ERIC
That afternoon I had rather an adventure. I was just walking up the hill on my way to the post-office, when a handsome carriage came round the corner by the church rather sharply, and the same moment a little dog crossing the road in the dusk seemed to be under the horses' feet.
That was my first impression. My next was that the coachman was trying to pull up his horses. There was a sudden howl, the horses kicked and plunged, some one in the carriage shrieked, and then the little dog was in my arms, and even in the dim light I could feel one poor little leg was broken.
The horses were quieted with difficulty, and the footman got down and went to the carriage window.
'It is poor little Flossie, ma'am,' he said, touching his hat: 'she must have got out into the road and recognised the carriage, for she was under the horses' feet. This lady got her out somehow.' And indeed I had no idea how I had managed it. One of the horses had reared, and his front hoof almost touched me as I snatched up Flossie. I suppose it was a risky thing to do, for I never liked the remembrance afterwards, and I do not believe I could have done it again.
'Oh dear! oh dear!' observed a pleasant voice, 'do let me thank the lady. Stand aside, Williams.' And a pretty old lady with white hair looked out at me.
'I am afraid the poor dog's leg is broken,' I observed, as the little animal lay in my arms uttering short barks of pain. 'Happily your man pulled up in time, or it must have been killed.'
'Oh dear! oh dear! what will the colonel say to such carelessness?' exclaimed the old lady. 'He's so fond of Flossie, and makes such a fuss with her. And Mr. Hamilton has gone to Brighton, or I would have sent Flossie in for him to attend to her.'
'Will you let me see what I can do, Mrs. Maberley?' I said, for I had recognised the pretty old lady at once. 'I am the village nurse, Miss Garston, and I think I can bind up poor Flossie's leg.'
'Miss Garston!' in quite a different voice; it seemed to have grown rather formal. 'Oh, I am so much obliged to you, but I am ashamed to give you the trouble; only for poor Flossie's sake,' hesitating, 'will you come into the carriage and let me drive you to Maplehurst?' And to this I readily consented. I could never bear to see an animal in pain, and the little creature, a beautiful brown-and-white spaniel, was already licking my hand confidingly.
I could see Mrs. Maberley was embarrassed by my presence, for she talked in rather a nervous manner about it being Christmas Eve, and how busy the young ladies were decorating the church.
'I wanted to speak to Miss Darrell for a moment,' she went on, 'and I found her and Lady Betty putting up wreaths in the chancel, and that good-looking Mr. Tudor was helping them. I was so sorry poor dear Gladys was not there; but Miss Darrell says her cold is so much better that she is downstairs again. I am afraid she is very delicate and takes after her poor mother.'
'I saw Miss Hamilton yesterday, and I certainly thought she looked very ill.'
'So Miss Darrell told me. What a good, unselfish little creature she is, Miss Garston! I do not know what Mr. Hamilton and his sisters would do without her. Ah, here we are at Maplehurst, and Tracy is looking out for us. Tracy, is the colonel at home? No, I am thankful to hear it. Poor little Flossie has met with an accident, and this lady has saved her life, but she tells me her leg is broken. Now, Miss Garston, will you believe it that I am such a coward that I could not be of the least assistance? Tracy, take Miss Garston into the morning room, and do your best to help her.' And Mrs. Maberley trotted away as fast as she could, while Tracy ushered me into a bright snug-looking room and asked me very civilly what she could do for me.
Tracy was a handy, sensible woman, and in a few minutes I had managed, with her help, to strap up poor Flossie's leg in the most successful manner.
'I am sure, ma'am, Mr. Hamilton couldn't have done better himself,' observed Tracy, looking at me with respectful admiration, while I petted Flossie, who was now lying comfortably in her basket, trying to lick her bandages. 'I must go and tell my mistress that it is done, for she will be fretting herself ill over poor Flossie.'
I expect Tracy sounded my praises, for when Mrs. Maberley entered the room in her pretty cap with gray ribbons there was not a trace of formality in her manner as she thanked me with tears in her eyes for my kindness to Flossie.
'To think of a young creature being so clever!' she said, folding her soft dimpled hands together. 'My dear, the colonel will be so grateful to you: he dotes on Flossie. You must stay and have tea with me, and then he can thank you himself. No, I shall take no refusal. Tracy, tell Marvel to bring up the tea-tray at once. My dear,' turning to me, when Tracy had left the room, 'I am almost ashamed to look you in the face when I remember how long you have been in Heathfield and that I have never called on you; but Etta told me that you did not care to have visitors.'
