Deerbrook Part 59

"I do not object to that, I confess. His thinking fairly of Walcot can do no harm, and may save mischief, and it looks honourable and well. I do not regret that, I own. But I think he is clearly wrong in selling his horse in such a hurry. All Deerbrook will know it directly, and it will not look well. I offered him such accommodation as would enable him to keep it; but he is quite obstinate. Some enthusiastic notion of honour, I suppose--. But I told them that there is no profession or business in the world that has not its ups and downs."

"Exactly what I told Hester, when she declined having any parties at present--in the very crisis, in my opinion, when it is of great consequence that they should get their friends about them. Sophia would have made the cake, and Alice would have waited at tea. But the fact is, Mr Hope has put some of his spirit into his wife, and they must take their own way, I suppose."

"He gave me his reasons, however," observed Mr Grey. "He regards this as something more than one of the slack times common in his profession.

He will not accept obligation, while he sees no clear prospect of being able to discharge it. I could not prevail upon him. However, they must have enough: they cannot be actually pinched. I never saw him in better spirits. There can be no occasion for our doing anything more than just being on the look-out to serve them."

"We must push them--that is all we can do. They cannot really be wanting anything, as you say, such fine spirits as they are in. Hester looks sweetly. The first game that we have to spare this season shall go to them: and I shall bear them in mind when we gather our apples."

"If you find we have any apples to gather, my dear. I doubt it."

"Do you really? It will be unfortunate for our young friends, if prices rise next winter, as you seem to expect. There goes ten o'clock, I declare; and there are the children looking out for us, as well they may. But those are really delightful young people. There is no getting away from them."

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

BOATING.

Mr Walcot was delighted with the invitation to the water-party, but was fully engaged for the next three weeks. Mr Grey decreed that he was to be waited for. Then the lady moon had to be waited for another ten days; so that it was past the middle of August before Mrs Grey and Sophia were called upon to endure Mr Walcot's society for six hours.

The weather was somewhat dubious when the day arrived: but in so bad a season as the present, it would never do to let a doubt put a stop to an excursion which had been planned above a month. One of Mr Grey's men was sent round among the ladies in the morning, to request to be the bearer of their cloaks, as it was thought they would be cold on the water without all the wraps they had. Hester sent as many warm things as she thought Margaret could possibly wear. She was not going herself.

She wished it much; but it was decided on all hands that it would be imprudent, as there was no calculating the amount of fatigue which each might have to incur.

At three o'clock the party a.s.sembled on the wharf on Messrs. Grey and Rowland's premises, everyone having dined at home. Mrs Rowland had tried to persuade Mr Walcot that he ought not to be out of the way, after what Lady Hunter had said in a note about her terrible headache of yesterday. It might be the beginning of a feverish attack; and it would be unfortunate if he should be six miles down the river--not expected home till nine or ten at night, when a messenger should arrive from the Hall. But Mr Walcot had seen few water-parties in the course of his life, and he was resolved to go.

Margaret and her brother repaired in gay spirits to the water-side. In the days of poverty, trifles become great events, and ease is luxury.

Hope felt himself clear of the world to-day. He had received the money from the sale of his horse; and after paying for its corn, there was fifteen pounds left to be put by for his rent. Hester had bidden adieu to the horse with a sort of glee, as she had never been able to overcome her panic during her husband's long country rides; and Hope found that he hung more and more upon Hester's smiles: they cheered him, from whatever cause they arose. Margaret was gay from discourse with Philip.

She had just despatched a letter to him--a letter which had acknowledged that it was, indeed, long since they had met--that it was almost time that he was coming to Deerbrook again.

The party they joined looked less merry than themselves. The two boats which lay at the wharf were gay enough--the one with crimson cus.h.i.+ons, and the other with blue. A servant-maid was to go in each, to take care of the provisions, and provide tea at the ruins; and Alice and her companion were alert and smiling. But Mrs Grey wore a countenance of extraordinary anxiety; and the twitching of her face showed that something had gone very seriously wrong. Sophia nearly turned her back upon Mr Walcot, who continued to address her with patient diligence.

Maria was sitting on some deals, waiting to be called to enter the boat; and some of the people of the village were staring at her from a little distance. Margaret immediately joined her.

"What are those people looking at you for?"

"I cannot conceive. I fancied that while I was sitting I looked pretty much like other people."

