uncomfortable just now, more than usual, I think. Etta
seems always worrying herself and me; sometimes I fancy that she wants
to get rid of me, that I am too troublesome,' with a faint smile. 'She
worries about my health and want of spirits. I suppose I am rather a
depressing element in the house, and, as I get rather tired of all this
fuss, I think it will be better to leave it behind for a little.'
'That sounds as though you were driven away from home, Miss Hamilton.'
'Miss Hamilton!' reproachfully; 'that is naughty, Ursula. I do not call
you Miss Garston.'
'Gladys, then.'
'Perhaps my restlessness is driving me away,' she returned sadly. 'I do
feel so restless without my work. I never minded Etta's fussiness so
much. I daresay she means it kindly, but it harasses me. I am one of
those reserved people who do not find it easy to talk of their feelings,
bodily or mental, except to a chosen few. You are one,--perhaps not the
only one.'
'Of course not,' for she hesitated. 'You do not suppose that I laid such
flattering unction to my soul?'
'Oh, but I could tell you anything,' she returned seriously. 'You seem to
draw out one's thoughts while one is thinking them. Yes, I am sorry to
leave you even for a few weeks; but, for many reasons, Giles is right,
and the change will be good for me.'
'If you will only come back looking better and brighter I will gladly let
you go.'
'I do not promise you that,' she answered quickly, 'unless you remove
the pressure of a very heavy burden; but I shall be quieter and more at
peace, and I am very fond of Colonel and Mrs. Maberley: they are dear
people, and they spoil me dreadfully.'
'I am thankful some one spoils you, Gladys.'
She smiled at that.
'Uncle Max is still away,' I observed, after a brief silence. 'He went to
Torquay to see an invalid friend, and he is still there. Mr. Tudor does
not expect him back until the end of next week.'
'Yes, I know,' she returned, in a low voice; 'but we shall be at
Bournemouth before then. Will you bid him good-bye for me, Ursula, and
say that I hope his visit has rested and refreshed him? He was not very
well, you told me.'
'No, but he is better now: he writes very cheerfully. Gladys, when you
come back you will be stronger, I hope. I really do hope you will resume
your work then; it will be far better for you to do so.'
'You cannot judge,' she said gently. 'I am afraid that I shall be unable
to do that.' And somehow her manner closed the subject; but I was
determined to make her speak on another subject.
'I want to tell you something that I think you ought to know,' I began,
rather abruptly. 'Mrs. Maberley spoke to me about your brother Eric.'
'Ursula!'
'I could not let you go away and not know this: it did not seem honest.
It has troubled me a great deal. Mrs. Maberley would tell me, and she
told it so nicely; and Mr. Hamilton is aware that I know, and I am afraid
he is not pleased about it.'
She put up her hands to her face for a moment, with a gesture full of
distress.
'I meant to tell you myself,' she said, in a stifled voice, 'but not now;
not until I felt stronger.'
'And now you will not have that pain, Gladys. I think you ought to be
relieved that some one else has told me.' But she shook her head.
'How do I know what they said? And Giles is aware of it, you say. Oh,
Ursula, for pity's sake, tell me, has he talked to you about Eric?'
'No, no, not in the way you mean: he only said that we must not judge or
misjudge other people. He seemed afraid that I should misjudge him.'
'Oh, I am thankful to know that. I could not bear to have the poor boy
discussed between you two. Giles would have made you believe everything,
he has such a way with him, and you would not know any better. Oh,
Ursula,' in a piteous voice, 'you must not listen to them; they are all
so hard on my poor darling. Faulty as he was, he was innocent of the
crime laid to his charge; they have accused him falsely. Eric never
took that cheque.'
I could see she was strongly agitated. Her delicate throat swelled with
emotion, and she took hold of my hands and held them tightly, and her
large blue-gray eyes were fixed on my face with such a beseeching
expression that I could have promised to believe anything. And yet she
was right. Mr. Hamilton had a way with him that influenced people
strongly; he could speak with a power and authority that seemed to
dominate one in spite of one's self. It has always appeared to me that we
poor women are easily silenced and subjugated by a strong masculine will.
