Book: Uncle Max

R >> Rosa Nouchette Carey >> Uncle Max




Uncle Max took up his felt hat directly he saw us, and followed us
silently into the entry; he did not speak as we went down the little
garden together; and as we turned into the road leading to the vicarage
it was Miss Hamilton who spoke first. She was still holding my arm,
perhaps that gave her courage, and she looked across at Max, who was
walking on my other side.

'Mr. Cunliffe, I am so sorry you were hurt with me the other night,
when Etta spoke about the schools. I am not giving up work for my own
pleasure; I loved it far too much; but there are reasons,'

I heard Max give a quick, impatient sigh in the darkness.

'So you always say, Miss Hamilton; you remember we have talked of this
before. I have thought it my duty more than once to remonstrate with you
about giving up your work, but one seems to talk in the dark; somehow you
have never given me any very definite reasons,--headaches,--well, as
though I did not know you well enough to be sure you are the last person
to think of ailments.'

'Yes, but one's friends are over-careful; but still you are right; it is
not only that. Mr. Cunliffe, I wish you would believe that I have good
and sufficient reasons for what I do, even if I cannot explain them. It
makes one unhappy to be misunderstood by one's clergyman, and,'
hesitating a moment, 'and one's friends,'

'Friends are not left so completely in the dark,' was the pointed answer.
'It is no use, Miss Hamilton. I find it impossible to understand you. I
have no right to be hurt. No, of course not, no right at all,'--and here
Max laughed unsteadily,--'but still, as a clergyman, I thought it could
not be wrong to remonstrate when my best worker deserted her post.'

There was no response to this, only Miss Hamilton's hand lay a little
heavily on my arm, as though she were tired. I though it best to be
silent. No word of mine was needed. I could tell from Max's voice and
manner how bitterly he was hurt.

But when he next spoke it was on a different subject.

'I must beg your pardon, Miss Hamilton, for having wronged you in my
thoughts about something else. I find your brother has forbidden you to
attend evening service for the present. And no doubt he is right; but
your cousin gave me to understand that you stayed away for a very
different reason.'

'What did Etta tell you?' she asked quickly. But before he could answer
a dark figure seemed to emerge rather suddenly from the roadside. Miss
Hamilton dropped my arm at once. 'Is that you, Leah? Have my brother and
Miss Darrell returned from Maplehurst?' And I detected an anxious note
in her voice.

'Yes, ma'am,' returned Leah civilly; 'and Miss Darrell seemed anxious at
your being out so late, because you would take cold, and master begged
you would wrap up and walk very fast.'

'Oh, I shall take no harm,' returned Miss Hamilton impatiently.
'Good-night, Miss Garston, and thank you for a very happy evening.
Good-night, Mr. Cunliffe, and thank you, too. There is no need to come
any farther: Leah will take care of me.' And she waved her hand and moved
away in the darkness.

'What a bugbear that woman is!' I observed, rather irritably, as we
retraced our steps in the direction of the Man and Plough, the little inn
that stood at the junction of the four roads. Everything looked dark and
eerie in the faint starlight. Our footsteps seemed to strike sharply
against the hard, white road; there was a suspicion of frost in the air.
When Max spoke, which was not for some minutes, he merely remarked that
we should have a cold Christmas, and then he asked me if I would dine
with him at the vicarage on Christmas Day. He and Mr. Tudor would be
alone.

'Christmas will be here in less than a fortnight, Ursula,' he went on,
rather absently, but I knew he was not thinking of what he was saying.
And when we reached the White Cottage he followed me into the parlour,
sat down before the fire, and stretched out his hands to the blaze, as
though he were very cold.

I stood and watched him for a moment, and then I could bear it no longer.

'Oh, Max!' I exclaimed, 'I wish you would tell me what makes you look so
wretchedly ill to-night. Even Miss Hamilton noticed it. I am sure there
is something the matter.'

'Nonsense, child! What should be the matter?' But Max turned his face
away as he spoke. 'I told you that I had a headache; but that is nothing
to make a fuss about. Mrs. Drabble shall make me a good strong cup of tea
when I get home.'

Max's manner was just a trifle testy, but I was not going to be repelled
after this fashion. On the contrary, I put my hand on his shoulder and
obliged him to look at me.

'It is not only a headache. You are unhappy about something; as though
I do not see that. Max, you know we have always been like brother and
sister, and I want you to tell me what has grieved you.'

That touched him, as I knew it would, for he had dearly loved his sister.

'I wish your mother were here now,' he returned, in a moved voice. 'I
wish poor Emmie were here: there were not many women like her. One could
have trusted her with anything.'

