Shirley
Caroline, as the rector's niece, took her place at one of the three
first tables; Mrs. Boultby and Margaret Hall officiated at the others.
At these tables the _élite_ of the company were to be entertained,
strict rules of equality not being more in fashion at Briarfield than
elsewhere. Miss Helstone removed her bonnet and scarf, that she might be
less oppressed with the heat. Her long curls, falling on her neck,
served almost in place of a veil; and for the rest, her muslin dress was
fashioned modestly as a nun's robe, enabling her thus to dispense with
the encumbrance of a shawl.
The room was filling. Mr. Hall had taken his post beside Caroline, who
now, as she rearranged the cups and spoons before her, whispered to him
in a low voice remarks on the events of the day. He looked a little
grave about what had taken place in Royd Lane, and she tried to smile
him out of his seriousness. Miss Keeldar sat near--for a wonder, neither
laughing nor talking; on the contrary, very still, and gazing round her
vigilantly. She seemed afraid lest some intruder should take a seat she
apparently wished to reserve next her own. Ever and anon she spread her
satin dress over an undue portion of the bench, or laid her gloves or
her embroidered handkerchief upon it. Caroline noticed this _manège_ at
last, and asked her what friend she expected. Shirley bent towards her,
almost touched her ear with her rosy lips, and whispered with a musical
softness that often characterized her tones when what she said tended
even remotely to stir some sweet secret source of feeling in her heart,
"I expect Mr. Moore. I saw him last night, and I made him promise to
come with his sister, and to sit at our table. He won't fail me, I feel
certain; but I apprehend his coming too late, and being separated from
us. Here is a fresh batch arriving; every place will be taken.
Provoking!"
In fact, Mr. Wynne the magistrate, his wife, his son, and his two
daughters now entered in high state. They were Briarfield gentry. Of
course their place was at the first table, and being conducted thither,
they filled up the whole remaining space. For Miss Keeldar's comfort,
Mr. Sam Wynne inducted himself into the very vacancy she had kept for
Moore, planting himself solidly on her gown, her gloves, and her
handkerchief. Mr. Sam was one of the objects of her aversion, and the
more so because he showed serious symptoms of an aim at her hand. The
old gentleman, too, had publicly declared that the Fieldhead estate and
the De Walden estate were delightfully _contagious_--a malapropism which
rumour had not failed to repeat to Shirley.
Caroline's ears yet rung with that thrilling whisper, "I expect Mr.
Moore," her heart yet beat and her cheek yet glowed with it, when a note
from the organ pealed above the confused hum of the place. Dr. Boultby,
Mr. Helstone, and Mr. Hall rose, so did all present, and grace was sung
to the accompaniment of the music; and then tea began. She was kept too
busy with her office for a while to have leisure for looking round, but
the last cup being filled, she threw a restless glance over the room.
There were some ladies and several gentlemen standing about yet
unaccommodated with seats. Amidst a group she recognized her spinster
friend, Miss Mann, whom the fine weather had tempted, or some urgent
friend had persuaded, to leave her drear solitude for one hour of social
enjoyment. Miss Mann looked tired of standing; a lady in a yellow bonnet
brought her a chair. Caroline knew well that _chapeau en satin jaune_;
she knew the black hair, and the kindly though rather opinionated and
froward-looking face under it; she knew that _robe de soie noire_, she
knew even that _schall gris de lin_; she knew, in short, Hortense Moore,
and she wanted to jump up and run to her and kiss her--to give her one
embrace for her own sake and two for her brother's. She half rose,
indeed, with a smothered exclamation, and perhaps--for the impulse was
very strong--she would have run across the room and actually saluted
her; but a hand replaced her in her seat, and a voice behind her
whispered, "Wait till after tea, Lina, and then I'll bring her to you."
And when she _could_ look up she did, and there was Robert himself close
behind, smiling at her eagerness, looking better than she had ever seen
him look--looking, indeed, to her partial eyes, so very handsome that
she dared not trust herself to hazard a second glance; for his image
struck on her vision with painful brightness, and pictured itself on her
memory as vividly as if there daguerreotyped by a pencil of keen
lightning.
He moved on, and spoke to Miss Keeldar. Shirley, irritated by some
unwelcome attentions from Sam Wynne, and by the fact of that gentleman
being still seated on her gloves and handkerchief--and probably, also,
by Moore's want of punctuality--was by no means in good humour. She
first shrugged her shoulders at him, and then she said a bitter word or
two about his "insupportable tardiness." Moore neither apologized nor
retorted. He stood near her quietly, as if waiting to see whether she
would recover her temper; which she did in little more than three
minutes, indicating the change by offering him her hand. Moore took it
with a smile, half-corrective, half-grateful. The slightest possible
shake of the head delicately marked the former quality; it is probable a
gentle pressure indicated the latter.
"You may sit where you can now, Mr. Moore," said Shirley, also smiling.
"You see there is not an inch of room for you here; but I discern plenty
of space at Mrs. Boultby's table, between Miss Armitage and Miss
Birtwhistle. Go! John Sykes will be your _vis-à-vis_, and you will sit
with your back towards us."
