A Truant
Since for your pleasure you came here,
You shall go back for mine.--COWPER
"How like Dunstone you have made this room!" said Raymond, entering
his wife's apartment with a compliment that he knew would be
appreciated.
Cecil turned round from her piano, to smile and say, "I wish papa
could see it."
"I hope he will next spring; but he will hardly bring Mrs. Charnock
home this winter. I am afraid you are a good deal alone here,
Cecil. Is there no one you would like to ask?"
"The Venns," suggested Cecil; "only we do not like them to leave
home when we are away; but perhaps they would come."
Raymond could not look as if the proposal were a very pleasing one.
"Have you no young-lady friends?" he asked.
"We never thought it expedient to have intimacies in the
neighbourhood," said Cecil.
"Well, we shall have Jenny Bowater here in a week or two."
"I thought she was your mother's friend."
"So she is. She is quite young enough to be yours."
"I do not see anything remarkable about her."
"No, I suppose there is not; but she is a very sensible superior
person."
"Indeed! In that commonplace family."
"Poor Jenny has had an episode that removes her from the
commonplace. Did you ever hear of poor Archie Douglas?"
"Was not he a good-for-nothing relation of your mother?"
"Not that exactly. He was the son of a good-for-nothing, I grant,
whom a favourite cousin had unfortunately married, but he was an
excellent fellow himself; and when his father died, she had Mrs.
Douglas to live in that cottage by the Rectory, and sent the boy to
school with us; then she got him into Proudfoot's office--the
solicitor at Backsworth, agent for everybody's estates hereabouts.
Well, there arose an attachment between him and Jenny; the Bowaters
did not much like it, of course; but they are kind-hearted and good-
natured, and gave consent, provided Archie got on in his profession.
It was just at the time when poor Tom Vivian was exercising a great
deal more influence than was good among the young men in the
neighbourhood; and George Proudfoot was rather a joke for imitating
him in every respect--from the colour of his dog-cart to the curl of
his dog's tail. I remember his laying a wager, and winning it too,
that if he rode a donkey with his face to the tail, Proudfoot would
do the same; but then, Vivian did everything with a grace and
originality."
"Like his sister."
"And doubly dangerous. Every one liked him, and we were all more
together than was prudent. At last, two thousand pounds of my
mother's money, which was passing through the Proudfoots' hands,
disappeared; and at the same time poor Archie fled. No one who knew
him could have any reasonable doubt that he did but bear the blame
of some one else's guilt, most likely that of George Proudfoot; but
he died a year or two back without a word, and no proof has ever
been found; and alas! the week after Archie sailed, we saw his name
in the list of sufferers in a vessel that was burnt. His mother
happily had died before all this, but there were plenty to grieve
bitterly for him; and poor Jenny has been the more like one of
ourselves in consequence. He had left a note for Jenny, and she
always trusted him; and we all of us believe that he was innocent."
"I can't think how a person can go about as usual, or ever get over
such a thing as that."
"Perhaps she hasn't," said Raymond, with a little colour on his
brown cheek. "But I'm afraid I can't make those visits with you to-
day. I am wanted to see the plans for the new town-hall at
Wil'sbro'. Will you pick me up there?"
"There would be sure to be a dreadful long waiting, so I will
luncheon at Sirenwood instead; Lady Tyrrell asked me to come over
any day."
"Alone? I think you had better wait for me."
"I can take Frank."
"I should prefer a regular invitation to us both."
"She did not mean to make a formal affair."
"Forms are a protection, and I do not wish for an intimacy there,
especially on Frank's account."
"It would be an excellent match for Frank."
"Indeed, no; the estate is terribly involved, and there are three
daughters; besides which, the family would despise a younger son.
An attachment could only lead to unhappiness now, besides the
positive harm of unsettling him. His tutor tells me that as it is
he is very uneasy about his examination--his mind is evidently
preoccupied. No, no, Cecil, don't make the intercourse
unnecessarily close. The Vivians have not behaved well to my
mother, and it is not desirable to begin a renewal. But you shall
not lose your ride, Cecil; I'll ask one of the boys to go with you
to the Beeches, and perhaps I shall meet you there."
"He talks of my lonely life," said Cecil, to herself, "and yet he
wants to keep me from the only person who really understands me, all
for some rancorous old prejudice of Mrs. Poynsett's. It is very
hard. There's no one in the house to make a friend of--Rosamond, a
mere garrison belle; and Anne, bornee and half a dissenter; and as
soon as I try to make a friend, I am tyrannized over, and this Miss
Bowater thrust on me."
