Book: Uncle Max

R >> Rosa Nouchette Carey >> Uncle Max




'Ursula, do you know how late it is?' asked Max, coming up to me. He
looked suddenly very tired, and I saw at once that he wished me to go: so
I made my adieux as quickly as possible, and in a few minutes we had left
the house, accompanied by Mr. Tudor.

Uncle Max was very quiet all the way home. I had expected him to be full
of questions as to how I had enjoyed my evening, but his only remark was
to ask if I were very tired, and then he left me to Mr. Tudor.

'Well, how do you like the folks up at Gladwyn?' demanded Mr. Tudor.
'Lady Betty was not in the best of humours to-night, and hardly deigned
to speak to me; but I am sure you must have admired Miss Hamilton.'

'I like both of them,' was my temperate reply: 'you must not be hard on
poor little Lady Betty. Miss Darrell had been lecturing her, and that
made her cross.'

'So I supposed,' was the prompt answer. 'Well, what did you think of the
Dare-all,--as the vicar calls her sometimes? is she not like a pleasant
edition of Tupper's _Proverbial Philosophy_,--verbose and full of long
sentences? How many words did she coin to-night, do you think?'

There was a little scorn in the young man's voice. Miss Darrell was
evidently not a favourite in the vicarage, yet most people would have
called her elegant and well-mannered, and, if she had no beauty, she was
not bad-looking. She was so exceedingly well made up, and her style of
dress was so suitable to her face, that I was not surprised to hear
afterwards from Lady Betty that many people thought her cousin Etta
handsome. Now when Mr. Tudor made this spiteful little speech I felt
rather pleased, for my dislike to Miss Darrell had increased rather
than diminished by the evening's experiences; under her smooth speeches
there lurked an antagonistic spirit; something had prejudiced her against
me even at our first meeting; I was convinced that she did not like me,
and would not encourage my visit to Gladwyn. Mr. Tudor and I talked a
good deal about Lady Betty; he described her as most whimsical and
sound-hearted, half-child and half-woman, with a touch of the brownie;
her brother often called her Brownie, or little Nix, to tease her. She
was very fond of her sister, he went on to say, but there was not much
companionship between them. Miss Hamilton was very intellectual, and read
a good deal, and Lady Betty never read anything but novels; they all made
a pet of her,--even Mr. Hamilton, who was not much given to pets,--but
she was hardly an influence in the house.

'She has not backbone enough,' he finished, 'and the Dare-all rules them
all with a rod of iron--"cased in velvet."'

Uncle Max listened to all this in silence, and as they parted with me at
the gate of the White Cottage he only said 'Good-night, Ursula,' in a
depressed voice. He was evidently rather cast down about something;
perhaps Miss Hamilton's decision had disappointed him; she had been
his favourite worker, and had helped him greatly; he seemed to feel it
hard that she should withdraw her services so suddenly. How wistfully she
had looked at him as he pleaded with her! it was the first time I had
seen her look at him of her own accord, and yet she had denied his
request,--very firmly and gently.

'I must be friends with her, and then perhaps she will tell me all about
it some day,' I thought; for I was convinced that there was more than met
the eye; but it was some time before I could banish these perplexing
thoughts.

I saw a good deal of Lady Betty during the next week or two. I met her
frequently on my way to the Lockes', and she would walk with me to the
gate, and two or three times she made her appearance at the Marshall's';
'for it's no use calling at the White Cottage of an afternoon,' she would
say disconsolately, 'for you are never at home, you inhospitable
creature.'

'Why, do you think I live here, Lady Betty!' I returned, smiling. 'Do you
know I am becoming a most punctual person? I am always back at the White
Cottage by five, and sometimes a little earlier, and I shall always be
pleased if you will come in and have tea with me.'

'I should like it of all things,' replied Lady Betty, with a sigh; 'and I
will come sometimes, you will see if I don't. But I know Etta will make a
fuss; she always does if I stay out after dark; and it is dark at four
now. That is why I pop in here to see you, because Etta is always busy in
the mornings and never takes any notice of what we do.'

'But surely Miss Darrell will not object to your coming to see me?' I
asked, somewhat piqued at this.

