The Small House at Allington
it pleased her that her daughters should be nice and fresh, and
pretty in their attire, many a long hour was given up to that care.
The squire would send them shawls in winter, and had given them
riding habits, and had sent them down brown silk for dresses from
London,--so limited in quantity that the due manufacture of two
dresses out of the material had been found to be beyond the art of
woman, and the brown silk garments had been a difficulty from that
day to this,--the squire having a good memory in such matters, and
being anxious to see the fruits of his liberality. All this was
doubtless of assistance, but had the squire given the amount which
he so expended in money to his nieces, the benefit would have been
greater. As it was, the girls were always nice and fresh and pretty,
they themselves not being idle in that matter; but their tire-woman
in chief was their mother. And now she went up to their room and got
out their muslin frocks, and--but, perhaps, I should not tell such
tales!--She, however, felt no shame in her work, as she sent for a
hot iron, and with her own hands smoothed out the creases, and gave
the proper set to the crimp flounces, and fixed a new ribbon where
it was wanted, and saw that all was as it should be. Men think but
little how much of this kind is endured that their eyes may be
pleased, even though it be but for an hour.
"Oh! mamma, how good you are," said Bell, as the two girls came in,
only just in time to make themselves ready for returning to dinner.
"Mamma is always good," said Lily. "I wish, mamma, I could do the
same for you oftener," and then she kissed her mother. But the squire
was exact about dinner, so they dressed themselves in haste, and went
off again through the garden, their mother accompanying them to the
little bridge.
"Your uncle did not seem vexed at my not coming?" said Mrs. Dale.
"We have not seen him, mamma," said Lily. "We have been ever so far
down the fields, and forgot altogether what o'clock it was."
"I don't think uncle Christopher was about the place, or we should
have met him," said Bell.
"But I am vexed with you, mamma. Are not you, Bell? It is very bad of
you to stay here all alone, and not come."
"I suppose mamma likes being at home better than up at the Great
House," said Bell, very gently; and as she spoke she was holding her
mother's hand.
"Well; good-by, dears. I shall expect you between ten and eleven. But
don't hurry yourselves if anything is going on." And so they went,
and the widow was again alone. The path from the bridge ran straight
up towards the back of the Great House, so that for a moment or two
she could see them as they tripped on almost in a run. And then she
saw their dresses flutter as they turned sharp round, up the terrace
steps. She would not go beyond the nook among the laurels by which
she was surrounded, lest any one should see her as she looked after
her girls. But when the last flutter of the pink muslin had been
whisked away from her sight, she felt it hard that she might not
follow them. She stood there, however, without advancing a step. She
would not have Hopkins telling how she watched her daughters as they
went from her own home to that of her brother-in-law. It was not
within the capacity of Hopkins to understand why she watched them.
"Well, girls, you're not much too soon. I think your mother might
have come with you," said uncle Christopher. And this was the manner
of the man. Had he known his own wishes he must have acknowledged to
himself that he was better pleased that Mrs. Dale should stay away.
He felt himself more absolutely master and more comfortably at
home at his own table without her company than with it. And yet he
frequently made a grievance of her not coming, and himself believed
in that grievance.
"I think mamma was tired," said Bell.
"Hem. It's not so very far across from one house to the other. If I
were to shut myself up whenever I'm tired-- But never mind. Let's
go to dinner. Mr. Crosbie, will you take my niece Lilian." And then,
offering his own arm to Bell, he walked off to the dining-room.
"If he scolds mamma any more, I'll go away," said Lily to her
companion; by which it may be seen that they had all become very
intimate during the long day that they had passed together.
Mrs. Dale, after remaining for a moment on the bridge, went in to her
tea. What succedaneum of mutton chop or broiled ham she had for the
roast duck and green peas which were to have been provided for the
family dinner we will not particularly inquire. We may, however,
imagine that she did not devote herself to her evening repast with
any peculiar energy of appetite. She took a book with her as she sat
herself down,--some novel, probably, for Mrs. Dale was not above
novels,--and read a page or two as she sipped her tea. But the book
was soon laid on one side, and the tray on which the warm plate had
become cold was neglected, and she threw herself back in her own
familiar chair, thinking of herself, and of her girls, and thinking
also what might have been her lot in life had he lived who had loved
her truly during the few years that they had been together.
It is especially the nature of a Dale to be constant in his likings
and his dislikings. Her husband's affection for her had been
unswerving,--so much so that he had quarrelled with his brother
because his brother would not express himself in brotherly terms
about his wife; but, nevertheless, the two brothers had loved each
other always. Many years had now gone by since these things had
occurred, but still the same feelings remained. When she had first
come down to Allington she had resolved to win the squire's regard,
but she had now long known that any such winning was out of the
question; indeed, there was no longer a wish for it. Mrs. Dale was
not one of those soft-hearted women who sometimes thank God that
they can love any one. She could once have felt affection for her
brother-in-law,--affection, and close, careful, sisterly friendship;
but she could not do so now. He had been cold to her, and had with
perseverance rejected her advances. That was now seven years since;
and during those years Mrs. Dale had been, at any rate, as cold to
him as he had been to her.