She was pounding these sentiments into a sonata with great energy,
when her door re-opened, and Raymond again appeared. "I am looking
for two books of Mudie's. Do you know where they can be? I can't
make up the number."
"They are here," said Cecil; "Lanfrey's Vie de Napoleon; but I have
not finished them."
"The box should have gone ten days ago. My mother has nothing to
read, and has been waiting all this time for the next part of
Middlemarch," said Raymond.
"She said there was no hurry," murmured Cecil.
"No doubt she did; but we must not take advantage of her
consideration. Reading is her one great resource, and we must so
contrive that your studies shall not interfere with it."
He waited for some word of regret, but none came; and he was obliged
to add, "I must deprive you of the books for the present, for she
must not be kept waiting any longer; but I will see about getting
them for you in some other way. I must take the box to the station
in the dog-cart." He went without a word from her. It was an
entirely new light to her that her self-improvement could possibly
be otherwise than the first object with everyone. At home, father
and mother told one another complacently what Cecil was reading, and
never dreamt of obstructing the virtuous action. Were her studies
to be sacrificed to an old woman's taste for novels?
Cecil had that pertinacity of nature that is stimulated to
resistance by opposition; and she thought of the Egyptian campaign,
and her desire to understand the siege of Acre. Then she
recollected that Miss Vivian had spoken of reading the book, and
this decided her. "I'll go to Sirenwood, look at it, and order it.
No one can expect me to submit to have no friends abroad nor books
at home. Besides, it is all some foolish old family feud; and what
a noble thing it will be for my resolution and independence to force
the two parties to heal the breach, and bridge it over by giving
Miss Vivian to Frank."
In this mood she rang the bell, and ordered her horses; not however
till she had reason to believe the dog-cart on the way down the
avenue. As she came down in her habit, she was met by Frank,
returning from his tutor.
"Have I made a mistake, Cecil! I thought we were to go out together
this afternoon!"
"Yes; but Raymond was wanted at Willansborough, and I am going to
lunch at Sirenwood. I want to borrow a book."
"Oh, very well, I'll come, if you don't mind. Sir Harry asked me to
drop in and look at his dogs."
This was irresistible; and Frank decided on riding the groom's
horse, and leaving him to conduct Anne to the rendezvous in the
afternoon--for Charlie had been at Sandhurst for the last week--
running in first to impart the change of scheme to her, as she was
performing her daily task of reading to his mother.
He did so thus: "I say, Anne, Cecil wants to go to Sirenwood first
to get a book, so Lee will bring you to meet us at the Beeches at
2.30."
"Are you going to luncheon at Sirenwood?" asked Mrs. Poynsett.
"Yes; Cecil wants to go," said the dutiful younger brother.
"I wish you would ask Cecil to come in. Raymond put himself into
such a state of mind at finding me reading Madame de Sevigne, that I
am afraid he carried off her books summarily, though I told him I
was glad of a little space for my old favourites."
Cecil was, however, mounted by the time Frank came out, and they
cantered away together, reaching the portico of Sirenwood in about
twenty minutes.
Cecil had never been in the house before, having only left her card,
though she had often met the sisters. She found herself in a
carpeted hall, like a supplementary sitting-room, where two
gentlemen had been leaning over the wide hearth. One, a handsome
benignant-looking old man, with a ruddy face and abundant white
whiskers, came forward with a hearty greeting. "Ah! young Mrs.
Poynsett! Delighted to see you!--Frank Charnock, you're come in
good time; we are just going down to see the puppies before
luncheon. Only I'll take Mrs. Poynsett to the ladies first.
Duncombe, you don't know Mrs. Raymond Poynsett--one must not say
senior bride, but the senior's bride. Is that right?"
"No papa," said a bright voice from the stairs, "you haven't it at
all right; Mrs. Charnock Poynsett, if you please--isn't it?"
"I believe so," replied Cecil. "Charnock always seems my right
name."
"And you have all the right to retain it that Mrs. Poynsett had to
keep hers," said Lady Tyrrell, as they went up-stairs to her
bedroom. "How is she?"
"As usual, thank you; always on the sofa."
"But managing everything from it?"
"Oh, yes."
"Never was there such a set of devoted sons, models for the
neighbourhood."
Cecil felt a sense of something chiming in with her sources of
vexation, but she only answered, "They are passionately fond of
her."
"Talk of despotism! Commend me to an invalid! Ah! how delightfully
you contrive to keep your hair in order! I am always scolding
Lenore for coming in dishevelled, and you look so fresh and compact!
