THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY

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

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"He is gone! he is past. Oh, don't turn back! Don't let me see him
again."

"You don't suppose he could hurt you, my dear."

"No," hesitated Rose, "not with you."

"Nor with any one."

"I suppose not," said Rose, common sense reviving, though her grasp
was not relaxed.

"Would it distress you very much to try to point him out to me?" said
the Colonel, in his irresistibly sweet tone.

"I will. Only keep hold of my hand, pray," and the little hand
trembled so much that he felt himself committing a cruel action in
leading her along the esplanade, but there was no fresh start of
recognition, and when they had gone the whole length, she breathed
more freely, and said, "No, he was not there."

Recollecting how young she had been at the time of Maddox's treason,
the Colonel began to doubt if her imagination had not raised a
bugbear, and he questioned her, "My dear, why are you so much afraid,
of this person? What do you know about him?"

"He told wicked stories of my papa," said Rose, very low.

"True, but he could not hurt you. You don't think he goes about like
Red Ridinghood's wolf?"

"No, I am not so silly now."

"Are you sure you know him? Did you often see him in your papa's
house?"

"No, he was always in the laboratory, and I might not go there."

"Then you see, Rose, it must be mere fancy that you saw him, for you
could not even know him by sight."

"It was not fancy," said Rose, gentle and timid as ever, but still
obviously injured at the tone of reproof.

"My dear child," said Colonel Keith, with some exertion of patience,
"you must try to be reasonable. How can you possibly recognise a man
that you tell me you never saw?"

"I said I never saw him in the house," said Rose with a shudder; "but
they said if ever I told they would give me to the lions in the
Zoological Gardens."

"Who said so?"

"He, Mr. Maddox and Maria," she answered, in such trepidation that he
could scarcely hear her.

"But you are old and wise enough now to know what a foolish and
wicked threat that was, my dear."

"Yes, I was a little girl then, and knew no better, and once I did
tell a lie when mamma asked me, and now she is dead, and I can never
tell her the truth."

Colin dreaded a public outbreak of the sobs that heaved in the poor
child's throat, but she had self-control enough to restrain them till
he had led her into his own library, where he let her weep out her
repentance for the untruth, which, wrested from her by terror, had
weighed so long on her conscience. He felt that he was sparing
Ermine something by receiving the first tempest of tears, in the
absolute terror and anguish of revealing the secret that had preyed
on her with mysterious horror.

"Now tell me all about it, my dear little girl. Who was this Maria?"

"Maria was my nurse when I lived at home. She used to take me out
walking," said Rose, pressing closer to his protecting breast, and
pausing as though still afraid of her own words.

"Well," he said, beginning to perceive, "and was it than that you saw
this Maddox?"

"Yes, he used to come and walk with us, and sit under the trees in
Kensington Gardens with her. And sometimes he gave me lemon-drops,
but they said if ever I told, the lions should have me. I used to
think I might be saved like Daniel; but after I told the lie, I knew
I should not. Mamma asked me why my fingers were sticky, and I did
say it was from a lemon-drop, but there were Maria's eyes looking at
me; oh, so dreadful, and when mamma asked who gave it to me, and
Maria said, 'I did, did not I, Miss Rose?' Oh, I did not seem able
to help saying 'yes.'"

"Poor child! And you never dared to speak of it again?"

"Oh, no! I did long to tell; but, oh, one night it was written up in
letters of fire, 'Beware of the Lions.'"

"Terror must have set you dreaming, my dear."

"No," said Rose, earnestly. "I was quite awake. Papa and mamma were
gone out to dine and sleep, and Maria would put me to bed half an
hour too soon. She read me to sleep, but by-and-by I woke up, as I
always did at mamma's bed time, and the candle was gone, and there
were those dreadful letters in light over the door."

She spoke with such conviction that he became persuaded that all was
not delusion, and asked what she did.

"I jumped up, and screamed, and opened the door; but there they were
growling in papa's dressing-room."

"They, the lions? Oh, Rose, you must know that was impossible."

"No, I did not see any lions, but I heard the growl, and Mr. Maddox
coughed, and said, 'Here they come,' and growled again."

"And you--?"

"I tumbled into bed again, and rolled up my head in the clothes, and
prayed that it might be day, and it was at last!"

"Poor child! Indeed, Rose, I do not wonder at your terror, I never
heard of a more barbarous trick."

