A CHANGE.
As soon as Letty had strength enough to attend to her baby without
help, Mary, to the surprise of her mistress, and the destruction of her
theory concerning her stay in London, presented herself at Durnmelling,
found that she was more welcome than looked for, and the same hour
resumed her duties about Hesper.
It was with curiously mingled feelings that she gazed from her window
on the chimneys of Thornwick. How much had come to her since first, in
the summer-seat at the end of the yew-hedge, Mr. Wardour opened to her
the door of literature! It was now autumn, and the woods, to get young
again, were dying their yearly death. For the moment she felt as if
she, too, had begun to grow old. Ministration had tired her a
little--but, oh! how different its weariness from that which came of
labor amid obstruction and insult! Her heart beat a little slower,
perhaps, but she could now be sad without losing a jot of hope. Nay,
rather, the least approach of sadness would begin at once to wake her
hope. She regretted nothing that had come, nothing that had gone. She
believed more and more that not anything worth having is ever lost;
that even the most evanescent shades of feeling are safe for those who
grow after their true nature, toward that for which they were made--in
other and higher words, after the will of God.
But she did for a moment taste some bitterness in her cup, when, one
day, on the footpath of Testbridge, near the place where, that
memorable Sunday, she met Mr. Wardour, she met him again, and, looking
at her, and plainly recognizing her, he passed without salutation. Like
a sudden wave the blood rose to her face, and then sank to the deeps of
her heart; and from somewhere came the conviction that one day the
destiny of Godfrey Wardour would be in her hands: he had done more for
her than any but her father; and, when that day was come, he should not
find her fail him!
She was then on her way to the shop. She did not at all relish entering
it, but, as she had a large money-interest in the business; she ought
at least, she said to herself, to pay the place a visit. When she went
in, Turnbull did not at first recognize her, and, taking her for a
customer, blossomed into repulsive suavity. The change that came over
his countenance, when he knew her, was a shadow of such mingled and
conflicting shades that she felt there was something peculiar in it
which she must attempt to analyze. It remained hardly a moment to
encounter question, but was almost immediately replaced with a
politeness evidently false. Then, first, she began to be aware of
distrusting the man.
Asking a few questions about the business, to which he gave answers
most satisfactory, she kept casting her eyes about the shop, unable to
account for the impression the look of it made upon her. Either her
eyes had formed for themselves another scale, and could no more rightly
judge between past and present, or the aspect of the place was
different, and not so satisfactory. Was there less in it? she asked
herself--or was it only not so well kept as when she left it? She could
not tell. Neither could she understand the profound but distant
consideration with which Mr. Turnbull endeavored to behave to her,
treating her like a stranger to whom he must, against his inclination,
manifest all possible respect, while he did not invite her even to call
at _the villa._ She bought a pair of gloves of the young woman who
seemed to occupy her place, paid for them, and left the shop without
speaking to any one else. All the time, George was standing behind the
opposite counter, staring at her; but, much to her relief, he showed no
other sign of recognition.
Before she went to find Beenie, who was still at Testbridge, in a
cottage of her own, she felt she must think over these things, and
come, if possible, to some conclusion about them. She left the town,
therefore, and walked homeward.
What did it all mean? She knew very well they must look down on her ten
times more than ever, because of the _menial_ position in which she had
placed herself, sinking thereby beyond all pretense to be regarded as
their equal. But, if that was what the man's behavior meant, why was he
so studiously--not so much polite as respectful? That did not use to be
Mr. Turnbull's way where he looked down upon one. And, then, what did
the shadow preceding this behavior mean? Was there not in it something
more than annoyance at the sight of her? It was with an effort he
dismissed it! She had never seen that look upon him!
Then there was the impression the shop made on her! Was there anything
in that? Somehow it certainly seemed to have a shabby look! Was it
possible anything was wrong or going wrong with the concern? Her father
had always spoken with great respect of Mr. Turnbull's business
faculties, but she knew he had never troubled himself to, look into the
books or know how they stood with the bank. She knew also that Mr.
Turnbull was greedy after money, and that his wife was ambitious, and
hated the business. But, if he wanted to be out of it, would he not
naturally keep it up to the best, at least in appearance, that he might
part with his share in it to the better advantage?
She turned, and, walking back to the town, sought Beenie.
The old woman being naturally a gossip, Mary was hardly seated before
she began to pour out the talk of the town, in which came presently
certain rumors concerning Mr. Turnbull--mainly hints at speculation and
loss.
The result was that Mary went from Beenie to the lawyer in whose care
her father had left his affairs. He was an old man, and had been ill;
had no suspicion of anything being wrong, but would look into the
matter at once. She went home, and troubled herself no more.
She had been at Durnmelling but a few days, when Mr. Redmain, wishing
to see how things were on his estate in Cornwall, and making up his
mind to run down, carelessly asked his wife if she would accompany him:
it would be only for a few days, he said; but a breeze or two from the
Atlantic would improve her complexion. This was gracious; but he was
always more polite in the company of Lady Margaret, who continued to
show him the kindness no one else dared or was inclined to do. For some
years he had suffered increasingly from recurrent attacks of the
disease to which I have already referred; and, whatever might be the
motive of his mother-in-law's behavior, certainly, in those attacks, it
was a comfort to him to be near her. On such occasions in London, his
sole attendant was his man Mewks.
Mary was delighted to see more of her country. She had traveled very
little, but was capable of gathering ten times more from a journey to
Cornwall than most travelers from one through Switzerland itself. The
place to which they went was lonely and lovely, and Mary, for the first
few days, enjoyed it unspeakably.
But then, suddenly, as was not unusual, Mr. Redmain was taken ill. For
some reason or other, he had sent his man to London, and the only other
they had with them, besides the coachman, was useless in such a need,
while the housekeeper who lived at the place was nearly decrepit; so
that of the household Mary alone was capable of fit attendance in the
sickroom. Hesper shrunk, almost with horror, certainly with disgust,
from the idea of having anything to do with her husband as an invalid.
When she had the choice of her company, she said, she would not choose
his. Mewks was sent for at once, but did not arrive before the patient
had had some experience of Mary's tendance; nor, after he came, was she
altogether without opportunity of ministering to him. The attack was a
long and severe one, delaying for many weeks their return to London,
where Mr. Redmain declared he must be, at any risk, before the end of
November.