Every town-bred person who travels in a rich country region, knows what
it is to see a neat white house planted in a pretty situation,--in a
shrubbery, or commanding a sunny common, or nestling between two
hills,--and to say to himself, as the carriage sweeps past its gate, "I
should like to live there,"--"I could be very happy in that pretty
place." Transient visions pass before his mind's eye of dewy summer
mornings, when the shadows are long on the grass, and of bright autumn
afternoons, when it would be luxury to saunter in the neighbouring
lanes; and of frosty winter days, when the sun shines in over the
laurustinus at the window, while the fire burns with a different light
from that which it gives in the dull parlours of a city.
Mr Grey's house had probably been the object of this kind of
speculation to one or more persons, three times a week, ever since the
stage-coach had begun to pass through Deerbrook. Deerbrook was a rather
pretty village, dignified as it was with the woods of a fine park, which
formed the background to its best points of view. Of this pretty
village, Mr Grey's was the prettiest house, standing in a field, round
which the road swept. There were trees enough about it to shade without
darkening it, and the garden and shrubbery behind were evidently of no
contemptible extent. The timber and coal yards, and granaries, which
stretched down to the river side, were hidden by a nice management of
the garden walls, and training of the shrubbery.
In the drawing-room of this tempting white house sat Mrs Grey and her
eldest daughter, one spring evening. It was rather an unusual thing for
them to be in the drawing-room. Sophia read history and practised her
music every morning in the little blue parlour which looked towards the
road; and her mother sat in the dining-room, which had the same aspect.
The advantage of these rooms was, that they commanded the house of Mr
Rowland, Mr Grey's partner in the corn, coal, and timber business, and
also the dwelling of Mrs Enderby, Mrs Rowland's mother, who lived just
opposite the Rowlands. The drawing-room looked merely into the garden.
The only houses seen from it were the greenhouse and the summerhouse;
the latter of which now served the purpose of a schoolroom for the
children of both families, and stood on the boundary-line of the gardens
of the two gentlemen of the firm. The drawing-room was so dull, that it
was kept for company; that is, it was used about three times a-year,
when the pictures were unveiled, the green baize removed, and the
ground-windows, which opened upon the lawn, thrown wide, to afford to
the rare guests of the family a welcome from birds and flowers.
The ground-windows were open now, and on one side sat Mrs Grey, working
a rug, and on the other Sophia, working a collar. The ladies were
evidently in a state of expectation--a state exceedingly trying to
people who, living at ease in the country, have rarely anything to
expect beyond the days of the week, the newspaper, and their dinners.
Mrs Grey gave her needle a rest every few minutes, to listen! and rang
the bell three times in a quarter of an hour, to make inquiries of her
maid about the arrangements of the best bedroom. Sophia could not
attend to her work, and presently gave information that Fanny and Mary
were in the orchard. She was desired to call them, and presently Fanny
and Mary appeared at the window,--twins of ten years old, and very
pretty little girls.
"My dears," said Mrs Grey, "has Miss Young done with you for to-day?"
"Oh yes, mamma. It is just six o'clock. We have been out of school
this hour almost."
"Then come in, and make yourselves neat, and sit down with us. I should
not wonder if the Miss Ibbotsons should be here now before you are
ready. But where is Sydney?"
"Oh, he is making a pond in his garden there. He dug it before school
this morning, and he is filling it now."
"Yes," said the other; "and I don't know when he will have done, for as
fast as he fills it, it empties again, and he says he cannot think how
people keep their ponds filled."
"He must have done now, however," said his mother. "I suppose he is
tearing his clothes to pieces with drawing the water-barrel, and wetting
himself to the skin besides."
"And spoiling his garden," said Fanny. "He has dug up all his hepaticas
and two rose-bushes to make his pond."
"Go to him, my dears, and tell him to come in directly, and dress
himself for tea. Tell him I insist upon it. Do not run. Walk quietly.
You will heat yourselves, and I do not like Mrs Rowland to see you
running."
Mary informed her brother that he was to leave his pond and come in, and
Fanny added that mamma insisted upon it. They had time to do this, to
walk quietly, to have their hair made quite smooth, and to sit down with
their two dolls on each side the common cradle, in a corner of the
drawing-room, before the Miss Ibbotsons arrived.
The Miss Ibbotsons were daughters of a distant relation of Mr Grey's.
