Chapter Seventeen.
First Hospitality.
The Greys needed only to be asked to come and dine before the rest of the world could have an opportunity of seeing the bride and bridegroom. They had previously settled among themselves that they should be invited, and the answer was given on the instant. The only doubt was how far down in the family the pleasure ought to extend. Sydney was full of anxiety about it. His mother decided that he ought to be asked, but that perhaps he had better not go, as he would be in the way; and Sophia was sure it would be very dull for him; a sentence which made Sydney rather sulky. But Hester insisted on having him, and pleaded that William Levitt would come and meet him, and if the lads should find the drawing-room dull, there was the surgery, with some very curious things in it, where they might be able to amuse themselves. So Sydney was to take up his lot with the elderly ones, and the little girls were to be somewhat differently entertained another day.
Oh, the anxieties of a young wife’s first dinner-party! If remembered, they become laughable enough when looked back upon from future years; but they are no laughing matter at the time. The terror lest there should be too little on the table, and the consequent danger of there being too much: the fear at once of worrying the cook with too many directions, and leaving any necessary thing unsaid: the trembling doubt of any power of entertainment that may exist in the house; the anticipation of a yawn on the part of any guest, or of such a silence as may make the creaking of the footboy’s shoes heard at dinner, or the striking of the hall clock in the evening—these are the apprehensions which make the young wife wish herself on the other side of her first dinner-party, and render alluring the prospect of sitting down next day to hash or cold fowl, followed by odd custards and tartlets, with a stray mince-pie. Where a guest so experienced and so vigilant as Mrs Grey is expected, the anxiety is redoubled, and the servants are sure to discover it by some means or other. Morris woke, this Saturday morning, with the feeling that something great was to happen that day; and Sally began to be sharp with the footboy as early as ten o’clock. Hester and Margaret were surprised to find how soon there was nothing more left for them to do. The wine was decanted, the dessert dished up in the little storeroom, and even the cake cut for tea, soon enough to leave almost the whole morning to be spent as usual. Margaret sat down to study German, and Hester to read. She had just observed that they could not expect to see Edward for some hours, as he had been sent for to the almshouses, and meant to pay a country visit which would cost him a circuit on his return. These almshouses were six miles off; and when Mr Hope was sent for by one of the inmates, nearly all the rest were wont to discover that they ailed more or less; so that their medical guardian found it no easy matter to get away, and his horse had learned, by practice, to stand longer there than anywhere else without fidgeting. Knowing this, Margaret fully agreed to her sister’s proposition, that it must be some hours before Edward could appear. In a little while, however, Hester threw down her book, and took up her work, laying her watch just under her eyes upon the table.
“Do you mean to do that for life, when your husband takes a country ride?” said Margaret, laughing.
“I hate these everlasting country rides!” cried Hester. “I do wish he would give up those almshouses.”
“Give them up!”
“Yes: they are nothing but trouble and anxiety. The old folks are never satisfied, and never would be, if he lived among them, and attended to nobody else. And as often as he goes there, he is sure to be more wanted here than at any other time. There is another knock. There have been two people wanting him within this hour; and a country gentleman has left word that he shall call with his daughter at one o’clock.”
“Well, let them come. If he is home, well and good; if not, they must wait till he arrives.”
Hester started up, and walked about the room.
“I know what is in your mind,” said Margaret. “The truth is, you are afraid of another accident. I do not wonder at it; but, dearest Hester, you must control this fear. Consider; supposing it to be Heaven’s pleasure that you and he should live for forty or fifty years together, what a world of anxiety you will inflict on yourself if you are to suffer in this way every time he rides six miles out and back again!”
“Perhaps I shall grow used to it: but I do wish he would give up those almshouses.”
“Suppose we ask him to give up practice at once,” said Margaret, “that we may have him always with us. No, no, Hester; we must consider him first, and ourselves next, and let him have his profession all to himself, and as much of it as he likes.”
