Trevethlan Volume I Part 7

Suspiciousness is natural to tyranny: spies are the agents of despots.

Love of rule, said by the fairy to be the universal pa.s.sion of the s.e.x, was undoubtedly dominant in Mrs. Pendarrel. But it is a desire which, at least in youth, will find one powerful rival. And so she proved. The haughty beauty kept her affection down with a strong hand, but it stung her nevertheless. The wound rankled ever in her heart; and many a time and oft she cast a rapid glance upon her life, and in momentary weakness compared what was indeed a dark reality, with a visionary possibility whose very glory made her sad.

But though such reflections might sadden, they were far from softening her. They always terminated in the conviction that she had been ill used. As years sped by, and each showed her more plainly the vacancy of her existence, this feeling deepened into a quenchless thirst for revenge. Was she to be the only victim? Man had a hundred means of quelling or forgetting a hapless pa.s.sion. Should he who had so lightly forsaken her--should he triumph while her heart was broken?

He threw the game into her hands, and died. Towards his children she entertained at the moment no very definite feeling. She had scarcely thought of them. But she had long cherished the idea of becoming mistress of Trevethlan Castle, and at last she deemed the hour was arrived. Met according to her expectations, she would probably have been kind to the orphans. Spurned, as she felt it, from their door, hatred burnt again fiercely in her breast. And it was quickened by a strange jealousy she conceived against their mother, whom she had only despised before, but now bitterly envied as the wife of her lover.

Could domestic happiness be expected with such a parent? Alas, for the answer which would come from Mrs. Pendarrel's children! The angry pa.s.sions which raged in her breast gave an unmotherly hardness to her love of rule. And why were they daughters? _He_ had a son. _She_, the wretched peasant, was the mother of a son. Thus did the effects of Esther's blighted affection fall even upon her offspring. But Gertrude rebelled from early childhood against the capricious rigour with which she was treated. She succ.u.mbed at last, however, and that in the most important event of her life. In obeying the maternal command to marry Mr. Winston, she thought she stooped to conquer. Gertrude Winston would be her own mistress. And so she was; but at what a price! Ay, what an account must they render, who degrade marriage into a convenience! who banish the household deities, so dear even to ancient paganism, from their place beside the hearth, and fill it with furies and fiends! who know not the meaning of our sweet English name of home! Five years had not reconciled Gertrude to a union in which her heart had no share. Her husband seemed to her cold, prudent, and dull.

She was enthusiastic, generous, and clever. He was easy and good-natured, and his very submissiveness fretted her. He was, or pretended to be, fond of metaphysics, and was always engaged upon some terribly ponderous tome, while she partic.i.p.ated in the popular fury for Byron and Scott. He liked a level road, and a good inn: she delighted in romantic scenery, and was half careless about the accommodation. They continually pulled against each other; but the husband was insensible to the chain which galled the wife to the quick. Yet Mr. Winston possessed qualities, which only required to be known to be beloved, and if Gertrude was ignorant of them, it was in no small degree her own fault. And she had not, like Mrs. Pendarrel, to contend with the memory of a previous attachment.

But, however bitter might be the feelings with which she contemplated her own position, there was one dear affection which she cherished with the utmost fondness. Nothing could exceed her solicitude to preserve her sister from the snares into which she had fallen herself.

She kept a watchful eye upon all the society especially favoured by her mother, and observed Mildred's feelings with the warmest interest. And she was met in the same spirit. Sisterly love was the one humanizing tie in that broken family.

Each sister possessed great personal attractions; but though their features were strikingly alike, the character written on their faces was by no means the same. Gertrude's showed haughty indifference, Mildred's wishful thoughtfulness. The elder's smile was generally sarcastic, the younger's sympathetic. Knowledge of her situation, and consciousness that others knew it, flashed in defiance from the dark eyes of Mrs. Winston, and lent a _hardiesse_ to her tongue, which occasionally seemed unfeminine. Trust and hope beamed from beneath the long lashes of Miss Pendarrel, and her speech was commonly soft and gentle; but in society she was lively and witty, and there was a spirit lurking in her heart, which might one day confound even her mother.

Coming one day about this time to May Fair, Gertrude found a gentleman of her acquaintance sitting with Mrs. Pendarrel and Mildred.

"Dear mamma," Mrs. Winston said, as she entered, "I am come to claim Mildred for an hour's drive.--Delighted to see you, Mr. Melcomb. You can settle a little dispute for me. 'Tis about the colour of the Valdespini's eyes."

"I would prefer to leave it to Mr. Winston," answered Melcomb. "He has some strange theory about colours, that they are in the eyes of the seer and not in the seen. It is dangerous to speak after such an authority. Your best referee is at home, Mrs. Winston."

"Not so," said the lady, "for he is one of the disputants. One said blue, another grey. None agreed. Some one suggested a reference to you, and it was voted unanimously. 'He knows the colour of all the eyes at the opera,' they said."

"No one can mistake that of Mrs. Winston's," Melcomb said, rising and bowing. "My dear Mrs. Pendarrel, suffer me to take my leave."

"Now, Mildred dear, away and make ready," said Gertrude, smiling, and her sister immediately complied with the wish.

