Spring Days Part 46

"I don't think the General said anything about walking about the house with her hair down; he said some one wouldn't dress herself. I suppose he meant Maggie. I am sure I am sorry--I am most sorry--to hear she is ill, but it is unjust to a.s.sume that I had anything to do with her illness. We can speak freely among ourselves, you know. You know the circ.u.mstances; no one is more capable of understanding the case than you, for you are an artist. Maggie heard that I had had a model, that's what it amounts to, and she broke off the engagement; nothing could be more unjust, nothing could be more unwarranted."

"It could be brought on again, I know that," said Mrs. Horlock, and she turned the shoulders of her horse to the light.

"We will not go into that question, Mrs. Horlock. I confine myself to what has happened, and I say I was treated unjustly, most shamefully; and when I have been cast aside like an old hat, I hear indirectly that it can be made up again. I have borne quite enough, and will bear no more. Old Brookes came down to my studio with that cad Berkins, and forced his way in, and then forbade me the house because my dog bit Berkins's thigh. I couldn't help it. What did he attack me for? He didn't suppose a bull-dog would be still while his master was being knocked on the head."

"What should a common City man know about dogs? He wouldn't sign the pet.i.tion when I asked him, to Sir Charles Warren, to cancel the regulations about muzzling."

"And then they set a report going that I had set the dog on, and if I hadn't set it on, that I hadn't called him off. As if I could! You know what a bull-dog is, Mrs. Horlock? Is a highly-bred dog likely to let go when he has fixed his teeth in the fleshy part of a thigh? The Brookes are old friends of mine, and I wouldn't say a word against them for the world; but of course it is as obvious to you as it is to me that they are not quite the thing. I mean--you know--I would not think of comparing them with the Southdown Road; but there is a little something. City people are not the Peerage; there's no use saying they are. Mount Rorke was upset; but I would not give in, and I think I should have won his consent in the long run. After all I have borne for her sake I think I might expect better treatment than to be thrown over, as I have said, like an old hat; and I don't mind telling you that I do not intend to be made a fool of in this matter; I shall turn a very deaf ear to stories of a broken heart and failing health. I shall not cease to think of Maggie. I loved her once very deeply, and I should have loved her always if--But tell me, General. You know I will not repeat anything."

"I advise you to say no more, Reggie. I will not be mixed up in any scandal. I shall leave the room. Sally is dining here to-night; she is only too anxious to talk of her sister. If Mr. Escott will stay and take pot-luck with us, he will no doubt hear everything there is to hear in the course of the evening."

"What have we got for dinner, Ethel? I know we have got a leg of mutton, and there is some curry."

"Your dinners are always excellent, Mrs. Horlock. I shall be delighted to stay. Here is Sally. Oh, how do you do, Sally? We were talking of you."

"I'm afraid every one is talking of me, now," she whispered, and the big girl pa.s.sed over to Mrs. Horlock and kissed her. "How is it that no one has seen anything of you lately?" she said, taking the seat next him. "What have you been doing?"

"Nothing in particular. But I want to ask you about Maggie. I hear she is very ill."

Perceiving that his tone did not bespeak a loving mood, Sally's face brightened, and she became at once voluble and confidential.

"Oh, we have been having no end of a time at home. Father has been speaking of selling the place and leaving Southwick."

"Speaking of selling the place and leaving Southwick! And where does he think of going to live, and what is the reason of this?"

"Oh, the reason! I suppose he would say I was the reason; and where heis going to live, that is not settled yet--probably one of the big London hotels. He says everybody is laughing at him, and that when he meets the young men at the station he can see them laughing at him over their newspapers, for, according to father, they have all flirted with us. Maggie has been saying all kinds of things against me, and I am afraid that the Southdown Road people have been writing him anonymous letters again. Some one--I don't know who it is--I wish I did--has been telling him the most shocking things about Jimmy Meason and me; things in which I a.s.sure you there is not a word of truth. You know yourself that we have hardly spoken for nearly two years; last year, it is true, we made it up a bit in your studio, but it didn't last long. I don't think I saw him twice afterwards, and never alone-- and now to have everything that happened two years ago raked up and thrown in my face! I don't say I haven't--I don't know what you'd call it, I suppose you'd call it spooning. I admit I infinitely preferred walking about the garden with a young man to sitting in the drawing- room and doing woolwork. I was a silly little fool then, but I do think it hard that all this should be raked up now. I don't know what will happen. Maggie pretends to be frightened at me; 'tis only her nonsense to set father against me. She won't dress herself, and she walks about with her hair down her back, wringing her hands."