"Was it a trick?" said Rose, raising a wonderfully relieved and
hopeful face.

"Did you never hear of writing in phosphorus, a substance that shines
at night as the sea sometimes does?"

"Aunt Ailie has a book with a story about writing in fiery letters,
but it frightened me so much that I never read to the end."

"Bring it to me, and we will read it together, and then you will see
that such a cruel use can be made of phosphorus."

"It was unkind of them," said Rose, sadly, "I wonder if they did it
for fun?"

"Where did you sleep?"

"I had a little room that opened into mamma's."

"And where was all this growling?"

"In papa's room. The door was just opposite to mine, and was open.
All the light was there, you know. Mamma's room was dark, but there
was a candle in the dressing-room."

"Did you see anything?"

"Only the light. It was such a moment. I don't think I saw Mr.
Maddox, but I am quite certain I heard him, for he had an odd little
cough."

"Then, Rose, I have little doubt that all this cruelty to you, poor
inoffensive little being, was to hide some plots against your
father."

She caught his meaning with the quickness of a mind precocious on
some points though childish on others. "Then if I had been brave and
told the truth, he might never have hurt papa."

"Mind, I do not know, and I never thought of blaming you, the chief
sufferer! No, don't begin to cry again."

"Ah! but I did tell a lie. And I never can confess it to mamma," she
said, recurring to the sad lament so long suppressed.

She found a kind comforter, who led her to the higher sources of
consolation, feeling all the time the deep self-accusation with which
the sight of sweet childish penitence must always inspire a grown
person.

"And now you will not fear to tell your aunt," he added, "only it
should be when you can mention it without such sad crying."

"Telling you is almost as good as telling her," said Rose, "and I
feel safe with you," she added, caressingly drawing his arm round
her. "Please tell Aunt Ermine, for my crying does give her such a
headache."

"I will, then, and I think when we all know it, the terrors will
leave you."

"Not when I see Mr. Maddox. Oh, please now you know why, don't make
me walk without you. I do know now that he could not do anything to
me, but I can't help feeling the fright. And, oh! if he was to speak
to me!"

"You have not seen him here before?"

"Yes I have, at least I think so. Once when Aunt Ermine sent me to
the post-office, and another time on the esplanade. That is why I
can't bear going out without you or Aunt Ailie. Indeed, it is not
disliking Tibbie."

"I see it is not, my dear, and we will say no more about it till you
have conquered your alarm; but remember, that he is not likely to
know you again. You must be more changed in these three years than
he is."

This consideration seemed to reassure Rose greatly, and her next
inquiry was, "Please, are my eyes very red for going home?"

"Somewhat mottled--something of the York and Lancaster rose. Shall
I leave you under Tibbie's care till the maiden blush complexion
returns, and come back and fetch you when you have had a grand
exhibition of my Indian curiosities?"

"Have you Indian curiosities! I thought they were only for ladies?"

"Perhaps they are. Is Tibbie guard enough? You know there's an
Irish sergeant in the house taller than I am, if you want a
garrison?"

"Oh, I am not afraid, only these eyes."

"I will tell her you have been frightened, and she shall take no
notice."

Tibbie was an admirer of Rose and gladly made her welcome, while the
Colonel repaired to Ermine, and greatly startled her by the
disclosure of the miseries that had been inflicted on the sensitive
child.

It had indeed been known that there had been tyranny in the nursery,
and to this cause the aunts imputed the startled wistful expression
in Rose's eyes; but they had never questioned her, thinking that
silence would best wear out the recollection. The only wonder was
that her senses had not been permanently injured by that night of
terror, which accounted for her unconquerable dread of sleeping in
the dark; and a still more inexplicable horror of the Zoological
Gardens, together with many a nervous misery that Ermine had found it
vain to combat. The Colonel asked if the nurse's cruelty had been
the cause of her dismissal?

"No, it was not discovered till after her departure. Her fate has
always been a great grief to us, though we little thought her capable
of using Rose in this way. She was one of the Hathertons. You must
remember the name, and the pretty picturesque hovel on the Heath."

"The squatters that were such a grievance to my uncle. Always
suspected of poaching, and never caught."

"Exactly. Most of the girls turned out ill, but this one, the
youngest, was remarkably intelligent and attractive at school. I
remember making an excuse for calling her into the garden for you to
see and confess that English beauty exceeded Scottish, and you called
her a gipsy and said we had no right to her."

