Book: Uncle Max

R >> Rosa Nouchette Carey >> Uncle Max




Her tone troubled me: it was the old keynote of suppressed hopeless
pain: it somehow recalled to me the image of some helpless innocent bird
struggling in a fowler's net. Her eyes looked at me with almost agonised
entreaty.

'If Etta knows, we should be lost,' she repeated drearily.

'She shall not know, then,' I returned, pretending cheerfulness, though
I was inwardly dismayed. 'You and I will watch and wait, Gladys. Do not
be so cast down, dear. Remember it is never so dark as just before the
dawn.'

'No,' she replied, with a faint smile, 'you are right there; but it is
growing dark in earnest, Ursula, and I must go home, or Leah will be
coming in search of me.'

'Very well; I will walk with you,' I replied; and in five minutes more we
had left the cottage.

We walked almost in silence, for who could tell if eaves-droppers might
not lurk in the dark hedgerows? I know this feeling was strong in both
our minds.

At the gate of Gladwyn we kissed each other and parted.

'I am happier, Ursula,' she whispered. 'You must not think I am
ungrateful for the news you have given me, only it has made me restless.'

'Hush! there is some one coming down the shrubbery,' I returned, dropping
her hand, and going quickly into the road. As I did so, I heard Leah's
smooth voice address Gladys:

'You were so, late, ma'am, that I thought I had better step down to the
cottage, for fear you might be waiting for me.'

'It is all right, Leah,' was Gladys's answer. 'Miss Garston walked back
with me. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.' And then I heard their
footsteps dying away in the distance.




CHAPTER XXXV

NIGHTINGALES AND ROSES


I was very busy the next morning. I went round to the Marshalls' cottage
to see Peggy, and then I paid Phoebe a long visit, and afterwards I went
to Robert Stokes.

They seemed all glad to welcome me back, especially Phoebe, who lay and
looked at me as though she never wished to lose sight of me again.

When I had left her room I sat a little while with Susan. She still
looked delicate, but at my first pitying word she stopped me.

'Please don't say that, Miss Garston. If you knew how I thank God for
that illness! it has opened poor Phoebe's heart to me as nothing else
could have opened it.'

'She does indeed seem a different creature,' I returned, full of
thankfulness to hear this.

'Different,--nay, that is not the word: the heart of a little child has
come back to her. It rests me now, if I am ever so tired, to go into her
room. It is always "Sit down, Susan, my woman, and talk to me a bit," or
she will beg me to do something for her, just as though she were asking a
favour. I read the Bible to her now morning and evening, and Kitty sings
her sweet hymns to us. It is more like home now, with Phoebe to smile
a welcome whenever she sees me. I do not miss father and mother half so
much now.'

'If you only knew how happy it makes me to hear you say all this, Miss
Locke!'

'Nay, but I am thinking we owe much of our comfort to you,' she answered
simply. 'You worked upon her feelings first, and then Providence sent
that sharp message to her. And we have to be grateful to the doctor, too.
What do you think, Miss Garston? He is our landlord now, and he won't
take a farthing of rent from us. He says we are doing him a kindness by
living in the house, and that he only wished his other tenants took as
much care of his property; but of course I know what that means.' And
here Susan's thin hands shook a little. 'The doctor is just a man whose
right hand does not know what his left hand does; he is just heaping us
with benefits, and making us ashamed with his kindness.'

'You are a great favourite of his,' I answered, smiling, as I took my
leave; but Susan answered solemnly,--

'It won't be forgotten in his account, Miss Garston. The measure running
over will surely be returned to him, and not only to him.' And here she
looked at me meaningly, and pressed my hand. Poor Susan! she had grown
very fond of her nurse.

As I walked up to Gladwyn that afternoon I felt a pleasant sense of
excitement, a sort of holiday feeling, that was novel to me. Miss Darrell
was away, and Gladys and Lady Betty would be at their ease. We might look
and talk as we liked, no one would find fault with us.

I was pleased, too, at the thought of seeing Mr. Hamilton again. I was in
the mood to be gay: perhaps the summer sunshine infected me, for who
could be dull on such a day? There was not a cloud in the sky, the birds
were singing, the rooks were cawing among the elms, the very sparrows had
a jaunty look and cheeped busily in the ivy. As I approached Gladwyn, I
saw Mr. Hamilton leaning on the gate: he looked as though he had been
standing there some time.

'Were you watching for me?' I asked, rather thoughtlessly, as he threw
the gate open with a smile and shook hands with me. I had asked the
question quite innocently and casually; but the next moment I felt hot
and ashamed. Why had I supposed such a thing? Why should Mr. Hamilton be
watching for me?

