Deerbrook Part 37

"Do so; any time this evening, or before noon to-morrow."

"Did you know of this, Edward?" said his wife, as they turned the corner.

"Not I. I think Mrs Rowland is mistaken in saying that nothing can be kept secret in Deerbrook. I do not believe anybody has dreamed of the poor old lady giving up her house."

"Very likely Mrs Rowland never dreamed of it herself; till the day it was done," observed Margaret.

"Oh, yes, she did," said Mr Hope. "I understand now the old lady's agitation, and the expressions she dropped about 'last times' nearly a month ago."

"By-the-by, that was the last time you saw her--was it not?"

"Yes; the next day when I called I was told that she was better, and that she would send when she wished to see me again, to save me the trouble of calling when she might be asleep."

"She has been asleep or engaged every time I have inquired at the door of late," observed Margaret. "I hope she is doing nothing but what she likes in this change of plan."

"I believe she finds most peace and quiet in doing what her daughter likes," said Mr Hope. "Here, Margaret, where are you going? This is the gate. I believe you have not learned your way about yet."

"I will follow you immediately," said Margaret: "I will only go a few steps to see if this can really be true."

Before the Hopes had half crossed the meadow, Margaret joined them, perfectly convinced. The large bills in the closed windows of Mrs Enderby's house bore "To be Let or Sold" too plainly to leave any doubt.

As the skating season was nearly over, all the skaters in Deerbrook were eager to make use of their remaining opportunities, and the banks of the brook and of the river were full of their wives, sisters, and children.

Sydney Grey was busy cutting figures-of-eight before the eyes of his sisters, and in defiance of his mother's careful warnings not to go here, and not to venture there, and not to attempt to cross the river.

Mr Hope begged his wife to engage Mrs Grey in conversation, so that Sydney might be left free for a while, and promised to keep near the boy for half an hour, during which time Mrs Grey might amuse herself with watching other and better performers further on. As might have been foreseen, however, Mrs Grey could talk of nothing but Mrs Enderby's removal, of which she had not been informed till this morning, and which she had intended to discuss in Hester's house, on leaving the meadows.

It appeared that Mrs Enderby had been in agitated and variable spirits for some time, apparently wis.h.i.+ng to say something that she did not say, and expressing a stronger regard than ever for her old friends--a regular sign that some act of tyranny or rudeness might speedily be expected from Mrs Rowland. The Greys were in the midst of their speculations, as to what might be coming to pa.s.s, when Sydney burst in, with the news that Mrs Enderby's house was to be "Let or Sold." Mrs Grey had mounted her spectacles first, to verify the fact, and then sent Alice over to inquire, and had immediately put on her bonnet and cloak, and called on her old friend at Mrs Rowland's. She had been told at the door that Mrs Enderby was too much fatigued with her removal to see any visitors. "So I shall try again to-morrow," concluded Mrs Grey.

"How does Mr Hope think her spasms have been lately?" asked Sophia.

"He has not seen her for nearly a month; so I suppose they are better."

"I fear that does not follow, my dear," said Mrs Grey, winking. "Some people are afraid of your husband's politics, you are aware; and I know Mrs Rowland has been saying and doing things on that score which you had better not hear about. I have my reasons for thinking that the old lady's spasms are far from being better. But Mrs Rowland has been so busy crying up those drops of hers, that cure everything, and praising her maid, that I have a great idea your husband will not be admitted to see her till she is past cure, and her daughter thoroughly frightened.

Mr Hope has never been forgiven, you know, for marrying into our connection so decidedly. And I really don't know what would have been the consequence, if, as we once fancied likely, Mr Philip and Margaret had thought of each other."

Margaret was happily out of hearing. A fresh blow had just been struck.

She had looked to Mrs Enderby for information on the subject which for ever occupied her, and on which she felt that she must know more or sink. She had been much disappointed at being refused admission to the old lady, time after time. Now all hope of free access and private conversation was over. She had set it as an object before her to see Mrs Enderby, and learn as much of Philip's affair as his mother chose to offer: now this object was lost, and nothing remained to be done or hoped--for it was too certain that Mrs Enderby's friends would not be allowed unrestrained intercourse with her in her daughter's house.

For some little time Margaret had been practising the device, so familiar to the unhappy, of carrying off mental agitation by bodily exertion. She was now eager to be doing something more active than walking by Mrs Grey's side, listening to ideas which she knew just as well without their being spoken. Mrs Grey's thoughts about Mrs Rowland, and Mrs Rowland's ideas of Mrs Grey, might always be antic.i.p.ated by those who knew the ladies. Hester and Margaret had learned to think of something else, while this sort of comment was proceeding, and to resume their attention when it came to an end.

