CHAPTER XXXIX
CONFIDENCES
It was a little later on in that same summer that Mrs. Brunton cameto visit her sister Bessy.
Bessy was married to a tolerably well-to-do farmer who lived at analmost equal distance between Monkshaven and Hartswell; but from oldhabit and convenience the latter was regarded as the Dawsons'market-town; so Bessy seldom or never saw her old friends inMonkshaven.
But Mrs. Brunton was far too flourishing a person not to speak outher wishes, and have her own way. She had no notion, she said, ofcoming such a long journey only to see Bessy and her husband, andnot to have a sight of her former acquaintances at Monkshaven. Shemight have added, that her new bonnet and cloak would be as good aslost if it was not displayed among those who, knowing her as MollyCorney, and being less fortunate in matrimony than she was, wouldlook upon it with wondering admiration, if not with envy.
So one day farmer Dawson's market-cart deposited Mrs. Brunton in allher bravery at the shop in the market-place, over which Hepburn andCoulson's names still flourished in joint partnership.
After a few words of brisk recognition to Coulson and Hester, MrsBrunton passed on into the parlour and greeted Sylvia withboisterous heartiness.
It was now four years and more since the friends had met; and eachsecretly wondered how they had ever come to be friends. Sylvia had acountry, raw, spiritless look to Mrs. Brunton's eye; Molly was loudand talkative, and altogether distasteful to Sylvia, trained indaily companionship with Hester to appreciate soft slow speech, andgrave thoughtful ways.
However, they kept up the forms of their old friendship, thoughtheir hearts had drifted far apart. They sat hand in hand while eachlooked at the other with eyes inquisitive as to the changes whichtime had made. Molly was the first to speak.
'Well, to be sure! how thin and pale yo've grown, Sylvia! Matrimonyhasn't agreed wi' yo' as well as it's done wi me. Brunton is allayssaying (yo' know what a man he is for his joke) that if he'd ha'known how many yards o' silk I should ha' ta'en for a gown, he'd ha'thought twice afore he'd ha' married me. Why, I've gained a mattero' thirty pound o' flesh sin' I were married!'
'Yo' do look brave and hearty!' said Sylvia, putting her sense ofher companion's capacious size and high colour into the prettiestwords she could.
'Eh! Sylvia! but I know what it is,' said Molly, shaking her head.'It's just because o' that husband o' thine as has gone and leftthee; thou's pining after him, and he's not worth it. Brunton said,when he heared on it--I mind he was smoking at t' time, and he tookhis pipe out of his mouth, and shook out t' ashes as grave as anyjudge--"The man," says he, "as can desert a wife like Sylvia Robsonas was, deserves hanging!" That's what he says! Eh! Sylvia, butspeakin' o' hanging I was so grieved for yo' when I heared of yo'rpoor feyther! Such an end for a decent man to come to! Many a onecome an' called on me o' purpose to hear all I could tell 'em abouthim!'
'Please don't speak on it!' said Sylvia, trembling all over.
'Well, poor creature, I wunnot. It is hard on thee, I grant. But togive t' devil his due, it were good i' Hepburn to marry thee, and sosoon after there was a' that talk about thy feyther. Many a manwould ha' drawn back, choose howiver far they'd gone. I'm noane sosure about Charley Kinraid. Eh, Sylvia! only think on his beingalive after all. I doubt if our Bessy would ha' wed Frank Dawson ifshe'd known as he wasn't drowned. But it's as well she did, forDawson's a man o' property, and has getten twelve cows in hiscow-house, beside three right down good horses; and Kinraid wereallays a fellow wi' two strings to his bow. I've allays said and domaintain, that he went on pretty strong wi' yo', Sylvie; and I willsay I think he cared more for yo' than for our Bessy, though it wereonly yesterday at e'en she were standing out that he liked herbetter than yo'. Yo'll ha' heared on his grand marriage?'
'No!' said Sylvia, with eager painful curiosity.
'No! It was in all t' papers! I wonder as yo' didn't see it. Wait aminute! I cut it out o' t' _Gentleman's Magazine_, as Brunton boughto' purpose, and put it i' my pocket-book when I were a-coming here:I know I've got it somewheere.'
