Mr Enderby was in the churchyard when the congregation poured out from
the porch. Group after group walked away, and he saw no signs of the
party he was waiting for. Mrs Rowland lingered in the aisle, with the
intention of allowing all Deerbrook time to look at Mr Walcot. When
none but the Levitts remained, the lady issued forth from the porch,
leaning on Mr Walcot's arm, and followed by four of her children, who
were walking two and two, holding up their heads, and glancing round to
see how many people were observing the new gentleman they had brought
with them from Cheltenham. Mr Enderby approached the family party, and
said--
"Sister, will you introduce me to Mr Walcot?"
"With the greatest pleasure, my dear brother. Mr Walcot, my brother,
Mr Enderby. Brother, my friend, Mr Walcot."
Mr Walcot blushed with delight, looked as if he longed to shake hands
if he dared, and said something of his joy at becoming acquainted with
the brother of so kind a friend as Mrs Rowland.
"There is not much to be apprehended here," thought Mr Enderby. "How
perfectly unlike what I had fancied! This dragon, which was to devour
the Hopes, seems a pretty harmless creature. Why he looks a mere boy,
and with hair so light, one can't see it without spectacles. What will
he do with himself in my mother's good house? Fanny Grey's bird-cage
would suit him better;--and then he might hang in Rowland's hall, and be
always ready for use when the children are ill. I must have out what I
mean to say to him, however; and, from his looks, I should fancy I may
do what I please with him. He will go away before dinner, if I ask him,
I have little doubt. I wonder that, while she was about it, Priscilla
did not find out somebody who had the outside of a professional man at
least. This youth looks as if he would not draw one's tooth for the
world, because it would hurt one so! How he admires the rooks and the
green grass on the graves, because the children do!--Sister," he
continued aloud, "I am sorry to deprive you of your companion; but it is
absolutely necessary that Mr Walcot and I should have some conversation
together immediately. The children will go home with you; and we will
follow presently."
Mrs Rowland looked thunder and lightning at her brother; but Mr Walcot
appeared so highly pleased, that she considered it safest to acquiesce
in the present arrangement, trusting to undo Philip's work in the course
of the afternoon. So she sailed away with the children.
"This is no time for ceremony," observed Enderby, as he led the way to
the walk under the trees. "I have used none with my sister, as you
perceive; and I shall use none with you."
"Thank you, sir. My dear parents have always taught me that there could
be no occasion for ceremony where people feel kindly, and mean only what
is right. They will be pleased to hear that you do not think ceremony
necessary between us."
"The circumstances are too urgent for it in the present case;--that is
what I mean," said Philip. "I am confident, Mr Walcot, from what you
say about feeling kindly and meaning rightly, that you cannot be aware
what is the real state of affairs in Deerbrook, or you could not have
been induced to think of settling here."
"Oh, I assure you, sir, you are mistaken. Mrs Rowland herself was the
person who told me all about it; and I repeated all she said to my
parents. They strongly advised my coming; and I am sure they would
never recommend me to do anything that was not right."
"Then, if I tell you what I know to be the true state of the case here,
will you represent it fully to your parents, and see what they will say
then?"
"Certainly. I can have no objection to that. They will be very sorry,
however, if any difficulty should arise. I had a letter from them this
very morning, in which they say that they consider me a fortunate youth
to have fallen in with such a friend as Mrs Rowland, who promises she
will be a mother, or rather, I should say, a sister to me, and to have
stepped at once into such practice as Mrs Rowland says I shall
certainly have here. They say what is very true, that it is a singular
and happy chance to befall a youth who has only just finished his
education."
"That is so true, that you ought not to be surprised if it should turn
out that there is something wrong at the bottom of the affair. I am
going to show you what this wrong is, that you may take warning in time,
and not discover, when it is too late, that you have been injuring an
honourable man, who has been too hardly treated already."
"I should be sorry to do that: but I cannot think what you can mean."
"I dare say not. Pray have you been told of a Mr Hope who lives here?"
"Oh, yes; we saw the people breaking his windows as we drove past,
yesterday evening. He must be a very improper, disagreeable man. And
it is very hard upon the ladies and gentlemen here to have no one to
attend them but that sort of person."
"That is one account of Mr Hope: now you must hear the other." And Mr
Enderby gave a full statement of Hope's character, past services, and
present position, in terms which he conceived to be level with the
capacity of the young man. He kept his sister out of the story, as far
as it was possible, but did not soften the statement of her calumnies,
though refraining from exhibiting their origin. "Now," said he, at the
end of his story, "have I not shown cause for consideration, as to
whether you should settle here or not?"