"Mrs. Winston!" exclaimed the mother.

"Yes, dear mamma," Gertrude answered.

"Am I the mistress of my own house?"

"I presume so, dear mamma."

"Then note me. My visitors shall not be affronted here by you."

"Surely, mamma, Mr. Melcomb would thank me for a compliment. Every one knows he is proud of his reputation."

"Every one knows your sarcasm," said Mrs. Pendarrel, "and I, at least, perfectly understand your meaning. Once for all, Mrs. Winston, I will suffer no interference with my intentions for Mildred. Why, I almost think you would not have her settled at all. Very sisterly indeed, Gertrude. Yet in your situation----"

"Mother," exclaimed Mrs. Winston, "not another word. But listen.

Rather than see Mildred settled even as I am, without offence, as without affection, I know not to what I would not doom her! Rather than see her wedded to one like Melcomb, would she might die in my sight! You know me, mother. She is here."

"There's no danger, Gertrude," said Mrs. Pendarrel, as Mildred entered; "au revoir."

The sisters then descended the stairs. As they pa.s.sed through the hall, they might have observed the presence of a young man, not in livery, plainly dressed, having an appearance of _mauvaise honte_ not often imputable to the denizens of London. They might have noticed that after the first glimpse he caught of Mildred, his gaze was rivetted upon her face, and the colour deepened in his cheeks as she approached and swept by him, almost brushing him with the tr.i.m.m.i.n.g of her mantle. But in fact, they saw nothing of the kind, pa.s.sing along in polite indifference to Mrs. Winston's carriage.

"And so, Mildred," that lady said, as they drove away, "another admirer! You are growing quite a coquette."

"Not exactly," answered the younger sister. "But I like to amuse myself with the vanity of men. After all, I wish I were married."

Mrs. Winston sighed. "At another time, Mildred dear," she said, "I might rally you for the avowal. But beware. Marriage is a sad lottery."

"You are happy, Gertrude," said Mildred with some surprise.

Mrs. Winston looked out of her window.

"Melcomb will never make a woman happy," she said, after a pause.

"He will certainly never make me happy," exclaimed Mildred, half laughing. "But really, Gertrude, how silly I am! What does Mr. Melcomb care about me!"

"Very little, I dare say, not to flatter you, dear. Very little about Mildred: a good deal about Mildred's money. And perhaps mamma would not care to add Tolpeden to Pendarrel. You know they join. There's something for your cogitation."

For a while the sisters were silent. Then the younger spoke.

"Dearest Gertrude," she said, "believe me I will never marry without--believe me, I have not yet seen anyone whom I would marry.

When I spoke just now, I hardly knew what I meant."

Poor Gertrude knew her sister's meaning perfectly well. She recollected the weight of the chain from which she had recklessly made her escape, without calculating the cost.

"Mildred," said she, "let me ever be your confidante as now."

And so in a less serious mood, the sisters pursued their way round the November dreariness of Hyde Park, at the season when:--

"Remote, unfriended, solitary, slow, Scarce one lone horseman paces Rotten Row."

The stranger they had pa.s.sed in Mrs. Pendarrel's vestibule was Michael Sinson, newly arrived in London, and come with proper diligence to pay his respects to his patroness. The young countryman was completely overwhelmed by the vision of the two fine ladies who swept by him. But his wonder was not indiscriminating, and it was Mildred who fixed his gaze. He had seen her at Pendarrel, but not with the same impression.

In kind and familiar intercourse with the tenantry, she was a very different person. Here she seemed almost a creature of another sphere.

With her mien, so quiet and yet so proud; her step, scarcely touching the ground, yet appearing to spurn it; her repose, exhibiting a security which it was impossible to disturb. Michael followed her with his eyes until she had entered the carriage, and continued looking vacantly in the same direction, even after the hall-door was closed. A tap on the shoulder roused him from his abstraction, and he followed a servant into the presence of Mrs. Pendarrel.

The interview was of no great duration. Sinson's patroness was pleased to notice with praise that he was improved in appearance and address; and asked him a few questions respecting the country, which he answered to her satisfaction. She made no allusion to the peculiar services she expected from him, but referred him to her husband at his office for information respecting his promised employment. It was necessary to know a little more of his temper and disposition before making him her confidential agent.

The new Cymon, as in one sense the young rustic might be called, quitted the house in May Fair, filled with vague admiration and ambition. In the fascinations surrounding Miss Pendarrel, he recognised a power superior to anything within his experience; and he framed fantastic expectations from the career he supposed opening before him. But the lover of Iphigenia had concealed a n.o.ble heart under a rugged exterior, and his pa.s.sion developed its high qualities.

Michael Sinson was a very different character from Boccaccio's hero.

And was Mercy Page already forgotten?--Happy, perchance, for the too faithful maiden, if so it were.

CHAPTER VIII.

"Nam veluti pueri trepidant, atque omnia coecis In tenebris metuunt, sic nos in luce timemus Interdum, nihilo quae sunt metuenda magis, quam Quae pueri in tenebris pavitant, finguntque futura."

LUCRET.

As children tremble, and in darkness quake At all things near, so we too sometimes shake At daylight fancies, vain as those which scare Children in darkness with foreboding fear.