Book: Uncle Max

R >> Rosa Nouchette Carey >> Uncle Max




'You must not be hurt with me. I have never spoken to any one about Eric.
Mr. Cunliffe knows. But he--he--is different, and he was very kind to me.
I must always be grateful.' The tears came into her eyes, and she hurried
on:

'I should like you to know, only I am such a coward. I am so sure of
your sympathy, you seem already such a friend. Why do you call me Miss
Hamilton? I am younger than you. I should like to hear you say Gladys.
Miss Hamilton seems so stiff from you, and for years I have thought of
you as Ursula.'

'You mean that Uncle Max has often talked of me?'

'Oh yes,' with an involuntary sigh, 'of you and your brother. He was
always so fond of you both. He used to say very often that he wished that
I knew you; that you were so good, so unlike other people; that you bore
your trouble so beautifully.'

'I bore my trouble well! Oh, Miss Hamilton, it is impossible that he
could have said that, when he knew how rebellious I was.' But here I
could say no more.

'Don't cry, Ursula,' she said, very sweetly; 'you are not rebellious now.
Oh, I used to be so sorry for you; you little thought at that dreadful
time, when you were so lonely and desolate, that a girl whom you had
never seen, and perhaps of whom you had never heard, was praying for you
with all her heart. That is what I mean by saying that I have known you
for a long time.'

By mutual impulse we bent forward and kissed each other,--a quiet
lingering kiss that spoke of full understanding and sympathy. I had
promised Uncle Max to be good to this girl, to do all I could to help
her, but I did not know as I gave that promise how my heart would cleave
to her, and that in time I should grow to love her with that rare
friendship that is described in Holy Writ as 'passing the love of women.'
We were silent for a little while, and then by some sudden impulse I
began to speak of Max; I told her that I felt a little anxious about him,
that he did not seem quite well or quite happy.

'I have thought so myself,' she returned, very quietly.

'Max is so good that I cannot bear to see him unhappy,--he is so
unselfish, so full of thought for other people, so earnest in his work,
so conscientious and self-denying.'

'True,' she replied, taking up a little toy screen that lay in her lap
and shielding her face from the flame: 'he is all that. If any one
deserves to be happy, it is your uncle.'

I was glad to hear her say this, but her voice was a little constrained.

'He seems very far from happy just now,' was my answer: 'he looks worn
and thin, as though he were overworking himself. I asked him the other
night what ailed him. Are you cold, Miss Hamilton? I thought you shivered
just now.'

'No, no,' she returned, a little impatiently: 'you were speaking of your
uncle.'

'Yes. I could not get him to tell me what was the matter; he began to
joke: you know his way; men are so tiresome sometimes.'

'It is not always easy to understand them,' she said, turning away her
face: 'perhaps they do not wish to be understood. It must be a great
comfort to Mr. Cunliffe to have you so near him. I have thought lately
that he has seemed a little lonely.'

'But he comes here very often,' I said, rather quickly; 'he need not be
dull, with so many friends.'

To my surprise, Miss Hamilton's fair face flushed almost painfully.

'He does not come so often as he used; perhaps he finds us a little too
quiet. I am sorry for Giles's sake--oh yes, I do not mean that,' as I
looked at her rather reproachfully. 'Of course we all like Mr. Cunliffe.'

I was about to reply to this, when Miss Hamilton suddenly grew a little
restless, and the next moment the door-bell sounded.

I rose at once. 'They have come back from church. I will bid you good-bye
now.' And, as I expected, she made no effort to keep me.

'You will come again,' she said, kissing me affectionately. 'I have so
enjoyed our little talk; you have done me good, indeed you have, Ursula,'
watching me from the threshold. I knew I could not escape my fate, so I
walked downstairs as coolly as I could, and encountered them all in the
hall. Miss Darrell gave a little shriek when she saw me.

'Dear me, Miss Garston, how you startled me! Who would have thought of
finding you here on Sunday evening, when all good people are at church!'
but here Mr. Hamilton put her aside with little ceremony: he really
seemed as though he were glad to see me.

'You came to sit with Gladys: it was very kind and thoughtful of you.
Poor girl, she seemed rather dull, but now you have cheered her up.'

'Perhaps Miss Garston will extend her cheering influence, Giles,'
observed Miss Darrell in her most staccato manner, 'and remain to supper.
Leah will see her home.'

'I am going to perform that office myself, Etta. Will you stay?' looking
at me in a friendly manner.

'Not to-night,' I returned hurriedly; 'and, indeed, I can very well
walk alone.' But Mr. Hamilton settled that question by putting on his
greatcoat.