"For consideration, certainly. But, you see, it is so difficult to know
what to think. Here is Mrs Rowland telling me one set of things about
Mr Hope, and you tell me something quite different."
"Well, what do you propose to do?"
"I shall consult my parents, of course."
"Had not you better set off by the coach to-morrow morning, and tell
your parents all about it before you commit yourself?"
"I do not see how I could do that very well, as I have engaged to go
over and see these people in Sir William Hunter's almshouses, that I am
to have the charge of. No; I think my best way will be this. I will
write fully to my parents first. I will do that this afternoon. Then,
considering that I have said I shall stay here, and that the house is
going to be got ready for me,--and considering how hard it is upon the
ladies and gentlemen here to have nobody to attend them but a person
they do not like,--and considering, too, that I cannot tell for myself
what Mr Hope really is, while people differ so about him, I think I had
better wait here (just as I should have done if you had not told me all
this) till Mrs Rowland, and you, and Sir William Hunter, and everybody,
have settled whether Mr Hope is really a good man or not: and then, you
know, I can go away, after all, if I please."
Philip thought that Dr Levitt must have been preaching to his new
parishioner to join the wisdom of the serpent with the harmlessness of
the dove. Mr Walcot himself seemed quietly satisfied with his own
decision, for he adhered to it, repeating it in answer to every appeal
that Philip could devise.
"I think it right to warn you," said Philip, "that if the prospect of
being my mother's medical attendant has been part of your inducement to
settle here, you have been misled in relying on it. My mother is much
attached to Mr Hope and his family; she prefers him to every other
medical attendant; and I shall take care that she has her own way in
this particular."
"While I am in Mrs Rowland's house, I shall, of course, attend Mrs
Rowland's family," replied Mr Walcot.
"Her children, if she pleases; but not necessarily her mother."
"Yes; her mother too, as I dare say you will see."
"You will allow Mrs Enderby to choose her own medical attendant, I
presume?"
"Oh, yes: and I have no doubt she will choose me. Mrs Rowland says
so."
"Here comes a gentleman with whom I want to speak," said Philip, seeing
Mr Grey approaching from a distance. "He is as warm a friend and
admirer of Mr Hope as I am; and--"
"Mr Hope married into his family,--did not he?"
"Yes; but Mr Grey and Mr Hope were friends long before either of them
was acquainted with Mrs Hope. The friendship between the gentlemen was
more likely to have caused the marriage than the marriage the
friendship."
"Ah! that does happen sometimes, I know."
"What I was going to say is this, Mr Walcot, that Mr Hope's friends
have determined to see justice done him; and that if, in the prosecution
of this design, you should imagine that you are remarkably coolly
treated,--by myself, for instance,--you must remember that I fairly
warned you from the beginning that I shall give no countenance to any
one who comes knowingly to establish himself on the ruins of a traduced
man's reputation. You will remember this, Mr Walcot."
"Oh, certainly. I am sure I shall expect nothing from anybody; for
nobody here knows me. It is only through Mrs Rowland's kindness that I
have any prospect here at all."
"I will just give you one more warning, as you seem a very young man.
The Deerbrook people are apt to be extremely angry when they are angry
at all. What would you think of it, if they should break your windows,
as they broke Mr Hope's last night, when they find that you have been
thriving upon his practice, while they were under a mistake concerning
him which you were fully informed of?"
"I do not think I should mind it. I might get over it, you know, as Mr
Hope would then have done. Or I might go away, after all, if I pleased.
But you want to speak to that gentleman; so I will wish you good
morning."
"You will represent to your parents all I have said? Then, pray, do not
omit the last,--about what dreadful people the Deerbrook people are when
they are angry; and how likely it is that they may be very angry with
you some day. I advise you by all means to mention this."
"Yes, certainly; thank you. I shall write this afternoon."
"I wish Mrs Rowland joy of her fledgling," said Enderby, as he joined
Mr Grey.
"I was just thinking, as you and he came up, that a few lessons from the
drill-sergeant at Blickley would do him no harm. Perhaps, however, your
sister will teach him to hold up his head better. I rather think he is
a little scared with the rooks, is not he? What in the world is your
sister to do with him, now she has got him here?"
"I hope little Anna will lend him her cup and ball on rainy days."
"Do you find him a simpleton?"
"I hardly know. One must see him more than once to be quite sure. But
enough of him for the present. I have just come from the corner-house;
but I am not going to talk about the Hopes either: and yet I have
something out of the common way to say to you, my good friend."