Here is my sanctum. You'll find Mrs. Duncombe there. She drove
over in the drag with her husband on their way to Backsworth. I am
so glad you came, there is so much to talk over."
"If our gentlemen will give us time," said Mrs. Duncombe; "but I am
afraid your senator will not be as much absorbed in the dogs as my
captain."
"I did not come with my husband," said Cecil; "he is gone to
Willansborough to meet the architect."
"Ah, about the new buildings. I do hope and trust the opportunity
will not be wasted, and that the drainage will be provided for."
"You are longing to have a voice there," said Lady Tyrrell,
laughing.
"I am. It is pre-eminently a woman's question, and this is a great
opportunity. I shall talk to every one. Little Pettitt, the hair-
dresser, has some ground there, and he is the most intelligent of
the tradesmen. I gave him one of those excellent little hand-bills,
put forth by the Social Science Committee, on sanitary arrangements.
I thought of asking you to join us in ordering some down, and never
letting a woman leave our work-room without one."
"You couldn't do better, I am sure," said Lady Tyrrell; "only,
what's the use of preaching to the poor creatures to live in good
houses, when their landlords won't build them, and they must live
somewhere?"
"Make them coerce the landlords," said Mrs. Duncombe; "that's the
only way. Upheave the masses from beneath."
"But that's an earthquake," said Cecil.
"Earthquakes are sometimes wholesome."
"But the process is not so agreeable that we had not rather avert
it," said Lady Tyrrell.
"All ours at Dunstone are model cottages," said Cecil; "it is my
father's great hobby."
"Squires' hobbies are generally like the silver trough the lady gave
her sow," said Mrs. Duncombe; "they come before the poor are
prepared, and with a spice of the autocrat."
"Come, I won't have you shock Mrs. Charnock Poynsett," said Lady
Tyrrell. "You illogical woman! The poor are to demand better
houses, and the squires are not to build them!"
"The poor are to be fitly housed, as a matter of right, and from
their own sense of self-respect," returned Mrs. Duncombe; "not a few
favourites, who will endure dictation, picked out for the model
cottage. It is the hobby system against which I protest."
"Without quite knowing what was conveyed by it in this instance?"
said Lady Tyrrell. "I am sure there is nothing I wish more than
that we had any power of improvement of the cottages here; but
influence is our only weapon."
"By the bye, Mrs. Poynsett," continued Mrs. Duncombe, "will you give
a hint to Mrs. Miles Charnock that it will never do to preach to the
women at the working-room? I don't mean holding forth," she added,
seeing Cecil's look of amazement; "but improving the occasion,
talking piously, giving tracts, and so forth."
"I thought you gave sanitary tracts!" said Lady Tyrrell.
"That is quite different."
"I doubt whether the women would see the distinction. A little book
_is_ a tract to them."
"I would abstain rather than let our work get a goody reputation for
indoctrinating sectarianism. It would be all up with us; we might
as well keep a charity school."
"I don't think the women dislike it," said Cecil.
"Most likely they think it the correct thing, the grain which they
must swallow with our benefits; but for that very reason it injures
the whole tone, and prevents them learning independence. Put it in
that light; I know you can."
"I don't think Anne would understand," said Cecil, somewhat
flattered.
"I doubt whether there are three women in the neighbourhood who
would," said Lady Tyrrell.
"People always think charity--how I hate the word!--a means of
forcing their own tenets down the throats of the poor," said Mrs.
Duncombe. "And certainly this neighbourhood is as narrow as any I
ever saw. Nobody but you and--shall I say the present company?--has
any ideas. I wonder how they will receive Clio Tallboys and her
husband?"
"Ah! you have not heard about them," said Lady Tyrrell. "Most
delightful people, whom Mrs. Duncombe met on the Righi. He is a
Cambridge professor."
"Taillebois--I don't remember the name," said Cecil, "and we know a
great many Cambridge men. We went to a Commencement there."
"Oh, not Cambridge on the Cam! the American Cambridge," said Mrs.
Duncombe. "He is a quiet, inoffensive man, great on political
economy; but his wife is the character. Wonderfully brilliant and
original, and such a lecturer!"
"Ladies' lectures _would_ startle the natives," said Lady Tyrrell.
"Besides, the town-hall is lacking," said Mrs. Duncombe; "but when
the Tallboys come we might arrange a succession of soirees, where
she might gather her audience."
"But where?" said Lady Tyrrell. "It would be great fun, and you
might reckon on me; but where else? Mrs. Charnock Poynsett has to
think of la belle mere."