"But what does she say? This is very bewildering. I don't understand-- I am quite lost."

"The fact is that Maggie doesn't know what she is saying, so I suppose I oughtn't to blame her. She is a little off her head, that's the truth of it; but you mustn't say I said so, it will get me into worse trouble than I am already in. She was like that once before, and had to be put in the charge of a lady who was in the habit of dealing with excitable people. I don't mean lunatics, don't run away with that notion. I don't know what would happen if it got about that I was putting that about. Maggie is very excitable, and she has been exciting herself a great deal lately--you were the princ.i.p.al cause.

She did all she could to get you to make it up when you met her here at dinner--the dinner was given for that--but you said nothing about it, and she came home in an awful state, accusing every one of combining to ruin her. She said I was jealous of her, that I was wild with fear that she would one day be Lady Mount Rorke. She said father had done everything to break off her marriage, because he did not like parting with his money. She had set her heart on being married, and it was a terrible disappointment. She has been disappointed two or three times. Father doesn't know what to do. Her thoughts seem to run on that one subject. She walks about the garden saying the most extraordinary things."

"But tell me about the illness."

"I don't know if I ought to tell you."

"Oh, do!"

"I don't know how to say it. She used to say she longed to become a mother."

"Longed to become a mother? Well, that is the last thing--"

"You know what I mean."

"But tell me about the illness."

"I should call it more than being a little excited, but of course she isn't mad. She has, however, the most curious notions. She is always a little too imaginative at the best of times; at least, I find her so, but now her delusions are really too absurd, and, as I have said, the worst of it is that her thoughts run on that one thing; it really is most unfortunate. Poor father."

"But what are her delusions?"

"Well, I scarcely know how to tell you."

"Try; anything can be told. It depends how it is told."

"She thinks that the coachman has spread it all over Southwick--how shall I say it? I don't know that I ought to tell you. Well, that she has gone wrong with you and Berkins. I thought I should die of laughing--the idea of Berkins was too funny for words."

"But your father doesn't believe it?"

"Of course not."

"He doesn't suspect me, I hope?"

"No; I am sure he doesn't. He knows Maggie doesn't know what she is saying. But he was dreadfully put out about Berkins; he is frightened out of his wits lest he should hear of it. But for goodness' sake don't mention that I said anything to you about it; I am in trouble enough as it is. Father says he can stand it no longer. I am very much afraid that he will leave Southwick. It depends on what Aunt Mary says. He has sent for her; she will be here to-morrow."

These family councils were held in the billiard-room, and when Aunt Mary and Aunt Hester had had their tea they came along the pa.s.sage, Aunt Mary of course in front, Aunt Hester timid and freckled and with her usual air of tracts. Uncle James stood with his back to the fire waiting for them. w.i.l.l.y caught at his hair, but an expression of resignation overspread his face, he packed his diary and accounts in brown paper and lit a pipe.

"Now, James, let us hear about these new troubles. Something must be done, that is clear."

"Yes, something must be done, Mary, and I can think of nothing for it but to leave this place. It is no longer a place for me to live in.

The Southdown Road has proved too strong for me, it has conquered me."

"Don't speak like that, James. We must try to bear our burdens, if not for our own sakes, for the sake of Him who died for us. He bore a very heavy cross for us."

"There's no use in talking to me like that, Hester, you only provoke me. You forget what a cross two daughters are, and the Southdown Road has become intolerable. It is more than any man can bear; I will bear it no longer. I have borne it long enough, and am determined to get rid of it. I am afraid there's nothing for it but to sell the place and go and live in London."