It is difficult to assert a timid individuality in the presence of a
regnant force.
I answered her as gently as I could. 'Dear Gladys, you will make yourself
ill. Will it give you any relief to speak out? I will listen to anything
you have to say.'
She drew a deep breath, and the colour ebbed back into her face.
'Perhaps it may be a relief: I am weary of silence,--of trying to bear
it alone; and other things are wearing me out. Etta is not so far wrong,
after all.' And then she stopped, and looked at me wistfully, and her
lips trembled. 'Ursula, you are a nurse; you go about comforting sick
bodies and sick minds. If I am ill,--one must be ill sometimes,--will you
promise to come and take care of me, in spite of all Etta may do or say?'
I hesitated for a moment, for it seemed to me impossible to give an
unconditional promise, but she continued reproachfully, 'You cannot have
the heart to refuse! I wanted to ask you this before. You would not,
surely, leave me to eat out my heart in this loneliness! If you knew what
it is to have Etta with one at such times! an east wind would be more
merciful and comforting. I know I am expressing myself far too strongly,
but all this excites me. Do promise me this, Ursula. Giles will not
hinder you coming: he appreciates you thoroughly: it will only be Etta
who may try to oppose you.'
Gladys was right; I had not the heart to refuse: so I gave her the
required promise, and she grew calmed at once.
'Now that is settled, I can breathe more freely,' she said presently.
'I am afraid I am growing fanciful, but lately I have had such a horror
of being ill. Giles would be kind, I know,--he is always kind in
illness,--but he lets Etta influence him. Ursula, she influenced him and
turned him against my poor boy; with all Giles's faults,--and he can be
very hard and stern and unforgiving,--I am sure that of his own accord he
would never have been so harsh to Eric.'
'But Mrs. Maberley told me that Miss Darrell took your brother Eric's
part.'
'Yes, I know, she believes in Etta, and so does Giles; but she is not
true; she has a dangerous way of implying blame when she is apparently
praising a person: have you never noticed this? Giles was always more
angry with Eric after Etta had been into the study to intercede for him.
If she would only have let him alone; but that is not Etta's way: she
must make or mar people's lives.'
There was a concentrated bitterness in Gladys's voice, and her face grew
stern.
'There was no love between them. Eric detested Etta, and on her side I
know she disliked him. Eric never would tell me the reason; he was always
hinting that he had found her out, and that she knew it, and that in
consequence she wanted to get rid of him; but I thought it was all fancy
on the poor boy's part, and I used to laugh at him. I wish I had not
laughed now, for there was doubtless truth in what he said.'
'You were very fond of him, Gladys?' I asked softly, and as I spoke her
face changed, and its expression grew soft and loving in a moment.
'Love him? he was everything to me: he was my twin, you know,--and so
beautiful. Oh, I never saw a man's face so beautiful as his; he had such
bright ways, too, and such a ringing laugh,--I wake up sometimes and
fancy I hear it; and then came his whistle and light footstep springing
up the stairs; but it is only a part of my dream.' She sighed, and went
on: 'He was so fond of me, and used to tell me everything, and he was
never cross to me, however put out and miserable he was; and I know they
made him very miserable. Giles was so strict with him, and would not give
him any liberty, and when Eric rebelled he was cruel to him.'
'Oh, not cruel, surely!' I could not help the involuntary exclamation.
I thought Gladys looked at me a little strangely before she answered:
'It seemed cruel to us; he was very harsh,--oh, terribly harsh; but I
think--nay, I am sure--he has repented of his hardness. I was slow to
forgive him: perhaps it would be more true to say I have not wholly
forgiven him yet; but I know now that he has suffered, that he would undo
a great deal of the past if he could, and this makes me more merciful.
Sometimes in my heart I feel quite sorry for Giles.'