Moore, however, preferred lingering about where he was. He now and then
took a turn down the long room, pausing in his walk to interchange
greetings with other gentlemen in his own placeless predicament; but
still he came back to the magnet, Shirley, bringing with him, each time
he returned, observations it was necessary to whisper in her ear.
Meantime poor Sam Wynne looked far from comfortable. His fair neighbour,
judging from her movements, appeared in a mood the most unquiet and
unaccommodating. She would not sit still two seconds. She was hot; she
fanned herself; complained of want of air and space. She remarked that,
in her opinion, when people had finished their tea they ought to leave
the tables, and announced distinctly that she expected to faint if the
present state of things continued. Mr. Sam offered to accompany her into
the open air; just the way to give her her death of cold, she alleged.
In short, his post became untenable; and having swallowed his quantum of
tea, he judged it expedient to evacuate.
Moore should have been at hand, whereas he was quite at the other
extremity of the room, deep in conference with Christopher Sykes. A
large corn-factor, Timothy Ramsden, Esq., happened to be nearer; and
feeling himself tired of standing, he advanced to fill the vacant seat.
Shirley's expedients did not fail her. A sweep of her scarf upset her
teacup: its contents were shared between the bench and her own satin
dress. Of course, it became necessary to call a waiter to remedy the
mischief. Mr. Ramsden, a stout, puffy gentleman, as large in person as
he was in property, held aloof from the consequent commotion. Shirley,
usually almost culpably indifferent to slight accidents affecting dress,
etc., now made a commotion that might have become the most delicate and
nervous of her sex. Mr. Ramsden opened his mouth, withdrew slowly, and,
as Miss Keeldar again intimated her intention to "give way" and swoon on
the spot, he turned on his heel, and beat a heavy retreat.
Moore at last returned. Calmly surveying the bustle, and somewhat
quizzically scanning Shirley's enigmatical-looking countenance, he
remarked that in truth this was the hottest end of the room, that he
found a climate there calculated to agree with none but cool
temperaments like his own; and putting the waiters, the napkins, the
satin robe--the whole turmoil, in short--to one side, he installed
himself where destiny evidently decreed he should sit. Shirley subsided;
her features altered their lines; the raised knit brow and inexplicable
curve of the mouth became straight again; wilfulness and roguery gave
place to other expressions; and all the angular movements with which she
had vexed the soul of Sam Wynne were conjured to rest as by a charm.
Still no gracious glance was cast on Moore. On the contrary, he was
accused of giving her a world of trouble, and roundly charged with being
the cause of depriving her of the esteem of Mr. Ramsden and the
invaluable friendship of Mr. Samuel Wynne.
"Wouldn't have offended either gentleman for the world," she averred. "I
have always been accustomed to treat both with the most respectful
consideration, and there, owing to you, how they have been used! I shall
not be happy till I have made it up. I never am happy till I am friends
with my neighbours. So to-morrow I must make a pilgrimage to Royd
corn-mill, soothe the miller, and praise the grain; and next day I must
call at De Walden--where I hate to go--and carry in my reticule half an
oatcake to give to Mr. Sam's favourite pointers."
"You know the surest path to the heart of each swain, I doubt not," said
Moore quietly. He looked very content to have at last secured his
present place; but he made no fine speech expressive of gratification,
and offered no apology for the trouble he had given. His phlegm became
him wonderfully. It made him look handsomer, he was so composed; it made
his vicinage pleasant, it was so peace-restoring. You would not have
thought, to look at him, that he was a poor, struggling man seated
beside a rich woman; the calm of equality stilled his aspect; perhaps
that calm, too, reigned in his soul. Now and then, from the way in which
he looked down on Miss Keeldar as he addressed her, you would have
fancied his station towered above hers as much as his stature did.
Almost stern lights sometimes crossed his brow and gleamed in his eyes.
Their conversation had become animated, though it was confined to a low
key; she was urging him with questions--evidently he refused to her
curiosity all the gratification it demanded. She sought his eye once
with hers. You read, in its soft yet eager expression, that it solicited
clearer replies. Moore smiled pleasantly, but his lips continued sealed.
Then she was piqued, and turned away; but he recalled her attention in
two minutes. He seemed making promises, which he soothed her into
accepting in lieu of information.
It appeared that the heat of the room did not suit Miss Helstone. She
grew paler and paler as the process of tea-making was protracted. The
moment thanks were returned she quitted the table, and hastened to
follow her cousin Hortense, who, with Miss Mann, had already sought the
open air. Robert Moore had risen when she did--perhaps he meant to speak
to her; but there was yet a parting word to exchange with Miss Keeldar,
and while it was being uttered Caroline had vanished.
Hortense received her former pupil with a demeanour of more dignity than
warmth. She had been seriously offended by Mr. Helstone's proceedings,
and had all along considered Caroline to blame in obeying her uncle too
literally.
"You are a very great stranger," she said austerely, as her pupil held
and pressed her hand. The pupil knew her too well to remonstrate or
complain of coldness. She let the punctilious whim pass, sure that her
natural _bonté_ (I use this French word because it expresses just what I
mean--neither goodness nor good-nature, but something between the two)
would presently get the upper hand. It did. Hortense had no sooner