Aunt Hester cast her eyes into her satchel, afraid even to think that her brother had intentionally misinterpreted her words; but Aunt Mary laughed at the idea of the slonk-hill, as a latter-day Golgotha, with poor Uncle James staggering beneath the weight of the Southdown Road, young men and all, upon him. It was very irreverent. He burst into tears, Hester moved to leave the room, but was restrained by her sister.

"My position is a most unfortunate one; since the death of poor Julia I have had no one to turn to, there has been no restraining influence in this house. Here am I working all day long in the City for those girls, and when I come home in the evening I find my house full of people I don't know. I a.s.sure you, Mary, I don't know any of the people who come to my house. I am consulted in nothing. It is not fair--I say it is not fair; and at my death those girls will have thirty thousand pounds a-piece."

"I knew you had the money, James, I knew you had," exclaimed Aunt Mary, and even Aunt Hester could not help casting a look of admiration on her weeping brother.

"I say it is not fair; a man of my money should have a comfortable home to return to. Even the Southdown Road people have that; but no consideration is shown to me. My dinner is put back so that Sally may continue her flirtation with Meason in the slonk. Did any one ever hear of such a thing? A man's dinner put back so that--that--that--"

"Yes, we know all about the dinner being put back; that was three years ago."

"Why," Mr. Brookes asked himself, "had he invited his sisters to his help?" He was only adding bitterness to his bitter cup. "You have no sympathy, Mary," he went on; "you cannot understand the difficulties of my position--these two girls are for ever quarrelling and fighting; sometimes they are not even on speaking terms, but I think I prefer their sullen looks to their violence. Sally threatened to knock her sister down if she interfered with her young men."

"What, again?"

"Oh, I don't know if she has threatened to beat her lately. I don't remember when was the last time. Their various rows are all jumbled up in my head. All I know is that Maggie says she cannot live in the house with Sally. Maggie is very ill, she is in a very excited state, as she was once before, when I would not consent to her marriage with --I have forgotten his name, but it doesn't matter. Now she won't dress herself, and she walks about the house with her hair hanging down. I know there is nothing for it but to send her away under the charge of some lady who has had experience in such matters. She can't remain here. She has the strangest delusions. Among other things, she fancies the coachman has spread it all over Southwick that she has gone wrong with Berkins and that fellow Escott. Just fancy if Berkins--a ten thousand a year man--should hear of it! I don't know what he would say. He would peg into me; he is at times very hard indeed upon me. I don't say he is not a first-rate man of business, I know he has made several excellent investments; but for all that I do not and cannot think him competent to advise me on all my affairs, and that's what he is always doing. He talks of putting down that Southdown Road. I should like to see how he would set about doing it."

"James, Maggie must go away; she is very highly organised, very sensitive, and if she were to remain here, Sally might have a real effect on her mind. It is clear the sisters don't get on together; have you had medical advice? I told you before that you should have medical advice about those girls; I told you to spare no expense, but to go to a first-rate London physician and take his opinion. I said before, and I say it again, that no girls in good health could carry on as dear Sally, and I will include dear Maggie; for although she does not defy you to the same extent, there is no doubt that she is too fast, too fond of young men; her thoughts run too much in that way, and now she is ill, of course she has delusions. You ought to have medical advice."

"Mary, dear, the body is not everything; to cure the flesh you must first cure the soul. I believe our dear nieces rarely, if ever, attend church, rarely, if ever, remember that this life is not eternal and that there is a hereafter."

The conversation came to a pause. Presently Aunt Mary asked w.i.l.l.y, who sat resigned to his fate, calm and solemn as a Buddha, his hands clasped over his rotund stomach, if he thought that Maggie's state was one to cause immediate anxiety, to which he replied: "My sisters think of nothing but pleasure. The trouble girls are in a house is more than any one would believe. Here I am, I can do nothing; every night it is the same thing, over and over again." And the lean man lapsed into contemplation.

"But to come to the point, James, I want to hear about Sally. You said in your letter that a great deal had come to light, and that you now find that her conduct has been worse than you had ever imagined it, even in your moments of deepest dejection. Now, I want to hear about all this. What has she done? Let's have it in plain English. What has she done?"