'Yes, I know, Mrs. Maberley; but that is quite a mistake,' I returned, somewhat eagerly, for I had fallen in love with the pretty old lady, and her tall, aristocratic colonel with his white moustache and grand military carriage, and had watched them with much interest from my place in church. She was such a dainty old lady, like a piece of Dresden china, with her pink cheeks and white curls and old-fashioned shoe-buckles; and she had such beautiful little hands, plump and soft as a baby's, which she seemed to regard with innocent pride, for she was always settling the lace ruffles round her wrists and pinching them up with careful fingers.
'Dear, dear! I thought Etta told me,' she began rather nervously.
'Miss Darrell makes mistakes, like other people,' I answered, smiling. 'I shall be very pleased to know my neighbours; it is quite true that I am not often at home, and just now I am very busy, but all the same I do not mean to shut myself out from society. One owes a duty to one's neighbours.'
'My dear Miss Garston, I am quite pleased to hear you talk so sensibly. I was afraid from what Etta said that you were a little eccentric and strong-minded, and I have such a dislike to that in young people; young ladies are so terribly independent at the present day, in my opinion, and I know the colonel thinks the same. They are sadly deficient in good manners and reverence. That is why I am so fond of the Hamilton girls: they are perfect young gentlewomen; they never talk slang or slip-shod English, and they know how to respect gray hairs. The colonel is devoted to Gladys: I tell him he is as fond of her as though she were his own daughter.'
'I think every one must be fond of Miss Hamilton.'
'Yes, poor darling! and she is much to be pitied,' returned Mrs. Maberley, with a sigh. 'Oh, here comes Marvel with the tea. Now, Miss Garston, my dear, take off that bonnet and jacket: I like people to look as though they were at home. Marvel, draw up that chair to the fire, and give Miss Garston a table to herself, and put the muffins where she can reach them; there, now I think we look comfortable: young people always look nicer without their bonnets; it was a pity to hide your pretty smooth hair. Now tell me a little about yourself. I am sure Etta is wrong: you do not look in the least strong-minded. Tracy said it was wonderful how such slender little fingers could ever do hospital work. She has fallen in love with you, my dear; and Tracy has plenty of penetration. I never can understand why she does not take to Etta; and Etta is so good to her; but there, we all have our prejudices.'
As soon as Mrs. Maberley's ripple of talk had died away, I told her a little about my work, and how much I liked my life at Heathfield, and then I spoke of my great interest in Gladys Hamilton.
It was really very pleasant sitting in this warm, softly-lighted room and talking to this charming, kind-hearted old lady. Christmas Eve was not so dull, after all, as I had expected; it was nice to feel that I was making a new friend,—that the little service I had rendered Mrs. Maberley had broken down the barrier between us and overcome her prejudice. I knew that Miss Darrell had set her against me, and that for some reason of her own she wished to prevent her calling upon me.
Did Miss Darrell dislike my coming to Heathfield? Was she afraid of finding me in her way? Was she at all desirous of making my stay irksome to me? These were some of the questions I was continually asking myself.
I noticed that Mrs. Maberley sighed and shook her head when I spoke of Miss Hamilton. As I warmed to my subject, and praised her beauty and gentleness and intelligence, she sighed still more.
'Yes, she is a dear girl, a dear good girl; but she has never been the same since Eric went. Does she talk to you about Eric, Miss Garston? Etta says she talks of nothing else to her.'
I opened my eyes rather widely at this statement, for I could not forget what Miss Hamilton had said to me that night: 'I have never spoken to any one about Eric.' Was it likely that she would choose Miss Darrell for a confidante? But I kept my incredulity to myself, and simply related to Mrs. Maberley the circumstance that I had seen the photograph by accident the previous evening, and only knew then that Miss Hamilton had had a twin-brother.
'How very singular!' she observed, putting down her tea-cup in a hurry. 'I should have thought every one in the place would have spoken about the young man, he was such a favourite; and it was no use Mr. Hamilton trying to keep it a secret. Why, the postmaster's wife told me before Eric had been gone twenty-four hours, and then I went to Mr. Cunliffe. Why, child, do you mean your uncle has never told you about it?'
'Oh no, Uncle Max never repeats anything; he would be the last person from whom I should hear it.'