“Ourselves!” cried Hester, contemptuously.
“Well, yourself, then,” said Margaret, smiling. “I only put myself in that I might lecture myself at the same time with you.”
“Lecture away, dear,” said Hester, “till you make me as reasonable as if I had no husband to care for.”
Margaret might have asked whether Hester had been reasonable when she had had neither husband nor lover to care for; but, instead of this, she opened the piano, and tempted her sister away from her watch to practise a duet.
“I will tell you what I am thinking of,” cried Hester, breaking off in the middle of a bar of the second page. “Perhaps you thought me hasty just now; but you do not know what I had in my head. You remember how late Edward was called out, the night before last?”
“To Mrs Marsh’s child? Yes; it was quite dark when he went.”
“There was no moon. Mr Marsh wanted to send a servant back with him as far as the high-road: but he was sure he knew the way. He was riding very fast, when his horse suddenly stopped, and almost threw him over its head. He spurred in vain; the animal only turned round and round, till a voice called from somewhere near, ‘Stop there, for God’s sake! Wait till I bring a light.’ A man soon came with a lantern, and where do you think Edward found himself? On the brink of a mill-dam! Another step in the dark night, and he might have been heard of no more!”
Margaret was not at all surprised that Hester covered her face with her hands at the end of this very disagreeable anecdote.
“It is clear,” said she, “that Edward is the person who wants lecturing. We must bid him not ride very fast on dark nights, on roads that he does not know. But I have a high opinion of this horse of his. One of the two is prudent; and that is a great comfort. And, for the present, there is the consolation that there are no mill-dams in the way to the almshouses, and that it is broad daylight. So let us go on with our duet,—or shall we begin again?”
Hester played through the duet, and then sighed over a new apprehension—that some of those old invalids would certainly be taking Mr Hope away from home on the two mornings when their neighbours were to pay the wedding visit. “And what shall we do then?” she inquired.
“We shall see when the time comes,” replied Margaret. “Meanwhile we are sure of one good thing,—that Edward will not be called away from the dinner-table to-day by the almshouse people. Come! let us play this over once more, that it may be ready for Mr Grey in the evening.”
Sooner than he was looked for—sooner than it was supposed possible that he could have come—Edward appeared.
“Safe!” cried he, laughing: “what should prevent my being safe? What sort of a soldier’s or sailor’s wife would you have made?” he asked, looking in Hester’s happy face.
“She would be crazed with every gale, and die at ‘rumours of wars,’” said Margaret: “mill-dams are horror enough for her—and, to say the truth, brother, for other people, too, while you ride as you do.”
“That was an accident which cannot recur,” observed Hope. “I am sorry Mr Marsh’s man mentioned it. But Hester—.”
“I see what you would say,” sighed Hester; “your mention of soldiers’ and sailors’ wives reminds me. I have no faith, I know: and I thought I should when—. Oh, I wonder how those old crusaders’ wives endured their lives! But, perhaps, seven years’ suspense was easier to bear than seven hours’.”
Hester joined in the laugh at this speech, and Edward went to see his patients in a place where there was really no danger—in the waiting-room. Yet Hester was a little ruffled when the Greys appeared. So many messages had arrived for Edward, that the country gentleman and his daughter had been kept waiting, and a livery servant had called twice, as if impatient. She was afraid that people would blame Edward—that he would never manage to satisfy them all. Her colour was raised, and her brow slightly bent, when her guests entered; but all was right when Edward followed, looking perfectly at leisure, and stood talking before the fire, as if he had been a man of no profession.
