Deerbrook Part 34

"Do sit down, Margaret," said Maria. "I shall feel uncomfortable when you are gone, if you do not stay a minute to turn our thoughts to something pleasanter than this terrible mistake of poor George's."

"I cannot stay now, however," said Margaret, smiling. "You know I must go and turn my sister's thoughts to something pleasanter. There she is, sitting at home, waiting to know how all this has happened."

"Whether she has not been insulted? You are right, Margaret. Make haste back to her, and beg her pardon for us all. Shall she not, children, if she will be so kind?"

Margaret was overwhelmed with the pet.i.tions for pardon she had to carry; and not one of the children asked what Mrs Hope had been crying for, after all.

Hester looked up anxiously as Margaret entered the drawing-room at home.

"It is all a trifle," said Margaret, gaily.

"How can it be a trifle?"

"The little Greys told what they saw yesterday, of course; and one of the little Rowlands wondered what was the reason;--(children can never understand what grown people, who have no lessons to learn, can cry for, you know); and Mr Rowland, to make their gossip ridiculous to themselves, told them they had better come and ask; and poor George, who cannot take a joke, came without any one knowing where he was gone.

They were all in great consternation when I told them, and there is an ample apology coming to you through Edward. That is the whole story, except that Mr Rowland would have come himself to you, instead of going to your husband, but that he was ashamed of his joke. So there is an end of that silly matter, unless it be to make George always ask henceforth whether people are in joke or in earnest."

"I think Mr Rowland might have come to me," observed Hester. "Are you sure Mrs Rowland had nothing to do with it?"

"I neither saw her nor heard of her. You had better not go out to-day, it is so like snow. I shall be back soon; but as I have my bonnet on, I shall go and see Johnny Rye and his mother. Can I do anything for you?"

"Oh, my snow-boots! But I would not have you go to Mrs Howell's while she is in such a mood as she was in yesterday. I would not go myself."

"Oh! I will go. I am not afraid of Mrs Howell; and we shall have to encounter her again, sooner or later. I will buy something, and then see what my diplomacy will effect about the boots."

Mr Hope presently came in, and found his wife prepared for the apology he brought from Mr Rowland. But it was obvious that Hope's mind was far more occupied with something else.

"Where is Margaret?"

"She is gone out to Widow Rye's, and to Mrs Howell's."

"No matter where, as long as she is out. I want to consult you about something." And he drew a chair to the fire, and told that he had visited Mrs Enderby, whom he found very poorly, apparently from agitation of spirits. She had shed a few tears on reporting her health, and had dropped something which he could not understand, about this being almost the last time she should be able to speak freely to him.

Hester anxiously hoped that the good old lady was not really going to die. There was no near probability of this, her husband a.s.sured her.

He thought Mrs Enderby referred to some other change than dying; but what, she did not explain. She had gone on talking in rather an excited way, and at last hinted that she supposed she should not see her son for some time, as Mrs Rowland had intimated that he was fully occupied with the young lady he was going to be married to. Mrs Enderby plainly said that she had not heard this from Philip himself; but she seemed to entertain no doubt of the truth of the information she had received.

She appeared to be struggling to be glad at the news; but it was clear that the uppermost feeling was disappointment at having no immediate prospect of seeing her son.

"Now, what are we to think and do?" said Hope.

"This agrees with what Mrs Rowland told me in Dingleford woods, six months ago," said Hester; "and I suppose what she then said may have been true all this time."

"How does that agree with his conduct to Margaret? Or am I mistaken in what I have told you I thought about that? Seriously--very seriously-- how do you suppose the case stands with Margaret?"

"I know no more than you. I think he went further than he ought, if he was thinking of another; and, but for his conduct since, I should have quite concluded, from some observations that I made, that he was attached to Margaret."

"And she--?"

"And she certainly likes him very well; but I can hardly fancy her happiness at stake. I have thought her spirit rather flat of late."

Hope sighed deeply.

"Ah! you may well sigh," said Hester, sighing herself, and sinking back in her chair. "You know what I am going to say. I thought I might be the cause of her being less gay than she should be. I have disappointed her expectations, I know. But let us talk only of her."

"Yes: let us talk only of her, till we have settled what is our duty to her. Ought we to tell her of this or not?"

