Margaret Capel Volume Ii Part 28

Margaret found plenty of things to astonish her in Miss Somerton; but she was a little more startled than usual at this remark.

She thought of the disgust she would have felt if she had ever seen Mr.

Haveloc intoxicated. She viewed Blanche's attachment as a sort of natural phenomenon.

Mr. Watkins lasted about a fortnight; during that time very few things could be said or done without suggesting to Blanche some little anecdote of this gentleman; and as these tales generally tended to set forth either some deficiency, or some positive vice in that faithless person; sometimes calling in question his spelling, and sometimes his morality, Margaret felt often desirous to turn the subject for very shame; but Blanche informed her that it was a comfort to talk about him, and she could not reasonably refuse her that source of consolation.

At the end of the fortnight, Blanche admitted to Mrs. Somerton, that "Watkins" had a red nose. This had been a point strongly contested between mother and daughter for the last fourteen days previous; for Mrs. Somerton thought it her duty to depreciate a man who had failed to make her daughter an offer; and Blanche warmly defended him from a charge which his decided talent for drinking rendered, at least, probable.

The cause of this change was very soon explained. Blanche had found another officer. She had been introduced to him at a friend's house, and she very soon managed to bring him to the Vicarage.

When he had nothing in the world to do, it was amusing enough to lounge away a morning, flirting with Blanche. This was worse than the other annoyance to Margaret.

It was bad enough to hear incessantly of the absent lover; but now, you had not only to hear of him all day long in his absence, but to bear his presence, at least, three days in the week. And Blanche would insist upon Margaret's keeping her company.

"Don't run away, my dearest creature," said she; "it looks so odd; it really seems as if you thought the man wanted to propose to me."

Margaret had began to enjoy her walks in the pretty garden and quiet meadows of the Vicarage. It was a bright, fresh October. She was always alive to the beauties of the country; but how could she enjoy the mossy walks and tall rustling trees with the constant fear of being joined by that tiresome Mr. Compton. And then, if she sat, Blanche would insist on sitting too. If she said she felt chilly and began to walk again, up started Blanche and her cavalier, and they all three set off walking together.

And this Mr. Compton was afflicted with the most boundless and uncultivated spirits. His laugh was a shriek. He would spring up in the air like a stag; he would fall on the gra.s.s, to give vent to his mirth; he talked incessantly, and always the most extravagant nonsense. He would practice dances with Blanche, while poor Margaret played to them; and then, at every mistake, there were fresh fits of laughter, which made him stamp about the room until they subsided.

Margaret at first thought him deranged, and was very much afraid of him; but she afterwards found he was only silly; which is a much milder form of lunacy. Indeed, he was much more silly than his predecessor; for in due time, Blanche managed to receive his hand, and became Mrs. Compton, whether he liked it or not; but this was after Margaret had left them.

Perhaps, Margaret would have endured him more cheerfully, had she been able to foresee the finale of his visits. It would have been unkind, indeed, to murmur at the tedious hours which he spent at the Vicarage, which proved a source of such intense delight to Blanche, and such comfortable calculation to her mother.

"Has he not eyes!" exclaimed Blanche, as the door closed upon him after a waltz of two hours.

Margaret (who had officiated as pianiste during that time) admitted that he possessed that feature in the plural number, and knelt down before the fire to warm her hands.

"I have ascertained," said Mrs. Somerton, looking up from her worsted work, "that he _is_ the son of Mr. Compton of Lincolns.h.i.+re--the second son, it is true, but I understand the mother's property is settled on him; if that is the case, it may do, but I will write to Mrs. Stacey, she knows all about the Comptons. You know he mentioned Mrs. Stacey as having been staying at his father's."

"I know," said Blanche, "and how he did laugh at her blue gauze turban!--I thought he would have died."

So did Margaret; though she did not contemplate that event with the dismay that it might awaken in Blanche's mind.

"Only," continued Mrs. Somerton, "don't go too far till we hear from Mrs. Stacey; he may have nothing."

"I dare say," retorted Blanche, "I shall go as far as I like. I know he has property, and I don't care whether it came from his mother, or from the moon. He was saying, yesterday, what year it was when he came of age. Don't you know, Margaret, how he laughed about his eldest brother coming of age first, and then his coming of age afterwards; and saying that it was not every family where two brothers come of age? Of course n.o.body comes of age if they have nothing to come into."

"Certainly, there is something in that," said Mrs. Somerton, resuming her worsted work: while Margaret became possessed of the interesting fact, that time suspends his operations in favour of those forlorn gentlemen and ladies only, who have no means of bribing his delay; and truly they should have something to compensate for an empty pocket.

But Mr Compton was of great use to Margaret, little as she might have been disposed to allow it. If he did not come, Blanche was expecting him all the morning; every horseman, every gig, that pa.s.sed down the high-road, might be the looked for guest. A broad gravel walk, at the end of the garden, commanded a view of the high-road, and thither Blanche would direct her steps, and loiter from breakfast till luncheon. "There! that _is_ Compton--I am certain, my dear, I know him a mile off; besides, his horse, he rides a bay--now does not he?"

"I do not remember. Yes--I think it was a bay when you took me out to see it," said Margaret.