Their mother had been dead many years; they had now just lost their
father, and were left without any nearer relation than Mr Grey. He had
invited them to visit his family while their father's affairs were in
course of arrangement, and till it could be discovered what their means
of living were likely to be. They had passed their lives in Birmingham,
and had every inclination to return to it, when their visit to their
Deerbrook relations should have been paid. Their old schoolfellows and
friends all lived there: and they thought it would be easier and
pleasanter to make the smallest income supply their wants in their
native town, than to remove to any place where it might go further.
They had taken leave of their friends as for a very short time, and when
they entered Deerbrook, looked around them as upon a place in which they
were to pass a summer.
All Deerbrook had been informed of their expected arrival--as it always
was of everything which concerned the Greys. The little Rowlands were
walking with their mother when the chaise came up the street; but being
particularly desired not to look at it, they were not much benefited by
the event. Their grandmamma, Mrs Enderby, was not at the moment under
the same restriction; and her high cap might be seen above the green
blind of her parlour as the chaise turned into Mr Grey's gate. The
stationer, the parish clerk, and the milliner and her assistant, had
obtained a passing view of sundry boxes, the face of an elderly woman,
and the outline of two black bonnets,--all that they could boast of to
repay them for the vigilance of a whole afternoon.
Sophia Grey might be pardoned for some anxiety about the reception of
the young ladies. She was four years younger than the younger of them;
and Hester, the elder, was one-and-twenty,--a venerable age to a girl of
sixteen. Sophia began to think she had never been really afraid of
anything before, though she remembered having cried bitterly when first
left alone with her governess; and though she had always been remarkable
for clinging to her mother's side on all social occasions, in the
approaching trial her mother could give her little assistance. These
cousins would be always with her. How she should read history, or
practise music with them in the room, she could not imagine, nor what
she should find to say to them all day long. If poor Elizabeth had but
lived, what a comfort she would have been now; the elder one would have
taken all the responsibility! And she heaved a sigh once more, as she
thought, to the memory of poor Elizabeth.
Mr Grey was at a market some miles off; and Sydney was sent by his
mother into the hall, to assist in the work of alighting, and causing
the luggage to alight. As any other boy of thirteen would have done, he
slunk behind the hall door, without venturing to speak to the strangers,
and left the business to the guests and the maids. Mrs Grey and Sophia
awaited them in the drawing-room, and were ready with information about
how uneasy they had all been about the rain in the morning, till they
remembered that it would lay the dust, and so make the journey
pleasanter. The twins shouldered their dolls, and looked on from their
stools, while Sydney stole in, and for want of some better way of
covering his awkwardness, began rocking the cradle with his foot, till
he tilted it over.
Sophia found the first half-hour not at all difficult to surmount. She
and Margaret Ibbotson informed each other of the precise number of miles
between Deerbrook and Birmingham. She ascertained fully to her
satisfaction that her guests had dined. She assisted them in the
observation that the grass of the lawn looked very green after the
streets of Birmingham; and she had to tell them that her father was
obliged to attend the market some miles off, and would not be home for
an hour or two. Then the time came when bonnets were to be taken off,
and she could offer to show the way to the spare-room. There she took
Hester and Margaret to the window, and explained to them what they saw
thence; and, as it was necessary to talk, she poured out what was most
familiar to her mind, experiencing a sudden relief from all the unwonted
shyness which had tormented her.
"That is Mr Rowland's house--papa's partner, you know. Isn't it an
ugly place, with that ridiculous porch to it? But Mrs Rowland can
never be satisfied without altering her house once a year. She has made
Mr Rowland spend more money upon that place than would have built a new
one of twice the size.--That house opposite is Mrs Enderby's, Mrs
Rowland's mother's. So near as she lives to the Rowlands, it is
shocking how they neglect her. There could be no difficulty in being
properly attentive to her, so near as she is, could there? But when she
is ill we are obliged to go and see her sometimes, when it is very
inconvenient, because Mrs Rowland has never been near her all day. Is
not it shocking?"
"I rather wonder she should complain of her family," observed Margaret.
"Oh, she is not remarkable for keeping her feelings to herself, poor
soul! But really it is wonderful how little she says about it, except
when her heart is quite full,--just to us. She tries to excuse Mrs
Rowland all she can; and she makes out that Mrs Rowland is such an
excellent mother, and so busy with her children, and all that. But you
know that is no excuse for not taking care of her own mother."
"Those are the Verdon woods, are they not?" said Hester, leaning out of
the window to survey the whole of the sunny prospect. "I suppose you
spend half your days in those woods in summer."
"No; mamma goes out very little, and I seldom walk beyond the garden.
But now you are come, we shall go everywhere. Ours is considered a very
pretty village."
