THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY

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"Alick Keith? Oh aunt!" said Fanny, more surprised than by all the
rest; "don't you know about him? His father and mother were our
greatest friends always; I used to play with him every day till I
came to you. And then just as I married, poor Mrs. Keith died, and
we had dear little Bessie with us till her father could send her
home. And when poor Alick was so dreadfully wounded before Delhi,
Sir Stephen sent him up in a litter to the hills for mamma and me to
nurse. Mamma was so fond of him, she used to call him her son."

"Yes, my dear, I dare say you have been very intimate; but you see
you are very young; and his staying here--"

"I thought he would be so glad to come and be with the Colonel, who
was his guardian and Bessie's," said Fanny, "and I have promised to
have Bessie to stay with me, she was such a dear little thing--"

"Well, my dear, it may be a good thing for you to have a young lady
with you, and if he is to come over, her presence will explain it.
Understand me, my dear, I am not at all afraid of your--your doing
anything foolish, only to get talked of is so dreadful in your
situation, that you can't be too careful."

"Yes, yes, thank you, dear aunt," murmured the drooping and subdued
Fanny, aware how much the remonstrance must cost her aunt, and sure
that she must be in fault in some way, if she could only see how.
"Please, dear aunt, help me, for indeed I don't know how to manage--
tell me how to be civil and kind to my dear husband's friends
without--without--"

Her voice broke down, though she kept from tears as an unkindness to
her aunt.

In very fact, little as she knew it, she could not have defended
herself better than by this humble question, throwing the whole
guidance of her conduct upon her aunt. If she had been affronted,
Mrs. Curtis could have been displeased; but to be thus set to
prescribe the right conduct, was at once mollifying and perplexing.

"Well, well, my dear child, we all know you wish to do right; you can
judge best. I would not have you ungrateful or uncivil, only you
know you are living very quietly, and intimacy--oh! my dear, I know
your own feeling will direct you. Dear child! you have taken what I
said so kindly. And now let me see that dear little girl."

Rachel had not anticipated that the upshot of a remonstrance, even
from her mother, would be that Fanny was to be directed by her own
feeling!

That same feeling took Lady Temple to Mackarel Lane later in the day.
She had told the Colonel her intention, and obtained Alison's
assurance that Ermine's stay at Myrtlewood need not be impracticable,
and armed with their consent, she made her timid tap at Miss
Williams' door, and showed her sweet face within it.

"May I come in? Your sister and your little niece are gone for a
walk. I told them I would come! I did want to see you!"

"Thank you," said Ermine, with a sweet smile, colouring cheek, yet
grave eyes, and much taken by surprise at being seized by both hands,
and kissed on each cheek.

"Yes, you must let me," said her visitor, looking up with her pretty
imploring gesture, "you know I have known him so long, and he has
been so good to me!"

"Indeed it is very kind in you," said Ermine, fully feeling the force
of the plea expressed in the winning young face and gentle eyes full
of tears.

"Oh, no, I could not help it. I am only so sorry we kept him away
from you when you wanted him so much; but we did not know, and he was
Sir Stephen's right hand, and we none of us knew what to do without
him; but if he had only told--"

"Thank you, oh, thank you!" said Ermine, "but indeed it was better
for him to be away."

Even her wish to console that pleading little widow could not make
her say that his coming would not have been good for her. "It has
been such a pleasure to hear he had so kind and happy a home all
these years."

"Oh, you cannot think how Sir Stephen loved and valued him. The one
thing I always did wish was, that Conrade should grow up to be as
much help and comfort to his father, and now he never can! But,"
driving back a tear, "it was so hard that you should not have known
how distinguished and useful and good he was all those years. Only
now I shall have the pleasure of telling you," and she smiled. She
was quite a different being when free from the unsympathizing
influence which, without her understanding it, had kept her from
dwelling on her dearest associations.

"It will be a pleasure of pleasures," said Ermine, eagerly.

"Then you will do me a favour, a very great favour," said Lady
Temple, laying hold of her hand again, "if you and your sister and
niece will come and stay with me." And as Ermine commenced her
refusal, she went on in the same coaxing way, with a description of
her plans for Ermine's comfort, giving her two rooms on the ground
floor, and assuring her of the absence of steps, the immunity from
all teasing by the children, of the full consent of her sister, and
the wishes of the Colonel, nay, when Ermine was still unpersuaded of
the exceeding kindness it would be to herself. "You see I am
terribly young, really," she said, "though I have so many boys, and
my aunt thinks it awkward for me to have so many officers calling,
and I can't keep them away because they are my father's and Sir
Stephen's old friends; so please do come and make it all right!"