'I think I am to be trusted too, Max.'

'Yes, yes, you are like her, Ursula. You have got just the same quiet
way. Your voice always reminds me of hers. She was a dear, good sister
to me, more like a mother than a sister. I think if she had lived she
would have been a great comfort to me now, Ursula.'

'I know I am not so good as my mother, but I should like to be a comfort
to you in her place.'

I suppose Max's ear detected the suppressed pain in my voice, for as he
looked at me his manner changed; the old affectionate smile came to his
lips, and he put his hands lightly on me, as though to keep me near him.
'You have been a comfort to me, my dear. You and I have always understood
each other. I think you are as good as gold, Ursula.'

'Then why not trust me, Max? Why not tell me what makes you so unhappy?'

'Little she-bear,' he said, still smiling, 'you must not begin to growl
at me after this fashion, because I am somewhat hipped and want a change.
There is no need to be anxious about me. A man in my position must have
his own and other people's difficulties to bear. No, no, my dear, you
have a wise head, but you are too young to take my burdens on your
shoulders. What should you know about an old bachelor's worries?'

'An old bachelor,' I returned indignantly, 'when you know you are young
and handsome, Max! How can you talk such nonsense?'

I could see he was amused at this.

'You must not expect me to believe that; a man is no judge of his own
looks: but I never thought much about such things myself. I detest the
notion of a handsome parson. There, we will dismiss the subject of your
humble servant. I want to ask you a favour, Ursula.' And then I knew that
all my coaxing had been in vain, and that he did not mean to tell me what
troubled him and made him look so pinched and worn.

But, in spite of this preface, he kept me waiting for a long time, while
he sat silently looking into the fire and stroking his brown beard.

'Ursula,' he began at last, still gazing into the red cavern of coals, as
though he saw visions there, 'I want you and Miss Hamilton to be great
friends. I am sure that she has taken to you, and she likes few people,
and it will be very good for her to be with you.'

Max's speech took me somewhat by surprise. I had not expected him to
mention Miss Hamilton's name.

'She is not happy,' he went on, 'and she is more lonely than other
girls of her age. Miss Elizabeth is a nice bright little thing, but,
as Lawrence says, she wants ballast; she is a child compared to
Gladys,--Miss Hamilton, I mean.' And here Max stammered a little
nervously.

'No, you are right, she is not happy,' I returned quietly; 'she gives me
the impression that she has known some great trouble.'

'Every one has his troubles,' he replied evasively. 'Most people indulge
in the luxury of a private skeleton. Now I have often thought that Miss
Hamilton and her sister would have been far happier without Miss Darrell;
she has rather a peculiar temper, and I have often fancied that she has
misrepresented things. It is always difficult to understand women, even
the best of them,' with a smothered sigh, 'but I confess Miss Darrell is
rather a problem to me.'

'I am not surprised to hear you say that,' I returned quickly: 'you are
just the sort of man, Max, to be hoodwinked by any designing person. I am
less charitable than you, and women are sharper in these matters. I have
already found out that Miss Darrell makes Miss Hamilton miserable.'

'Gently, gently, Ursula,' in quite a shocked voice; 'there is no need to
put things quite so strongly: you are rather hasty, my dear. Miss Darrell
may be a little too managing, and perhaps jealous and exacting; but I
think she is very fond of her cousins.'

'Indeed!' rather drily, for I did not agree with Max in the least; he was
always ready to believe the best of every one.

'Hamilton, too, is really devoted to his sisters, but they do not
understand him. I believe Miss Hamilton is very proud of her brother, but
she does not confide in him. He has often told me, in quite a pained way,
how reserved they are with him. I believe Miss Darrell is far more his
_confidante_ than his sisters.'

'No doubt,' I returned, quite convinced in my own mind that this was the
case.

'So you must see yourself how much Miss Hamilton needs a friend,' he went
on hurriedly. 'I want you to be very good to her, Ursula; perhaps you may
think it a little strange if I say that I think it will be as much your
duty to befriend Miss Hamilton as to minister to Phoebe Locke.'

'I wonder who is speaking strongly now, Max.'

'But if it be the truth,' he pleaded, a little anxiously.

'You need not fear,' was my answer: 'if Miss Hamilton requires my
friendship, I am very willing to bestow it. I will be as good to her as
I know how to be, Max. Is it likely I should refuse the first favour you
have ever asked me?' And, as he thanked me rather gravely, I felt that he
was very much in earnest about this. He went away after this, but I think
I had succeeded in cheering him, for he looked more like himself as he
bade me good-night; but after he had gone I sat for a long time,
reflecting over our talk.