The sisters thought it so beautiful, that they gazed as if they feared
it would melt away if they withdrew their eyes. The one discovered the
bridge, lying in shadow; the other the pointed roof of the building
which surmounted the spring in the park woods. Sophia was well pleased
at their pleasure; and their questions, and her descriptions, went on
improving in rapidity, till a knock at the door of the room cut short
the catechism. It was Morris, the Miss Ibbotsons' maid; and her
appearance gave Sophia a hint to leave her guests to refresh themselves.
She glanced over the room, to see that nothing was wanting; pointed out
the bell, intimated that the washstands were mahogany, which showed
every splash, and explained that the green blinds were meant to be
always down when the sun shone in, lest it should fade the carpet. She
then withdrew, telling the young ladies that they would find tea ready
when they came down.
"How very handsome Hester is!" was the exclamation of both mother and
daughter, when Sophia had shut the drawing-room door behind her.
"I wonder," said Mrs Grey, "that nobody ever told us how handsome we
should find Hester. I should like to see what fault Mrs Rowland can
find in her face."
"It is rather odd that one sister should have all the beauty," said
Sophia. "I do not see anything striking in Margaret."
"Mrs Rowland will say she is plain; but, in my opinion, Margaret is
better looking than any of the Rowlands are ever likely to be. Margaret
would not be thought plain away from her sister.--I hope they are not
fine ladies. I am rather surprised at their bringing a maid. She looks
a very respectable person; but I did not suppose they would keep a maid
till they knew better what to look forward to. I do not know what Mr
Grey will think of it."
When Hester and Margaret came down, Mrs Grey was ready with an account
of the society of the place.
"We are as well off for society," said she, "as most places of the size.
If you were to ask the bookseller at Blickley, who supplies our club,
he would tell you that we are rather intellectual people: and I hope you
will see, when our friends have called on you, that though we seem to be
living out of the world, we are not without our pleasures. I think,
Sophia, the Levitts will certainly call."
"Oh, yes, mamma, to-morrow, I have no doubt."
"Dr Levitt is our rector," observed Mrs Grey to her guests. "We are
dissenters, as you know, and our neighbour, Mrs Rowland, is very much
scandalised at it. If Mr Rowland would have allowed it, she would have
made a difficulty on that ground about having her children educated with
mine. But the Levitts' conduct might teach her better. They make no
difference on account of our being dissenters. They always call on our
friends the first day after they arrive,--or the second, at furthest. I
have no doubt we shall see the Levitts to-morrow."
"And Mrs Enderby, I am sure," said Sophia, "if she is at all able to
stir out."
"Oh, yes, Mrs Enderby knows what is right, if her daughter does not.
If she does not call to-morrow, I shall think that Mrs Rowland
prevented her. She can keep her mother within doors, as we know, when
it suits her purposes."
"But Mr Philip is here, mamma, and Mrs Enderby can do as she likes
when she has her son with her.--I assure you he is here, mamma. I saw
the cobbler's boy carry home a pair of boots there this morning."
Sydney had better evidence still to produce. Mr Enderby had been
talking with him about fishing this afternoon. He said he had come down
for a fortnight's fishing. Fanny also declared that Matilda Rowland had
told Miss Young to-day, that uncle Philip was coming to see the new
schoolroom. Mrs Grey was always glad, on poor Mrs Enderby's account,
when she had her son with her: but otherwise she owned she did not care
for his coming. He was too like his sister to please her.
"He is very high, to be sure," observed Sophia.
"And really there is no occasion for that with us," resumed Mrs Grey.
"We should never think of mixing him up with his sister's proceedings,
if he did not do it himself. No one would suppose him answerable for
her rudeness; at least, I am sure such a thing would never enter my
head. But he forces it upon one's mind by carrying himself so high."
"I don't think he can help being so tall," observed Sydney.
"But he buttons up, and makes the most of it," replied Sophia. "He
stalks in like a Polish count."
The sisters could not help smiling at this proof that the incursions of
the Poles into this place were confined to the book club. They happened
to be well acquainted with a Polish count, who was short of stature and
did not stalk. They were spared all necessity of exerting themselves in
conversation, for it went on very well without the aid of more than a
word or two from them.
"Do you think, mamma, the Andersons will come?" asked Sophia.
"Not before Sunday, my dear. The Andersons live three miles off," she
explained, "and are much confined by their school. They may possibly
call on Saturday afternoon, as Saturday is a half-holiday; but Sunday
after church is a more likely time.--We do not much approve of Sunday
visits; and I dare say you feel the same: but this is a particular
case,--people living three miles off, you know, and keeping a school.