"Well, then, unless he were riding the black--he has a very fine black horse, which he thinks would carry a lady," said Blanche looking sideways at her companion.

"But that is not Mr. Compton--it is the butcher," said Margaret, with a feeling of satisfaction.

"Oh! true--so it is. I am rather near-sighted. By the bye, I think he said he should be on duty to-day. Did he say to-day or to-morrow?"

"I did not hear him," said Margaret.

"I think it was to-day; I am sure I wish he never had any duty!" said Blanche with a sigh. "He has very little, I should think," said Margaret.

"He gets out of every thing he can, you may be sure," said Blanche, "there--who is in that gig. Only Charles Hollingsworth, I do believe!

The greatest bore in England; sometimes he pretends to be ill, and goes out hunting."

"Who, Mr. Hollingsworth?" said Margaret, quite at a loss to know why he should take that trouble.

"No--Compton--there he really is; let us go to the gate and meet him."

Then when he came, there was nothing but uproar and confusion for some hours; Blanche's spirits were easily excited, and what with laughing, waltzing, rus.h.i.+ng over the garden after his dogs, and pelting the plums from the trees, and racing about and throwing them at each other, she became quite as noisy as her lover. Mrs. Somerton looked on, scolding them both gently and playfully; it was quite a family picture. All this clamour was not very amusing to Margaret, but it drew her thoughts insensibly away from herself, she even became interested in the game.

She speculated upon Blanche's chance of success. Her stake was not deep enough to make it a matter of painful anxiety. She would have regretted Mr. Compton, just as much as she had regretted Mr. Watkins; perhaps a few days longer, for he was decidedly the more attractive of the two. He had not a red nose, he did not drink, he was only foolish and extravagant, and very noisy. He treated Margaret with that total disregard to the usual courtesies offered in society to a lady, that may be observed in young men, especially officers, when they are occupied by another woman: but this gave her neither concern nor displeasure. She had long observed that his head was not capable of holding more than one idea at a time, and as Blanche was his idea at present, it was not likely that he should recollect to open the door for Margaret, or to set down her tea-cup.

But she began to look with anxiety towards a more settled home--the society here was not to her taste. She saw very little of Mr. Warde, and she was not allowed to pa.s.s her time in his library; she was always wanted to be present with Blanche and Mr. Compton. She longed for quiet, for study; for a life that should replace that which she had lost.

CHAPTER XIX.

No more endure to weigh The shame and anguish of the evil day Wisely forgetful! O'er the ocean swell Sublime of Hope, I seek the cottaged dell Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray;

COLERIDGE.

Margaret was cheered during this tedious interval by several very kind letters from Lady d'Eyncourt. As soon as she heard of Mr. Grey's death, she wrote to Margaret a letter full of deep feeling and sympathy. She said that when she returned to England, she counted on Margaret's taking up her abode at Sherleigh, unless before that time she was fixed in a home of her own. She was happier than most married women can expect to be, for she was not separated from her father. Captain Gage was now at Paris, with the D'Eyncourts, and he had agreed to travel with them, as long as they remained on the continent. Elizabeth mentioned in one of these letters, that her brother Hubert had sailed for South America, and that her father was very glad to get him out of the country; but it was evident that she did not know who had influenced his decision.

Margaret was cheered by this intelligence. She would have dreaded meeting him again, at least, for some time to come; and she was glad to find that she had been able to do some good by her advice.

One morning, Mr. Warde begged Margaret to come into his library as he wished to speak to her on business. Blanche and Mr. Compton were playing at battledore and shuttlec.o.c.k, and she was not sorry to escape from their noisy enjoyment for a few minutes. Mr. Warde then told her that he had made several inquiries for such a home as he thought might be agreeable to Margaret; that he had found it rather difficult to meet one in all respects satisfactory. But that he had just received a letter from his friend, Mr. Fletcher, that he thought was worth considering about. Mr. Fletcher, if she remembered, was the clergyman to whom he had applied when her uncle desired to take a house by the sea-side.

Yes; Margaret recollected the name. She breathed short; one of those feelings called presentiments came over her. She knew perfectly what was coming.

"It seems," continued Mr. Warde, glancing at the letter, "that a lady in his neighbourhood has lately lost an only daughter, and she has been strongly urged to receive an inmate into her house; she is much averse to a companion in the usual sense of the term, but upon Mr. Fletcher stating to her the sort of home I was anxious to obtain for you, she seemed willing to receive you. You know the neighbourhood, and you are fond of fine scenery, but I must warn you that this lady lives absolutely without society. She is very well connected, but she has retired from the world."

The world--of which her short experience had been so bitter. That, indeed, was an inducement; and Aveline's mother--there was a sort of strange charm to her in the idea.

"I think I should like it," she faltered.

"This lady is a highly cultivated and intellectual woman," said Mr.

Warde, "and I think you will appreciate the advantage of her conversation; no lessons are of such real benefit to a young person, as constant intercourse with a superior mind. And her principles are such as you know how to value and respect."

"Let me go to her," said Margaret.

"Can you make up your mind to solitude?" asked Mr. Warde. "Oh!

yes--yes."

"Then I will write to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and conclude the arrangement."