She took out her smart crimson pocket-book, and rummaged in thepocket until she produced a little crumpled bit of printed paper,from which she read aloud,
'On January the third, at St Mary Redcliffe, Bristol, CharlesKinraid, Esq., lieutenant Royal Navy, to Miss Clarinda Jackson, witha fortune of 10,000_l_.'
'Theere!' said she, triumphantly, 'it's something as Brunton says,to be cousin to that.'
'Would yo' let me see it?' said Sylvia, timidly.
Mrs. Brunton graciously consented; and Sylvia brought her newlyacquired reading-knowledge, hitherto principally exercised on theOld Testament, to bear on these words.
There was nothing wonderful in them, nothing that she might not haveexpected; and yet the surprise turned her giddy for a moment or two.She never thought of seeing him again, never. But to think of hiscaring for another woman as much as he had done for her, nay,perhaps more!
The idea was irresistibly forced upon her that Philip would not haveacted so; it would have taken long years before he could have beeninduced to put another on the throne she had once occupied. For thefirst time in her life she seemed to recognize the real nature ofPhilip's love.
But she said nothing but 'Thank yo',' when she gave the scrap ofpaper back to Molly Brunton. And the latter continued giving herinformation about Kinraid's marriage.
'He were down in t' west, Plymouth or somewheere, when he met wi'her. She's no feyther; he'd been in t' sugar-baking business; butfrom what Kinraid wrote to old Turner, th' uncle as brought him upat Cullercoats, she's had t' best of edications: can play on t'instrument and dance t' shawl dance; and Kinraid had all her moneysettled on her, though she said she'd rayther give it all to him,which I must say, being his cousin, was very pretty on her. He'sleft her now, having to go off in t' _Tigre_, as is his ship, to t'Mediterranean seas; and she's written to offer to come and see oldTurner, and make friends with his relations, and Brunton is going togi'e me a crimson satin as soon as we know for certain when she'scoming, for we're sure to be asked out to Cullercoats.'
'I wonder if she's very pretty?' asked Sylvia, faintly, in the firstpause in this torrent of talk.
'Oh! she's a perfect beauty, as I understand. There was a travelleras come to our shop as had been at York, and knew some of hercousins theere that were in t' grocery line--her mother was a Yorklady--and they said she was just a picture of a woman, and iver somany gentlemen had been wantin' to marry her, but she just waitedfor Charley Kinraid, yo' see!'
'Well, I hope they'll be happy; I'm sure I do!' said Sylvia.
'That's just luck. Some folks is happy i' marriage, and some isn't.It's just luck, and there's no forecasting it. Men is suchunaccountable animals, there's no prophesyin' upon 'em. Who'd ha'thought of yo'r husband, him as was so slow and sure--steady Philip,as we lasses used to ca' him--makin' a moonlight flittin', andleavin' yo' to be a widow bewitched?'
'He didn't go at night,' said Sylvia, taking the words 'moonlightflitting' in their literal sense.
'No! Well, I only said "moonlight flittin'" just because it comeuppermost and I knowed no better. Tell me all about it, Sylvie, forI can't mak' it out from what Bessy says. Had he and yo' hadwords?--but in course yo' had.'
At this moment Hester came into the room; and Sylvia joyfullyavailed herself of the pretext for breaking off the conversationthat had reached this painful and awkward point. She detained Hesterin the room for fear lest Mrs. Brunton should repeat her inquiry asto how it all happened that Philip had gone away; but the presenceof a third person seemed as though it would be but little restraintupon the inquisitive Molly, who repeatedly bore down upon the samequestions till she nearly drove Sylvia distracted, between herastonishment at the news of Kinraid's marriage; her wish to be aloneand quiet, so as to realize the full meaning of that piece ofintelligence; her desire to retain Hester in the conversation; herefforts to prevent Molly's recurrence to the circumstances ofPhilip's disappearance, and the
longing--more vehement everyminute--for her visitor to go away and leave her in peace. Shebecame so disturbed with all these thoughts and feelings that shehardly knew what she was saying, and assented or dissented tospeeches without there being either any reason or truth in herwords.