"She has given up the management of all matters of society to me,"
said Cecil with dignity; "you may reckon on me."
"No hope of the Bowaters, of course," said Mrs. Duncombe.
"Miss Bowater is coming to stay with us," volunteered Cecil.
"To be near that unlucky Life Guardsman manque," said Mrs. Duncombe.
"Come, I'll not have honest Herbert abused," said the other lady.
"He is the only one of the Bowaters who has any go in him."
"More's the pity, if he can't use it. Is his sister coming to help
the Reverend Julius to drill him?"
"On Mrs. Poynsett's account too, I fancy," said Lady Tyrrell; "Jenny
Bowater is her amateur companion. Indeed, I believe it was no
slight disappointment that her sons' appreciation did not quite
reach the pitch of the mother's."
"Indeed!" asked Mrs. Duncombe; "I thought there had been a foolish
affair with poor young Douglas."
"Cela n'empeche pas. By the bye, have you finished Fleurange?"
"Oh, you are quite welcome to it. It is quite as goody as an
English tale in one volume."
This opened the way to Cecil's desire to borrow Lanfrey, not
concealing the reason why; and she was gratified by the full
sympathy of both ladies, who invited her in self-defence to join in
their subscription to Rolandi, to which she eagerly agreed, and
would have paid her subscription at once if there had not been a
term to be finished off first.
The gong summoned them to luncheon, and likewise brought down Miss
Vivian, who shook hands rather stiffly, and wore a cold, grave
manner that did not sit badly on her handsome classical features.
The countenance was very fine, but of the style to which early youth
is less favourable than a more mature development; and she was less
universally admired than was her sister. Her dress was a dark
maroon merino, hanging in simple, long, straight folds, and there
was as little distortion in her coiffure as the most moderate
compliance with fashion permitted; and this, with a high-bred,
distinguished deportment, gave an air almost of stern severity.
This deepened rather than relaxed at the greeting from Frank--who,
poor fellow! had an uncontrollably wistful eager look in his face, a
sort of shy entreaty, and was under an incapacity of keeping up a
conversation with anybody else, while trying to catch the least word
of hers.
She, however, seemed to have more eyes and ears for her father than
for any one else, and he evidently viewed her as the darling and
treasure of his life. His first question, after performing the
duties of a host, was, "Well, my little Lenore, what have you been
doing?"
"The old story, papa," raising her clear, sweet voice to reach his
rather deaf ears.
"Got on with your drawing?--The child is competing with a club, you
must know."
"Not exactly, papa: it is only a little society that was set on
foot at Rockpier to help us to improve ourselves."
"What is your subject this month?" Frank asked.
"A branch of blackberries," she answered briefly.
"Ah!" said Lady Tyrrell, "I saw your pupil bringing in a delicious
festoon--all black and red fruit and crimson and purple leaves. He
is really a boy of taste; I think he will do you credit."
"The new Joshua Reynolds," said Frank, glad of an excuse to turn
towards Eleonora. "Rosamond mentioned her discovery."
"You might have seen him just now figuring as Buttons," said Lady
Tyrrell. "Degradation of art, is it not? But it was the only way
to save it. Lenore is teaching him; and if his talent prove worth
it we may do something with him. Any way, the produce of native
genius will be grand material for the bazaar."
"Card-board prettinesses!" said Mrs. Duncombe; "you spoil him with
them; but that you'll do any way--make him fit for nothing but a
flunkey."
"Unappreciated zeal!" said Lady Tyrrell, glancing at her sister, who
flushed a little, and looked the more grave.
"Eh, Lenore," said her father, "wasn't it to please you that Camilla
made me take your pet to make havoc of my glasses?"
"You meant it so, dear papa," said Eleonora, calling up a smile that
satisfied the old gentleman. "It was very kind in you."
Fresh subjects were started, and on all the talk was lively and
pleasant, and fascinated Cecil, not from any reminiscence of
Dunstone--for indeed nothing could be more unlike the tone that
prevailed there: but because it was so different from that of
Compton Poynsett, drifting on so unrestrainedly, and touching so
lightly on all topics.
By the close of the meal, rain had set in, evidently for the
afternoon. Frank offered to ride home, and send the carriage for
Cecil; but the Duncombes proposed to take her and drop her at home;
and to this she consented, rather to Frank's dismay, as he thought
of their coach appearing at his mother's door.