'Oh dear, no,' returned Lady Betty, jumbling her words as though she
found my question embarrassing. 'Etta never objects openly to anything we
do, only she throws stumbling-blocks in our way. I do not know why I have
got it into my head that she would not like Gladys or me to come here
without her, but it is there all the same,--the idea, I mean; it was
something she said the other night to Mrs. Maberley that gave me this
impression. Mrs. Maberley wanted to call on you, because she said you
were Mr. Cunliffe's niece, and people ought to take notice of you. And
Etta said, "Oh dear, yes; and it was a very kind thought on Mrs.
Maberley's part, and Mr. Cunliffe would think it so. That was why Giles
had invited you to Gladwyn. But there was no hurry, and you evidently
were not prepared to enter into society. You had rather strong-minded
views on this subject, and she was not quite sure whether Giles was wise
to encourage the intimacy with his sisters."'

'Miss Darrell said this to Mrs. Maberley?'

'Yes. Was it not horrid of Etta? I felt so cross. And Mrs. Maberley is
such an old dear: only rather old-fashioned in her notions about girls.
So Etta's speech rather frightened her, I could see. Of course she has
not called yet? I am almost inclined to tell Giles about it.'

'Indeed, I hope you will do nothing of the kind, Lady Betty. I am sorry
Miss Darrell does not like me; but I do not see that it matters so very
much what people think of us.'

'Yes; but when Etta takes a dislike to people she tries to prevent us
from knowing them: that is the provoking part of it. She is so dreadfully
jealous, and I expect it was your singing that gave umbrage. Etta is not
at all accomplished; she never cared much for Gladys to sing, because she
had such a sweet voice, and it put her in the background. Ah! I know how
mean it sounds, but it is just the truth about Etta. And if I were to
drop in for five-o'clock tea, as you say, Leah would be sure to make her
appearance and say I was wanted at Gladwyn.'

I found Lady Betty's confidential speeches rather embarrassing, and when
I knew her a little better I took her to task rather seriously for her
want of reticence. But she only pouted, and said, 'When one looks at you,
Miss Garston, one cannot help telling you things: they all tumble out
without one's will. That is what Gladys means when she says you have a
sympathetic face. I wish you would get her to talk to you.'

As Lady Betty persisted in haunting the Marshalls' cottage, I
determined to make her useful. So I set her to read to Elspeth, or to
give sewing-lessons to Peggy, or to amuse the younger children, while
I was engaged with my patient; and I soon found that she was a most
helpful little body.

Mr. Hamilton found her sitting in the kitchen one day surrounded by the
children. She was telling them a story. The baby was sucking her thumb
contentedly on her lap. Poor Mary was worse that day, and I had begged
Lady Betty to keep the little ones quiet.

Mr. Hamilton came into the sick-room looking very much pleased. 'I only
wish you could make Lady Betty a useful member of society, Miss Garston,'
he said, with one of the rare smiles that always lit up his dark face so
pleasantly. 'She is a good little thing, but she wants ballast. As a
rule, young ladies are terribly idle.'

I had called up at Gladwyn a few days after we had dined there, but, to
my great disappointment, I did not see Miss Hamilton. Miss Darrell was
alone, so my visit was as brief as possible.

She told me at once that her cousins had gone over to Brighton for an
afternoon's shopping, and that Mr. Hamilton had run up to London for a
few hours. And then she commenced plying me with questions in a ladylike
way about my work and my past life, but in such a skilful manner that it
was almost impossible to avoid answering. She was so sure that I must be
dull, living all alone. Oh, of course I was too good and unselfish to say
so, but all the same I must be miserably dull. What could have put such a
singular idea in my head, she wondered. When young ladies did this sort
of thing there was generally some painful reason: they were unhappy at
home, or they had had some disastrous love-affair. Of course--laughing
a little affectedly--she had no intention of hinting at such a reason in
my case; any one could see at a glance that I was not that sort of
person; I was far too sensible and matter-of-fact: gentlemen would be
quite afraid of me, I was so strong-minded. But all the same she pleaded
guilty to a feeling of natural curiosity why such an idea had come into
my head.

When I had warded off this successfully,--for I declined to enlighten
Miss Darrell on this subject,--she flew off at a tangent to Aunt
Philippa.

'It was such a pity when relations did not entirely harmonise. An aunt
could never replace a mother. Ah! she knew that too well: and when there
were daughters--and she had heard from Mr. Cunliffe that my cousin Sara
was excessively pretty and charming--no doubt there would be natural
misunderstandings and jealousies. In spite of all my goodness, I was only
human. Of course she understood perfectly how it all happened, and she
felt very sorry for me.'

I disclaimed the notion of any family disagreement with some warmth, but
I do not think she believed me. She had evidently got it into her head
that I was a strong-minded young woman with an uncertain temper, who
could not live peaceably at home. No doubt she had hinted this to Mrs.
Maberley and other ladies. She would make this the excuse for
discouraging any degree of intimacy with her cousins. I should not be
asked very often to Gladwyn if it depended on Miss Darrell; but Mr.
Hamilton had a will of his own, and if he chose me as a companion for
his sisters, Miss Darrell would find it difficult to exclude me.