Mrs. Brunton had arranged to remain with Sylvia while the horserested, and had no compunction about the length of her visit. Sheexpected to be asked to tea, as Sylvia found out at last, and thisshe felt would be the worst of all, as Alice Rose was not one totolerate the coarse, careless talk of such a woman as Mrs. Bruntonwithout uplifting her voice in many a testimony against it. Sylviasate holding Hester's gown tight in order to prevent her leaving theroom, and trying to arrange her little plans so that too muchdiscordance should not arise to the surface. Just then the dooropened, and little Bella came in from the kitchen in all the pretty,sturdy dignity of two years old, Alice following her with carefulsteps, and protecting, outstretched arms, a slow smile softening thesternness of her grave face; for the child was the unconsciousdarling of the household, and all eyes softened into love as theylooked on her. She made straight for her mother with somethinggrasped in her little dimpled fist; but half-way across the room sheseemed to have become suddenly aware of the presence of a stranger,and she stopped short, fixing her serious eyes full on Mrs. Brunton,as if to take in her appearance, nay, as if to penetrate down intoher very real self, and then, stretching out her disengaged hand,the baby spoke out the words that had been hovering about hermother's lips for an hour past.
'Do away!' said Bella, decisively.
'What a perfect love!' said Mrs. Brunton, half in real admiration,half in patronage. As she spoke, she got up and went towards thechild, as if to take her up.
'Do away! do away!' cried Bella, in shrill affright at thismovement.
'Dunnot,' said Sylvia; 'she's shy; she doesn't know strangers.'
But Mrs. Brunton had grasped the struggling, kicking child by thistime, and her reward for this was a vehement little slap in theface.
'Yo' naughty little spoilt thing!' said she, setting Bella down in ahurry. 'Yo' deserve a good whipping, yo' do, and if yo' were mineyo' should have it.'
Sylvia had no need to stand up for the baby who had run to her arms,and was soothing herself with sobbing on her mother's breast; forAlice took up the defence.
'The child said, as plain as words could say, "go away," and if thouwouldst follow thine own will instead of heeding her wish, thou munput up with the wilfulness of the old Adam, of which it seems to methee hast getten thy share at thirty as well as little Bella attwo.'
'Thirty!' said Mrs. Brunton, now fairly affronted. 'Thirty! why,Sylvia, yo' know I'm but two years older than yo'; speak to thatwoman an' tell her as I'm only four-and-twenty. Thirty, indeed!'
'Molly's but four-and-twenty,' said Sylvia, in a pacificatory tone.
'Whether she be twenty, or thirty, or forty, is alike to me,' saidAlice. 'I meant no harm. I meant but for t' say as her angry wordsto the child bespoke her to be one of the foolish. I know not whoshe is, nor what her age may be.'
'She's an old friend of mine,' said Sylvia. 'She's Mrs. Brunton now,but when I knowed her she was Molly Corney.'
'Ay! and yo' were Sylvia Robson, and as bonny and light-hearted alass as any in a' t' Riding, though now yo're a poor widowbewitched, left wi' a child as I mustn't speak a word about, an'living wi' folk as talk about t' old Adam as if he wasn't dead anddone wi' long ago! It's a change, Sylvia, as makes my heart ache foryo', to think on them old days when yo' were so thought on yo' mighthave had any man, as Brunton often says; it were a great mistake asyo' iver took up wi' yon man as has run away. But seven year 'llsoon be past fro' t' time he went off, and yo'll only besix-and-twenty then; and there'll be a chance of a better husbandfor yo' after all, so keep up yo'r heart, Sylvia.'
Molly Brunton had put as much venom as she knew how into thisspeech, meaning it as a vengeful payment for the supposition of herbeing thirty, even more than for the reproof for her angry wordsabout the child. She thought that Alice Rose must be either motheror aunt to Philip, from the serious cast of countenance that wasremarkable in both; and she rather exulted in the allusion to ahappier second marriage for Sylvia, with which she had concluded herspeech. It roused Alice, however, as effectually as if she had beenreally a blood relation to Philip; but for a different reason. Shewas not slow to detect the intentional offensiveness to herself inwhat had been said; she was indignant at Sylvia for suffering thewords spoken to pass unanswered; but in truth they were too much inkeeping with Molly Brunton's character to make as much impression onSylvia as they did on a stranger; and besides, she felt as if theless reply Molly received, the less likely would it be that shewould go on in the same strain. So she coaxed and chattered to herchild and behaved like a little coward in trying to draw out of theconversation, while at the same time listening attentively.
