Chapter Six.
A Proposal.
The garden party at Petrie Villa had been the first of a series. Not a very long series, indeed, for there were not many gardens in Portie equal to the requirements of such an entertainment, even according to the limited ideas of those who had never “assisted at” a garden party anywhere else. But there had been several, and the presence of Captain Harefield would have been generally declared to be the most interesting feature of nearly all of them.
He had not always been invited. That is, he had not always been invited in the formal way usually considered necessary on such occasions even in Portie. But through the kindness of James Petrie at first, and afterward of others, when he became better known, he was sure to make his appearance in the course of the entertainment, and so comported himself and so evidently enjoyed himself, that even those who were at first inclined to resent, as a liberty, his coming so unceremoniously among them, forgot to do so in his presence, and ended in being as pleased and flattered as the rest.
Of course there was a garden party at Saughleas, and of course Captain Harefield was a guest, formally and specially invited by Mr Dawson himself. But his presence was not the most interesting circumstance of the occasion, for his sister, Mrs Eastwood, was there also. Mrs Eastwood had come according to her promise and had taken Miss Jean in her carriage to visit Mrs Cairnie, and it had been a successful visit in every way. For May had given the old woman warning, and she had prepared herself to receive them. Not only had she on a clean “mutch” and apron, but her house was “redd up” in a way that would have seemed wonderful to her visitor, if she had been familiar with its aspect on other days.
Mrs Cairnie was a clever old woman, and made the most of her opportunity. She bewailed the loss of her daughter’s society, and of the help and comfort she had been to her, but enlarged on her sense of the good fortune that had come to the lassie in being admitted into the service of such a kind and gracious lady. She declared herself overpowered at the condescension and kindness of the visit in terms which did not seem so very much exaggerated to the visitor; but Miss Jean knew that the bad auld wife was laughing in her sleeve at the English lady and her simplicity. However, the visit was considered a success by those chiefly concerned, and it was to be repeated before Mrs Eastwood took her departure.
On returning to leave Miss Jean at Saughleas, Mrs Eastwood expressed herself delighted to accept Mr Dawson’s invitation to alight and drink a cup of tea before she set out for Blackford House. In a little the tea and all the pretty accessories were brought out to the terrace, and it was charming—every thing was charming, Mrs Eastwood declared, and “not at all Scotch”; but happily the last part of her opinion was reserved till she was relating her afternoon’s adventures at Blackford House.
She herself did her utmost to charm every one, and succeeded very well on the whole, and her suggestion as to an invitation to the garden party came very naturally and gracefully in the midst of the gentle thanks addressed to Miss Jean because of the kindness shown to her brother. Captain Harefield, whom she confessed to be a little impatient of the quiet of Blackford House. Even Miss Dawson did not seem to think it strange when, in her pretty way, she begged to be allowed to accompany her brother to the garden party on the day appointed.
“It was very silly of her,” Jean said afterwards. “What possible pleasure could she expect?”
“I don’t see that. Why should she not take pleasure in it as well as you? She is young yet,” said Mr Dawson, ready to take the lady’s part.
“I should have no pleasure in going out of my own sphere,” said Jean with dignity.
“Eh! Jeannie, I’m no’ so sure of that. Werena you just the other day playing at ‘the beds’ with Mavis, and Emily Corbett, and the rest of the bairns on the sands? And didna you finish Maggie Saugster’s seam to let her get away with the rest? And didna you—”
“Nonsense, May! I’ve played at ‘the beds’ all my life, and I dinna look down on Mavis and Maggie and the rest. And it was for their pleasure I played with them, and not for my own.”
“Well, it may be for our pleasure that Mrs Eastwood is coming here, and as for looking down on us—” said May with a toss of her pretty head.
“Whisht, bairns,” said Miss Jean gently. “I dare say she thinks lang in the country as weel as her brother,—her that’s used with London life,—and she would like to come just for a pass-time, with no thought of looking down on any one.”
“Her brother doesna seem to be looking down on any one,” said Mr Dawson with a short, amused laugh.