I felt perplexed and a little saddened by what had passed. Max had not
denied that he was unhappy, but he had refused to confide in me. Was his
unhappiness connected in any way with Miss Hamilton? This question
baffled me; it was impossible for me to answer it.

I could not understand his manner to her. He was perfectly kind and
gentle to her, as he was to all women, but he was also reserved and
distant; in spite of their long acquaintance, for he had visited at
Gladwyn for years, there was no familiarity between them. Miss Hamilton,
on her part, seemed to avoid him, and yet I was sure she both respected
and liked him. There was some strange barrier between them that hindered
all free communication. Max was certainly not like himself when Miss
Hamilton was present; and on her side she seemed to freeze and become
unapproachable the moment he appeared. But this was not the only thing
that perplexed me. The whole atmosphere of Gladwyn was oppressive. I had
a subtile feeling of discomfort whenever Miss Darrell was in the room;
her voice seemed to have a curious magnetic effect on one; its tuneless
vibrations seemed to irritate me; if she spoke loudly, her voice was
rather shrill and unpleasant. She knew this, and carefully modulated it.
I used to wonder over its smoothness and fluency.

And there was another thing that struck me. Mr. Hamilton seemed fond of
his step-sisters, but he treated them with reserve; the frank jokes that
pass between brothers and sisters, the pleasant raillery, the blunt
speeches, the interchange of confidential looks, were missing in the
family circle at Gladwyn. Mr. Hamilton behaved with old-fashioned
courtesy to his sisters; he was watchful over their comfort, but he was
certainly a little stiff and constrained in his manner to them: he seemed
to unbend more freely to his cousin than to them; he had scolded her
good-humouredly once or twice, after quite a brotherly fashion, and she
had taken his rebukes in a way that showed they understood each other.
I grew tired at last of trying to adjust my ideas on the subject of the
Hamilton family. I was rather provoked to find how they had begun to
absorb my interest. 'Never mind, I have promised Uncle Max to be good to
her,' was my last waking thought that night, 'and I am determined to keep
my word.' And I fell asleep, and dreamt that I was trying to save Miss
Hamilton from drowning, and that all the time Miss Darrell was standing
on the shore, laughing and pelting us with stones, and when a larger one
than usual struck me, I awoke.

I wondered if it were accident or design that brought Miss Darrell across
my path the next day. I had just left the Lockes' cottage, feeling
somewhat tired and depressed: Phoebe had been in one of her contrary
moods, and had given me a good deal of trouble, but the evil spirit had
been quieted at last, and I had taken my leave after reprimanding her
severely for her rudeness. I was just closing the garden gate, when Miss
Darrell came up to me in the dusk, holding out her hand with her tingling
little laugh.

'How odd that we should have met just here! I hardly knew you, Miss
Garston, in that long cloak, you looked so like a Sister of Charity.
I think you are very wise to adopt a uniform.'

'Thank you, but I have hardly adopted one,' I returned, folding the fur
edges of my cloak closer to me, for it was a bitterly cold evening. 'Are
you going home, Miss Darrell? because you have passed the turning that
leads to Gladwyn.'

'Oh, I do not mind a longer round,' was the careless answer. 'I am very
hardy, and a walk never hurts me. If it were Gladys, now--by the bye,
have you seen my cousin Giles to-day?'

'No,' I returned, wondering a little at her question.

'You are lucky to have escaped him,' with another laugh. 'Dear, dear,
how angry Giles was last night, to be sure, when we came home and found
Gladys out! he was far too angry to say much to her; he only asked her if
she had taken leave of her senses, and that some people--I do not know
whom he meant--ought to be ashamed of themselves.'

'Indeed!' somewhat sarcastically, for I confess this speech made me feel
rather cross. I wondered if Mr. Hamilton could really have said it. I
determined that I would ask him on the first opportunity.

'It was a very injudicious proceeding,' went on Miss Darrell smoothly.
'Gladys was to blame, of course; but still, if you remember, I told you
how delicate she was, and how we dreaded night air for her: young people
are so careless of their health, but of course, as Giles said, we thought
she would be safe with you. You see, Giles looks upon you in the
character of nurse, Miss Garston, and forgets you are young too. "Depend
upon it, they have forgotten the time," I said to him: "when two girls
are chattering their secrets to each other, they are not likely to
remember anything so sublunary." You should have seen Giles's expression
of lordly disgust when I said that.'

'I should rather have heard Mr. Hamilton's answer.'