Mr Hope had caused his feelings to be so well understood on one important subject, that it was necessary to respect them; and no mention of the Rowlands was made, either before dinner or in the presence of the servants. Nor was there any need of the topic. There was abundance to be said, without having recourse to doubtful subjects; and Margaret became so far relieved from all apprehension on this account, by the time the cheese appeared, that she assured herself that the day was passing off extremely well. There had not been a single pause left to be filled up with the clatter of knives and forks. Mrs Grey pronounced the room delightfully warm; Sophia protested that she liked having the fire at her back; and Mr Grey inquired where Hope got his ale. The boys, who had looked for the first half-hour as if they could not speak for the stiffness of their collars, were now in a full career of jokes, to judge by their stifled laughter. Hester blushed beautifully at every little circumstance that occurred, and played the hostess very gracefully. The day was going off extremely well.
The approaching county election was the principal topic at dinner, as it was probably at every dinner-table in Deerbrook. Mrs Grey first told Hope, at the bottom of the table, all about her wonder at seeing seven or eight gentlemen on horseback entering their field. She was exceedingly surprised to observe such a troop approaching the door: and she hardly knew what to make of it when the servant came in to say that the gentlemen wished to see her, as Mr Grey was at a distance—at market that day. It was strange that she should so entirely forget that there was to be an election soon. To be sure, it might have occurred to her that the party came to canvass Mr Grey: but she did not happen to remember at first; and she thought the gentleman who was spokesman excessively complimentary, both about the place and about some other things, till he mentioned his name, and that he was candidate for the county. Such a highly complimentary strain was not to her taste, she acknowledged; and it lost all its value when it was made so common as in this instance. This gentleman had kissed the little Rowlands all round, she had since been assured:— not that she wished to enlarge on that subject; but it only showed what gentlemen will do when they are canvassing. The other candidate, Mr Lowry, seemed a very high personage indeed. When he found Mr Grey was not at home, he and all his party rode straight on, without inquiring for the ladies. Everyone seemed to think that Mr Lowry was not likely to carry his election, his manners were so extremely high.
Meanwhile, Mr Grey was observing to his hostess that he was sorry to find there was an election impending. People in a small place like Deerbrook were quite apt enough to quarrel, day by day;—an election threw the place into an uproar.
“‘How delightful!’ those boys are thinking,” said Hester, laughing.
“I am sure,” said Sophia, “it is anything but delightful to me. I remember, last time, Sydney brought some squibs into the garden, and let them off while mamma and I were in the shrubbery; and we could none of us get to sleep till after midnight for the light of the bonfire down the street.”
“They should manage those things more quietly,” observed Mr Grey. “This time, however, there will be only a little effusion of joy, and then an end; for they say Ballinger will carry every vote in the place.”
“Why, father!” cried Sydney, “are you going to vote for Ballinger this time?”
“No, my boy. I did not say so. I shall not vote at all,” he added, observing that he was expected to explain himself. No remark being made, he continued— “It will not be convenient to me to meddle in election matters this time; and it would be of no use, as Lowry has not the slightest chance. One gets nothing but ill-will and trouble by meddling. So, my dear,” turning to Hester, “your husband and I will just keep quiet, and let Deerbrook have its own way.”
“I believe you may speak for yourself,” replied Hester, her eyes sparkling. “Edward has no idea—.” Then, remembering that she was speaking to a guest, she cut short her assurance that Edward had no idea of neglecting his duty when it was wanted most, for such a reason as that it was then most irksome.
“There is no occasion in the world for your husband to come forward,” observed Mr Grey, with kind anxiety. “I was saying, Hope, that you are quite absolved from interfering in politics. Nobody expects it from a medical man. Everyone knows the disadvantage to a professional man, circumstanced like you, of taking any side in a party matter. You might find the consequences very serious, I assure you.”
“And nobody expects it of a medical man,” echoed Mrs Grey.
Mr Hope did not reply, that he voted for other reasons than that it was expected of him. He had argued the subject with Mr Grey before, and knew that they must agree to differ. He quietly declared his intention of voting for Mr Lowry, and then asked Sophia to take wine. His manner left no resource to Mrs Grey but to express her feelings to his wife in the drawing-room, after dinner.