'And yet he was up at Gladwyn every day,—ay, twice a day; and people said—But what an old gossip I am! Well, about poor Eric, there can be no harm in your knowing what all the world knows, even Marvel and Tracy; it is a very sore subject with poor Mr. Hamilton, and no one dares to mention Eric's name to him; but, as Etta says, Gladys can never hold her tongue about him when they two are alone together.' I certainly held mine at that moment. I began to wonder what Miss Darrell would say next.
'So you have seen his picture, Miss Garston, my dear: well, now, is it not a beautiful face?—not sufficiently manly, as the colonel says; but then, poor fellow, he had not a strong character. Still, it was a lovely sight to see them together: our gardens join, you know, and often and often, as I have sat under our beech, I have seen Gladys and Eric walking up and down the little avenue, with his arm round her, and their two heads shining like gold, and she would be talking to him and smiling in his face, until it made me quite young to see them.'
'Wait a moment, Mrs. Maberley, please. I am deeply interested; but would Gladys—would Miss Hamilton like me to know all this?'
'To be sure she would,—though perhaps she would not care for the pain of telling it herself; but it would be better for you to hear it from me than from Mrs. Barton, or Mrs. Drabble, or any other gossiping person that takes it into her head to tell you, for you could not be much longer at Heathfield without hearing of it, when, as I say, every Jack and Tom in the village knows it,—though how it all got about is more than I can say. I tell the colonel, Leah must have had a hand in it: I know it was she who told Tracy.'
I saw by this time that Mrs. Maberley had quite made up her mind to tell me the story herself; she was garrulous, like many other old ladies, and perhaps she enjoyed a little gossip about her neighbours, so I only essayed one other feeble protest.
'I hope Mr. Hamilton will not mind—' but she answered me quite briskly,—
'Well, poor fellow, he knows by this time people will talk; I daresay he thinks Mr. Cunliffe has told you. Now, I do not want to blame Mr. Hamilton; he is a great favourite of mine ever since he cured the colonel's gout, and I would not be hard on him for worlds; but I have always been afraid that he did not rightly understand Eric; the brothers were so different. Mr. Hamilton is very hard-working and rather matter-of-fact, and Eric was quite different, more like a girl, dreamy and enthusiastic and terribly idle, and then he fancied himself an artist. Mr. Hamilton could not bear that.'
'Why not? An artist's is a very good profession.'
'Yes, but he did not believe in his talent; and then Eric was intended for the law; his brother had sent him to Oxford, but he would not work, and he was extravagant, and got into debt,—and, oh yes, there was no end of trouble. I do not know how it was,' went on Mrs. Maberley, 'but Eric always seemed in the wrong. Etta used to take his part,—which was very good of her, as Eric could not bear her and treated her most rudely. Mr. Hamilton used to complain that Gladys encouraged him in his idleness; he sometimes came in here of an evening looking quite miserable, poor fellow, and would say that his sisters and Eric were leagued against him; that but for Etta he would be at his wits' end what to do. Eric would not obey him; he simply defied his authority; he was growing more idle every day, and when he remonstrated with him, Gladys took his part. Oh dear, I am afraid they were all very wretched.'
'You think Mr. Hamilton did not understand his young brother.'
'Well, perhaps not. You see, Mr. Hamilton had not the same temptations; he was always steady and hard-working from a boy, and never cared much about his own comfort. As for getting into debt, why, he would have considered it wicked to do so. I know the colonel thought once or twice that he was a little hard on Eric. I remember his saying once 'that boys will be boys, and that all are not good alike, and that he must not use the curb too much.' It was a pity, certainly, that Mr. Hamilton was so angry about his painting. I daresay it was only a temporary craze. I am afraid, though, Eric must have behaved very badly. I know he struck his elder brother once. Anyhow, things went on from bad to worse; and one day a dreadful thing happened. A cheque of some value, I have forgotten the particulars, was stolen from Mr. Hamilton's desk, and the next day Eric disappeared.'
'Was he accused of taking it?'
'To be sure. Leah saw him with her own eyes. You must ask Mr. Cunliffe about all that; my memory is apt to be treacherous about details. I know Leah saw him with his hand in his brother's desk, and though Eric vowed it was only to put a letter there,—a very impertinent letter that he had written to his brother,—still the cheque was gone, and, as they heard afterwards, cashed by a very fair young man at some London Bank; and the next morning, after some terrible quarrel, during which Gladys fainted, poor girl, Eric disappeared, and the very next thing they heard of him, about three weeks afterwards, was that his watch and a pocket-book belonging to him had been picked up on the Brighton beach close to Hove.'
'Do you mean that this is all they have ever heard of him?'