He did not seem to notice my confusion: he looked very glad to see me.
I think he was in a gay mood too.

'Yes, I was looking for you. You are a little late, do you know that? I
was just meditating whether I should walk down the road to meet you. Come
and take a turn with me on this shady little lawn. Gladys and Lady Betty
are arranging the tea-table, and are not quite ready for us.'

He led the way to the little lawn in front of the house. Gladwyn was
surrounded with charming lawns: the avenue of young oaks was at the back.
We could catch glimpses of Lady Betty's white gown as she flitted
backward and forward. The front window of Mr. Hamilton's study was before
us.

'Well,' he said, looking at me brightly, 'we are all glad to welcome
Nurse Ursula back: the three weeks have seemed very long somehow.'

'Have you any more cases ready for me?' I returned, trying to appear at
my usual ease with him. It seemed ridiculous, but I was certainly rather
shy with Mr. Hamilton this afternoon. He looked different somehow.

'If I have, you will not know them to-day. I am not going to talk
business to you this afternoon. Tell me about your visit: have you
enjoyed yourself? But I need not ask: your looks answer for you.'

'I have most certainly enjoyed myself. Aunt Philippa was so kind: indeed,
they were all good to me. Did you hear of Jill's accident, Mr. Hamilton?
No. I must tell you about it, and of Mr. Tudor's presence of mind.' And I
narrated the whole circumstance.

'It was a marvellous escape,' he returned thoughtfully. 'Poor child! she
might have fared badly. Well, Miss Garston, the green velvet gown was
very becoming.'

I looked up quickly, but there was no mockery in Mr. Hamilton's smile. He
was regarding me kindly, though his tone was a little teasing.

'I saw you in the church,' I returned quietly.

'Yes, I suppose there is a kind of magnetism in a fixed glance.
I was looking at you, trying to identify Nurse Ursula with the
elegantly-dressed woman before me, and somehow failing, when your
eyes encountered mine. Their serious disapproval most certainly
recalled Nurse Ursula with a vengeance.'

He was laughing at me now, but I determined to satisfy my curiosity.

'I was so surprised to see you there,' I replied seriously: 'you were so
strong in your denunciations of gay weddings that your presence as a
spectator at one quite startled me. Why were you there, Mr. Hamilton?'

'Do you want to know, really?' still in a teasing tone.

'Of course one always likes an answer to a question.'

'You shall have it, Miss Garston. I came to see that velvet gown.'

'Nonsense!'

'May I ask why?'

'Well, it is nonsense; as though you came for such an absurd purpose!'
But, though I answered Mr. Hamilton in this brusque fashion, I was aware
that my heart was beating rather more quickly than usual. Did he really
mean that he had come to see me? Could such a thing be possible? I began
to wish I had never put that question.

'I either came to see the gown or the wearer: upon my honour I hardly
know which. Perhaps you can tell me?' But if he expected an answer to
that he did not get it: I was only meditating how I could break off this
_tete-a-tete_ without too much awkwardness. No, I did not recognise Mr.
Hamilton a bit this afternoon: he had never talked to me after this
fashion before. I was not sure that I liked it.

'After all, I am not certain that I do not like you best in that gray
one, especially after I have picked you some roses to wear with it:
something sober and quiet seems to suit Nurse Ursula better.'

'Mr. Hamilton, if you please, I do not want to talk any more about my
gown.'

'What shall we talk about, then? Shall I--' And then he looked at my face
and checked himself. His teasing mood, or whatever it was, changed.
Perhaps he saw my embarrassment, for his manner became all at once very
gentle. He said we must go in search of the roses; and then he began to
talk to me about Gladys,--how much brighter she looked, but still thin,
oh, far too thin,--and was I not glad to have her back again? and all the
time he talked he was looking at me, as though he wanted to find out the
reason of something that perplexed him.

'He will think that I am not glad to be home again, that all this gaiety
has spoiled me for my work,' I thought, with some vexation; but no effort
of my part would overcome this sudden shyness, and I was much relieved
when we turned the corner of the house and encountered Lady Betty coming
in search of us.

'Of course we saw you on the little lawn,' she said eagerly, 'but we were
too busy arranging the table. Tea is ready now. Where are you going,
Giles? Oh, don't pick any more roses: we have plenty for Ursula.'

'But if I wish Miss Garston to wear some of my picking, what then,
Elizabeth?' he asked, in a laughing tone, and Lady Betty tossed her head
in reply and led me away; but a moment afterwards he followed us with the
roses, and mollified the wilful little soul by asking Ladybird--his pet
name for her--to fasten them in my dress. Both the sisters wore white
gowns. I thought Gladys looked like a queen in hers, as she moved slowly
under the oak-trees to meet us, the sun shining on her fair hair. As I
looked at her lovely face and figure, I thought it was no wonder that she
was poor Max's Lady of Delight. Who could help admiring her?