Both considered long. At length Hester said--

"I think she ought to hear it quietly at home first (whether it be true or not), to prepare her for anything that may be reported abroad.

Perhaps, if you were to drop, as we sit together here, what Mrs Enderby said--"

"No, no; not I," said Hope, quickly. He went on more calmly: "Her sister and bosom friend is the only person to do this--if, indeed, it ought to be done. But the news may be untrue; and then she need perhaps never hear it. Do not let us be in a hurry."

Hester thought that if Margaret felt nothing more than friendship for Enderby, she would still consider herself ill-used; for the friendship had been so close an one that she might reasonably expect that she should not be left to learn such an event as this from common report.

But was it certain, Hope asked, that she had anything new to learn? Was it certain that she was not in his confidence all this time--that she had not known ten times as much as Mrs Rowland from the beginning?

Certainly not from the beginning, Hester said; and she had a strong persuasion that Margaret was as ignorant as themselves of Enderby's present proceedings and intentions.

At this moment, a note was brought in. It was from Mrs Enderby to Mr Hope, written hurriedly, and blistered with tears. It told that she had been extremely wrong in mentioning to him prematurely what was uppermost in her mind about a certain family affair, and begged the great favour of him to keep to himself what she had divulged, and, if possible, to forget it. Once more, Mr Hope unconsciously sighed. It was at the idea that he could forget such a piece of intelligence.

"Poor old lady!" said Hester; "she has been taken to task, I suppose, for relieving her mind to you. But, Edward, this looks more and more as if the news were true. My darling Margaret! How will it be with her?

Does it not look too like being true, love?"

"It looks as if Enderby's family all believed it, certainly. This note settles the matter of our duty, however. If the affair is so private that Mrs Enderby is to be punished for telling me, it is hardly likely that Margaret will hear it by out-door chance. You are spared the task for the present at least, my dear!"

"I should like to be sure that Margaret does not love--that she might pa.s.s through life without loving," said Hester, sighing, "But here she comes! Burn the note!"

The note curled in the flames, was consumed, and its ashes fluttered up the chimney, and Margaret did not enter. She had gone straight up-stairs. She did not come down till dinner was on the table. She was then prepared with the announcement that the snow-boots might be looked for very soon. She told of her visit to Widow Rye's, and had something to say of the probability of snow; but she was rather absent, and she took wine. These were all the circ.u.mstances that her anxious sister could fix upon, during dinner, for silent comment. After dinner, having eaten an orange with something like avidity, Margaret withdrew for a very few minutes. As the door closed behind her, Hester whispered--

"She has heard. She knows. Is it not so?"

"There is no question about it," replied Hope, examining the screen he held in his hand.

"I wonder who can have told her."

"Tellers of bad news are never wanting, especially in Deerbrook," said Hope, with a bitterness of tone which Hester had never heard from him before.

Margaret took up the other screen when she returned, and played with it till the table was cleared, so that she could have the use of her work-box. It was Morris who removed the dessert.

"Morris," said Mr Hope, as she was leaving the room, "I want Charles: pray send him."

"Charles is out, sir."

"Out! when will he be back?"

"He will be back presently," said Margaret. "I sent him with a note to Maria."

As she leant over her work again, Hester and her husband exchanged glances.

An answer from Maria soon arrived. Margaret read it as she sat, her brother and sister carefully withdrawing their observation from her.

Whatever else might be in the note, she read aloud the latter part--two or three lines relating to the incident of the morning. Her voice was husky, but her manner was gay. During the whole evening she was gay.

She insisted on making tea, and was too quick with the kettle for Edward to help her. She proposed music, and she sang--song after song. Hester was completely relieved about her; and even Edward gave himself up to the hope that all was well with her. From music they got to dancing.

Margaret had learned, by sitting with Maria during the children's dancing-lesson, a new dance which had struck her fancy, and they must be ready with it next week at Dr Levitt's. Alternately playing the dance and teaching it, she ran from the piano to them, and from them to the piano, till they were perfect, and her face was as flushed as it could possibly be at Mrs Levitt's dance next week. But in the midst of this flush, Hope saw a shiver: and Hester remarked, that during the teaching, Margaret had, evidently without being aware of it, squeezed her hand with a force which could not have been supposed to be in her. These things made Hope still doubt.