'Don't be too sure of that,' returned Miss Darrell, in a mocking voice
that somehow recalled my dream. 'I am afraid it would not please you.
Giles is no flatterer. He said he thought you would have been far too
sensible for that sort of nonsense, but that one never knew, and that it
was not only young and pretty girls like Gladys who could be romantic,
and for all your staid looks you were not Methuselah: rather a dubious
speech, Miss Garston.'

'True!' far too dubious to be entirely palatable to my feminine pride;
but I was careful not to hint this to Miss Darrell, and she went on in
the same light jesting way.

'It is terribly hard to satisfy Giles, he is so critical; he sets
impossible standards for people, and then sneers if they do not reach
them. He had conceived rather a high opinion of you, Miss Garston. He
told me one day that he would be glad for you to be intimate with his
sisters, as they would only learn good from you, and that he hoped that
I would encourage your visits. I trust that he has not changed his
opinion since then; but Giles is so odd when people disappoint him. I
said last night that we would invite you for to-morrow, and then you
and Gladys could finish your talk; but he was as cross as possible, and
begged that I would invite no one for Thursday, as he was very busy, and
Gladys must find another opportunity for her talk. There, how I am
chattering on!--and perhaps I ought not to have said all that; but I
thought you would wonder at our want of neighbourliness, and of course we
cannot expect you to understand Giles's odd temper: it is a great pity
he has got this idea in his head.'

'What idea, Miss Darrell?'

'Dear, dear, how sharp you are! how you take me up! Of course it is only
Giles's ill temper: he cannot really think you wanting in ballast.'

'Oh, I understand now. Please go on.'

'But I have no more to say,' rather bewildered by my abruptness. 'Of
course we shall see you soon, when all this has blown over. If you like,
I will tell Giles I have seen you.'

'Please tell Mr. Hamilton nothing. I will speak to him myself.
Good-night, Miss Darrell; I am rather cold and tired after my day's work.
I do not in the least expect that Miss Hamilton has taken any harm.' And
I made my escape. I do not know what Miss Darrell thought of me, but she
walked on rather thoughtfully; as for me, I felt tingling all over with
irritation. If Mr. Hamilton had dared to imply these things of me, I
should hardly be able to keep my promise to Uncle Max, for I would
certainly decline to visit at Gladwyn.




CHAPTER XVIII

MISS HAMILTON'S LITTLE SCHOLAR


Miss Darrell's innuendoes were not to be borne with any degree of
patience. Mr. Hamilton's opinion might be nothing to me,--how often I
repeated that!--but all the same I owed it to my dignity to seek an
explanation with him.

The opportunity came the very next day.

He called to speak to me about a new patient, a little cripple boy who
had broken his arm; the father was a labourer, and there were ten
children, and the mother took in washing. 'Poor Robin has not much chance
of good nursing,' he went on; 'Mrs. Bell is not a bad mother, as mothers
go, but she is overworked and overburdened; she has a good bit of
difficulty in keeping her husband out of the alehouse. Good heavens! what
lives these women lead! it is to be hoped that it will be made up to them
in another world: no washing-tubs and ale-houses there, no bruised bodies
and souls, eh, Miss Garston?'

Mr. Hamilton was talking in his usual fashion; he had taken the arm-chair
I had offered him, and seemed in no hurry to leave it, although his
dinner-hour was approaching. When he had given me full directions about
Robin, and I had promised to go to him directly after my breakfast the
next morning, I said to him in quite a careless manner that I hoped Miss
Hamilton was well and had sustained no ill effects from her visit to me.

'Oh no: she is better than usual. I think you roused her and did her
good. Gladys mopes too much at home. All the same,' in a tolerant tone,
'you ought not to have kept her so late; as Etta very wisely remarked, it
was no good for her to stay in on Sundays and remain out a couple of
hours later another night; you see, Gladys takes cold so easily.'

'I hear you were very much inclined to blame the village nurse, Mr.
Hamilton.'

'Who?--I?' looking at me in a little surprise. 'I do not remember that I
said anything very dreadful. Etta was in a fuss, as usual; you managing
women like to make a fuss sometimes: she sent off Leah, and wanted me to
lecture Gladys for her imprudence; but I was not inclined to be bothered,
and said it was Gladys's affair if she chose to make herself ill, but all
the same she ought to be ashamed of such skittishness at her age. I don't
believe Gladys knew I was joking; that is the worst of her, she never
sees a joke; Etta does, though, for she burst out laughing when my lady
walked off to bed in rather a dignified manner. I hope you are not easily
offended too, Miss Garston?'