Ermine was driven so hard, and so entirely deprived of all excuse,
that she had no alternative left but to come to the real motive.

"I ought not," she said, "it is not good for him, so you must not
press me, dear Lady Temple. You see it is best for him that nobody
should ever know of what has been between us."

"What! don't you mean--?" exclaimed Fanny, breaking short off.

"I cannot!" said Ermine.

"But he would like it. He wishes it as much as ever."

"I know he does," said Ermine, with a troubled voice; "but you see
that is because he did not know what a wretched remnant I am, and he
never has had time to think about any one else."

"Oh no, no."

"And it would be very unfair of me to take advantage of that, and
give him such a thing as I am."

"Oh dear, but that is very sad!" cried Fanny, looking much startled.

"But I am sure you must see that it is right."

"It may be right," and out burst Fanny's ready tears; "but it is
very, very hard and disagreeable, if you don't mind my saying so,
when I know it is so good of you. And don't you mean to let him even
see you, when he has been constant so long?"

"No; I see no reason for denying myself that; indeed I believe it is
better for him to grow used to me as I am, and be convinced of the
impossibility."

"Well then, why will you not come to me?"

"Do you not see, in all your kindness, that my coming to you would
make every one know the terms between us, while no one remarks his
just coming to me here as an old friend? And if he were ever to turn
his mind to any one else--"

"He will never do that, I am sure."

"There is no knowing. He has never been, in his own estimation,
disengaged from me," said Ermine; "his brother is bent on his
marrying, and he ought to be perfectly free to do so, and not under
the disadvantage that any report of this affair would be to him."

"Well, I am sure he never will," said Fanny, almost petulantly;
"I know I shall hate her, that's all."

Ermine thought her own charity towards Mrs. Colin Keith much more
dubious than Lady Temple's, but she continued--

"At any rate you will be so very kind as not to let any one know of
it. I am glad you do. I should not feel it right that you should
not, but it is different with others."

"Thank you. And if you will not come to me, you will let me come to
you, won't you? It will be so nice to come and talk him over with
you. Perhaps I shall persuade you some of these days after all.
Only I must go now, for I always give the children their tea on
Sunday. But please let your dear little niece come up to-morrow and
play with them; the little Hammonds will be there, she is just their
age."

Ermine felt obliged to grant this at least, though she was as
doubtful of her shy Rose's happiness as of the expedience of the
intimacy; but there was no being ungracious to the gentle visitor,
and no doubt Ermine felt rejoiced and elevated. She did not need
fresh assurances of Colin's constancy, but the affectionate sister-
like congratulations of this loving, winning creature, showed how
real and in earnest his intentions were. And then Lady Temple's
grateful esteem for him being, as it was, the reflection of her
husband's, was no small testimony to his merits.

"Pretty creature!" said Ermine to herself, "really if it did come to
that, I could spare him to her better than to any one else. She has
some notion how to value him."

Alison and Rose had, in the meantime, been joined by Colonel Keith
and the boys, whom Alick had early deserted in favour of a sunny
sandy nook. The Colonel's purpose was hard on poor Alison; it was to
obtain her opinion of her sister's decision, and the likelihood of
persistence in it. It was not, perhaps, bad for either that they
conversed under difficulties, the boys continually coming back to
them from excursions on the rocks, and Rose holding her aunt's hand
all the time, but to be sure Rose had heard nearly all the Colonel's
affairs, and somehow mixed him up with Henry of Cranstoun.

Very tenderly towards Alison herself did Colin Keith speak. It was
the first time they had ever been brought into close contact, and she
had quite to learn to know him. She had regarded his return as
probably a misfortune, but it was no longer possible to do so when
she heard his warm and considerate way of speaking of her sister, and
saw him only desirous of learning what was most for her real
happiness. Nay, he even made a convert of Alison herself! She did
believe that would Ermine but think it right to consent, she would be
happy and safe in the care of one who knew so well how to love her.
Terrible as the wrench would be to Alison herself, she thought he
deserved her sister, and that she would be as happy with him as earth
could make her. But she did not believe Ermine would ever accept
him. She knew the strong, unvarying resolution by which her sister
had always held to what she thought right, and did not conceive that
it would waver. The acquiescence in his visits, and the undisguised
exultant pleasure in his society, were evidences to Alison not of
wavering or relenting, but of confidence in Ermine's own sense of
impossibility. She durst not give him any hope, though she owned
that he merited success. "Did she think his visits bad for her
sister?" he then asked in the unselfishness that pleaded so strongly
for him.