'Oh, of course Giles will walk with you: how could he do less?' replied
Miss Darrell, with a scarcely perceptible sneer. 'You have timed your
visit so well that he will be just back to supper. So you have been
sitting with dear Gladys? I wonder how you knew she had a cold: private
information, I suppose. I should hardly have thought Gladys was well
enough to see visitors, she was so feverish when I left her; but that
stupid Chatty makes such mistakes.'

'Miss Hamilton was not at all feverish, I assure you. My visit has done
her no harm.' And I turned to Lady Betty, who stood on tiptoe to kiss me
and breathed a 'thank you' into my ear; but Miss Darrell could not
forbear from a parting fling as she bade me good-night.

'We shall wait supper for you, Giles,' she said rather pointedly; but Mr.
Hamilton took no notice; he only bade me be careful, as it was rather
slippery by the gate, and then he began telling me about the sermon, and,
strangely enough, he endorsed my opinion of Max.

'I tell him he must have a change after Christmas; he looks knocked up,
and a trifle thin. It will not hurt Tudor to work a little harder; you
may tell Cunliffe I say so. Halloo! I think you had better take my arm,
Miss Garston; it is confoundedly dark and slippery.' But I declined this,
as I was tolerably sure-footed.

Mr. Hamilton seemed in excellent spirits, and talked well and with great
animation, as though he were bent on amusing me; he was a clever man,
and had a store of useful information which he did not always care to
produce. I never heard him talk better than on this occasion: there were
flashes of wit and brilliancy that surprised me: I was almost sorry when
I reached the cottage.

'Good-night, Miss Garston, and thank you again for your deed of charity,'
he said quite heartily, and as though he meant it. Really, I never liked
Mr. Hamilton so much before; but then he had never shown himself so
genial. I saw Lady Betty the next morning, and asked her after Miss
Hamilton, but I almost regretted my question when the naughty little
thing treated me to one of her usual confidences: there was no inducing
her to hold her tongue when she was in the humour for chatting.

'Oh, it was such fun!' she said, her eyes dancing with mischief. 'Etta
was so cross when you were gone; she declared it was a conspiracy between
us three, and that you only wanted Giles to walk home with you. No, I did
not mean to repeat that, so please don't look so angry. Etta did not
really think so, but she will say these things about people. I tell
Gladys Etta wants Giles herself. She scolded Chatty for being so stupid,
and said if Leah had been at home she would have shown more sense; and
then she went up to Gladys's room in a nice temper, but Gladys would not
listen, said she was tired, and ordered Etta out of the room. When Gladys
is like that Etta can do nothing with her, so she sulked until Giles came
home, and then began teasing him about his gallantry, and wondering how
he enjoyed his walk, and you know her way.'

'Lady Betty, I am busy; besides which, I do not wish to hear any more of
your cousin's improving conversation.'

'Oh, there is nothing more to tell,' she returned triumphantly. 'Giles
silenced her so completely that she did not dare to open her lips again.
Oh, she is properly frightened of Giles when he is in one of his moods.
He told her that he disliked observations of this sort, that in his
opinion they were both undignified and vulgar, especially when they
related to a person whom he so much respected as Miss Garston. "And allow
me to remark," he continued, looking at poor little me rather fiercely,
as though I were in fault too, "that I shall consider it an honour if
Miss Garston bestows her friendship on any member of my household. I am
very glad she seems to like Gladys, and I only hope she will do the poor
girl good and come every day if she likes, and that is all I mean to say
on the subject." But I think he said quite enough; don't you, Miss
Garston?' finished naughty Lady Betty, looking up at me with such
innocent eyes that I could not have scolded her any more than I could
have scolded a kitten.

But if only Lady Betty could learn to hold her tongue--!




CHAPTER XX

ERIC


That afternoon I had rather an adventure. I was just walking up the hill
on my way to the post-office, when a handsome carriage came round the
corner by the church rather sharply, and the same moment a little dog
crossing the road in the dusk seemed to be under the horses' feet.

That was my first impression. My next was that the coachman was trying
to pull up his horses. There was a sudden howl, the horses kicked and
plunged, some one in the carriage shrieked, and then the little dog was
in my arms, and even in the dim light I could feel one poor little leg
was broken.

The horses were quieted with difficulty, and the footman got down and
went to the carriage window.

'It is poor little Flossie, ma'am,' he said, touching his hat: 'she must
have got out into the road and recognised the carriage, for she was under
the horses' feet. This lady got her out somehow.' And indeed I had no
idea how I had managed it. One of the horses had reared, and his front
hoof almost touched me as I snatched up Flossie. I suppose it was a risky
thing to do, for I never liked the remembrance afterwards, and I do not
believe I could have done it again.