"I am glad you call me by that name," observed Mr Grey, kindly. "I
never could see, for the life of me, why men should look askance upon
one another, because their relations, (no matter on which side, or
perhaps on both), happen to be more or less in the wrong."
"And there are other reasons why you and I should beware of being
affected by the faults and weaknesses of our connections, Mr Grey,--and
that is what I have now to say. I mean, because we may become connected
ourselves. How will you like me for a relation, I wonder."
"It is so, then?"
"It is so: and it is by Margaret's desire that I inform you of it now,
before the circumstance becomes generally known. If you think Mrs Grey
will be gratified by early information, I believe I must beg that you
will go home and tell her directly. We are as fully aware as you can
be, of the absurdity of this way of talking: but circumstances compel us
to--"
"I know, I understand. People here have been persuaded that you were
engaged to some other lady; and you will have no help in contradicting
this from your own family, who may not like your marrying into our
connection so decidedly--as I have heard the ladies say about our friend
Hope."
"Just so."
"Well, my opinion is, that it is of little consequence what your friends
may say now, when time is so sure to justify your choice. There is no
need for me to tell you that you are a happy man, Mr Enderby. There is
not a more amiable girl living than that cousin Margaret of mine. I
charge you to make her happy, Enderby. I do not mean that I have any
doubt of it: but I charge you to make her happy."
Philip did not like to speak (any more than to do other things) without
being pretty sure of doing it well. He was silent now because he could
not well speak. He was anything but ashamed of his attachment to
Margaret; but he could not open his lips upon it.
"I trust there is the better chance of her being happy," continued Mr
Grey, "that she is going to marry a man of somewhat less enthusiasm than
her sister has chosen, Mr Enderby."
"Do not speak of that, Mr Grey. We might not agree. I can only say
that I am so fully sensible of my immeasurable inferiority to Hope, I
know I am hardly worthy to appreciate him... I cannot give you an idea
of my sense of his superiority... And to hear him set below me...
"Do not mistake me, my dear friend. No one can value Mr Hope more than
I do, as indeed I have every reason to do. Only you see the effects of
that unfortunate vote of his. That is just what I mean, now. If you
had been in his place, I rather think you would have done what was
prudent--you would not have run into anything so useless as giving that
vote, when there was not another person in Deerbrook to vote the same
way. You would not, Enderby."
"I trust I should, if I had had Margaret to keep me up to my duty."
"Well, well; I may be wrong; but it vexes me to see anxiety and sorrow
in my cousin Hester's beautiful face; and that is the truth of it. But,
indeed, her husband is a fine fellow, and I respect him from the bottom
of my soul; and it makes me extremely happy to hear that Margaret has
met with one whom I can as cordially approve. You have my hearty good
wishes, I assure you. Now, when may I see my cousin, to wish her joy?
I must go home now, and let my family know about it, you say?"
"If you please; for I must tell Margaret how kindly you have received
what I had to communicate. She will be waiting anxiously."
"Why, she could not doubt my good will, surely? How should I be
otherwise than pleased? Nor have I any doubt of my wife's feeling. You
stand very high in her good graces, Enderby, I can assure you. I was
not fully aware of this myself, till I saw how vexed she was at hearing
that you were engaged to that lady abroad. She never could make out
what Margaret was feeling about that; but she used to say to me when we
were by ourselves, that if Margaret was not hurt and angry, she was.
But I suppose the little gipsy was laughing at us and all Deerbrook all
the time; though she kept her gravity wonderfully."
Philip was not disposed to throw any light on this part of the affair;
and the gentlemen parted at the turnstile. After a few steps, Philip
heard himself called. Mr Grey was hastening after him, to know whether
this matter was to be spoken of, or to remain quiet, after Mrs Grey had
been informed. He had perfectly understood that all Deerbrook was soon
to know it; but it was a different question whether his family were to
be authorised to tell it. Mr Enderby desired they would follow their
own inclinations entirely. Margaret's only wish was, that her kind
relations should be informed directly from herself before anybody else
but her friend, Miss Young: and his own only desire was, that, on
Margaret's account, every one should understand that his engagement was
to her, and not to any lady at Rome or elsewhere. Virtual provision
having thus been made for the enlightenment of all Deerbrook in the
course of the day, the gentlemen once more went their respective ways.