"No, certainly not," she answered eagerly, then made a little
hesitation that made him ask further.

"My only fear," she said candidly, "is, that if this is pressed much
on her, and she has to struggle with you and herself too, it may hurt
her health. Trouble tells not on her cheerfulness, but on her
nerves."

"Thank you," he said, "I will refrain."

Alison was much happier than she had been since the first
apprehension of his return. The first pang at seeing Ermine's heart
another's property had been subdued; the present state of affairs was
indefinitely-prolonged, and she not only felt trust in Colin Keith's
consideration for her sister, but she knew that an act of oblivion
was past on her perpetration of the injury. She was right. His
original pitying repugnance to a mere unknown child could not be
carried on to the grave, saddened woman devoted to her sister, and in
the friendly brotherly tone of that interview, each understood the
other. And when Alison came home and said, "I have been walking with
Colin," her look made Ermine very happy.

"And learning to know him."

"Learning to sympathize with him, Ermine," with steady eyes and
voice. "You are hard on him."

"Now, Ailie," said Ermine, "once for all, he is not to set you on me,
as he has done with Lady Temple. The more he persuades me, the
better I know that to listen would be an abuse of his constancy. It
would set him wrong with his brother, and, as dear Edward's affairs
stand, we have no right to carry the supposed disgrace into a family
that would believe it, though he does not. If I were ever so well,
I should not think it right to marry. I shall not shun the sight of
him; it is delightful to me, and a less painful cure to him than
sending him away would be. It is in the nature of things that he
should cool into a friendly kindly feeling, and I shall try to bear
it. Or if he does marry, it will be all right I suppose--" but her
voice faltered, and she gave a sort of broken laugh.

"There," she said, with a recovered flash of liveliness, "there's my
resolution, to do what I like more than anything in the world as long
as I can; and when it is over I shall be helped to do without it!"

"I can't believe--" broke out Alison.

"Not in your heart, but in your reason," said Ermine, endeavouring to
smile. "He will hover about here, and always be kind, loving,
considerate; but a time will come that he will want the home
happiness I cannot give. Then he will not wear out his affection on
the impossible literary cripple, but begin over again, and be happy.
And, Alison, if your love for me is of the sound, strong sort I know
it is, you will help me through with it, and never say one word to
make all this less easy and obvious to him."

CHAPTER VII

WAITNG FOR ROSE

"Not envy, sure! for if you gave me
Leave to take or to refuse
In earnest, do you think I'd choose
That sort of new love to enslave me?"--R. BROWNING.

So, instead of going to Belfast, here was Colonel Keith actually
taking a lodging and settling himself into it; nay, even going over
to Avoncester on a horse-buying expedition, not merely for the
Temples, but for himself.

This time Rachel did think herself sure of Miss Williams' ear in
peace, and came down on her with two fat manuscripts upon Human Reeds
and Military Society, preluding, however, by bitter complaints of the
"Traveller" for never having vouchsafed her an answer, nor having
even restored "Curatocult," though she had written three times, and
sent a directed envelope and stamps for the purpose. The paper must
be ruined by so discourteous an editor, indeed she had not been
nearly so much interested as usual by the last few numbers. If only
she could get her paper back, she should try the "Englishwoman's
Hobby-horse," or some other paper of more progress than that
"Traveller." "Is it not very hard to feel one's self shut out from
the main stream of the work of the world when one's heart is
burning?"

"I think you overrate the satisfaction."

"You can't tell! You are contented with that sort of home peaceful
sunshine that I know suffices many. Even intellectual as you are,
you can't tell what it is to feel power within, to strain at the
leash, and see others in the race."

"I was thinking whether you could not make an acceptable paper on the
lace system, which you really know so thoroughly."

"The fact is," said Rachel, "it is much more difficult to describe
from one's own observation than from other sources."

"But rather more original," said Ermine, quite overcome by the
naivete of the confession.

"I don't see that," said Rachel. "It is abstract reasoning from
given facts that I aim at, as you will understand when you have heard
my 'Human Reeds,' and my other--dear me, there's your door bell. I
thought that Colonel was gone for the day."