She met me quite naturally, although her brother was beside us.

'Have we kept you waiting too long? I thought you would not mind putting
up with Giles's society for a little while. Oh, Thornton was so stupid; I
suppose he did not approve of the trouble, for he would forget everything
we asked him to bring.'

'This is quite a feast, Gladys,' observed Mr. Hamilton gaily. And indeed
it was a pretty picture when we were all seated: a pleasant breeze
stirred the leaves over our head, the rooks cawed and circled round us,
Nap laid himself at his master's feet, and a little gray kitten came
gingerly over the grass, followed by some tame pigeons.

There was a basket of roses on the table, and great piles of strawberries
and cherries. Gladys poured out the tea in purple cups bordered with
gold. Mr. Hamilton held out a beautiful china plate for my inspection.
'This belonged to Gladys's mother,' he said: 'we are only allowed to use
it on high days and holidays. Etta was unfortunate enough to break a
saucer once: we have never seen the tea-set since.'

I saw Gladys colour, but she said nothing: only naughty Lady Betty
whispered in my ear, 'She did it on purpose. I saw her throw it down
because she was angry with Gladys.' But, happily, Mr. Hamilton was deaf
to this.

I hardly know what we talked about, but we were all very happy. Gladys,
as usual, was rather quiet, but I noticed that she spoke freely to her
brother, without any constraint of manner, and that he seemed pleased
and interested in all she said; and Lady Betty chatted as merrily as
possible.

When tea was over we all strolled about the garden, down the long
asphalt walk that skirted the meadow, where a little brown cow was
feeding, down to the gardener's cottage and the kitchen-garden, and to
the poultry-yard, where Lady Betty reigned supreme. Then we sat down on
the terrace by the conservatory, and Mr. Hamilton threw himself down on
the grass and played with Nap, as he talked to us.

I could see Leah sewing at her mistress's window, but the sight did not
disturb me in the least. Yes, I must be fey, I thought. I could find no
reason for the sudden feeling of contentment and well-being that
possessed me; in all my life I had never felt happier than I did that
evening; and yet I was more silent than usual. Mr. Hamilton talked more
to his sisters than to me, but his manner was strangely gentle when he
addressed me. I was conscious all that evening that he was watching me,
and that my reserve did not displease him. Once, when he had been called
away on business, and Lady Betty had tripped after him, Gladys said, with
a half-sigh,--

'How young and well Giles looks to-day! He seems so much happier. I wish
we could always be like this. I am sure if it were not for Etta we should
understand each other better.'

I assented to this, and Gladys went on:

'I wonder if you have ever heard Mrs. Carrick's name, Ursula?'

What a strange question! I flushed a little as I told her that her old
friend Mrs. Maberley had put me in possession of all the family secrets.
'Quite against my will, I assure you,' I added; for I always had a
lurking consciousness that I had no right to know Mr. Hamilton's affairs.

'Well, it does not matter. I daresay Giles will tell you all about
it himself some day. You and he seem great friends, Ursula; and
indeed--indeed I am glad to know it. Poor Giles! Why should you not be
kind to him?'

What in the world could Gladys mean?

'I was only a child,' she went on; 'but of course I remember Ella. She
was very beautiful and fascinating, and she bewitched us all. She had
such lovely eyes, and such a sweet laugh; and she was so full of fun, and
so high-spirited and charming altogether. Giles was very different in
those days; but he reminds me of his old self this evening.'

I made no answer. I seemed to have no words ready, and I was glad when
Gladys rather abruptly changed the subject. Leah was crossing the field
towards the cottage with a basket of eggs on her arm. As we looked after
her, Gladys said quickly--

'Your talk last night seems like a dream. This morning I asked myself,
could it be true--really true--that you saw Eric? I have hardly slept,
Ursula. Indeed, I do not mean to be impatient; but how am I to bear this
restlessness?'

'It is certainly very hard.'

'Oh, so hard! But for Eric's sake I must be patient. I saw the
advertisement this morning in the _Standard_. Lady Betty read it aloud to
us at breakfast-time; but Giles took no notice. I wished that we dared to
tell Mr. Cunliffe about it; he might employ a detective: but I am so
afraid of Etta.'

'I think we may safely wait a little,' I returned. 'I have faith in Joe
Muggins: a five-pound note may do our work without fear of publicity.'

