Christian's Mistake Part 21

Chapter 11.

_"A warm hearth, and a bright hearth, and a hearth swept clean, Where tongs don't raise a dust, and the broom isn't seen; Where the coals never fly abroad, and the soot doesn't fall, Oh, that's the fire for a man like me, in cottage or in hall._

_"A light boat, and a tight boat, and a boat that rides well, Though the waves leap around it and the winds blow snell: A full boat, and a merry boat, we'll meet any weather, With a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull altogether."_

Sir Edwin Uniacke did not appear again at the Ledge, or not farther than the hall, where Christian, in pa.s.sing, saw several of his cards lying in the card-basket. And, two Sundays, in glancing casually down the row of strangers who so often frequented the beautiful old chapel of St.

Bede's, she thought she caught sight of that dark, handsome face, which had once seemed to her the embodiment of all manly beauty. But she looked steadily forward, neither seeking nor shrinking from recognition. There was no need. As she pa.s.sed out of the chapel, leaning on her husband's arm, the grave, graceful woman, composed rather than proud, Sir Edwin Uniacke must have felt that Christian Grey was as far removed from him and the like of him as if she dwelt already in the world beyond the grave. But this, perhaps, only made him the more determined to see her.

Now and then, in her walks with Phillis and the children--she now never walked alone--she was certain she perceived him in the distance, his slight, tan figure, and peculiar way of swinging his cane, as he strolled down the long avenues, now glowing into the beauty of that exquisite May time which Avonsbridge people never weary of praising.

But still, if it were he, and if they did meet, what harm could it do to her? She could always guard herself by a lady's strongest armor-- perfect courtesy. Even should he recognize her, it was easy to bow and pa.s.s on, as she made up her mind to do, should the occasion arrive.

It never did, though several times she had actually been in the same drawing-room with him. But it was in a crowded company, and he either did not see her, or had the good taste to a.s.sume that he had not done so. And Miss Gascoigne, whose eye he caught, had only given him a distant bow.

"I shall bow, in spite of Dr. Grey and his crotchets," said she. "But I suppose you are too much afraid of your husband." Christian did not reply, and the conversation dropped.

One good thing cheered her. Sir Edwin Uniacke remained in Avonsbridge, and Miss Susan Bennett was still staying, and doing well in the house of the blind old woman forty miles away.

Shortly her mind became full of far closer cares.

The domestic atmosphere of the Lodge was growing daily more difficult to breathe in. What is it that const.i.tutes an unhappy household? Not necessarily a wicked or warring household but still not happy; devoid of that sunniness which, be the home ever so poor, makes it feel like "a little heaven below" to those who dwell in it, or visit it, or even casually pa.s.s it by. "See how these Christians love one another," used to be said by the old heathen world; and the world says it still--nay, is compelled to say it, of any real Christian home. Alas it could not always be said of Dr. Grey's.

Perhaps, in any case, this was unlikely. There were many conflicting elements therein. Whatever may be preached, and even practiced sometimes, satisfactorily, about the advantages of communism, the law of nature is that a family be distinct within itself--should consist of father, mother, and children, and them only. Any extraneous relationships admitted therein are always difficult and generally impossible. In this household, long ruled theoretically by Miss Gascoigne, and practically by Phillis, who was the cleverest and most determined woman in it, the elements of strife were always smoldering, and frequently bursting out into a flame. The one bone of contention was, as might be expected, the children--who should rule them, and whether that rule was to be one of love or fear,

Christian, though young, was neither ignorant nor inexperienced; and when, day by day and week by week, she had to sit still and see that saddest of all sights to a tender heart, children slowly ruined, exasperated by injustice, embittered by punishment, made deceitful or cowardly by continual fear, her spirit wakened up to its full dignity of womanhood and motherhood.

"They are my children, and I will not have things thus," was her continual thought. But how to effect her end safely and un.o.bnoxiously was, as it always is, the great difficulty.