One could see at a glance that Mr. Hamilton was master in his own house.
Miss Darrell seemed perfectly submissive to him. There was something
almost obsequious in her manner to him. She watched his looks anxiously,
and, though she coaxed and flattered him, she did not seem quite certain
how he would take her speeches.

'We are a strange household; don't you think so, Miss Garston?' she
observed presently. 'Giles is our lord and master. None of us poor women
dare to contradict him. When dear mamma was alive, she had a great deal
of influence over him. He was very fond of her. Her death made a great
difference in the house.'

'It must have been a great trouble to you, Miss Darrell.'

'Yes, indeed. I was almost broken-hearted. She had been the dearest and
most indulgent of mothers; but Giles was very good to me. Gladys and Lady
Betty were very devoted to her; perhaps you have heard them speak of Aunt
Margaret. Ah! I forgot, you have only seen Gladys twice.' And here she
looked at me rather sharply, but I nodded acquiescence. 'Gladys was
always a favourite with her.'

'Miss Hamilton must be a general favourite,' I replied, a little
unguardedly.

'Ah! I suppose you think her handsome,' in rather a forced manner: 'many
people say she is too pale, and rather too statuesque, for their taste.'

'In my opinion she is very beautiful,' I replied quickly, 'I told Uncle
Max the other day that I thought her face almost perfect.'

'And what did he say?' she asked, rather eagerly. 'Did he agree with
you?' But I was obliged to confess that I had forgotten his answer.

'I know Mr. Cunliffe thinks Gladys cold,' she went on. 'He is too
kind-hearted to say so; but I know he feels hurt at her desertion of her
post. It was a strange whim on her part to give up all her parish work.
I am afraid it was a little bit of temper. Gladys has a temper, though
you may not think so. She is very firm, and does not brook the least
interference on my part. Poor dear! if it were not wrong, I should say
she was a little jealous of my influence with Giles, because he likes
me to do things for him; but how am I to help doing what he asks me,
when I owe the very bread I eat to his kindness?'

Miss Darrell was poor and dependent then. This piece of news surprised
me. I thought of the glittering rings and silver-mounted dressing-case
and all the luxurious appliances in her toilet, and wondered if Mr.
Hamilton had paid for them.

Miss Darrell seemed to read my thoughts in a most wonderful way.

'Poor mother left very little except personal jewellery. Yes, I owe
everything to Giles's generosity. He is good enough to say that I earn my
allowance,--and indeed I am never idle; but,' interrupting herself, 'I do
not want to talk of myself; I am a very insignificant person,--just
Giles's housekeeper; Gladys is mistress of the house. I only wanted you
to explain to Mr. Cunliffe that I am not to blame for Gladys's strange
whim. Let me explain a little. She was looking very ill and overworked,
and I begged Giles to lecture her. I told him that there was no need for
Gladys to do quite so much; in fact, she was putting herself a little too
forward in the parish, considering how young she was, and the vicar an
unmarried man. So Giles and I gave her a word. I am sure he spoke most
gently, and I was very careful indeed in only giving her a hint that
people, and even Mr. Cunliffe, might misconstrue such devotion. I never
saw Gladys in such a passion; and the next day she had flung everything
up. She told the vicar that the schoolroom made her head ache, and that
her throat was delicate, and she could not sing. Poor Mr. Cunliffe was
in such despair that I was obliged to offer my services. It is far too
much for me; but what can I do? the parish must not suffer for Gladys's
wilfulness. Now if you could only explain things a little to Mr.
Cunliffe; he looked so hurt the other night when Gladys refused to take
her old class. No wonder he misses her, for she used to teach the
children splendidly; but if he knew it was only a little temper on
Gladys's part he would look over it and be friends with her again. But
you must have noticed yourself, Miss Garston, how little he had to say
to her.'

I had found it impossible to check Miss Darrell's loquacity or to edge in
a single word; but as soon as her breath failed I rose to take my leave,
and she did not seek to detain me.

'You will explain this to Mr. Cunliffe, for Gladys's sake,' she said,
holding my hand. 'I do want him to think well of her, and I can see his
good opinion is shaken.'

But to this I made no audible reply; but, as I shook off the dust of
Gladwyn, I told myself that Uncle Max should not hear Miss Darrell's
version from my lips. She wished to make me a tool in her hands; but her
breach of confidence had a very different result from what she expected.
Miss Darrell's words had cleared up a perplexity in my mind: I could read
between the lines, and I fully exonerated Miss Hamilton.