"To be sure you do. I will ask Mr Grey. I am sure there is some meaning in their gaze--so ridiculously compa.s.sionate."

"Do not you know?" said Mr Grey. "Do not you know the story they have got up about Miss Young's case. They say Mr Hope set her limb so badly that he had to break it again twice. I have been asked several times whether he did not get me to help him: and they will not believe me when I deny the whole."

Maria laughed; and Margaret observed that they would presently see how much better Maria could walk now than she did before her last accident, such being the effect of the long and complete rest which had been enforced upon her.

"Nothing like seeing for themselves," observed Mr Grey, surveying the company. "All come but Dr Levitt now, I think. It really goes to my heart not to take some of my partner's children. There they are, peeping at us, one head behind another, from that gate. There is room for two or three, from the Jameses failing us at the last. The little things might as well go; but I suppose there would be no use in saying anything about it. I must have a word with my daughter before we embark. Sophia, my dear! Sophia!"

Sophia came, and Margaret overheard her father say to her, that every person present was his guest, and to be treated with the civility and attention due to him as such. Sophia looked rather sulky at hearing this, and walked far away from Mr Walcot to devote herself to Miss Anderson.

By dint of sending a messenger to Dr Levitt's a quarter of an hour before the time, his presence was secured a quarter of an hour after it.

He made his usual approach--looking bland and gentlemanly, and fearing he was late.

The party were ordered into the boats as if they had been going to dinner. Mr Walcot was appointed to hand Margaret in; but he showed, amidst great simplicity, an entire determination to be Sophia's companion. Hope was approaching Maria's seat, to give her his arm, when some bustle was heard at the gate where the little Rowlands were cl.u.s.tered.

"There is my partner! He will go with us, after all," said Mr Grey.

"Come, my dear sir, we have plenty of room."

"So much the better for my brother-in-law. You have room for Enderby, have you? He will be delighted to join you, I have no doubt. Room for me too? I really think I must indulge myself. Yes; Enderby took us quite by surprise this morning: but that is his way, you know."

Philip here, and without notice! Margaret thought she was dreaming the words she heard. She felt much oppressed--as if there must be something wrong in so sudden and strange a proceeding. At the very moment of suspense, she caught Mrs Grey's eye fixed upon her with the saddest expression she thought she had ever seen.

Philip was come--it was no dream. He was presently in the midst of the party, making his compliments--compliments paid to Margaret in a manner scarcely different in the eyes of others from those which were shared by all: but to her, a world of wonder and of horror was revealed by the glance of the eye and the quiver of the lip, too slight to be detected by any eye less intently fixed than hers. Margaret stood alone, as the others were stepping into the boats; but Philip did not approach her.

He interfered between Hope and Maria Young. Maria looked agitated and uncertain; but she thought she had no right to cause any delay or difficulty; and she took his arm, though she felt herself unable to conceal her trembling. Hope saw that Margaret was scarcely able to support herself.

"I cannot go," she said, as he drew her arm within his. "Leave me behind. They will not miss me. n.o.body will miss me."

The agonised tone of these last words brought back the colour which Hope had lost in the tempest of emotions, in which anger was uppermost. He was no longer deadly pale when he said:

"Impossible. I cannot leave you. You must not stay behind. It is of the utmost consequence that you should go. Cannot you? Do try. I will place you beside Mrs Grey. Cannot you make the effort?"

She did make the effort. With desperate steadiness she stepped into the boat where Mrs Grey was seated. She was conscious that Philip watched to see what she would do, and then seated Maria and himself in the other boat. Hope followed Margaret. If he had been in the same boat with Enderby, the temptation to throw him overboard would have been too strong.

Till they were past the weir and the lock, and all the erections belonging to the village, and to the great firm which dignified it, the boats were rowed. Conversation went on. The grey church steeple was p.r.o.nounced picturesque, as it rose above the trees; and the children looked up at Dr Levitt, as if the credit of it by some means belonged to him, the rector. Sydney desired his younger sisters not to trail their hands through the water, as it r.e.t.a.r.ded the pa.s.sage of the boat.