'Yes. I believe Mr. Hamilton employed every means of ascertaining his fate. For some months he refused to believe that he was dead. I am not sure if Gladys believes it now. But Etta did from the first. "He was weak and reckless enough for anything," she has often said to me. Of course it is very terrible, and one cannot bear to think of it, but when a young man has lost his character he has not much pleasure in his life.'
'I do not think Miss Hamilton really believes that he is dead.'
'Perhaps not, poor darling. But Mr. Hamilton has no doubt on the subject, my dear Miss Garston. He is much to be pitied: he has never been the same man since Eric went. I am afraid that he repents of his harshness to the poor boy. He told the colonel once that he wished he had tried milder treatment.'
'One can understand Mr. Hamilton's feelings so well. You are right, Mrs. Maberley: he is much to be pitied.'
'Yes, and, to make matters worse, Gladys was very ill, and refused to see or speak to him in her illness. I believe the breach is healed between them now; but she is not all that a sister ought to be to him.'
'Perhaps Miss Darrell usurps her place,' I replied a little incautiously, but I saw my mistake at once. Mrs. Maberley was evidently a devout believer in Miss Darrell's merits.
'Oh, my dear, you must not say such things. Mr. Hamilton has told me over and over again that he does not know how he would have got through that miserable time but for his cousin Etta's kindness. She did everything for him, and nursed Gladys in her illness. I am sure she would have died but for Etta. Dear me! Flossie looks restless. I do believe she hears her master's step outside.—Yes, Flossie, that is his knock.—But I wonder whom he is bringing in with him.' And Mrs. Maberley straightened herself and smoothed the folds of her satin gown, and tried to look as usual, though there were tears in her bright eyes and her hands were a little tremulous. I do not know why I felt so sure that it would be Mr. Hamilton, but I was not at all surprised when he followed the tall old colonel into the room. But he certainly looked astonished when he saw me.
'Miss Garston!' he ejaculated, darting one of his keen looks at me. But when he had shaken hands he sat down by Mrs. Maberley somewhat silently.
I was rather sorry to see Mr. Hamilton, for our talk had unsettled me and made me feel nervous in his presence. I was afraid he would read something from our faces. And I certainly saw him look at me more than once, as though something had aroused his suspicion. For the first time I was unwilling to encounter one of those straight glances. I felt guilty, as though I must avoid his eyes, but all the more I felt he was watching me.
I was anxious to put a stop to this uncomfortable state of things, but I could not silence Mrs. Maberley, who was relating to her husband the story of poor Flossie's accident. My presence of mind and skill were so much lauded, and the colonel said so many civil things, that I felt myself getting hotter every moment.
Mr. Hamilton came at last to my relief.
'I think Miss Garston resembles me in one thing, colonel. She hates to be thanked for doing her duty. You will drive her away if you say any more about Flossie. Oh, I thought so,' as I stretched out my hand for my hat: 'I thought I interpreted that look aright. Well, I must be going too. I only brought him back safe to you, Mrs. Maberley.—By the bye, colonel, I shall tell Gladys that you have never asked after her.'
'My sweetheart, Gladys! To be sure I have not. Well, how is she, my dear fellow?'
'As obstinate as ever, colonel. Came downstairs to-day, and declares she will go to early service to-morrow, because it will be Christmas Day, and she has never missed yet. Women are kittle cattle to manage. Now, Miss Garston, if you are ready, I will see you a little on your way.'
I knew it was no good to remonstrate, so I held my peace, Mrs. Maberley kissed me quite affectionately, and begged me to come whenever I had an hour to spare.
'I wish I had known you before, my dear. But there, we all make mistakes sometimes.' And she patted me on the shoulder. 'Edbrooke, will you see them out? He will be your friend for ever, after your goodness to Flossie: won't you, Edbrooke?'
I never felt so afraid of Mr. Hamilton before. I was wondering what I should say to him, and hoping that he had not noticed my nervousness, when he startled me excessively by saying,—
'What makes you look so odd this evening? You are not a bit yourself, Miss Garston. Come! I shall expect you to confess. Mrs. Maberley is an old friend of mine, and I am very much attached to her. I should like to know what you and she have been talking about?'
It was too dark for Mr. Hamilton to see my face, so I answered a little flippantly,—
'I daresay you would like to know. Women are certainly not much more curious than men, after all.'
'Oh, as to that, I am not a bit curious,' was the contradictory answer. 'But all the same I intend to know. So you may as well make a clean breast of it.'
'But—but you have no right to be so inquisitive, Mr. Hamilton.'