"So it was those big black eyes that had that fiendish malice in
them!"

"Ah! if she fell into Maddox's hands, I wonder the less. She showed
an amount of feeling about my illness that won Ailie's heart, and we
had her for a little handmaid to help my nurse. Then, when we broke
up from home, we still kept her, and every one used to be struck with
her looks and manner. She went on as well as possible, and Lucy set
her heart on having her in the nursery. And when the upper nurse
went away, she had the whole care of Rose. We heard only of her
praises till, to our horror, we found she had been sent away in
disgrace at a moment's warning. Poor Lucy was young, and so much
shocked as only to think of getting her out of the house, not of what
was to become of her, and all we could learn was that she never went
home."

"How long was this before the crash?"

"It was only a few weeks before the going abroad, but they had been
absent nearly a year. No doubt Maddox must have made her aid in his
schemes. You say Rose saw him?"

"So she declares, and there is an accuracy of memory about her that
I should trust to. Should you or Alison know him?"

"No, we used to think it a bad sign that Edward never showed him to
us. I remember Alison being disappointed that he was not at the
factory the only time she saw it."

"I do not like going away while he may be lurking about. I could
send a note to-night, explaining my absence."

"No, no," exclaimed Ermine, "that would be making me as bad as poor
little Rose. If he be here ever so much he has done his worst, and
Edward is out of his reach. What could he do to us? The affairs
were wound up long ago, and we have literally nothing to be bullied
out of. No, I don't think he could make me believe in lions in any
shape."

"You strong-minded woman! You want to emulate the Rachel."

"You have brought her," laughed Ermine at the sound of the well-known
knock, and Rachel entered bag in hand.

"I was in hopes of meeting you," she said to the Colonel. "I wanted
to ask you to take charge of some of these;" and she produced a
packet of prospectuses of a "Journal of Female Industry," an
illustrated monthly magazine, destined to contain essays,
correspondence, reviews, history, tales, etc., to be printed and
illustrated in the F. U. E. E.

"I hoped," said Rachel, "to have begun with the year, but we are not
forward enough, and indeed some of the expenses require a
subscription in advance. A subscriber in advance will have the
year's numbers for ten shillings, instead of twelve; and I should be
much obliged if you would distribute a few of these at Bath, and ask
Bessie to do the same. I shall set her name down at the head of the
list, as soon as she has qualified it for a decoy."

"Are these printed at the F. U. E. E.?"

"No, we have not funds as yet. Mr. Mauleverer had them done at
Bristol, where he has a large connexion as a lecturer, and expects to
get many subscribers. I brought these down as soon as he had left
them with me, in hopes that you would kindly distribute them at the
wedding. And I wished," added she to Ermine, "to ask you to
contribute to our first number."

"Thank you," and the doubtful tone induced Rachel to encourage her
diffidence.

"I know you write a great deal, and I am sure you must produce
something worthy to see the light. I have no scruple in making the
request, as I know Colonel Keith agrees with me that womanhood need
not be an extinguisher for talent."

"I am not afraid of him," Ermine managed to say without more smile
than Rachel took for gratification.

"Then if you would only entrust me with some of your fugitive
reflections, I have no doubt that something might be made of them.
A practised hand," she added with a certain editorial dignity, "can
always polish away any little roughnesses from inexperience."

Ermine was choking with laughter at the savage pulls that Colin was
inflicting on his moustache, and feeling silence no longer honest,
she answered in an odd under tone, "I can't plead inexperience."

"No!" cried Rachel. "You have written; you have not published!"

"I was forced to do whatever brought grist to the mill," said Ermine.
"Indeed," she added, with a look as if to ask pardon; "our secrets
have been hardly fair towards you, but we made it a rule not to spoil
our breadwinner's trade by confessing my enormities."

"I assure you," said the Colonel, touched by Rachel's appalled look,
"I don't know how long this cautious person would have kept me in the
dark if she had not betrayed herself in the paper we discussed the
first day I met you."

"The 'Traveller,'" said Rachel, her eyes widening like those of a
child. "She is the 'Invalid'!"

"There, I am glad to have made a clean breast of it," said Ermine.

"The 'Invalid'!" repeated Rachel. "It is as bad as the Victoria
Cross."

"There is a compliment, Ermine, for which you should make your bow,"
said Colin.

