Amiable, thought Albinia, as she ran up to put on her bonnet; but I suppose toothache puts people out of the pale of civilization. And if he is thankless, is not that treating me more like a mother?
Perhaps he had accepted her escort in hopes of deferring the evil hour, for he seemed discomfited to see her so quickly ready, and not grateful to his sisters, who hurried them by saying that Mr. Bowles would be gone out upon his rounds.
Mr. Bowles was amazed at the sight of Mrs. Kendal, and so elaborate in compliments and assurances that Mrs. Bowles would do herself the honour of calling, that Albinia, pitying Gilbert, called his attention back.
With him the apothecary was peremptory and facetious. He had expected that he should soon see him after his papas return! And with a soon be over, he set him down, and Albinia bravely stood a desperate wringing of her hand at the tug of war. She was glad she had come, for the boy suffered a good deal, and was faint, and Mr. Bowles pronounced his mouth in no state for a ride to Tremblam.
I must go, said Gilbert, as they walked home, I wish papa would listen to anything.
He would not wish you to hurt yourself.
When papa says a thing began Gilbert.
Well, Gilbert, you are quite right, and I hope you dont think I mean to teach you disobedience. But I do desire you, on my own responsibility, not to go and catch an inflammation in your jaw. Ill undertake papa.
Gilbert at once became quite another creature. He discoursed so much, that she had to make him restore the handkerchief to his mouth; he held open the gate, showed her a shoal of minnows, and tried to persuade her to come round the garden before going in, but she clapped her hands at him, and hunted him back into the warm room, much impressed and delighted by his implicit obedience to his father. With Lucy and Sophy, his remaining seemed likewise to make a great sensation; they looked at Mrs. Kendal and whispered, and were evidently curious as to the result of her audacity. Albinia, who had grown up with her brother Maurice and cousin Frederick, was more used to boys than to girls, and was already more at ease with her son than her daughters.
Gilbert lent a ready hand with hammer and chisel, and boxes were opened, to the great delight and admiration of the girls. They were all very happy and busy setting things to rights, but Albinia was in difficulty how to bestow her books. There was an unaccountable scarcity both of books and book-cases; none were to be seen except that, in a chiffoniere in the drawing-room, there was a row in gilded bindings, chiefly Pope, Gray, and the like; and one which Albinia took out had pages which stuck together, a little pale blue string, faded at the end, and in the garlanded fly-leaf the inscription, To Miss Lucy Meadows, the reward of good conduct, December 20th, 1822. The book seemed rather surprised at being opened, and Albinia let it close itself as Lucy said, Those are poor mammas books, all the others are in the study. Come in, and Ill show you.
She threw open the door, and Albinia entered. The study was shaded with a mass of laurels that kept out the sun, and made it look chill and sad, and the air in it was close. The round library-table was loaded with desks, pocket-books, and papers, the mantelpiece was covered with letters, and book-shelves mounted to the ceiling, filled with the learned and the poetical of new and old times.
Over the fireplace hung what it needed not Lucys whisper to point out, as Poor mammas picture. It represented a very pretty girl, with dark eyes, brilliant colour, and small cherry mouth, painted in the exaggerated style usually called ridiculously like.
Albinias first feeling was that there was nothing in herself that could atone for the loss of so fair a creature, and the thought became more oppressive as she looked at a niche in the wall, holding a carved sandal-wood work-box, with a silver watch lying on it.
Poor Edmunds watch, said Lucy. It was given to him for a reward just before he was ill.
Albinia tried to recover composure by reading the titles of the books. Suddenly, Lucy started and exclaimed, Come away. There he is!
Why come away? said Albinia.
I would not have him find me there for all the world.
In all her vexation and dismay, Albinia could not help thinking of Bluebeards closet. Her inclination was to stay where she was, and take her chance of losing her head, yet she felt as if she could not bear to be found invading a sanctuary of past recollections, and was relieved to find that it was a false alarm, though not relieved by the announcement that Admiral and Mrs. Osborn and the Miss Osborns were in the drawing-room.
Before luncheontoo bad! she exclaimed, as she hurried upstairs to wash off the dust of unpacking.
Ere she could hurry down, there was another inundation streaming across the hall, Mrs. Drury and three Miss Drurys, who, as she remembered, when they began to kiss her, were some kind of cousins.