The following afternoon I had a most unexpected pleasure. When I came
back to the cottage after my day's work Mrs. Barton met me at the door
and told me that Miss Hamilton was in the parlour.

I had thought she meant Lady Betty; but, to my surprise, I found Miss
Hamilton seated by the fire. A pleased smile came to her face as I
greeted her most warmly. She must have seen how glad I was; but she
shrank back rather nervously when I begged her to take off her furred
mantle and stay to tea.

She was not sure that she could remain. Lady Betty was alone, as Giles
and Etta were dining at the Maberleys'. She had been asked, and had
refused; but Etta had taken in her work, as Mrs. Maberley had wanted them
to go early. Perhaps she had better not stay, as it would not be kind to
Lady Betty. But I soon overruled this objection. I told Miss Hamilton
that I saw Lady Betty frequently, but that she herself had never called
since her first visit, and that now I could not let her go.

I think she wanted me to press her; she was arguing against her own
wishes, it was easy to see that. By and by she asked me in a low voice if
I were sure to be alone, or if I expected any visitors; and when I had
assured her decidedly that no one but Uncle Max ever came to see me, and
that I knew he was engaged this evening, her last scruple seemed to
vanish, and she settled herself quite comfortably for a chat. We talked
for a little while on indifferent subjects. She told me about the
neighbourhood and the people who lived in the large houses by the church,
and about her brother's work in the parish, and how if rich people sent
for him he always kept them waiting while he went to the poor ones.

'Giles calls himself the poor people's doctor: he attends them for
nothing. He cannot always refuse rich people if they will have him, but
he generally sends them to Dr. Ramsbotham. You see, he never takes money
for his services, and as people know this, they are ashamed to send for
him; and yet they want him because he is so clever. Giles is so fond of
his profession; he is always regretting that he had a fortune left him,
for he says it would have been far pleasanter to make one. Giles never
did care for money; he is ready to fling it away to any one who asks
him.'

Miss Hamilton kept up this desultory talk all tea-time. She spoke with
great animation about her brother, and I could hardly believe it was the
same girl who had sat so silently at the head of the table that evening
at Gladwyn. The sad abstracted look had left her face. It seemed as
though for a little while she was determined to forget her troubles.

When Mrs. Barton had taken away the tea-tray, she asked me, with the same
wistful look in her eyes, to sing to her if I were not tired, and I
complied at once.

I sang for nearly half an hour, and then I returned to the fireside. I
saw that Miss Hamilton put up her hand to shield her face from the light;
but I took no notice, and after a little while she began to talk.

'I never heard any singing like yours, Miss Garston; it is a great gift.
There is something different in your voice from any one else's: it seems
to touch one's heart.'

'If my singing always makes you sad, Miss Hamilton, it is a very dubious
gift.'

'Ah, but it is a pleasant sadness,' she replied quickly. 'I feel as
though some kind friend were sympathising with me when you sing: it tells
me too that, like myself, you have known trouble.'

I sighed as I looked at Charlie's picture. Her eyes followed my glance,
and I saw again that tremulous motion of her hands.

'Yes, I know,' she said hurriedly; but her beautiful eyes were full of
tears. 'I have always been so sorry for you. You must feel so lonely
without him.'

The intense sympathy with which she said these few words seemed to break
down my reserve. In a moment I had forgotten that we were strangers, as I
told her about my love for Charlie, and the dear old life at the rectory.

It was impossible to doubt the interest with which she listened to me. If
I paused for an instant, she begged me very gently to tell her more about
myself; she was so sorry for me; but it did her good to hear me.

When I spoke of the life at Hyde Park Gate, and told her how little I was
fitted for that sort of existence, she put down her shielding hand, and
looked at me with strange wistfulness.

'No, you are too real, too much in earnest, to be satisfied with that
sort of life. Mr. Cunliffe used to tell us so. And I seemed to understand
it all before I saw you. I always felt as though I knew you, even before
we met. I hope,' hesitating a little, 'that we shall see a great deal of
you. I know Giles wishes it.'

'You cannot come here too often, Miss Hamilton. It will always be such a
pleasure to me to see you.'

'Oh, I did not mean that,' she returned nervously. 'I may not be able
to come here,--that is, not alone; there are reasons, and you must not
expect me; but I hope you will come to Gladwyn whenever you have an hour
to spare. Giles said so the other day. I think he meant you to be friends
with us. You must not mind,' getting still more nervous, 'if Etta is a
little odd sometimes. Her moods vary, and she does not always make people
feel as though they were welcome; but it is only her manner, so you must
not mind it.'