The precise distance of the ruins from Deerbrook ferry was argued, and Dr Levitt gave some curious traditions about the old abbey they were going to see. Then towing took the place of rowing, and the party became very quiet. The boat cut steadily through the still waters, the slight ripple at the bows being the only sound which marked its progress. Dr Levitt pointed with his stick to the "verdurous wall"

which sprang up from the brink of the river, every spray of the beech, every pyramid of the larch, every leaf of the oak, and the tall column of the occasional poplar, reflected true as the natural magic of light and waters could make them. Some then wished the sun would come out, without which it could scarcely be called seeing the woods. Others tried to recognise the person who stood fis.h.i.+ng under the great ash; and it took a minute or two to settle whether it was a man or a boy; and two minutes more to decide that it was n.o.body belonging to Deerbrook.

Margaret almost wondered that Edward could talk on about these things as he did--so much in his common tone and manner. But for his ease and steadiness in small talk, she should suppose he was striving to have her left unnoticed, to look down into the water as strenuously as she pleased. She little knew what a training he had had in wearing his usual manner while his heart was wretched.

"There, now!" cried f.a.n.n.y, "we have pa.s.sed the place--the place where cousin Margaret fell in last winter. We wanted to have gone directly over it."

Margaret looked up, and caught Sydney's awe-struck glance. He had not yet recovered from that day.

"If you had mentioned it sooner," said Margaret, "I could have shown you the very place. We did pa.s.s directly over it."

"Oh, why did you not tell us? You should have told us."

Dr Levitt smiled as he remarked that he thought Miss Ibbotson was likely to be the last person to point out that spot to other people, as well as to forget it herself. Margaret had indeed been far from forgetting it. She had looked down into its depths, and had brought thence something that had been useful to her--something on which she was meditating when f.a.n.n.y spoke. She had been saved, and doubtless for a purpose. If it was only to suffer for her own part, and to find no rest and peace but in devoting herself to others--this was a high purpose.

Maria could live, and was thankful to live, without home, or family, or prospect. But it was not certain that this was all that was to be done and enjoyed in life. Something dreadful had happened: but Philip loved her: he still loved her--for nothing but agonised love could have inspired the glance which yet thrilled through her. There was some mistake--some fearful mistake; and the want of confidence in her which it revealed--the fault of temper in him--opened a long perspective of misery; but yet, he loved her, and all was not over. At times she felt certain that Mrs Rowland was at the bottom of this new injury: but it was inconceivable that Philip should be deluded by her, after his warnings, and his jealous fears lest his Margaret should give heed to any of his sister's misrepresentations. No light shone upon the question, from the cloudy sky above, or the clear waters beneath; but both yielded comfort through that gentle law by which things eminently real--Providence, the mercy of death, and the blessing of G.o.dlike life, are presented or prophesied to the spirit by the shadows amidst which we live. When Margaret spoke, there was a calmness in her voice, so like an echo of comfort in her heart, that it almost made Edward start.

The party in the other boat were noisier, whether or not they were happier, than those in whose wake they followed. Mr Walcot had begun to be inspired as soon as the oars had made their first splash, and was now reciting to Sophia some "Lines to the Setting Sun," which he had learned when a little boy, and had never forgotten. He asked her whether it was not a sweet idea--that of the declining sun being like a good man going to his rest, to rise again to-morrow morning. Sophia was fond of poetry that was not too difficult; and she found little disinclination in herself now to observe her father's directions about being civil to Mr Walcot. The gentleman perceived that he had won some advantage; and he persevered. He next spoke of the amiable poet, Cowper, and was delighted to find that Miss Grey was acquainted with some of his writings; that she had at one time been able to repeat his piece on a Poplar Field, and those sweet lines beginning--

"The rose had been washed, just washed in a shower."

But she had never heard the pa.s.sage about "the tw.a.n.ging horn o'er yonder bridge," and "the wheeling the sofa round," and "the cups that cheer but not inebriate;" so Mr Walcot repeated them, not, as before, in a high key, and with his face turned up towards the sky, but almost in a whisper, and inclining towards her ear. Sophia sighed, and thought it very beautiful, and was sorry for people who were not fond of poetry. A pause of excited feeling followed, during which they found that the gentlemen were questioning a boatman, who was awaiting his turn to tow, about the swans in the river.

"The swans have much increased in number this season, surely. Those are all of one family, I suppose--those about the island," observed Mr Grey.

"Yes, sir; they can't abide neighbours. They won't suffer a nest within a mile."

"They fight it out, if they approach too near, eh?" said Enderby.

"Yes, sir; they leave one another for dead. I have lost some of the finest swans under my charge in that way."

"Do you not part them when they fight?" asked Walcot.