'Oh dear! oh dear!' observed a pleasant voice, 'do let me thank the lady.
Stand aside, Williams.' And a pretty old lady with white hair looked out
at me.

'I am afraid the poor dog's leg is broken,' I observed, as the little
animal lay in my arms uttering short barks of pain. 'Happily your man
pulled up in time, or it must have been killed.'

'Oh dear! oh dear! what will the colonel say to such carelessness?'
exclaimed the old lady. 'He's so fond of Flossie, and makes such a fuss
with her. And Mr. Hamilton has gone to Brighton, or I would have sent
Flossie in for him to attend to her.'

'Will you let me see what I can do, Mrs. Maberley?' I said, for I had
recognised the pretty old lady at once. 'I am the village nurse, Miss
Garston, and I think I can bind up poor Flossie's leg.'

'Miss Garston!' in quite a different voice; it seemed to have grown
rather formal. 'Oh, I am so much obliged to you, but I am ashamed to give
you the trouble; only for poor Flossie's sake,' hesitating, 'will you
come into the carriage and let me drive you to Maplehurst?' And to this
I readily consented. I could never bear to see an animal in pain, and the
little creature, a beautiful brown-and-white spaniel, was already licking
my hand confidingly.

I could see Mrs. Maberley was embarrassed by my presence, for she talked
in rather a nervous manner about it being Christmas Eve, and how busy the
young ladies were decorating the church.

'I wanted to speak to Miss Darrell for a moment,' she went on, 'and I
found her and Lady Betty putting up wreaths in the chancel, and that
good-looking Mr. Tudor was helping them. I was so sorry poor dear Gladys
was not there; but Miss Darrell says her cold is so much better that she
is downstairs again. I am afraid she is very delicate and takes after
her poor mother.'

'I saw Miss Hamilton yesterday, and I certainly thought she looked very
ill.'

'So Miss Darrell told me. What a good, unselfish little creature she is,
Miss Garston! I do not know what Mr. Hamilton and his sisters would do
without her. Ah, here we are at Maplehurst, and Tracy is looking out for
us. Tracy, is the colonel at home? No, I am thankful to hear it. Poor
little Flossie has met with an accident, and this lady has saved her
life, but she tells me her leg is broken. Now, Miss Garston, will you
believe it that I am such a coward that I could not be of the least
assistance? Tracy, take Miss Garston into the morning room, and do your
best to help her.' And Mrs. Maberley trotted away as fast as she could,
while Tracy ushered me into a bright snug-looking room and asked me very
civilly what she could do for me.

Tracy was a handy, sensible woman, and in a few minutes I had managed,
with her help, to strap up poor Flossie's leg in the most successful
manner.

'I am sure, ma'am, Mr. Hamilton couldn't have done better himself,'
observed Tracy, looking at me with respectful admiration, while I petted
Flossie, who was now lying comfortably in her basket, trying to lick her
bandages. 'I must go and tell my mistress that it is done, for she will
be fretting herself ill over poor Flossie.'

I expect Tracy sounded my praises, for when Mrs. Maberley entered the
room in her pretty cap with gray ribbons there was not a trace of
formality in her manner as she thanked me with tears in her eyes for
my kindness to Flossie.

'To think of a young creature being so clever!' she said, folding her
soft dimpled hands together. 'My dear, the colonel will be so grateful to
you: he dotes on Flossie. You must stay and have tea with me, and then he
can thank you himself. No, I shall take no refusal. Tracy, tell Marvel to
bring up the tea-tray at once. My dear,' turning to me, when Tracy had
left the room, 'I am almost ashamed to look you in the face when I
remember how long you have been in Heathfield and that I have never
called on you; but Etta told me that you did not care to have visitors.'

'Yes, I know, Mrs. Maberley; but that is quite a mistake,' I returned,
somewhat eagerly, for I had fallen in love with the pretty old lady, and
her tall, aristocratic colonel with his white moustache and grand
military carriage, and had watched them with much interest from my place
in church. She was such a dainty old lady, like a piece of Dresden china,
with her pink cheeks and white curls and old-fashioned shoe-buckles; and
she had such beautiful little hands, plump and soft as a baby's, which
she seemed to regard with innocent pride, for she was always settling the
lace ruffles round her wrists and pinching them up with careful fingers.

'Dear, dear! I thought Etta told me,' she began rather nervously.