"Oh, I did not mean that," said Rachel; "but that it was as great a
mistake as I made about Captain Keith, when I told him his own story,
and denied his being the hero, till I actually saw his cross," and
she spoke with a genuine simplicity that almost looked like humour,
ending with, "I wonder why I am fated to make such mistakes!"

"Preconceived notions," said Ermine, smiling; "your theory suffices
you, and you don't see small indications."

"There may be something in that," said Rachel, thoughtfully, "it
accounts for Grace always seeing things faster than I did."

"Did Mr.--, your philanthropist, bring you this today?" said the
Colonel, taking up the paper again, as if to point a practical moral
to her confession of misjudgments.

"Mr. Mauleverer? Yes; I came down as soon as he had left me, only
calling first upon Fanny. I am very anxious for contributions. If
you would only give me a paper signed by the 'Invalid,' it would be
a fortune to the institution."

Ermine made a vague answer that she doubted whether the 'Invalid' was
separable from the 'Traveller,' and Rachel presently departed with
her prospectus, but without having elicited a promise.

"Intolerable!" exclaimed the Colonel. "She was improving under
Bessie's influence, but she has broken out worse than ever. 'Journal
of Female Industry!' 'Journal of a Knight of Industry,' might be a
better title. You will have nothing to do with it, Ermine?"

"Certainly not as the 'Invalid,' but I owe her something for having
let her run into this scrape before you."

"As if you could have hindered her! Come, don't waste time and
brains on a companion for Curatocult."

"You make me so idle and frivolous that I shall be expelled from the
'Traveller,' and obliged to take refuge in the 'Female Industry
Journal.' Shall you distribute the prospectuses?"

"I shall give one to Bessie! That is if I go at all."

"No, no, there is no valid reason for staying away. Even if we were
sure that Rose was right, nothing could well come of it, and your
absence would be most invidious."

"I believe I am wanted to keep Master Alick in order, but if you have
the least feeling that you would be more at ease with me at home--"

"That is not a fair question," said Ermine, smiling. "You know very
well that you ought to go."

"And I shall try to bring back Harry Beauchamp," added the Colonel.
"He would be able to identify the fellow."

"I do not know what would be gained by that."

"I should know whom to watch."

Ermine had seen so much of Rose's nervous timidity, and had known so
many phantoms raised by it, that she attached little importance to
the recognition, and when she went over the matter with her little
niece, it was with far more thought of the effect of the terror, and
of the long suppressed secret, upon the child's moral and physical
nature, than with any curiosity as to the subject of her last alarm.
She was surprised to observe that Alison was evidently in a state of
much more restlessness and suspense than she was conscious of in
herself, during Colin's absence, and attributed this to her sister's
fear of Maddox's making some inroad upon her in her long solitary
hours, in which case she tried to reassure her by promises to send at
once for Mr. Mitchell or for Coombe.

Alison let these assurances be given to her, and felt hypocritical
for receiving them in silence. Her grave set features had tutored
themselves to conceal for ever one page in the life that Ermine
thought was entirely revealed to her. Never had Ermine known that
brotherly companionship had once suddenly assumed the unwelcome
aspect of an affection against which Alison's heart had been steeled
by devotion to the sister whose life she had blighted. Her
resolution had been unswerving, but its full cost had been unknown to
her, till her adherence to it had slackened the old tie of hereditary
friendship towards others of her family; and even when marriage
should have obliterated the past, she still traced resentment in the
hard judgment of her brother's conduct, and even in the one act of
consideration that it galled her to accept.

There had been no meeting since the one decisive interview just
before she had left her original home, and there were many more
bitter feelings than could be easily assuaged in looking forward to
a renewal of intercourse, when all too late, she knew that she should
soon be no longer needed by her sister. She tried to feel it all
just retribution, she tried to rejoice in Ermine's coming happiness;
she tried to believe that the sight of Harry Beauchamp, as a married
man, would be the best cure for her; she blamed and struggled with
herself: and after all, her distress was wasted, Harry Beauchamp had
not chosen to come home with his cousin, who took his unwillingness
to miss a hunting-day rather angrily and scornfully. Alison put her
private interpretation on the refusal, and held aloof, while Colin
owned to Ermine his vexation and surprise at the displeasure that
Harry Beauchamp maintained against his old schoolfellow, and his
absolute refusal to listen to any arguments as to his innocence.

