People said that Lady Gernon had benefited by the change--that Italy
could not have agreed with her--for day by day she seemed to be casting
off the dull, heavy languor that oppressed her. There was still a quiet
sadness pervading every movement; but Sir Murray, without hearing
people's remarks, noted for himself that she took more interest in the
affairs of daily life: in place of disliking company, she now gladly met
his wishes, concerning dinner or breakfast party. In fact, there was a
complete change; but it gave no pleasure to her husband, for he watched
her with jaundiced eyes, saying nothing, but followed her every movement
uneasily. Even the apparent increase of affection she displayed towards
him was distasteful; and he grew in private moody and dissatisfied. But
only in private, for he told himself that he had a duty to perform--one
which demanded all watchfulness and care, and sternly he set himself to
that duty.
The intimacy with the Nortons grew daily more close, and they dined
several times at the Castle, the old warm affection between the two
cousins growing stronger than ever. Both Lady Gernon and Mrs Norton
viewed with satisfaction the quiet, unobtrusive courtesy of Sir Murray;
while Captain Norton grew more and more dreamy, just waking up into an
animated smile when spoken to, and joining for a few minutes in the
conversation; but only to subside again directly after.
No stranger could have imagined that there had ever been more than the
simplest of friendly ties between the families, and Sir Murray Gernon
again and again owned to himself that his wife's conduct was
unimpeachable; but, at the same time, it troubled him, that from the day
of the visit to the Hall, and Lady Gernon's unconcealed efforts to
obtain a few words with her old lover in private, she had been an
altered woman; and he felt that it was not on his account, else why had
not the change come during the past five years. It troubled him, too,
that there was nothing that he could complain of; and, as he sat one day
in his library, thoughtfully brooding, he passed over in review the
conduct of those in whom he was most interested. Captain Norton called
but seldom, and then with his wife; he was absent, too, a great deal,
report said, at the iron mines; and when at the Castle his attentions to
Lady Gernon were always of the most formal nature, while, after
rendering the duties incumbent on her towards her guest, Lady Gernon
seemed to avoid him. Mrs Norton was evidently much attached to her
cousin, while Lady Gernon--yes, there was the knot: Lady Gernon was
another woman, growing daily brighter and more elate, while his spirit
refused to let him believe that it was all due to the change of scene
and return to the society of parents and friends.
But he wanted some clue. He was, he told himself, wandering in the
dark, for, musing upon imaginary wrong, he had grown into the belief
that there was a plot against his happiness--that there were matters in
progress that perhaps all but Mrs Norton and himself saw and mocked at.
He was too proud to ask confidence, while a hint from any one would
have been repulsed with indignation. He knew that others remarked the
change in his wife; frequently, in fact, he had grimly thanked friends
who had congratulated him. But all his brooding resulted in nothing,
and at the end of six months he was soured and angry to find that his
labours had been in vain. At times, he almost resented the gentle
advances of Marion, telling himself that they were not genuine, but used
as a blind; and often and often Lady Gernon went in tears to the Hall to
ask her cousin's sympathy--an act which only widened the breach daily
growing between husband and wife. And this, too, at a time when Lady
Gernon's heart had begun to leap with new hopes--hopes of that happiness
which she had envied in others; when the world gave promise to her of a
happier future, with fresh cares and interests; so that, even now that
this hopeful state lent brightness to her eye, and colour to her cheek,
she had new cause for sorrow in her husband's coldness.
Sir Murray Gernon persuaded himself that his suspicions merely wanted
confirmation, and, waiting that confirmation, he shut himself up, as it
were, within his cold, proud hauteur, and waited--waited, for he would
not stir an inch to find proof of his suspicions; it should come to him,
and blankly stare him in the face before he would take step or speak
word; and so the months glided on at the Castle, company coming and
going, parties following one another rapidly, and Sir Murray Gernon a
very pattern of courtly politeness to all. His greatest intimates
congratulated him upon his domestic happiness, and he smiled his thanks,
and then subsided again into his saturnine gloom, waiting--waiting for
what he told himself would some day come.
There was to be a grand party at the Castle, at Sir Murray's wish, on
the anniversary of the marriage. The idea had proceeded from Mrs
Elstree, during a visit to the Rectory, and Sir Murray had immediately
taken it up, though, upon receiving a meaning glance from the Rector,
who had seen a shadow cross his daughter's brow, the proposer would
gladly have recalled her words.