"There are other people in the world besides the Colonel," Ermine
began to say, though she hardly felt as if there were, and at any
rate a sense of rescue crossed her. The persons admitted took them
equally by surprise, being Conrade Temple and Mr. Keith.

"I thought," said Rachel, as she gave her unwilling hand to the
latter, "that you would have been at Avoncester to-day."

"I always get out of the way of horse-dealing. I know no greater
bore," he answered.

"Mamma sent me down," Conrade was explaining; "Mr. Keith's uncle
found out that he knew Miss Williams--no, that's not it, Miss
Williams' uncle found out that Mr. Keith preached a sermon, or
something of that sort, so mamma sent me down to show him the way to
call upon her; but I need not stay now, need I?"

"After that elegant introduction, and lucid explanation, I think you
may be excused," returned Alick Keith.

The boy shook Ermine's hand with his soldierly grace, but rather
spoilt the effect thereof by his aside, "I wanted to see the toad and
the pictures our Miss Williams told me about, but I'll come another
time;" and the wink of his black eyes, and significant shrug of his
shoulders at Rachel, were irresistible. They all laughed, even
Rachel herself, as Ermine, seeing it would be worse to ignore the
demonstration, said, "The elements of aunt and boy do not always work
together."

"No," said Rachel; "I have never been forgiven for being the first
person who tried to keep those boys in order."

"And now," said Ermine, turning to her other visitor, "perhaps I may
discover which of us, or of our uncles, preached a sermon."

"Mine, I suspect," returned Mr. Keith. "Your sister and I made out
at luncheon that you had known my uncle, Mr. Clare, of
Bishopsworthy."

"Mr. Clare! Oh yes," cried Ermine eagerly, "he took the duty for one
of our curates once for a long vacation. Did you ever hear him speak
of Beauchamp?"

"Yes, often; and of Dr. Williams. He will be very much interested to
hear of you."

"It was a time I well remember," said Ermine. "He was an Oxford
tutor then, and I was about fourteen, just old enough to be delighted
to hear clever talk. And his sermons were memorable; they were the
first I ever listened to."

"There are few sermons that it is not an infliction to listen to,"
began Rachel, but she was not heard or noticed.

"I assure you they are even more striking now in his blindness."

"Blindness! Indeed, I had not heard of that."

Even Rachel listened with interest as the young officer explained
that his uncle, whom both he and Miss Williams talked of as a man of
note, of whom every one must have heard, had for the last four years
been totally blind, but continued to be an active parish priest,
visiting regularly, preaching, and taking a share in the service,
which he knew by heart. He had, of course, a curate, who lived with
him, and took very good care of him.

"No one else?" said Rachel. "I thought your sister lived at
Bishopsworthy."

"No, my sister lives, or has lived, at Little Worthy, the next
parish, and as unlike it as possible. It has a railroad in it, and
the cockneys have come down on it and 'villafied' it. My aunt, Mrs.
Lacy Clare, has lived there ever since my sister has been with her;
but now her last daughter is to be married, she wishes to give up
housekeeping."

"And your sister is coming to Lady Temple," said Rachel, in her
peculiar affirmative way of asking questions. "She will find it very
dull here."

"With all the advantages of Avoncester at hand?" inquired Alick, with
a certain gleam under his flaxen eyelashes that convinced Ermine that
he said it in mischief. But Rachel drew herself up gravely, and
answered--

"In Lady Temple's situation any such thing would be most inconsistent
with good feeling."

"Such as the cathedral?" calmly, not to say sleepily, inquired Alick,
to the excessive diversion of Ermine, who saw that Rachel had never
been laughed at in her life, and was utterly at a loss what to make
of it.

"If you meant the cathedral," she said, a little uncertainly,
recollecting the tone in which Mr. Clare had just been spoken of, and
thinking that perhaps Miss Keith might be a curatolatress, "I am
afraid it is not of much benefit to people living at this distance,
and there is not much to be said for the imitation here."

"You will see what my sister says to it. She only wants training to
be the main strength of the Bishopsworthy choir, and perhaps she may
find it here."