'Again I say I am not inquisitive, but I mean to know this. Mrs. Maberley had been crying. I could see the tears in her eyes. You looked inclined to cry too, Miss Garston. Now,'—after a moment's hesitation, as though he found speech rather difficult,—'I know the dear old lady has only one fault. She is rather too fond of gossiping about her neighbours, though she does it in the kindest manner. May I ask if her talk this evening at all related to a family not a hundred miles away from Maplehurst?'
His voice sounded hard and satirical in the darkness. 'I wish you would not ask me such a question, Mr. Hamilton,' I returned, much distressed. 'It was not my fault: I did not wish—' But he interrupted me.
'Of course; I knew it. When am I ever deceived by a face or manner? Not by yours, certainly. So my good old friend told you about that miserable affair. I wish she had held her tongue a little longer. I wish—'
But I burst out, full of remorse,—
'Oh, Mr. Hamilton, I am so sorry! I have no right to know, but indeed I was hardly to blame.'
'Who says you are to blame?' he returned, so harshly that I remained silent: 'it is no fault of yours if people will not be silent. But all the same I am sorry that you know; your opinion of me is quite changed now, eh? You think me a hard-hearted taskmaster of a brother. Well, it does not matter: Gladys would have made you believe that in time.'
His voice was so full of concentrated bitterness that I longed to say something consoling; in his own fashion he had been kind to me, and I did not wish to misjudge him.
'I know your sister Gladys sufficiently to be sure that she will never act ungenerously by her brother,' I returned hotly. 'Mr. Hamilton, you need not say such things: it is not for me to judge.'
'But all the same you will judge,' he replied moodily. 'Oh, I know how you good women cling together: you know nothing of a man's nature; you cannot estimate his difficulties; because he has not got your sweet nature, because he cannot bear insolence patiently—Oh,' with an abruptness that was almost rude but for the concealed pain in his voice, 'I am not going to excuse myself to you: why should I? I have only to account to my Maker and my own conscience,' And he was actually walking off in the darkness, for we were now in sight of the parlour window, but I called him back so earnestly that he could not refuse to obey.
'Mr. Hamilton, pray do not leave me like this; it makes me unhappy. Do you know it is Christmas Eve?'
'Well, what of that?' with a short laugh.
'People ought not to quarrel and be disagreeable to each other on Christmas Eve.'
'I am afraid, Miss Garston, that I do feel intensely disagreeable this evening.'
'Yes, but you must try and forgive me all the same. I could not quite help myself; but indeed I do not mean to judge you or any one, and I should like you to shake hands.'
'There, then,' with a decidedly hearty grasp; and then, without releasing me, 'So you don't think so very badly of me, after all?'
'I am very sorry for you,' was my prudent answer; 'I think you have had a great deal to bear. Good-night, Mr. Hamilton.'
'Wait a minute; you have not answered my question. You must not have it all your own way. I repeat, has Mrs. Maberley given you a very bad impression of my character?'
'Certainly not; oh, she spoke most kindly; I should not have been afraid if you had heard the whole of our conversation.'
'I wish I had heard it.'
'She made me feel very sorry for you all. Oh, what trouble there is in the world, Mr. Hamilton! It does seem so blind and foolish to sit in judgment on other people! how can we know their trials and temptations?'
'That is spoken like a sensible woman. Try to keep a good opinion of us, Miss Garston: we shall be the better for your friendship. Well, so we are friends again, and this little misunderstanding is healed: so much the better; I should hate to quarrel with you. Now run in out of the cold.'
I hastened to obey him, but he stood at the gate until I had entered the house; his voice and manner had quite changed during the last few minutes, and had become strangely gentle, reminding me of his sister Gladys's voice. What a singular man he was!—and yet I felt sorry for him. 'I wonder if he is really to blame!' I thought, as I opened the parlour door.
The lamp was alight; the fire burnt ruddily; Tinker was stretched on the rug as usual, but something else was on the rug too.
A girlish figure in a dark tweed gown was huddled up before the grate; a head, with short thick locks of hair tossing roughly on her neck, turned quickly at my entrance.
'Jill!'
'Yes, it is I, Ursie dear! Oh, you darling bear, what a time you have been!' Two strong arms pulled me down in the usual fashion, and a hot cheek was pressed lovingly against mine.
'Oh, Jill, Jill, what does this mean?' I exclaimed, in utter amazement; but for a long time Jill only laughed and hugged me, and there was no getting an answer to my question.