She there drew Hester’s arm within her own, and kindly observed what pleasure it gave her to see her anticipations so fulfilled. She had had this home, fitted up and inhabited as it now was, in her mind’s eye for a longer time than she should choose to tell. Elderly folks might be allowed to look forward, and Mr Grey could bear witness that she had done so. It was delightful to look round and see how all had come to pass.
“Everybody is so interested!” observed Sophia. “Mrs Howell says, some have observed to her what a pity it is that you are dissenters, so that you will not be at church on Sunday. Everybody would be sure to be there: and she says she is of opinion that, considering how many friends wish to see you make your first appearance, you ought to go, for once. She cannot imagine what harm it could do you to go for once. But, whatever you may think about that, it shows her interest, and I thought you would like to know it. Have you seen Mrs Howell’s window?”
“My dear! how should they?” exclaimed her mother.
“I forgot they could not go out before Sunday. But, Margaret you must look at Mrs Howell’s window the first thing when you can get out. It is so festooned with purple and white, that I told Miss Miskin I thought they would be obliged to light up in the daytime, they have made the shop so dark.”
“And they have thrust all the green and orange into the little side window, where nobody can see it!” cried Sydney.
“You managed to see it, I perceive,” said Hester; Sydney having at the moment mounted a cockade, and drawn out his green and orange watch-ribbon into the fullest view. William Levitt lost no time in going through the same process with his purple and white.
“You will be the ornaments of Deerbrook,” said Margaret, “if you walk about in that gay style. I hope I shall have the pleasure of meeting you both in the street, that I may judge of the effect.”
“They will have lost their finery by that time,” said Sophia. “We had a terrible snatching of cockades last time.”
“Snatching! let them try to snatch mine, and see what they’ll get by it!” cried Sydney.
“What would they get but the ribbons?” asked Margaret. Sydney drew her to the light, opened the bows of his cockade, and displayed a corking-pin stuck upright under each bow.
“Isn’t it horrid?” said Sophia.
“Horrid! It is not half so horrid as fish-hooks.”
And Sydney related how fish-hooks had actually been used during the last election, to detain with their barbs the fingers of snatchers of cockades. “Which do you use?” he asked of William Levitt.
“Neither. My father won’t let me do anything more than just wear a cockade and watch-ribbon. I have got a watch-guard too, you see, for fear of losing my watch. But you won’t get my cockade off a bit the sooner for my having no spikes under it. I have a particular way of fastening it on. Only try, any day. I defy you to it.”
“Hush, hush, boys! don’t talk of defiance,” said Mrs Grey. “I am sure, I wish there were no such things as elections—in country places, at least. They make nothing but mischief. And, indeed, Hester, my dear, it is a great pity that those should meddle who can keep out of them, as your husband fairly may. Whichever way he might vote, a great many disagreeable remarks would be made; and if he votes as he says, for Mr Lowry, I really think, and so does Mr Grey, that it will be a serious injury to him in his profession.”
Hester replied, with some gravity, that people could never do their whole duty without causing disagreeable remarks; and seldom without suffering serious injury.
“But why should he vote?” persisted Mrs Grey.
“Because he considers it his duty, which is commonly his reason for whatever he does.”
“An excellent reason too: but I rather thought—I always fancied he defended acting from impulse. But I beg your pardon, my dear:” and she nodded and winked towards the young people, who were trying the impression of a new seal at the centre table, heeding nothing about either duty or impulse. Margaret had fixed the attention of the boys upon this curious seal of hers, in order to obviate a snatching of cockades, or other political feud, upon the spot.
“It seems as if I could speak about nothing but your husband, my dear,” continued Mrs Grey, in a whisper: “but you know I feel towards him as towards a son, as I have told him. Do you think he has quite, entirely, got over his accident?”
“Entirely, he thinks. He calls himself in perfect health.”
“Well, he ought to know best; but—”
“But what?” asked Hester, anxiously.