There was talk, but Albinia could not give entire attention; she was watching for Mr. Kendals return, that she might guard Gilbert from his displeasure, and the instant she heard him, she sprang up, and flew into the hall. He could not help brightening at the eager welcome, but when she told him of Mr. Bowles opinion, he looked graver, and said, I fear you must not always attach credit to all Gilberts reports.
Mr. Bowles told me himself that he must run no risk of inflammation.
You saw Mr. Bowles?
I went with Gilbert.
You? I never thought of your imposing so unpleasant a task on yourself. I fear the boy has been trespassing on your kindness.
No, indeed, he never asked me, but with a sort of laugh to hide the warmth excited by his pleased, grateful look, I thought it all in the days work, only natural
She would have given anything to have had time to enjoy his epanchement de coeur at those words, bit she was obliged to add, Alas! theres all the world in the drawing-room!
Who?
Osborns and Drurys.
Do you want me?
I ran away on the plea of calling you.
Ill never do so again, was her inward addition, as his countenance settled into the accustomed fixed look of abstraction, and as an unwilling victim he entered the room with her, and the visitors were dreadful enough to congratulate him.
Albinia knew that it must be so unpleasant to him, that she blushed up to the roots of her hair, and could not look at anybody.
When she recovered, the first comers were taking leave, but the second set stayed on and on till past luncheon-time, and far past her patience, before the room was at last cleared.
Gilbert hurried in, and was received by his father with, You are very much obliged to her!
Indeed I am, said Gilbert, in a winning, pleasant manner.
I dont want you to be, said Albinia, affectionately laying her arm on his shoulder. And now for luncheonI pitied you, poor fellow; I thought you must have been famished.
Anything not to have all the Drurys at luncheon, said Gilbert, confidentially, I had begun to wish myself at Tremblam.
By the bye, said Mr. Kendal, waking as he sat down at the bottom of the table, how was it that the Drurys did not stay to luncheon?
Was that what they were waiting for? exclaimed Albinia. Poor people, I had no notion of that.
They do have luncheon here in general, said Mr. Kendal, as if not knowing exactly how it came to pass.
O yes, said Lucy; Sarah Anne asked me whether we ate wedding-cake every day.
O yes, said Lucy; Sarah Anne asked me whether we ate wedding-cake every day.
Poor Miss Sarah Anne! said Albinia, laughing. But one cannot help feeling inhospitable when people come so unconscionably early, and cut up all ones morning.
The door was again besieged by visitors, just as they were all going out to make the round of the garden, and it was not till half-past four that the succession ceased, and Albinia was left to breathe freely, and remember how often Maurice had called her to order for intolerance of morning calls.
And not the only people I cared to see, she said, the Dusautoys and Nugents. But they have too much mercy to call the first day.
Mr. Kendal looked as if his instinct were drawing him study-wards, but Albinia hung on his arm, and made him come into the garden. Though devoid of Winifreds gardening tastes, she was dismayed at the untended look of the flower-beds. The laurels were too high, and seemed to choke the narrow space, and the turf owed its verdant appearance to damp moss. She had made but few steps before the water squished under her feet, and impelled her to exclaim, What a pity this pond should not be filled up!
Filled up!
Yes, it would be so much less damp. One might drain it off into the river, and then we should get rid of the fog.
And she began actively to demonstrate the convenient slope, and the beautiful flower-bed that might be made in its place. Mr. Kendal answered with a few assenting sounds and complacent looks, and Albinia, accustomed to a brother with whom to assent was to act, believed the matter was in train, and that pond and fever would be annihilated.
The garden opened into a meadow with a causeway leading to a canal bank, where there was a promising country walk, but the cruel visitors had left no time for exploring, and Albinia had to return home and hurry up her arrangements before there was space to turn round in her roomeven then it was not what Winifred could have seen without making a face.
Mr. Kendal had read aloud to his wife in the evening during the stay at the sea-side, and she was anxious not to let the habit drop. He liked it, and read beautifully, and she thought it good for the children. She therefore begged him to read, catching him on the way to his study, and coaxing him to stay no longer than to find a book. He brought Schlegels Philosophy of History. She feared that it was above the young ones, but it was delightful to herself, and the custom had better be established before it was perilled by attempts to adapt it to the children. Lucy and Sophy seemed astonished and displeased, and their whispers had to be silenced, Gilbert learnt his lessons apart. Albinia rallied her spirits, and insisted to herself that she did not feel discouraged.