'Miss Darrell makes mistakes, like other people,' I answered, smiling.
'I shall be very pleased to know my neighbours; it is quite true that I
am not often at home, and just now I am very busy, but all the same I do
not mean to shut myself out from society. One owes a duty to one's
neighbours.'

'My dear Miss Garston, I am quite pleased to hear you talk so sensibly.
I was afraid from what Etta said that you were a little eccentric and
strong-minded, and I have such a dislike to that in young people; young
ladies are so terribly independent at the present day, in my opinion, and
I know the colonel thinks the same. They are sadly deficient in good
manners and reverence. That is why I am so fond of the Hamilton girls:
they are perfect young gentlewomen; they never talk slang or slip-shod
English, and they know how to respect gray hairs. The colonel is devoted
to Gladys: I tell him he is as fond of her as though she were his own
daughter.'

'I think every one must be fond of Miss Hamilton.'

'Yes, poor darling! and she is much to be pitied,' returned Mrs.
Maberley, with a sigh. 'Oh, here comes Marvel with the tea. Now, Miss
Garston, my dear, take off that bonnet and jacket: I like people to look
as though they were at home. Marvel, draw up that chair to the fire, and
give Miss Garston a table to herself, and put the muffins where she can
reach them; there, now I think we look comfortable: young people always
look nicer without their bonnets; it was a pity to hide your pretty
smooth hair. Now tell me a little about yourself. I am sure Etta is
wrong: you do not look in the least strong-minded. Tracy said it was
wonderful how such slender little fingers could ever do hospital work.
She has fallen in love with you, my dear; and Tracy has plenty of
penetration. I never can understand why she does not take to Etta; and
Etta is so good to her; but there, we all have our prejudices.'

As soon as Mrs. Maberley's ripple of talk had died away, I told her a
little about my work, and how much I liked my life at Heathfield, and
then I spoke of my great interest in Gladys Hamilton.

It was really very pleasant sitting in this warm, softly-lighted room and
talking to this charming, kind-hearted old lady. Christmas Eve was not so
dull, after all, as I had expected; it was nice to feel that I was making
a new friend,--that the little service I had rendered Mrs. Maberley had
broken down the barrier between us and overcome her prejudice. I knew
that Miss Darrell had set her against me, and that for some reason of
her own she wished to prevent her calling upon me.

Did Miss Darrell dislike my coming to Heathfield? Was she afraid of
finding me in her way? Was she at all desirous of making my stay irksome
to me? These were some of the questions I was continually asking myself.

I noticed that Mrs. Maberley sighed and shook her head when I spoke of
Miss Hamilton. As I warmed to my subject, and praised her beauty and
gentleness and intelligence, she sighed still more.

'Yes, she is a dear girl, a dear good girl; but she has never been the
same since Eric went. Does she talk to you about Eric, Miss Garston? Etta
says she talks of nothing else to her.'

I opened my eyes rather widely at this statement, for I could not forget
what Miss Hamilton had said to me that night: 'I have never spoken to any
one about Eric.' Was it likely that she would choose Miss Darrell for a
_confidante_? But I kept my incredulity to myself, and simply related to
Mrs. Maberley the circumstance that I had seen the photograph by accident
the previous evening, and only knew then that Miss Hamilton had had a
twin-brother.

'How very singular!' she observed, putting down her tea-cup in a hurry.
'I should have thought every one in the place would have spoken about the
young man, he was such a favourite; and it was no use Mr. Hamilton trying
to keep it a secret. Why, the postmaster's wife told me before Eric had
been gone twenty-four hours, and then I went to Mr. Cunliffe. Why, child,
do you mean your uncle has never told you about it?'

'Oh no, Uncle Max never repeats anything; he would be the last person
from whom I should hear it.'

'And yet he was up at Gladwyn every day,--ay, twice a day; and people
said--But what an old gossip I am! Well, about poor Eric, there can be
no harm in your knowing what all the world knows, even Marvel and Tracy;
it is a very sore subject with poor Mr. Hamilton, and no one dares to
mention Eric's name to him; but, as Etta says, Gladys can never hold her
tongue about him when they two are alone together.' I certainly held mine
at that moment. I began to wonder what Miss Darrell would say next.

'So you have seen his picture, Miss Garston, my dear: well, now, is it
not a beautiful face?--not sufficiently manly, as the colonel says; but
then, poor fellow, he had not a strong character. Still, it was a lovely
sight to see them together: our gardens join, you know, and often and
often, as I have sat under our beech, I have seen Gladys and Eric walking
up and down the little avenue, with his arm round her, and their two
heads shining like gold, and she would be talking to him and smiling
in his face, until it made me quite young to see them.'