Rachel was evidently undecided whether chants or marches were Miss
Keith's passion, and, perhaps, which propensity would render the
young lady the most distasteful to herself. Ermine thought it
merciful to divert the attack by mentioning Mr. Clare's love of
music, and hoping his curate could gratify it. "No," Mr. Keith said,
"it was very unlucky that Mr. Lifford did not know one note from
another; so that his vicar could not delude himself into hoping that
his playing on his violin was anything but a nuisance to his
companion, and in spite of all the curate's persuasions, he only
indulged himself therewith on rare occasions." But as Ermine showed
surprise at the retention of a companion devoid of this sixth sense,
so valuable to the blind, he added--"No one would suit him so well.
Mr. Lifford has been with him ever since his sight began to fail, and
understands all his ways."

"Yes, that makes a great difference."

"And," pursued the young man, coming to something like life as he
talked of his uncle, "though he is not quite all that a companion
might be, my uncle says there would be no keeping the living without
him, and I do not believe there would, unless my uncle would have me
instead."

Ermine laughed and looked interested, not quite knowing what other
answer to make. Rachel lifted up her eyebrows in amazement.

"Another advantage," added Alick, who somehow seemed to accept Ermine
as one of the family, "is, that he is no impediment to Bessie's
living there, for, poor man, he has a wife, but insane."

"Then your sister will live there?" said Rachel. "What an enviable
position, to have the control of means of doing good that always
falls to the women of a clerical family."

"Tell her so," said the brother, with his odd, suppressed smile.

"What, she does not think so?"

"Now," said Mr. Keith, leaning back, "on my answer depends whether
Bessie enters this place with a character for chanting, croquet, or
crochet. Which should you like worst, Miss Curtis?"

"I like evasions worst of all," said Rachel, with a flash of
something like playful spirit, though there was too much asperity in
it.

"But you see, unfortunately, I don't know," said Alick Keith, slowly.
"I have never been able to find out, nor she either. I don't know
what may be the effect of example," he added. Ermine wondered
whether he were in mischief or earnest, and suspected a little of
both.

"I shall be very happy to show Miss Keith any of my ways," said
Rachel, with no doubts at all; "but she will find me terribly impeded
here. When does she come?"

"Not for a month or six weeks, when the wedding will be over. It is
high time she saw something of her respected guardian."

"The Colonel?"

"Yes," then to Ermine, "Every one turns to him with reliance and
confidence. I believe no one in the army received so many last
charges as he has done, or executes them more fully."

"And," said Ermine, feeling pleasure colour her cheek more deeply
than was convenient, "you are relations."

"So far away that only a Scotsman would acknowledge the cousinship."

"But do not you call yourself Scotch?" said Ermine, who had for years
thought it glorious to do so.

"My great grandfather came from Gowan-brae," said Alick, "but our
branch of the family has lived and died in the --th Highlanders for so
many generations that we don't know what a home is out of it. Our
birthplaces--yes, and our graves--are in all parts of the world."

"Were you ever in Scotland?"

"Never; and I dread nothing so much as being quartered there. Just
imagine the trouble it would be to go over the pedigree of every
Keith I met, and to dine with them all upon haggis and sheeps' head!"

"There's no place I want to sea as much as Scotland," said Rachel.

"Oh, yes! young ladies always do."

"It is not for a young lady reason," said Rachel, bluntly. "I want
to understand the principle of diffused education, as there
practised. The only other places I should really care to see are the
Grand Reformatory for the Destitute in Holland, and the Hospital for
Cretins in Switzerland."

"Scotch pedants, Dutch thieves, Swiss goitres--I will bear your
tastes in mind," said Mr. Keith, rising to take leave.

"Really," said Rachel, when he was gone, "if he had not that silly
military tone of joking, there might be something tolerable about him
if he got into good hands. He seems to have some good notions about
his sister. She must be just out of the school-room, at the very
turn of life, and I will try to get her into my training and show her
a little of the real beauty and usefulness of the career she has
before her. How late he has stayed! I am afraid there is no time
for the manuscripts."

And though Ermine was too honest to say she was sorry, Rachel did not
miss the regret.

Colonel Keith came the next day, and under his arm was a parcel,
which was laid in little Rose's arms, and, when unrolled, proved to
contain a magnificent wax doll, no doubt long the object of
unrequited attachment to many a little Avoncestrian, a creature of
beauteous and unmeaning face, limpid eyes, hair that could be
brushed, and all her members waxen, as far as could be seen below the
provisional habiliment of pink paper that enveloped her. Little
Rose's complexion became crimson, and she did not utter a word, while
her aunt, colouring almost as much, laughed and asked where were her
thanks.

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