Monday had gone, or rather Albinia had been robbed of it by visitorsnow for a vigorous Tuesday. Her unpacking and her setting to rights were not half over, but as the surface was habitable, she resolved to finish at her leisure, and sacrifice no more mornings of study.
So after she had lingered at the door, to delight Gilbert by admiring his pony, she returned to the dining-room, where the girls were loading a small table in the window with piles of books and exercises, and Lucy was standing, looking all eagerness to show off her drawings.
Yes, my dear, but first we had better read. I have been talking to your papa, and we have settled that on Wednesdays and Fridays we will go to church; but on these days we will begin by reading the Psalms and Lessons.
Oh, said Lucy, we never do that, except when we are at grandmammas.
Pray are you too old or too young for it? said Albinia.
We did it to please grandmamma, said Sophy.
Now you will do it to please me, said Albinia, if for no better reason. Fetch your Bibles and Prayerbooks.
We shall never have time for our studies, I assure you, mamma, objected Lucy.
That is not your concern, said Albinia, her spirit rising at the girls opposition. I wish for obedience.
Lucy went, Sophy leant against the table like a post. Albinia regretted that the first shot should have been fired for such a cause, and sat perplexing herself whether it were worse to give way, or to force the girls to read Holy Scripture in such a mood.
Lucy came flying down with the four books in her hands, and began officiously opening them before her sister, and exhorting her not to give way to sullennessshe ought to like to read the Biblewhich of course made Sophy look crosser. The desire to establish her authority conquered the scruple about reverence. Albinia set them to read, and suffered for it. Lucy road flippantly; Sophy in the hoarse, dull, dogged voice of a naughty boy. She did not dare to expostulate, lest she should exasperate the tempers that she had roused.
Never mind, she thought, when the institution is fixed, they will be more amenable.
She tried a little examination afterwards, but not one answer was to be extracted from Sophy, and Lucy knew far less than the first class at Fairmead, and made her replies wide of the mark, with an air of satisfaction that nearly overthrew the young step-mothers patience.
When Albinia took her Bible upstairs, she gave Sophy time to say what Lucy reported instantly on her entrance.
Dear me, mamma, here is Sophy declaring that you ought to be a charity-schoolmistress. You wont be angry with her, but it is so funny!
If you were at my charity school, Lucy, said Albinia, the first lesson I should give you would be against telling tales.
Lucy subsided.
Albinia turned to Sophy. My dear, she said, perhaps I pressed this on when you were not prepared for it, but I have always been used to think of it as a duty.
Sophy made no answer, but her moody attitude relaxed, and Albinia took comfort in the hope that she might have been gracious if she had known how to set about it.
I suppose Miss Belmarche is a Roman Catholic, she said, wishing to account for this wonderful ignorance, and addressing herself to Sophy; but Lucy, whom she thought she had effectually put down, was up again in a moment like a Jack-in-a-box.
O yes, but not Genevieve. Her papa made it his desire that she should be brought up a Protestant. Wasnt it funny? You know Genevieve is Madame Belmarches grand-daughter, and Mr. Durant was a dancing-master.
Madame Belmarches father and brother were guillotined, continued Sophy.
Ah! then she is an emigrant?
Yes. Miss Belmarche has always kept school here. Our own mamma, and Aunt Maria went to school to her, and Miss Celeste Belmarche married Mr. Durant, a dancing-mastershe was French teacher in a school in London where he taught, and Madame Belmarche did not approve, for she and her husband were something very grand in France, so they waited and waited ever so long, and when at last they did marry, they were quite old, and she died very soon; and they say he never was happy again, and pined away till he really did die of grief, and so Genevieve came to her grandmamma to be brought up.
Poor child! How old is she?
Fifteen, said Lucy. She teaches in the school. She is not at all pretty, and such a queer little thing.
Was her father French?
No, said Sophy.
Yes, said Lucy. You know nothing about it, Sophy. He was French, but of the Protestant French sort, that came to England a great many years ago, when they ran away from the Sicilian Vespers, or the Edict of Nantes, I dont remember which; only the Spitalfields weavers have something to do with it. However, at any rate Genevieve has got something in a drawer up in her own room that she is very secret about, and wont show to anybody.