Lady Tyrrell took her up to resume her hat; and on the way, moved by
distaste to her double surname, and drawn on by a fresh access of
intimacy, she begged to be called Cecil--a privilege of which she
had been chary even in her maiden days; but the caressing manner had
won her heart, and spirit of opposition to the discouragement at
home did the rest.
The request was reciprocated with that pensive look which was so
touching. "I used to be Camilla to all the neighbourhood, and here
I find myself--miles'--no, leagues further off--banished to
Siberia."
"How unjust and unkind!" cried Cecil.
"My dear, you have yet to learn the gentle uncharitableness of
prejudice. It is the prevailing notion that my married life was a
career of dissipation. Ah! if they only knew!"
"The drag is round," said Mrs. Duncombe's voice at the door, in all
its decisive abruptness, making both start.
"Just ready," called Lady Tyrrell; adding, in a lower tone, "Ah! she
is startling, but she is genuine! And one must take new friends
when the old are chilly. She is the only one--"
Cecil's kiss was more hearty than any she had given at Compton, and
she descended; but just as she came to the door, and was only
delaying while Frank and Captain Duncombe were discussing the merits
of the four horses, the Compton carriage appeared in the approach,
and Raymond's head within. Lady Tyrrell looked at Cecil, and saw it
was safe to make a little gesture with the white skin of her fair
brow, expressing unutterable things.
Mrs. Duncombe lost no time in asking if any steps were being taken
for improving the drainage; to which Raymond replied, "No, that was
not the business in hand. This was the architecture of the town-
hall."
"Splendour of municipality above, and fever festering below," said
Mrs. Duncombe.
"Wilsborough is not unhealthy," said Raymond.
She laughed ironically.
"The corporation have been told that they have an opportunity," said
Raymond; "but it takes long to prepare people's minds to believe in
the expedience of such measures. If Whitlock could be elected mayor
there would be some chance, but I am afraid they are sure to take
Truelove; and as things are at Wilsborough, we must move all at once
or not at all. Individual attempts would do more harm than good."
"Ah! you fear for your seat!" said the plain-spoken lady.
Raymond only chose to answer by a laugh, and would not pursue the
subject so treated. He was politeness itself to all; but he
withstood Lady Tyrrell's earnest entreaties to come in and see some
Florentine photographs, growing stiffer and graver each moment,
while his wife waxed more wrathful at the treatment which she knew
was wounding her friend, and began almost to glory in having
incurred his displeasure herself. Indeed, this feeling caused the
exchange of another kiss between the ladies before Sir Harry handed
Cecil into the carriage, and Raymond took the yellow paper books
that were held out to her.
Looking at the title as they drove off, he said quietly, "I did not
mean to deprive you, Cecil; I had ordered Lanfrey from Bennet for
you."
She was somewhat abashed, but was excited enough to answer, "Thank
you. I am going to join Lady Tyrrell and Mrs. Duncombe in a
subscription to Rolandi's."
He started, and after a pause of a few moments said gently, "Are you
sure that Mr. and Mrs. Charnock would like to trust your choice of
foreign books to Mrs. Duncombe?"
Taking no notice of the point of this question, she replied, "If it
is an object to exchange books at home faster than I can read them
properly, I must look for a supply elsewhere."
"You had better subscribe alone," he replied, still without manifest
provocation.
"That would be uncivil now."
"I take that upon myself."
Wherewith there came a silence; while Cecil swelled as she thought
of the prejudice against her friend, and Raymond revolved all he had
ever heard about creatures he knew so little as women, to enable him
to guess how to deal with this one. How reprove so as not to make
it worse? Ought not his silent displeasure to suffice? And in such
musings the carriage reached home.
It had been an untoward day. He had been striving hard against the
stream at Willansborough. The drainage was not only scouted as an
absurd, unreasonable, and expensive fancy, but the architect whom he
had recommended, in the hope that he would insist on ground-work
which might bring on the improvement, had been rejected in favour of
a kinsman of Mr. Briggs, the out-going mayor, a youth of the lower
walk of the profession--not the scholar and gentleman he had
desired, for the tradesman intellect fancied such a person would be
expensive and unmanageable.
Twin plans for church and town-hall had been produced, which to
Raymond's taste savoured of the gimcrack style, but which infinitely
delighted all the corporation; and where he was the only cultivated
gentleman, except the timid Vicar, his reasonings were all in vain.
The plan was accepted for the town-hall, and the specifications were
ordered to be made out for competition, and a rate decided on. The
church was to wait for subscription and bazaar; the drains, for
reason in Wil'sbro', or for the hope of the mayoralty of Mr.
Whitlock, a very intelligent and superior linendraper.