'If you hear any news, if you can find out where he lives, remember that
I must be the first to see him: Giles shall be told, but not until I have
spoken to Eric.'

'Do you think that you will be able to persuade him to come home?'

'I shall not try to persuade him,' she returned proudly. 'I know Eric too
well for that. Nothing will induce him to cross the threshold of Gladwyn
until his innocence is established, until Giles has apologised for the
slur he has thrown upon his character.'

'I am afraid Mr. Hamilton will never do that.'

'Then there will be no possibility of reconciliation with Eric, Ursula.
If Eric does not come home, if things remain as they are, I have made up
my mind to leave Giles's roof. I cannot any longer be separated from
Eric: if he be poor I will be poor too: it will not hurt me to work;
nothing will hurt me after the life I have been leading these three
years.' And the old troubled look came back to Gladys's face. Lady Betty
joined us, and our talk ceased, and soon afterwards we went up into the
turret-room to prepare for dinner.

After dinner Lady Betty proposed that we should go down the road a little
to hear the nightingales; but Mr. Hamilton informed her with a smile that
he had a nightingale on the premises, and, turning to me, he asked me if
I were in the mood to give them all pleasure, and if I would sing to them
until they told me to stop.

I was rather dubious on this latter point, for how could I know, I asked
him, laughing, that they might not keep me singing until midnight?

'You ought to have more faith in our humanity,' he returned, with much
solemnity, as he opened the piano. Gladys crept into her old seat by me,
but Mr. Hamilton placed himself in an easy-chair at some little distance.
As the room grew dusk, and the moonlight threw strange silvery gleams
here and there, I could see him leaning back with his arms crossed under
his head, and wondered if he were asleep, he was so still and motionless.

How I thanked God in my heart for that gift of song, a more precious gift
to me than even beauty would have been! As usual, I forgot everything,
myself, Gladys, Mr. Hamilton; I seemed to sing with the joyousness of a
bird that is only conscious of life and freedom and sunshine.

I would sing no melancholy songs that night,--no love-sick adieux, no
effusions of lachrymose sentimentality,--only sweet old Scotch and
English ballads, favourites of Charlie's; then grander melodies, 'Let the
bright seraphim,' and 'Waft her, angels, through the air.' As I finished
the last I was conscious that Mr. Hamilton was standing beside me; the
next moment he laid his hand on mine.

'That will do. You must not tire yourself: even the nightingales must
leave off singing sometimes; thank you so much. No! that sounds cold and
conventional. I will not thank you. You were very happy singing, were you
not?'

I could not see his face, but he was so close,--so close to me in the
moonlight, and there was something in his voice that brought the old
shyness back.

I was trying to answer, when we heard the front door open and some one
speaking to Parker. Was that Miss Darrell's voice? Mr. Hamilton heard it,
for he moved away, and Gladys gave a half-stifled exclamation as he
opened the door and confronted his cousin.

'Where are you all?' she asked, in a laughing voice. 'You look like bats
or ghosts in the moonlight. No lights, and past ten o'clock! that is
Gladys's romantic idea, I suppose. What a dear fanciful child it is! Lady
Betty, come and kiss me! Oh, I am so glad to be home again!'

'Good-evening, Miss Darrell.'

'Good gracious! is that you, Miss Garston? I never dreamt of seeing you
here to-night; and you were hiding behind that great piano. Giles, do,
for pity's sake, light those candles, and let me see some of your faces.'

But Mr. Hamilton seemed to take no notice of her request.

'What brought you back so soon, Etta?' he asked; and it struck me that he
was not so pleased to see his cousin as usual. 'I thought you intended to
remain another week.'

'Oh, but I wanted to see Gladys, after these months of absence. I thought
it would be unkind to remain away any longer. Besides, I was not enjoying
myself,--not a bit. Mrs. Cameron grows deafer every day, and it was very
_triste_ and miserable.'

'How did you know I was at home, Etta?' asked Gladys, in her clear voice.

Miss Darrell hesitated a moment: 'A little bird informed me of the fact.
You did not wish me to remain in ignorance of your return, did you? It
sounds rather like it, does it not, Giles? Well, if you must be
inquisitive, Leah was writing to me about my dresses for the cleaner,
and she mentioned casually that "master had gone to the station to meet
Miss Gladys."'

'I see; but you need not have hurried home on my account.'

'Dear me! what a cousinly speech! That is the return one gets for
being a little more affectionate than usual. Giles,'--with decided
impatience,--'why don't you light those candles? You know how I hate
darkness; and there is Miss Garston standing like a gray nun in the
moonlight.'

'It is so late that I must put on my bonnet,' I replied quickly; for I
was bent on making my escape before the candles were lighted. Never had
I dreaded Miss Darrell's cold scrutiny as I did that night.