“It has occurred to us, that he may still want watching and care. It has struck both Mr Grey and me, that he is not quite the same that he was before that accident. It is natural enough. And yet I thought in the autumn that he was entirely himself again: but there is still a little difference—a little flatness of spirits sometimes—a little more gravity than used to be natural to him.”
“But you do not think he looks ill? Tell me just what you think.”
“Oh, no, not ill; rather delicate, perhaps; but I am sure it is wonderful that he is so well after such an accident. He calls himself perfectly well, does he?”
“Perfectly.”
“Oh, then, we may be quite easy; for he must know best. Do not let anything that I have said dwell upon your mind, my dear. I only just thought I would ask.”
How common it is for one’s friends to drop a heavy weight upon one’s heart, and then desire one not to let it dwell there! Hester’s spirits were irrecoverably damped for this evening. Her husband seemed to be an altered man, flat in spirits, and looking delicate, and she told not to be uneasy! She was most eager for the entrance of the gentlemen from the dining-room, that she might watch him and, till they came, she had not a word of amusement to furnish to her guests. Margaret perceived that something had gone wrong and talked industriously till reinforced from the dining-room.
Sophia whispered a hint to her mother to inquire particularly about Mrs Enderby’s health. At the mention of her name Mr Hope took his seat on the sofa beside Mrs Grey, and replied gravely and fully—that he thought Mrs Enderby really very unwell—more so than he had ever known her. She was occasionally in a state of great suffering, and any attention that her old friends could show her in the way of a quiet call would be a true kindness. Had he alarmed her family? There was quite hint enough for alarm, he said, in the state in which her relations saw her at times. But Mrs Rowland was always trying to make out that nothing was the matter with her mother: was it not so? Not exactly so. Mrs Rowland knew that there was no immediate danger—that her mother might live many months, or even a few years; but Mr Hope believed neither Mrs Rowland, nor any one else, could deny her sufferings.
“They say Mr Philip is coming,” observed Mr Grey.
“Oh, I hope he is!” cried Sydney, turning round to listen.
“Some people say that he is otherwise occupied,” observed Sophia, “If all accounts be true—” She caught her mother’s eye, and stopped suddenly and awkwardly.
Mr Hope involuntarily glanced at Margaret, as one or two others were doing at the same time. Nothing was to be discerned, for she was stooping over the volume of engravings that she was showing to William Levitt; and she remained stooping for a long while.
When the proper amount of playing and singing had been gone through, and Mrs Grey’s sedan was announced the cloaked and muffled guest left behind a not very happy party. Margaret’s gaiety seemed exhausted, and she asked if it was not late. Hester was gazing at her husband. She saw the perspiration on his brow. She put her arm within his, and anxiously inquired whether he was not unwell. She was sure he had never fully recovered his strength: she had not taken care enough of him: why did he not tell her when he was weary and wanted nursing?
Mr Hope looked at her with an unaffected surprise, which went far to console her, and assured her that he was perfectly well; and that, moreover, he was so fond of indulgence that she would be sure to hear of it, if ever he could find a pretence for getting upon the sofa.
Hester was comforted, but said that his spirits were not always what they had been: and she appealed to Margaret. Margaret declared that any failure of spirits in Edward was such a new idea, that she must consider before she gave an answer. She thought that he had been too busy to draw so many caricatures as usual lately; but she had observed no deeper signs of despondency than that.
“Do not let us get into the habit of talking about spirits,” said Hope. “I hear quite enough about that away from home; and I can assure you, professionally, that it is a bad subject to dwell upon. Every one who lives has variations of spirits: they are like the sunshine, or like Dr Levitt’s last sermon, of which Mrs Enderby says every Sunday in the church porch—‘It is to be felt, not talked about.’”
“But, as a sign of health—” said Hester.
“As a sign of health, my dear, the spirits of all this household may be left to my professional discrimination. Will you trust me, my dear?”
“Oh, yes!” she uttered, with a sigh of relief.