But all this was very hard to bear. That her daughters should love
their uncle was not only reasonable, but in every way desirable. He
was not cold to them. To them he was generous and affectionate. If
she were only out of the way, he would have taken them to his house
as his own, and they would in all respects have stood before the
world as his adopted children. Would it not be better if she were out
of the way?
It was only in her most dismal moods that this question would get
itself asked within her mind, and then she would recover herself, and
answer it stoutly with an indignant protest against her own morbid
weakness. It would not be well that she should be away from her
girls,--not though their uncle should have been twice a better uncle;
not though, by her absence, they might become heiresses of all
Allington. Was it not above everything to them that they should
have a mother near them? And as she asked of herself that morbid
question,--wickedly asked it, as she declared to herself,--did she
not know that they loved her better than all the world beside, and
would prefer her caresses and her care to the guardianship of any
uncle, let his house be ever so great? As yet they loved her better
than all the world beside. Of other love, should it come, she would
not be jealous. And if it should come, and should be happy, might
there not yet be a bright evening of life for herself? If they should
marry, and if their lords would accept her love, her friendship, and
her homage, she might yet escape from the deathlike coldness of that
Great House, and be happy in some tiny cottage, from which she might
go forth at times among those who would really welcome her. A certain
doctor there was, living not very far from Allington, at Guestwick,
as to whom she had once thought that he might fill that place of
son-in-law,--to be well-beloved. Her quiet, beautiful Bell had seemed
to like the man; and he had certainly done more than seem to like
her. But now, for some weeks past, this hope, or rather this idea,
had faded away. Mrs. Dale had never questioned her daughter on the
matter; she was not a woman prone to put such questions. But during
the month or two last past, she had seen with regret that Bell looked
almost coldly on the man whom her mother favoured.
In thinking of all this the long evening passed away, and at eleven
o'clock she heard the coming steps across the garden. The young men
had, of course, accompanied the girls home; and as she stepped out
from the still open window of her own drawing-room, she saw them all
on the centre of the lawn before her.
"There's mamma," said Lily. "Mamma, Mr. Crosbie wants to play croquet
by moonlight."
"I don't think there is light enough for that," said Mrs. Dale.
"There is light enough for him," said Lily, "for he plays quite
independently of the hoops; don't you, Mr. Crosbie?"
"There's very pretty croquet light, I should say," said Mr. Crosbie,
looking up at the bright moon; "and then it is so stupid going to
bed."
"Yes, it is stupid going to bed," said Lily; "but people in the
country are stupid, you know. Billiards, that you can play all night
by gas, is much better, isn't it?"
"Your arrows fall terribly astray there, Miss Dale, for I never touch
a cue; you should talk to your cousin about billiards."
"Is Bernard a great billiard player?" asked Bell.
"Well, I do play now and again; about as well as Crosbie does
croquet. Come, Crosbie, we'll go home and smoke a cigar."
"Yes," said Lily; "and then, you know, we stupid people can go to
bed. Mamma, I wish you had a little smoking-room here for us. I don't
like being considered stupid." And then they parted,--the ladies
going into the house, and the two men returning across the lawn.
"Lily, my love," said Mrs. Dale, when they were all together in her
bedroom, "it seems to me that you are very hard upon Mr. Crosbie."
"She has been going on like that all the evening," said Bell.
"I'm sure we are very good friends," said Lily.
"Oh, very!" said Bell.
"Now, Bell, you're jealous; you know you are." And then, seeing that
her sister was in some slight degree vexed, she went up to her and
kissed her. "She shan't be called jealous; shall she, mamma?"
"I don't think she deserves it," said Mrs. Dale.
"Now, you don't mean to say that you think I meant anything," said
Lily. "As if I cared a buttercup about Mr. Crosbie."
"Or I either, Lily."
"Of course you don't. But I do care for him very much, mamma. He is
such a duck of an Apollo. I shall always call him Apollo; Phoebus
Apollo! And when I draw his picture he shall have a mallet in his
hand instead of a bow. Upon my word I am very much obliged to Bernard
for bringing him down here; and I do wish he was not going away the
day after to-morrow."
"The day after to-morrow!" said Mrs. Dale. "It was hardly worth
coming for two days."
"No, it wasn't,--disturbing us all in our quiet little ways just for
such a spell as that,--not giving one time even to count his rays."
"But he says he shall perhaps come again," said Bell.
"There is that hope for us," said Lily. "Uncle Christopher asked him
to come down when he gets his long leave of absence. This is only a
short sort of leave. He is better off than poor Johnny Eames. Johnny
Eames only has a month, but Mr. Crosbie has two months just whenever
he likes it; and seems to be pretty much his own master all the year
round besides."
"And uncle Christopher asked him to come down for the shooting in
September," said Bell.