'As for Sylvia Hepburn as was Sylvia Robson, she knows my mind,'said Alice, in grim indignation. 'She's humbling herself now, Itrust and pray, but she was light-minded and full of vanity whenPhilip married her, and it might ha' been a lift towards hersalvation in one way; but it pleased the Lord to work in a differentway, and she mun wear her sackcloth and ashes in patience. So I'llsay naught more about her. But for him as is absent, as thee hastspoken on so lightly and reproachfully, I'd have thee to know hewere one of a different kind to any thee ever knew, I reckon. If hewere led away by a pretty face to slight one as was fitter for him,and who had loved him as the apple of her eye, it's him as issuffering for it, inasmuch as he's a wanderer from his home, and anoutcast from wife and child.'
To the surprise of all, Molly's words of reply were cut short evenwhen they were on her lips, by Sylvia. Pale, fire-eyed, and excited,with Philip's child on one arm, and the other stretched out, shesaid,--
'Noane can tell--noane know. No one shall speak a judgment 'twixtPhilip and me. He acted cruel and wrong by me. But I've said mywords to him hissel', and I'm noane going to make any plaint toothers; only them as knows should judge. And it's not fitting, it'snot' (almost sobbing), 'to go on wi' talk like this afore me.'
The two--for Hester, who was aware that her presence had only beendesired by Sylvia as a check to an unpleasant _tete-a-tete_conversation, had slipped back to her business as soon as her mothercame in--the two looked with surprise at Sylvia; her words, herwhole manner, belonged to a phase of her character which seldom cameuppermost, and which had not been perceived by either of thembefore.
Alice Rose, though astonished, rather approved of Sylvia's speech;it showed that she had more serious thought and feeling on thesubject than the old woman had given her credit for; her generalsilence respecting her husband's disappearance had led Alice tothink that she was too childish to have received any deep impressionfrom the event. Molly Brunton gave vent to her opinion on Sylvia'sspeech in the following words:--
'Hoighty-toighty! That tells tales, lass. If yo' treated steadyPhilip to many such looks an' speeches as yo'n given us now, it'seasy t' see why he took hisself off. Why, Sylvia, I niver saw it inyo' when yo' was a girl; yo're grown into a regular little vixen,theere wheere yo' stand!'
Indeed she did look defiant, with the swift colour flushing hercheeks to crimson on its return, and the fire in her eyes not yetdied away. But at Molly's jesting words she sank back into her usuallook and manner, only saying quietly,--
'It's for noane to say whether I'm vixen or not, as doesn't know th'past things as is buried in my heart. But I cannot hold them as myfriends as go on talking on either my husband or me before my veryface. What he was, I know; and what I am, I reckon he knows. And nowI'll go hurry tea, for yo'll be needing it, Molly!'
The last clause of this speech was meant to make peace; but Mollywas in twenty minds as to whether she should accept the olive-branchor not. Her temper, however, was of that obtuse kind which is noteasily ruffled; her mind, stagnant in itself, enjoyed excitementfrom without; and her appetite was invariably good, so she stayed,in spite of the inevitabl
e _tete-a-tete_ with Alice. The latter,however, refused to be drawn into conversation again; replying toMrs. Brunton's speeches with a curt yes or no, when, indeed, shereplied at all.
When all were gathered at tea, Sylvia was quite calm again; ratherpaler than usual, and very attentive and subduced in her behaviourto Alice; she would evidently fain have been silent, but as Mollywas her own especial guest, that could not be, so all her endeavourswent towards steering the conversation away from any awkward points.But each of the four, let alone little Bella, was thankful when themarket-cart drew up at the shop door, that was to take Mrs. Bruntonback to her sister's house.
When she was fairly off, Alice Rose opened her mouth in strongcondemnation; winding up with--
'And if aught in my words gave thee cause for offence, Sylvia, itwas because my heart rose within me at the kind of talk thee and shehad been having about Philip; and her evil and light-minded counselto thee about waiting seven years, and then wedding another.'
Hard as these words may seem when repeated, there was something of anearer approach to an apology in Mrs. Rose's manner than Sylvia hadever seen in it before. She was silent for a few moments, then shesaid,--
'I ha' often thought of telling yo' and Hester, special-like, whenyo've been so kind to my little Bella, that Philip an' me couldniver come together again; no, not if he came home this verynight----'
She would have gone on speaking, but Hester interrupted her with alow cry of dismay.