And being dissenters, we do not like to appear illiberal to those who
are not of our own way of thinking: so the Andersons sometimes come in
after church; and I am sure you will accept their call just as if it was
made in any other way."
Hester and Margaret could only say that they should be happy to see Mr
and Mrs Anderson in any mode which was most convenient to themselves.
A laugh went through the family, and a general exclamation of "Mr and
Mrs Anderson!" "The Andersons" happened to be two maiden sisters, who
kept a young ladies' school. It was some time before Mrs Grey herself
could so far command her countenance as to frown with becoming severity
at Fanny, who continued to giggle for some time, with intervals of
convulsive stillness, at the idea that "the Andersons" could mean Mr
and Mrs Anderson. In the midst of the struggle, Mr Grey entered. He
laid a hand on the head of each twin, observed that they seemed very
merry, and asked whether his cousins had been kind enough to make them
laugh already. To these cousins he offered a brief and hearty welcome,
remarking that he supposed they had been told what had prevented his
being on the spot on their arrival, and that he need not trouble them
with the story over again.
Sydney had slipped out as his father entered, for the chance of riding
his horse to the stable,--a ride of any length being in his opinion
better than none. When he returned in a few minutes, he tried to
whisper to Sophia, over the back of her chair, but could not for
laughing. After repeated attempts, Sophia pushed him away.
"Come, my boy, out with it!" said his father. "What you can tell your
sister you can tell us. What is the joke?"
Sydney looked as if he had rather not explain before the strangers; but
he never dared to trifle with his father. He had just heard from little
George Rowland, that Mrs Rowland had said at home, that the young
ladies at Mr Grey's, who had been made so much fuss about, were not
_young_ ladies, after all: she had seen the face of one, as they passed
her in the chaise, and she was sure the person could not be less than
fifty.
"She saw Morris, no doubt," said Hester, amidst the general laugh.
"I hope she will come to-morrow, and see some people who are very little
like fifty," said Mrs Grey. "She will be surprised, I think," she
added, looking at Hester, with a very meaning manner of admiration. "I
really hope, for her own sake, she will come, though you need not mind
if she does not. You will have no great loss. Mr Grey, I suppose you
think she will call?"
"No doubt, my dear. Mrs Rowland never omits calling on our friends;
and why should she now?" And Mr Grey applied himself to conversation
with his cousins, while the rest of the family enjoyed further merriment
about Mrs Rowland having mistaken Morris for one of the Miss Ibbotsons.
Mr Grey showed a sympathy with the sisters, which made them more at
home than they had felt since they entered the house. He knew some of
their Birmingham friends, and could speak of the institutions and
interests of the town. For a whole hour he engaged them in brisk
conversation, without having once alluded to their private affairs or
his own, or said one word about Deerbrook society. At the end of that
time, just as Mary and Fanny had received orders to go to bed, and were
putting their dolls into the cradle in preparation, the scrambling of a
horse's feet was heard on the gravel before the front door, and the
house-bell rang.
"Who can be coming at this time of night?" said Mrs Grey.
"It is Hope, I have no doubt," replied her husband. "As I passed his
door, I asked him to go out to old Mr Smithson, who seems to me to be
rather worse than better, and to let me know whether anything can be
done for the old gentleman. Hope has come to report of him, no doubt."
"Oh, mamma, don't send us to bed if it is Mr Hope!" cried the little
girls. "Let us sit up a little longer if it is Mr Hope."
"Mr Hope is a great favourite with the children,--with us all,"
observed Mrs Grey to the sisters. "We have the greatest confidence in
him as our medical man; as indeed every one has who employs him. Mr
Grey brought him here, and we consider him the greatest acquisition our
society ever had."
The sisters could not be surprised, at this when they saw Mr Hope. The
only wonder was, that, in the description of the intellectual society of
Deerbrook, Mr Hope had not been mentioned first. He was not handsome;
but there was a gaiety of countenance and manner in him, under which the
very lamp seemed to burn brighter. He came, as Mr Grey had explained,
on business; and, not having been aware of the arrival of the strangers,
would have retreated when his errand was done; but, as opposition was
made to this by both parents and children he sat down for a quarter of
an hour, to be taken into consultation about how the Miss Ibbotsons were
to be conducted through the process of seeing the sights of Deerbrook.
With all sincerity, the sisters declared that the woods of the park
would fully satisfy them,--that they had been accustomed to a life so
quiet, that excursions were not at all necessary to their enjoyment.