She took quiet methods at first--princ.i.p.ally the very simple one of loving the children till they began to love her. Oliver, and by-and-by Let.i.tia, seized every chance of escaping out of the noisy nursery, where Phillis boxed, or beats or scolded all day long, to mother's quiet room, where they always found a gentle word and a smile--a little rivulet from that

_"Constant stream of love which knew no fail"_

which was Cowper's fondest memory of his mother, and which should be perpetually flowing out from the hearts of all mothers toward all children. These poor children had never known it till now.

Their little hearts opened to it, and bathed in it as in a fountain of joy.

It washed away all their small naughtinesses, made them strong and brave, gradually lessened the underhandedness of the girl, the roughness and selfishness of the boy, and turned the child Oliver into a little angel--that is, if children ever are angels except in poetry; but it is certain, and Christian often shuddered to see it, that mismanagement and want of love can change them into little demons.

And at last there came a day when, pa.s.sive resistance being useless, she had to strike with strong hand; the resolute hand which, as before seen, Christian, gentle as she was, could lift up against injustice, and especially injustice shown to children.

It happened thus: One day Arthur had been very naughty, or so his Aunt Henrietta declared, when Mrs. Grey, who heard the disturbance, came to inquire into it. She thought it not such great wickedness-- rather a piece of boyish mischief than intentional "insult," as Miss Gascoigne affirmed it was. The lady had lost her spectacles; Arthur had pretended deeply to sympathize, had aided in the search; and finally, after his aunt had spent several minutes of time and fuss, and angry accusations against every body, he had led her up to the dining- room mirror, where she saw the spectacles--calmly resting on her own nose!

"But I only meant it as a joke, mother. And oh! it was so funny!" cried Arthur, between laughing and sobbing; for his ears tingled still with the sharp blow which had proved that the matter was no fun at all to Aunt Henrietta.

"It was a very rude joke, and you ought to beg your aunt's pardon immediately," said Christian, gravely.

But begging pardon was not half enough salve to the wounded dignity of Miss Gascoigne. She had been personally offended--that greatest of all crimes in her eyes--and she demanded condign punishment.

Nothing short of that well-known instrument which, in compliment to Arthur's riper years, Phillis had subst.i.tuted for the tied up posy of twigs chosen out of her birch broom--a little, slender yellow thing, which black children might once upon a time have played with, and the use of which towards white children inevitably teaches them a sense of burning humiliation, rising into fierce indignation and desire for revenge, not unlike the revenge of negro slaves. And naturally; for while chastis.e.m.e.nt makes Christians, punishment only makes brutes.

Almost brutal grew the expression of Arthur's poor thin face when his aunt insisted on a flogging with the old familiar cane, and after the old custom, by Phillis's hands.

"Do it, and I'll kill Phillis!" was all he said, but he looked as if he could, and would.

And when Phillis appeared, not unready or unwilling to execute the sentence--for she had bitterly resented Arthur's secession from nursery rule--the boy clung desperately with both his arms round his step- mother's waist, and the shriek of "Mother mother!" half fury, half despair, pierced Christian's very heart.

Now Mrs. Grey had a few rather strong opinions of her own on the subject of punishment, especially corporal punishment. She thought it degraded rather than reformed, in most cases; and wherever she herself had seen it tried, it had always signally and fatally failed. At the utmost, the doubtfulness of the experiment was so great that she felt it ought never to be administered for any but grave moral offenses--theft, lying, or the like. Not certainly in such a case as the present--a childish fault, perhaps only a childish folly, where no moral harm was either done or intended.

"I didn't mean it! I didn't, mother!" cried the boy, incessantly, as he clung to her for protection. And Christian held him fast.

"Miss Gascoigne, if you will consider a little, I think you will see that Arthur's punishment had better be of some other sort than flogging.

We will discuss it between ourselves. Phillis, you can go."

But Phillis did not offer to stir.

"Nurse, obey my orders," screamed Miss Gascoigne. "Take that wicked boy and cane him soundly."