'Oh dear, no,' I returned coolly, 'only I should be sorry if you had in
any way changed your opinion of my steadiness. Miss Darrell hinted that
you were vexed with me for keeping your sister, and thought that I was
to blame.'

Mr. Hamilton looked so bewildered at this that I exonerated him from that
moment.

'What nonsense has that girl been talking?' he said, rather irritated.
'I always tell her that tongue of hers will lead her into trouble; I know
she talked plenty of rubbish that night. When she said it was a pity that
you and Gladys were always chattering secrets, I told her that though you
were not a Methuselah, you were hardly the sort of person to indulge in
that sort of sentimentality, that I could answer for your good sense in
that, and that Etta need not be so hard on a pretty young girl like
Gladys. That was not accusing you of want of steadiness.'

'No, thank you. I am so glad that I know what you really said.'

'Indeed, I was not aware that my good or bad opinion mattered to Miss
Garston: you have certainly never given me the impression that you mind
very much what I say or think.'

Was Mr. Hamilton cross? He looked quite moody all at once; his face wore
that hard disagreeable look that I so disliked. He had been so pleasant
in his manners ever since that evening at Gladwyn that I was rather sorry
that this agreeable state of things should be disturbed. He was evidently
not to blame for Miss Darrell's misrepresentations, so I hastened with
much policy to throw oil on the troubled waters.

'I do not know why you should say that. It ought not to be a matter of
indifference what people think of us.'

'Ought it not? Would you like to know my opinion of you after nearly
a month of acquaintance? Let me warn you, I have entirely changed my
opinion since our stormy interview in Cunliffe's study.'

I do not know what there was in Mr. Hamilton's look and manner that made
me say hastily,--

'Oh no, I would rather not know, and I hope you will not tell me. I am
quite sure you do not misconstrue my motives now.'

'You may be quite sure of that,' rather grimly, as though my last speech
displeased him. 'It is difficult not to think you older than you are, you
are so terribly sensible and matter-of-fact. How can Gladys get on with
you, I wonder? Do you put a moral extinguisher on all her romance?'

'I am not quite so matter-of-fact as you make out, Mr. Hamilton.'

He shot an odd sort of glance at me. 'When you sing, one can believe
that; there is nothing prosaic in a nestful of larks. Poor Phoebe, I do
believe you are doing her good: she looks far more human already. By the
bye, when are you coming to sing to us again? I told Etta that I was
engaged on Thursday, and she declared it was our only free day until
Christmas.'

'I shall be too busy to come till after then,' I replied quietly, for I
did not wish him to think that I was ready to jump at any invitation to
Gladwyn. He seemed rather disconcerted at my coldness.

'Why, it is more than ten days to Christmas! I hope you do not mean to
be stiff and unneighbourly, Miss Garston. I am afraid,' with a decidedly
quizzical look, 'that pride is a serious defect of yours.'

'Perhaps so; but, you see, I do not wish to be different from my
neighbours,' I replied quietly; but my speech was received by Mr.
Hamilton with a hearty laugh.

'Oh yes, you are right: we are a proud lot,' he observed, as he rose to
take leave. 'Well, Miss Garston, after Christmas is over, we shall hope
to see you for an evening; but any afternoon you are free they will be
glad to see you. Etta makes excellent tea. What a craze five-o'clock tea
is with you women! I have protested against it in vain: the girls are in
majority against me.' With this speech he took himself off. I was much
relieved at this peaceable ending to our interview. Now he was gone I
could scarcely believe that I had ventured on a joke with the formidable
Mr. Hamilton, a joke which he had taken in excellent part. I began to
feel less in awe of him: he certainly knew how to shake hands heartily,
and I could recapitulate Lady Betty's criticism on myself and apply it
to him, for when Mr. Hamilton smiled he looked quite a different
man,--years younger, and much better looking. Well, I was glad that
he had such a good opinion of my common sense.

My hands were likely to be full of business until after Christmas. Mrs.
Marshall was growing gradually weaker, and Mr. Hamilton was doubtful
whether she would last to see the New Year in. Her husband would be home
on Christmas Eve; his work at Lewes would be finished by then, and he
hoped to find work nearer home. Poor Mary told me this with tears in her
eyes; her one prayer was that she might be spared to see Andrew again.
'He has been a good husband to me, and has kept out of the public-house
for the sake of his wife and the children, and I cannot die easy until I
have said good-bye to him,' finished the poor woman; but when I repeated
this to Mr. Hamilton he shook his head. 'A few hours may take her off any
day,' he said; 'it is only a wonder that she has lasted so long. I
believe she is keeping herself alive by the sheer force of her longing
to see her husband. Women are strange creatures, Miss Garston.'

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