Mr Grey was determined that they should visit every place worth seeing
in the neighbourhood, while it was in its summer beauty. Mr Hope was
exactly the right person to consult, as there was no nook, no hamlet, to
which his tastes or his profession had not led him. Sophia put paper
before him, on which he was to note distances, according to his and Mr
Grey's computations. Now, it was one peculiarity of Mr Hope that he
could never see a piece of paper before him without drawing upon it.
Sophia's music-books, and any sheet of blotting-paper which might ever
have come in his way, bore tokens of this: and now his fingers were as
busy as usual while he was talking and computing and arranging. When,
as he said, enough had been planned to occupy a month, he threw down his
pencil, and took leave till the morning, when he intended to make a call
which should be less involuntary.
The moment he was gone, the little girls laid hands on the sheet of
paper, on which he had been employed. As they expected, it was covered
with scraps of sketches; and they exclaimed with delight, "Look here!
Here is the spring. How fond Mr Hope is of drawing the spring! And
here is the foot-bridge at Dingleford! And what is this? Here is a
place we don't know, papa."
"I do not know how you should, my dears. It is the Abbey ruin down the
river, which I rather think you have never seen."
"No, but we should like to see it. Are there no faces this time, Fanny?
None anywhere? No funny faces this time! I like them the best of Mr
Hope's drawings. Sophia, do let us show some of the faces that are on
your music-books."
"If you will be sure and put them away again. But you know if Mr Hope
is ever reminded of them, he will be sure to rub them out."
"He did old Owen fishing so that he can't rub it out if he would," said
Sydney. "He did it in ink for me; and that is better than any of your
sketches, that will rub out in a minute."
"Come, children," said their father, "it is an hour past your bedtime."
When the children were gone, and Sophia was attending the sisters to
their apartment, Mrs Grey looked at her husband over her spectacles.
"Well, my dear!" said she.
"Well, my dear!" responded Mr Grey.
"Do not you think Hester very handsome?"
"There is no doubt of it, my dear. She is very handsome."
"Do not you think Mr Hope thinks so too?"
It is a fact which few but the despisers of their race like to
acknowledge, and which those despisers of their race are therefore apt
to interpret wrongly, and are enabled to make too much of--that it is
perfectly natural,--so natural as to appear necessary,--that when young
people first meet, the possibility of their falling in love should occur
to all the minds present. We have no doubt that it always is so; though
we are perfectly aware that the idea speedily goes out again, as
naturally as it came in: and in no case so speedily and naturally as in
the minds of the parties most nearly concerned, from the moment that the
concern becomes very near indeed. We have no doubt that the minds in
Mr Grey's drawing-room underwent the common succession of ideas,--
slight and transient imaginations, which pass into nothingness when
unexpressed. Probably the sisters wondered whether Mr Hope was
married, whether he was engaged, whether he was meant for Sophia, in the
prospect of her growing old enough. Probably each speculated for half a
moment, unconsciously, for her sister, and Sophia for both. Probably
Mr Grey might reflect that when young people are in the way of meeting
frequently in country excursions, a love affair is no very unnatural
result. But Mrs Grey was the only one who fixed the idea in her own
mind and another's by speaking of it.
"Do not you think Mr Hope thinks Hester very handsome, Mr Grey?"
"I really know nothing about it, my dear. He did not speak on the
subject as he mounted his horse; and that is the only opportunity he has
had of saying anything about the young ladies."
"It would have been strange if he had then, before Sydney and the
servants."
"Very strange indeed."
"But do you not think he must have been struck with her? I should like
very well to have her settled here; and the corner-house of Mr
Rowland's might do nicely for them. I do not know what Mrs Rowland
would think of Mr Hope's marrying into our connection so decidedly."
"My dear," said her husband, smiling, "just consider! For anything we
know, these young ladies may both be attached and engaged. Hope may be
attached elsewhere--."
"No; that I will answer for it he is not. I--"
"Well, you may have your reasons for being sure on that head. But he
may not like the girls; they may not like him:--in short, the only thing
that has happened is, that they have seen each other for one quarter of
an hour."
"Well! there is no saying what may come of it."
"Very true: let us wait and see."
"But there is no harm in my telling you whatever comes into my head!"
"None in the world, unless you get it so fixed there that somebody else
happens to know it too. Be careful, my dear. Let no one of these young
people get a glimpse of your speculation. Think of the consequence to
them and to yourself."
"Dear me, Mr Grey! you need not be afraid. What a serious matter you
make of a word or two!"
"Because a good many ideas belong to that word or two, my dear."