This seemed to have been Colin's prominent interest in his expedition
to Bath; the particulars of the wedding were less easily drawn from
him. The bride had indeed been perfection, all was charming wherever
she brought her ready grace and sweetness, and she had gratified the
Colonel by her affectionate messages to Ermine, and her evident
intention to make all straight between Lord Keith and his daughter
Mary. But the Clare relations had not made a favourable impression;
the favourite blind uncle had not been present, in spite of Bessie's
boast, and it was suspected that Alick had not chosen to forward his
coming. Alick had devolved the office of giving his sister away upon
the Colonel, as her guardian, and had altogether comported himself
with more than his usual lazy irony, especially towards the Clare
cousinhood, who constantly buzzed round him, and received his rebuffs
as delightful jests and compliments, making the Colonel wonder all
the more at the perfect good taste and good breeding of his new
sister-in-law, who had spent among them all the most critical years
of her life.

She had been much amused with the prospectus of the "Journal of
Female Industry," but she sent word to Rachel that she advised her
not to publish any list of subscribers--the vague was far more
impressive than the certain. The first number must be sent to her at
Paris, and trust her for spreading its fame!

The Colonel did not add to his message her recommendation that the
frontispiece should represent the Spinster's Needles, with the rescue
of Don as the type of female heroism. Nor did he tell how carefully
he had questioned both her and Rachel as to the date of that
interesting adventure.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SIEGE.

"The counterfeit presentment."--Hamlet.

Christmas came, and Rachel agreed with Mr. Mauleverer that it was
better not to unsettle the children at the F. U. E. E. by permitting
them to come home for holidays, a decision which produced much
discontent in their respective families. Alison, going to Mrs.
Morris with her pupils, to take her a share of Christmas good cheer,
was made the receptacle of a great lamentation over the child's
absence; and, moreover, that the mother had not been allowed to see
her alone, when taken by Miss Rachel to the F. U. E. E.

"Some one ought to take it up," said Alison, as she came home, in her
indignation. "Who knows what may be done to those poor children?
Can't Mr. Mitchell do something?"

But Mr. Mitchell was not sufficiently at home to interfere. He was
indeed negotiating an exchange with Mr. Touchett, but until this was
effected he could hardly meddle in the matter, and he was besides a
reserved, prudent man, slow to commit himself, so that his own
impression of the asylum could not be extracted from him. Here,
however, Colonel Keith put himself forward. He had often been asked
by Rachel to visit the F. U. E. E., and he surprised and relieved
Alison by announcing his intention of going over to St. Norbert's
alone and without notice, so as to satisfy himself as far as might be
as to the treatment of the inmates, and the genuineness of
Mauleverer's pretensions. He had, however, to wait for weather that
would not make the adventure one of danger to him, and he regarded
the cold and rain with unusual impatience, until, near the end of
January, he was able to undertake his expedition.

After much knocking and ringing the door was opened to him by a rude,
slatternly, half-witted looking charwoman, or rather girl, who said
"Master was not in," and nearly shut the door in his face. However,
he succeeded in sending in his card, backed by the mention of Lady
Temple and Miss Curtis; and this brought out Mrs. Rawlins, her white
streamers floating stiff behind her, full of curtsies and regrets at
having to refuse any friend of Miss Curtis, but Mr. Mauleverer's
orders were precise and could not be infringed. He was gone to
lecture at Bristol, but if the gentleman would call at any hour he
would fix to morrow or next day, Mr. Mauleverer would be proud to
wait on him.

When he came at the appointed time, all was in the normal state of
the institution. The two little girls in white pinafores sat upon
their bench with their books before them, and their matron presiding
over them; Mr. Mauleverer stood near, benignantly attentive to the
children and obligingly so to the visitor, volunteering information
and answering all questions. Colonel Keith tried to talk to the
children, but when he asked one of them whether she liked drawing
better than lace-making her lips quivered, and Mrs. Rawlins replied
for her, that she was never happy except with a pencil in her hand.
"Show the gentleman, my dear," and out came a book of studios of
cubes, globes, posts, etc., while Mr. Mauleverer talked artistically
of drawing from models. Next, he observed on a certain suspicious
blackness of little Mary's eye, and asked her what she had done to
herself. But the child hung her head, and Mrs. Rawlins answered for
her, "Ah! Mary is ashamed to tell: but the gentleman will think
nothing of it, my dear. He knows that children will be children, and
I cannot bear to check them, the dears."

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