Great preparations were in progress; but after making his decree that
there should be a grand affair, one that should do honour to his name,
Sir Murray Gernon took no further interest in the matter.
He was seated, as was his wont, one morning in his library, turning over
his letters, and thoughtfully brooding over his wrongs. It was cruel,
he said, that he, rich, powerful, and well endowed by nature, should
suffer in this way. But he could wait; and he turned to think of what
he should do to drive away the ennui which oppressed him. Suddenly a
thought came, and ringing sharply, the summons was answered by a
footman.
"Send Gurdon here," said the baronet; and then, adopting his most
magisterial air, he sat waiting the coming of the butler, upon whom the
thunders of his wrath were about to descend.
Mr Gurdon, rather red of nose and pasty of face, soon appeared, wearing
on the whole rather a limp expression. But John Gurdon had not improved
in appearance; prosperity had not agreed with him. He said that it was
his digestion; but Jane Barker--Mrs Barker now, my lady's maid--shook
her head at him and sighed, as she thought of the smart young fellow who
used to come courting her at the Rectory, laughingly telling her that
he'd caught the complaint of his master.
"I think, Gurdon," said Sir Murray, "that this is the third time that I
have sent for you into the library."
"Yes--yes, Sir Murray," said Gurdon, with a cough behind his hand.
"It is the last time, then. But for your being an old servant, and son
of an old tenant of my late father, I should discharge you at once!"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't, Sir Murray," said the man piteously. "It
shall never occur again; it shan't, indeed!"
"You had been drinking again, last night!"
"Only the least drop, Sir Murray--the least drop. I was a little out of
order yesterday."
"And you were not fit to come before her ladyship, in the drawing-room?"
"Perhaps not quite, Sir Murray--not quite; but--but--"
"And mind this is the last time. No servant of mine shall be a disgrace
to my establishment."
"I humbly beg your pardon, Sir Murray, I do, indeed; and it shall never
occur again, it shan't, indeed. I know your ways, Sir Murray, and I
should die, if you was to turn me off. Please look over it this once."
"I have looked over it, Gurdon, or I should have given you your wages
when you entered the room. Now go and ask her ladyship if she can see
me for a few minutes."
"Her ladyship isn't in, Sir Murray."
"Not in?"
"No, Sir Murray; I wanted to see her about the blue-room chandelier, and
went up, but she was not there; and Barker said, sir, she had just put
on her things and gone out."
"Did she order the pony-carriage?"
"No, Sir Murray; her ladyship often goes out walking."
In spite of himself, Sir Murray Gernon started; for after months of
waiting, it seemed to come to him with a sudden light flashing in upon
his mind that he had found that which he had sought. He looked up the
next moment in his servant's face, trembling for his pride. Did that
sallow, shivering creature who took his pay, and who had been trembling
for fear of his frown, read his thoughts? Did he share his suspicions?
For a moment, as he caught his eye, Sir Murray felt as if he could
strangle him. It seemed to him that this man would henceforth possess a
hold upon him, and assert himself upon the strength of his knowledge.
The baronet could hardly arrest a groan; but he sat there, stern and
immovable, fighting behind his mask of pride, to regain his composure
before again speaking.
"Let me know when her ladyship comes in--at least," he said, correcting
himself, "ask her if she will see me upon her return."
"Yes, Sir Murray."
"That will do. You can go," said the baronet, for the man still
lingered as if about to speak; but the next moment he made a low bow and
left the room.
As the door closed upon the servant, the strength which had been
sustained by Sir Murray's pride collapsed, and letting his head fall
upon his hands, he groaned bitterly. The lines in his face grew more
deeply marked; his lips became parched; and at last he rose from his
seat to pace the room with hasty strides, as he turned over and over the
thoughts that had flashed upon him.
Yes, she was often out; her old passion for botany had returned, and, it
had never struck him before, she did take long, very long walks. And
now it was all plain enough: he was the laughing-stock even of his
servants--he had read it in that man's eye. True, he might dismiss him,
but it was sure to be known throughout the house. But wait awhile; he
would not be rash and hasty; he would think matters over.
He smiled as he took his seat once more, but the smile faded into a look
of the most bitter misery, and, as he sat there hour after hour awaiting
Lady Gernon's return, years seemed to have passed over his head, and not
without leaving their marks.
Book 1, Chapter XIV.