Alice said,--
'Hush thee, Hester. It's no business o' thine. Sylvia Hepburn,thou'rt speaking like a silly child.'
'No. I'm speaking like a woman; like a woman as finds out she's beencheated by men as she trusted, and as has no help for it. I'm noanegoing to say any more about it. It's me as has been wronged, and ashas to bear it: only I thought I'd tell yo' both this much, that yo'might know somewhat why he went away, and how I said my last wordabout it.'
So indeed it seemed. To all questions and remonstrances from Alice,Sylvia turned a deaf ear. She averted her face from Hester's sad,wistful looks; only when they were parting for the night, at the topof the little staircase, she turned, and putting her arms roundHester's neck she laid her head on her neck, and whispered,--
'Poor Hester--poor, poor Hester! if yo' an' he had but been marriedtogether, what a deal o' sorrow would ha' been spared to us all!'
Hester pushed her away as she finished these words; lookedsearchingly into her face, her eyes, and then followed Sylvia intoher room, where Bella lay sleeping, shut the door, and almost kneltdown at Sylvia's feet, clasping her, and hiding her face in thefolds of the other's gown.
'Sylvia, Sylvia,' she murmured, 'some one has told you--I thought noone knew--it's no sin--it's done away with now--indeed it is--it waslong ago--before yo' were married; but I cannot forget. It was ashame, perhaps, to have thought on it iver, when he niver thought o'me; but I niver believed as any one could ha' found it out. I'm justfit to sink into t' ground, what wi' my sorrow and my shame.'
Hester was stopped by her own rising sobs, immediately she was inSylvia's arms. Sylvia was sitting on the ground holding her, andsoothing her with caresses and broken words.
'I'm allays saying t' wrong things,' said she. 'It seems as if Iwere all upset to-day; and indeed I am;' she added, alluding to thenews of Kinraid's marriage she had yet to think upon.
'But it wasn't yo', Hester: it were nothing yo' iver said, or did,or looked, for that matter. It were yo'r mother as let it out.'
'Oh, mother! mother!' wailed out Hester; 'I niver thought as any onebut God would ha' known that I had iver for a day thought on hisbeing more to me than a brother.'
Sylvia made no reply, only went on stroking Hester's smooth brownhair, off which her cap had fallen. Sylvia was thinking how strangelife was, and how love seemed to go all at cross purposes; and waslosing herself in bewilderment at the mystery of the world; she wasalmost startled when Hester rose up, and taking Sylvia's hands inboth of hers, and looking solemnly at her, said,--
'Sylvia, yo' know what has been my trouble and my shame, and I'msure yo're sorry for me--for I will humble myself to yo', and ownthat for many months before yo' were married, I felt mydisappointment like a heavy burden laid on me by day and by night;but now I ask yo', if yo've any pity for me for what I went through,or if yo've any love for me because of yo'r dead mother's love forme, or because of any fellowship, or daily breadliness between ustwo,--put the hard thoughts of Philip away from out yo'r heart; hemay ha' done yo' wrong, anyway yo' think that he has; I niver knewhim aught but kind and good; but if he comes back from wheriver inth' wide world he's gone to (and there's not a night but I pray Godto keep him, and send him safe back), yo' put away the memory ofpast injury, and forgive it all, and be, what yo' can be, Sylvia, ifyou've a mind to, just the kind, good wife he ought to have.'
'I cannot; yo' know nothing about it, Hester.'
'Tell me, then,' pleaded Hester.
'No!' said Sylvia, after a moment's hesitation; 'I'd do a deal foryo', I would, but I daren't forgive Philip, even if I could; I tooka great oath again' him. Ay, yo' may look shocked at me, but it'shim as yo' ought for to be shocked at if yo' knew all. I said I'dniver forgive him; I shall keep to my word.'
'I think I'd better pray for his death, then,' said Hester,hopelessly, and almost bitterly, loosing her hold of Sylvia's hands.
'If it weren't for baby theere, I could think as it were my death as'ud be best. Them as one thinks t' most on, forgets one soonest.'
It was Kinraid to whom she was alluding; but Hester did notunderstand her; and after standing for a moment in silence, shekissed her, and left her for the night.