In her present mood of amiability, Mrs Rowland determined on giving the
Greys the pleasure of a call from Mr Walcot. In the afternoon, when
Fanny was saying her catechism to her mamma, and Mary was repeating a
hymn to Sophia, Mrs Rowland's well-known knock was heard, and any
religious feelings which might have been aroused in the minds of the
little girls were put to flight by the sound. Sophia turned her feet
off the sofa, where she had been lying all day, that Mrs Rowland might
not suspect that she had suffered from the mobbing of the Hopes. The
children were enjoined not to refer to it, and were recommended to avoid
the subject of Miss Young also, if possible.
The amazement and wrath of the party at hearing Mr Walcot announced was
beyond expression. Mrs Grey was sufficiently afraid of her neighbour
to confine herself to negative rudeness. She did the most she dared in
not looking at Mr Walcot, or asking him to sit down. He did not appear
to miss her attentions, but seated himself beside her daughter, and
offered remarks on the difference between Deerbrook and Cheltenham.
Sophia made no intelligible replies, and looked impenetrably reserved;
he therefore tried another subject, enlarged upon Mrs Rowland's extreme
kindness to him, and said that his parents wrote that they considered
him a fortunate youth in having met with a friend who would be a mother
or sister to him, now that he was no longer under the parental wing.
Sophia had intended to be quite distant and silent, but his long-winded
praises of all the Rowlands were too much for her. She observed that it
was generally considered that there was nobody in Deerbrook to compare
with the family in the corner-house--the Hopes and Miss Ibbotson. From
this moment, the _tete-a-tete_ became animated; the speakers alternated
rapidly and regularly; for every virtue in a Rowland there was a noble
quality in a Hope; for every accomplishment in Matilda and Anna, there
was a grace in "our dear Mr Hope" or "our sweet Hester." Fanny and
Mary listened with some amusement to what they heard on either side of
their pair of low stools. As sure as they were desired particularly to
avoid any subject with the Rowlands, they knew that their mother would
presently be in the midst of it. The prohibition showed that her mind
was full of it: and whatever her mind was full of was poured out upon
Mrs Rowland. The two ladies were presently deep in the riot, and
almost at high words about Miss Young. The girls looked at each other,
and strove to keep the corners of their mouths in order. In the midst
of the conflict of sentiment on these two subjects, Mrs Rowland's ear
caught what Sophia was saying--that there was one person in the same
house with Mr Walcot who properly estimated the Hopes--Mr Enderby, who
was engaged to Margaret Ibbotson. While Mr Walcot was carefully
explaining that Mr Enderby was not in the same house, Mr Enderby
having a bed at his mother's house still, though that house was already
preparing for the reception of himself, its new tenant, Mrs Rowland
leaned forward with her most satirical air, and begged to assure Miss
Grey that she had been misinformed--that what she had just been saying
was a mistake.
Sophia looked at her mother in absolute terror, lest they should have
adopted a joke of her father's for earnest. But Mrs Grey was positive.
Mrs Rowland laughed more and more provokingly: Mrs Grey grew more and
more angry; and at last sent the little girls to see whether their
father was at home, that he might bear his testimony. He came; and in
reply to his astonishment about what she could mean, Mrs Rowland said
that she did not deny that there was some present entanglement; but that
she warned Margaret's connections not to suppose that her brother would
ever be married to Miss Ibbotson. Mr Grey observed that time would
show, and inquired after Mrs Enderby. The report of her was very
flattering indeed. She was to be quite well now soon. Mr Walcot's
opinion of her case was precisely what Mrs Rowland had always held.
Mrs Enderby's complaints were nervous--nervous altogether. With
retirement from common acquaintances, and the society of the dear
children, and the attendance of a servant (most highly recommended) who
would not humour her fancies as Phoebe had done; and, above all, with a
medical attendant under the same roof for the present, she was to be
quite well immediately. Mr Walcot's countenance wore an expression of
perfect delight at the prospect, and Mr Grey's of the blackest
displeasure.
When the visitors were gone, Mr Walcot being allowed to find his way
out as he could, the little girls heard them discussed in the way which
might be expected, and were then desired to finish their catechism and
hymn. Mamma and Sophia were still flushed and agitated with what they
had been hearing and saying, when the low serious voices of Fanny and
Mary recited--the one an abjuration of all envy, malice, hatred, and
uncharitableness; and the other--
"Teach me to feel for others' woe,
To hide the faults I see;
The mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me."
"You have a warning, my dear," said Mrs Grey to Fanny, "in the lady who
was here just now--a terrible warning against malice and all those
faults. You see how unhappy she makes every one about her, by her
having indulged her temper to such a degree. You see--"
"Mary, my darling," said Mr Grey, "repeat that hymn to me again:--
"`Teach me to feel for others' woe,
To hide the faults I see.'
"Let us have that hymn over again, my dear child."