Gladys followed me rather wearily.

'Well it has been very pleasant, but our holiday has been brief,' she
said, with a sigh; and then she laid her cheek against mine, and it felt
very soft and cold. With a sudden rush of tenderness I drew it down and
kissed it again and again.

'Don't let the hope go out of your voice, Gladys: it will all come right
by and by. Only be strong and patient, my darling.'

'I am strong when I am near you, but not when I am alone,' she answered,
with a slight shiver; and then we heard Lady Betty's voice calling her,
and she left me reluctantly.

I thought she would come back, so I did not hurry myself; but presently
I got tired of waiting, and walked to the head of the staircase.

As I looked down on the lighted hall I saw Mr. Hamilton standing with
folded arms, as though he had been waiting there some time; at the sound
of my footstep he looked up quickly and eagerly, and our eyes met, and
then I knew,--I knew!

'Come, Ursula,' he said, with a sort of impatience, holding out his hand;
and somehow, without delay or hesitation, just as though his strong will
was drawing me, I went down slowly and put my hand in his, and it seemed
as though there was nothing more to be said.

I saw his face light up; he was about to speak, when Miss Darrell swept
up to us noiselessly with a hard metallic smile on her face.

'Do you know, Miss Garston, Lady Betty tells me that the nightingales are
singing so charmingly; she and I are just going down the road to listen
to them, if you can put up with our company for part of the way.'

Giles--I called him Giles in my heart that night, for something told me
we belonged to each other--said nothing, but his face clouded, and we
went out together.

No one heard the nightingales, but only Lady Betty commented on that
fact. Miss Darrell was talking too volubly to hear her. She clung to my
side pertinaciously, almost affectionately; she wanted to hear all about
the wedding; she plied me with questions about Sara, and Jill, and Mr.
Tudor. All the way up the hill she talked until we passed the church and
the vicarage, until we were at the gate of the White Cottage, and then
she stopped with an affected laugh.

'Dear me, I have actually walked the whole way; how tired I am!--and no
wonder, for there is eleven chiming from the church tower. For shame, to
keep us all up so late, Miss Garston!'

'I will not detain you,' I returned, with secret exasperation.

Mr. Hamilton had not spoken once the whole way, only walked silently
beside me; but as he set open the gate and wished me good-night, his
clasp of my hand gave me the assurance that I needed.

'Never mind: he will come to-morrow and tell me all about it,' I said to
myself as I walked up the narrow garden-path between the rows of sleeping
flowers. If I lingered in the porch to watch a certain tall figure
disappear into the darkness, no one knew it, for the stars tell no tales.




CHAPTER XXXVI

BREAKERS AHEAD


It was well that the stars, those bright-eyed spectators of a sleeping
world, tell no tales of us poor humans, or they might have whispered the
fact that the reasonable sober-minded Ursula Garston was holding foolish
vigil that night until the gray dawn drove her away to seek a brief rest.

But how could I sleep?--how could any woman sleep when such a revelation
had been vouchsafed her?--when a certain look, and those two words,
'Come, Ursula,' still haunted me,--that strange brief wooing, that was
hardly wooing, and yet meant unutterable things, that silent acceptance,
that simple yielding, when I put my hand in his, Giles's, and saw the
quick look of joy in his eyes?

Ah, the veil had fallen from my eyes at last: for the first time I
realised how all these weeks he had been drawing me closer to himself,
how his strong will had subjugated mine. My dislike of him had been
brief; he had awakened my interest first, then attracted my sympathy, and
finally won my respect and friendship, until I had grown to love him in
spite of myself. Strange to say, I had lost all fear of him; as I sat
holding communion with myself that night, I felt that I should never be
afraid of him again. 'Perfect love casteth out fear': is not that what
the apostle tells us? It was true, I thought, for now I did not seem to
be afraid either of Mr. Hamilton's strange stern nature, of the sadness
of his past life, or of the mysteries and misunderstandings of that
troubled household. It seemed to me I feared nothing,--not even my own
want of beauty, that had once been a trial to me; for if Giles loved me
how could such minor evils affect me?

Yes, as I sat there under the solemn starlight, with the jasmine sprays
cooling my hot cheek and the soft night breeze fanning me, I owned, and
was not ashamed to own, in my woman's heart, and with all the truth of
which I was capable, that this was the man whom my soul delighted to
honour; not faultless, not free from blame, full of flaws and
imperfections, but still a strong grand man, intensely human in his
sympathies, one who loved his fellows, and who did his life's work in
true knightly fashion, running full tilt against prejudices and the
shams of conventionality.

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