Heartsease; Or, The Brother's Wife Part 117

The two unwilling companions set forth, each in her own comer of the carriage, Emma leaning back, her thick blue veil hiding her face; Theodora, who always repudiated veils, sitting upright, her face turned, so as to catch the breeze on her hot temples, wishing she could turn herself into Violet, and possess her power of sweet persuasion and consolation. She could think of nothing to say, and began at last to fear that her silence might appear unkind. She tried to interest Emma by speaking of Johnnie, but she only obtained brief replies, and the conversation had dropped before they left the streets and entered on suburban scenery. Theodora exclaimed at a gorgeous Virginian creeper--

'Almost as fine as the one at the Priory,' said she.

Emma looked and sighed.

'Rickworth must be in high glory. I know nothing prettier than the many-coloured woods sloping into the meadow, with the soft mist rising.

You will find home beautiful.'

'I cannot bear the thought of it,' said Emma, in an under-tone.

'How glad your little orphans will be! How many have you?'

'There are five.'

Theodora saw she hated the subject, but thought it good for her, and went on to tell her of a case at Whitford, cramming the subject into her ear at first against the stomach of her sense, but it could not but exact attention, a widow sinking in a decline after sorrows which, by comparison, made all young lady troubles shrink into atoms. Emma became interested, and began to ask questions.

'You will go to see the mother? Poor thing, I hope she may be alive to hear of the prospect for her child. I am sorry to be unable to go and see her, and should be so glad to know you near and able to attend to her.'

'We will write to the housekeeper,' said Emma.

'Are you not going back yourself?'

'I don't know; I have no heart to think of it.'

'Emma,' said Theodora, 'we need not go on as if we did not understand each other. Violet can attend to you now; I wish you would talk to her.

No one can comfort as she can.'

'I do not wish to tease her with my--'

'She knows, she longs to help you. Don't you know how fond of you she always was? You two appreciated each other from the first.'

'It is of no use. She never entered into my views. She does not understand. It is her situation I blame, not herself. She is a dear creature, and I once had a strong girlish enthusiasm for her.'

'Once!' cried Theodora; 'what has she ever done to lessen enthusiasm for all that is good and lovely?'

Emma hung her head, alarmed; and Theodora more gently insisted, till, by the power which in childhood she had exerted over Emma, she forced out an answer. 'Forgive me, if I must tell you. I have thought her too fond of going out. It was no wonder, so very young as she was. I do not find fault, but it seemed to dispel an illusion that she was superior to other people. Don't you remember one party she would go to against warning, that one where she fainted? I could never feel the same for her afterwards.'

Theodora was silent for a few seconds, then exclaimed, 'O Violet, is there no end to the injuries I have done you? Emma, never judge without seeing behind the curtain. It was my fault. It was when I was crazed with wilfulness. Your mother offered to chaperon me, I was set on going with Mrs. Finch, and as the only means of preventing that, Violet sacrificed herself. I did not know she likewise sacrificed the friendship of the only person, except John, who had been kind to her.'

'I wish Theresa had known this,' said Emma.

'Now YOU know it, will you not turn to Violet for advice and comfort?

I know what she can be. If you could guess what she saved me from, you would fly at once to her.'

'I cannot begin now, I cannot look anywhere that recalls past happiness!' said Emma, murmuring low, as though the words, in spite of herself, broke from her oppressed heart. 'Would that I could hide my head! Oh! that I had wings like a dove!'

'Emma, you have them. They may carry you into what seems to be a wilderness, but go bravely on, and you will be at rest at last.'

'What do you mean?'

'The wings of duty.'

'If I only knew where it was.'

'Your mother, your dependants, your orphans, your beautiful old plan.

Emma only groaned, and held up her hand in deprecation.

'I have felt it,' continued Theodora. 'I know how vain, and vapid, and weary everything seems, as if the sap of life was gone, but if we are content to remain in the wilderness, it begins to blossom at last, indeed it does.'

'I thought you had had no troubles,' said Emma, with more interest.

'They could not have been such as mine.'

'In one respect they were worse, for they were entirely my own fault.'

'May I ask, is there no hope for you?'

'No, said Theodora, 'I believe there is none. But a certain peaceful feeling, independent of that, came after the desolateness, and has never gone utterly away, though I have had to reap the harvest of the evil that I sowed. Oh! depend upon it, there is nothing like resolutely facing the day's work.'

Emma made no answer; they had come to the gate of a villa, and Theodora thought she might as well have held her peace, since Theresa would undo the whole.

Miss Marstone was not within, but she had left a note for Miss Brandon.

Emma, after reading it, timidly said that Theresa had gone to spend the day with a friend, who was boarding in a convent not far off, and that she wished her to come and make her visit to her there. Then timidly glancing towards her companion, she desired to be driven thither, but Theodora, leaning forward, said, in an authoritative manner, 'Drive on two miles on the road. We will say where next when we come back.'

'I beg your pardon,' she said to Emma, 'but this is not a step to be taken inconsiderately.'

Emma did not reply; Theodora perceived that her decided manner had terrified her. 'I am sorry if I was rude,' she said; 'I did not mean it, but I thought you were acting precipitately, and that you would be glad to have time to reflect before going to this place without your mother's knowledge.'

'It is not precipitately,' said Emma, faintly.

'You don't mean that this was a pre-concerted scheme. If so, pray let me out, and I will go home alone.'

'No, no, I did not mean exactly--don't use such words, Theodora.

Only sister Mary Angela--Theresa's great friend--had joined the Roman communion. Theresa wished me to see her and the convent, and said that perhaps I might find her there. If I had told mamma, she would have fancied I should be kidnapped like young ladies in books. I believe you expect it yourself,' said Emma, giggling hysterically.

'I think, and she thinks nothing but what is rational,' said Theodora, coldly, 'that it is a sad thing to see you taught to resort to subterfuges, and that they can lead into no safe course.'

'You do not know Theresa, or you would not accuse her of what she would detest.'

'I speak from what I see. She has arranged in secret that, without your mother's knowledge, you should by stealth go to a place where you both know Lady Elizabeth would be shocked to hear of you.'

'I thought you understood the true Catholic spirit,' said Emma, 'and were interested in these things.'

'The Catholic spirit is anything but such treatment of a mother,' said Theodora. 'Once for all, do you mean to go to this place, or do you not?

I see a cab, and if you go I return home in that.'

'Of course then I must give it up.'