'Wait a moment, Mrs. Maberley, please. I am deeply interested; but would
Gladys--would Miss Hamilton like me to know all this?'

'To be sure she would,--though perhaps she would not care for the pain
of telling it herself; but it would be better for you to hear it from me
than from Mrs. Barton, or Mrs. Drabble, or any other gossiping person
that takes it into her head to tell you, for you could not be much longer
at Heathfield without hearing of it, when, as I say, every Jack and Tom
in the village knows it,--though how it all got about is more than I can
say. I tell the colonel, Leah must have had a hand in it: I know it was
she who told Tracy.'

I saw by this time that Mrs. Maberley had quite made up her mind to tell
me the story herself; she was garrulous, like many other old ladies, and
perhaps she enjoyed a little gossip about her neighbours, so I only
essayed one other feeble protest.

'I hope Mr. Hamilton will not mind--' but she answered me quite
briskly,--

'Well, poor fellow, he knows by this time people will talk; I daresay
he thinks Mr. Cunliffe has told you. Now, I do not want to blame Mr.
Hamilton; he is a great favourite of mine ever since he cured the
colonel's gout, and I would not be hard on him for worlds; but I have
always been afraid that he did not rightly understand Eric; the brothers
were so different. Mr. Hamilton is very hard-working and rather
matter-of-fact, and Eric was quite different, more like a girl, dreamy
and enthusiastic and terribly idle, and then he fancied himself an
artist. Mr. Hamilton could not bear that.'

'Why not? An artist's is a very good profession.'

'Yes, but he did not believe in his talent; and then Eric was intended
for the law; his brother had sent him to Oxford, but he would not work,
and he was extravagant, and got into debt,--and, oh yes, there was no end
of trouble. I do not know how it was,' went on Mrs. Maberley, 'but Eric
always seemed in the wrong. Etta used to take his part,--which was very
good of her, as Eric could not bear her and treated her most rudely. Mr.
Hamilton used to complain that Gladys encouraged him in his idleness; he
sometimes came in here of an evening looking quite miserable, poor
fellow, and would say that his sisters and Eric were leagued against him;
that but for Etta he would be at his wits' end what to do. Eric would not
obey him; he simply defied his authority; he was growing more idle every
day, and when he remonstrated with him, Gladys took his part. Oh dear, I
am afraid they were all very wretched.'

'You think Mr. Hamilton did not understand his young brother.'

'Well, perhaps not. You see, Mr. Hamilton had not the same temptations;
he was always steady and hard-working from a boy, and never cared much
about his own comfort. As for getting into debt, why, he would have
considered it wicked to do so. I know the colonel thought once or twice
that he was a little hard on Eric. I remember his saying once 'that boys
will be boys, and that all are not good alike, and that he must not use
the curb too much.' It was a pity, certainly, that Mr. Hamilton was so
angry about his painting. I daresay it was only a temporary craze. I am
afraid, though, Eric must have behaved very badly. I know he struck his
elder brother once. Anyhow, things went on from bad to worse; and one day
a dreadful thing happened. A cheque of some value, I have forgotten the
particulars, was stolen from Mr. Hamilton's desk, and the next day Eric
disappeared.'

'Was he accused of taking it?'

'To be sure. Leah saw him with her own eyes. You must ask Mr. Cunliffe
about all that; my memory is apt to be treacherous about details. I know
Leah saw him with his hand in his brother's desk, and though Eric vowed
it was only to put a letter there,--a very impertinent letter that he had
written to his brother,--still the cheque was gone, and, as they heard
afterwards, cashed by a very fair young man at some London Bank; and the
next morning, after some terrible quarrel, during which Gladys fainted,
poor girl, Eric disappeared, and the very next thing they heard of him,
about three weeks afterwards, was that his watch and a pocket-book
belonging to him had been picked up on the Brighton beach close to Hove.'

'Do you mean that this is all they have ever heard of him?'

'Yes. I believe Mr. Hamilton employed every means of ascertaining his
fate. For some months he refused to believe that he was dead. I am not
sure if Gladys believes it now. But Etta did from the first. "He was weak
and reckless enough for anything," she has often said to me. Of course it
is very terrible, and one cannot bear to think of it, but when a young
man has lost his character he has not much pleasure in his life.'

'I do not think Miss Hamilton really believes that he is dead.'

'Perhaps not, poor darling. But Mr. Hamilton has no doubt on the subject,
my dear Miss Garston. He is much to be pitied: he has never been the same
man since Eric went. I am afraid that he repents of his harshness to the
poor boy. He told the colonel once that he wished he had tried milder
treatment.'

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