"Nurse," said Christian, turning very pale, and speaking in an unusually suppressed voice, "if you lay one finger on my son you quit my service immediately."

The a.s.sumption of authority was so unexpected, so complete, and yet not overstepping one inch the authority which Mrs. Grey really possessed, that both sister-in-law and servant stood petrified, and offered no resistance, until Miss Gascoigne said, quivering with pa.s.sion.

"This can not go on. I will know at once my rights in this house, or quit it. Phillis, knock at the study-door and say I wish to speak to Dr.

Grey--that is, if Mrs. Grey, your mistress, will allow you."

"Certainly," said Christian.

And then, drawing Arthur beside her, and sitting down, for she felt shaking in every limb, she waited the event; for it was a struggle which she had long felt must come, and the sooner it came the better. There are crises when the "peace-at-any-price" doctrine becomes a weakness- -more, an absolute wrong. Much as she would have suffered, and had suffered, so long as all the suffering lay with herself alone, when it came to involve another, she saw her course was clear. As Arthur stood by her, convulsed with sobs crying at one minute, "Mother, it's not fair, I meant no harm," and the next, clenching his little fist with, "If Phillis touches me, I'll murder Phillis," she felt that it was no longer a question of pleasantness or ease, or even of saving her husband from pain. It became a matter or duty--her duty to act to the best of her conscience and ability toward the children whom Providence had sent to her. It was no kindness to her husband to allow these to be sacrificed, as, if she did not stand firm, Arthur might be sacrificed for life.

So she sat still, uttering not a word except an occasional whisper of "Be quiet, Arthur," until Dr. Grey entered the room. Even then, she restrained herself so far as to let Miss Gascoigne tell the story. She trusted--as she knew she could trust--to her husband's sense of justice and quick-sightedness, even through any amount of cloudy exaggeration. When the examination came to an end, and Dr. Grey, sorely perplexed and troubled, looked toward his wife questioningly, all she said was a suggestion that both the children--for Let.i.tia had watched the matter with eager curiosity from a corner--should be sent out of the room.

"Yes, yes, certainly Arthur, let go your mother's hand, and run up to the nursery."

But Arthur's plaintive sobs began again. "I can't go, papa--I daren't; Phillis will beat me!"

"Is this true, Christian?"

"I am afraid it is. Had not the children better wait in my room?"

This order given, and the door closed, Dr. Grey sat down with very piteous countenance. He was such a lover of peace and quietness and now to be brought from his study into the midst of this domestic hurricane--it was rather hard. He looked from his wife to his sister, and back again to his wife. There his eyes rested and brightened a little.

The contrast between the two faces was great--one so fierce and bitter, the other sad indeed, but composed and strong. Nature herself, who, in the long run, usually decides between false and true authority, showed at once who possessed the latter--which of the two women was the most fitted to govern children.

"Henrietta," said Dr. Grey, "what is it you wish me to do? if my boy has offended you, of course he must be punished. Leave him to Mrs.

Grey; she will do what is right."

"Then I have no longer any authority in this house?"

"Authority in my wife's house my sister could hardly desire. Influence she might always have; and respect and affection will, I trust, never be wanting."

Dr. Grey spoke very kindly, and held out his hand, but Miss Gascoigne threw it angrily aside; and then, breaking through even the unconscious restraint in which most women, even the most violent, are held by the presence of a man, and especially such a man as the master, she burst out--this poor pa.s.sionate woman, cursed with that terrible pre- dominance of self which in men is ugly enough, in women absolutely hateful--

"Never! Keep your hypocrisies to yourself, and your wife too--the greatest hypocrite I know. But she can not deceive me. Maria"--and she rushed at luckless Aunt Maria, who that instant, knitting in hand, was quietly entering the room--"come here, Maria, and be a witness to what your brother is doing. He is turning me out of his house--me, who, since my poor sister died, have been like a mother to his children.