'Oh no; I shall hope to come and see you and Lady Betty some time.'

'And,' she went on hurriedly, 'if there is anything that I can do to help
you, I hope you will tell me so. Perhaps I cannot visit the people; but
there are other things,--needlework, or a little money. Oh, I have so
much spare time, and it will be such a pleasure.'

'Oh yes; you shall help me,' I returned cheerfully, for she was looking
so extremely nervous that I wanted to reassure her; but we were prevented
from saying any more on this subject, for just then we heard the click of
the little gate, and the next moment Uncle Max walked into the room.




CHAPTER XVII

'WHY NOT TRUST ME, MAX?'


Max looked very discomposed when he saw Miss Hamilton; he shook hands
with her gravely, and sat down without saying a word. I wondered if it
were my fancy, or if Miss Hamilton had really grown perceptibly paler
since his entrance.

'What does this mean, Uncle Max?' I asked gaily, for this sort of
oppressive silence did not suit me at all. 'I understood that you and
Mr. Tudor were dining at the Glynns' to-night.'

'Lawrence has gone without me,' he replied. 'I had a headache, and so I
sent an excuse; but, as it got better, I thought I would come up and see
how you were getting on.'

'A headache, Uncle Max!' looking at him rather anxiously, for I had never
heard him complain of any ailment before. I had been dissatisfied with
his appearance ever since I had come to Heathfield; he had looked worn
and thin for some time, but to-night he looked wretched.

'Oh, it is nothing,' he returned quickly. 'Miss Hamilton, I hardly
expected to find you here with Ursula. I thought you were all going
to the Maberleys'.'

'Etta and Giles have gone,' she replied quietly. 'I ought not to be here,
as Lady Betty is alone at Gladwyn; but Miss Garston persuaded me to
remain; but it is getting late. I must be going,' rising as she spoke.

'There is not the slightest need for you to hurry,' observed Max; 'it is
not so very late, and I will walk up with you to Gladwyn.'

'Indeed, I hope you will do nothing of the kind,' she said hurriedly.
'Miss Garston, will you please tell him that there is no need, no need
at all? indeed, I would much rather not.'

Miss Hamilton had lost all her repose of manner; she looked as nervous
and shy as any school-girl when Max announced his intention of escorting
her; and yet how could any gentleman have allowed her to go down those
dark roads alone?

Perhaps Max thought she was unreasonable, for there was a touch of satire
in his voice as he answered her:

'I certainly owe it to my conscience to see you safe home. What would
Hamilton say if I allowed you to go alone?--Ursula,' turning to me with
an odd look, 'it is a fine starlight night; suppose you put on your
hat,--a run will do you good,--and relieve Miss Hamilton's mind.'

'Yes, do come,' observed Miss Hamilton, in a relieved voice; but, as she
spoke, her lovely eyes seemed appealing to him, and begging him not to be
angry with her; but he frowned slightly, and turned aside and took up a
book. How was it those two contrived to misunderstand each other so
often? Max looked even more hurt than he had done at Gladwyn.

I was not surprised to find that when I left the room Miss Hamilton
followed me, but I was hardly prepared to hear her say in a troubled
voice,--

'Oh, how unfortunate I am! I would not have had this happen for worlds.
Etta will--oh, what am I saying?--I am afraid Mr. Cunliffe is offended
with me because I did not wish him to go home with me--but,' a little
proudly and resentfully, 'he is too old a friend to misunderstand me, so
he need not have said that.'

'I think Uncle Max is not well to-night,' I replied soothingly. 'I never
heard him speak in that tone before; he is always so careful not to hurt
people's feelings.'

'Yes, I know,' stifling a sigh; 'it is more my fault than his; he is
looking wretchedly ill; and--and I think he is a little offended with me
about other things; it is impossible to explain, and so he misjudges me.'

'Why do you not try to make things a little clearer?' I asked. 'Could you
not say a word to him as we walk home? Uncle Max is so good that I cannot
bear him to be vexed about anything, and I know he is disappointed that
you will not work in the school.'

'Yes, I know; but you do not understand,' she returned gently. 'I should
like to speak to him, if I dared, but I think my courage will fail; it is
not so easy as you think.' And then as we went downstairs she took my
arm, and I could feel that her hand was very cold. 'I wish he had not
asked you to come: it shows he is hurt with me; but all the same I should
have asked you myself.'

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