Margaret had withdrawn from it now, and was upon the ice with Sydney.

"Why, cousin Margaret, you don't mean that you are afraid of walking on the ice?" cried Sydney, balancing himself on his heels. "Mr Hope, what do you think of that?" he called out, as Hope skimmed past them.

"Cousin Margaret is afraid of going on the ice!"

"What does she think can happen to her?" asked Mr Hope, his last words vanis.h.i.+ng in the distance.

"It looks so grey, and clear, and dark, Sydney."

"Pooh! It is thick enough between you and the water. You would have to get down a good way, I can tell you, before you could get drowned."

"But it is so slippery!"

"What of that? What else did you expect with ice? If you tumble, you can get up again. I have been down three times this morning."

"Well, that is a great consolation, certainly. Which way do you want me to walk?"

"Oh, any way. Across the river to the other bank, if you like. You will remember next summer, when we come this way in a boat, that you have walked across the very place."

"That is true," said Margaret. "I will go if Sophia will go with me."

"There is no use in asking any of them," said Sydney. "They stand dawdling and looking, till their lips and noses are all blue and red, and they are never up to any fun."

"I will try as far as that pole first," said Margaret. "I should not care if they had not swept away all the snow here, so as to make the ice look so grey and slippery."

"That pole!" said Sydney. "Why, that pole is put up on purpose to show that you must not go there. Don't you see how the ice is broken all round it? Oh, I know how it is that you are so stupid and cowardly to-day. You've lived in Birmingham all your winters, and you've never been used to walk on the ice."

"I am glad you have found that out at last. Now, look--I am really going. What a horrid sensation!" she cried, as she cautiously put down one foot before the other on the transparent floor. She did better when she reached the middle of the river, where the ice had been ground by the skates.

"Now, you would get on beautifully," said Sydney, "if you would not look at your feet. Why can't you look at the people, and the trees opposite?"

"Suppose I should step into a hole."

"There are no holes. Trust me for the holes. What do you flinch so for? The ice always cracks so, in one part or another. I thought you had been shot."

"So did I," said she, laughing. "But, Sydney, we are a long way from both banks."

"To be sure: that is what we came for."

Margaret looked somewhat timidly about her. An indistinct idea flitted through her mind--how glad she should be to be accidentally, innocently drowned; and scarcely recognising it, she proceeded.

"You get on well," shouted Mr Hope, as he flew past, on his return up the river.

"There, now," said Sydney, presently; "it is a very little way to the bank. I will just take a trip up and down, and come for you again, to go back; and then we will try whether we can't get cousin Hester over, when she sees you have been safe there and back."

This was a sight which Hester was not destined to behold. Margaret had an ignorant partiality for the ice which was the least grey; and, when left to herself, she made for a part which looked less like gla.s.s.

n.o.body particularly heeded her. She slipped, and recovered herself: she slipped again, and fell, hearing the ice crack under her. Every time she attempted to rise, she found the place too slippery to keep her feet; next, there was a hole under her; she felt the cold water--she was sinking through; she caught at the surrounding edges--they broke away.

There was a cry from the bank, just as the death-cold waters seemed to close all round her, and she felt the ice like a heavy weight above her.

One thought of joy--"It will soon be all over now"--was the only experience she was conscious of.

In two minutes more, she was breathing the air again, sitting on the bank, and helping to wring out her clothes. How much may pa.s.s in two minutes! Mr Hope was coming up the river again, when he saw a bustle on the bank, and slipped off his skates, to be ready to be of service.

He ran as others ran, and arrived just when a dark-blue dress was emerging from the water, and then a dripping fur tippet, and then the bonnet, making the gradual revelation to him who it was. For one instant he covered his face with his hands, half-hiding an expression of agony so intense that a bystander who saw it, said, "Take comfort, sir: she has been in but a very short time. She'll recover, I don't doubt."

Hope leaped to the bank, and received her from the arms of the men who had drawn her out. The first thing she remembered was hearing, in the lowest tone she could conceive of--"Oh, G.o.d! my Margaret!" and a groan, which she felt rather than heard. Then there were many warm and busy hands about her head--removing her bonnet, shaking out her hair, and chafing her temples. She sighed out, "Oh, dear!" and she heard that soft groan again. In another moment she roused herself, sat up, saw Hope's convulsed countenance, and Sydney standing motionless and deadly pale.

"I shall never forgive myself," she heard her brother exclaim.

"Oh, I am very well," said she, remembering all about it. "The air feels quite warm. Give me my bonnet. I can walk home."

"Can you? The sooner the better, then," said Hope, raising her.