“Oh! he makes no secret that it is just for a pass-time, that he favours Portie folk with his company. He finds Blackford House dull. He gets awfully bored,” said May in the Captain’s languid manner.
“It’s a wonder he stays on then,” said Mr Dawson.
“I said that to him once, and he said—” May hesitated. It would not have been easy to repeat all that had been said on the occasion alluded to; but she put the gist of his communications more clearly and directly than he had done himself, when she added,—
“It is a good place not to spend money at, and he does not seem to have much to spend.”
“Weel, he’s honest—as to his reasons, at any rate,” said her father.
“Oh! that is what I gathered, rather than what he said. He is out of the reach of duns. That he did say.”
“He doesna seem to me like an ill-disposed youth,” said Miss Jean.
“Oh, no, auntie! He’s nice and agreeable, and—all that; but he is—soft,” said May laughing.
Her father looked as if he were going to say something sharp, but he did not.
“His sister is very fond of him, and very good to him, he says. And he must be a heavy handful whiles,” said Jean gravely.
“In what way?” asked her father.
“Oh! just having him on her mind to keep sight of, and amuse, and keep out of mischief, as he says. Just fancy the weariness of it?”
“You seem to have gathered a good deal from him, as well as your sister,” said Mr Dawson, not well pleased. “And you find him a heavy handfu’, do you? I have thought whiles that you get on very well with him.”
“Oh, yes, I get on very well with him! I’m not responsible for him, ye ken, and that makes all the difference.”
“Marion Petrie says that Jean keeps him very much to herself, and Jamie looks as if he thought so, too, sometimes,” said May laughing.
“That is one of your ‘gatherings,’ May, my dear,” said her sister.
“Well, you must make your best of the visitor when she comes,” said Mr Dawson as he went out.
And it was very easy to make the best of Mrs Eastwood. She was amiable and agreeable, and if she looked down on any one, it did not appear. She did not mingle much with the younger portion of the company, but she amused herself by observing all that was going on, and talked pleasantly with Miss Jean, and afterwards with Mr Dawson, about various things, but chiefly about her brother, whom she evidently loved dearly, and who as evidently caused her anxiety, though she had no thought of letting this appear.
Miss Jean found her soft flowing talk pleasant to listen to, and all the more that she did not need very often to reply. Mr Dawson was charmed with her, and it was not, as a general thing, his way to be charmed with strangers. But she was not altogether a stranger. Her husband’s name—Eastwood, the London banker—had long been familiar to Mr Dawson. He knew him to be a “responsible” man, and that was more than could be said of all the fine English folk, who found it convenient to pass a part of the summer or autumn at Blackford House.
Mrs Eastwood herself was of high family, being the granddaughter, or at least the grand-niece, of a living earl, and though Mr Dawson would doubtless have scorned the imputation, it is possible that he found all the more pleasure in entertaining her because of that Mr Eastwood was not of high family. He was very rich however, and they got on together, pretty well, May “gathered” from Captain Harefield’s conversation; that is, they never quarrelled, and were content to spare each other to enjoy the society of other people for a good part of the year.
But Mrs Eastwood made much of her husband when speaking of him to Mr Dawson, and of her brother also. Of the brother, she had much to say, and Mr Dawson listened with great interest to it all, as Miss Jean could not fail to see.
And in the mean time the young people amused themselves in the garden and in the wood, and Captain Harefield seemed to be at no loss for amusement among them. Jean certainly did not keep him to herself to-day, as Mr Dawson noticed; but then Jean was hostess, and had to occupy herself with the duties of her position, and with the party generally. It passed off very well, all things considered, and the children’s party was likely to be the same thing over again, with the children added.
The little Corbetts, who were the reason, or the excuse, of the prospective gayeties, had come from their home in an English manufacturing town, in order that the sea breezes of Portie might put strength in their limbs and colour in their wan cheeks; and they had come at the special invitation of Mr Dawson. Their father, the son of the Portie parish minister of the time, had been his chief friend in the days of his youth, and they had never forgotten one another, though they had not for a long time been in frequent correspondence. During one of Mr Dawson’s infrequent visits to Liverpool, they had met by chance, and had renewed acquaintance to the pleasure of both, and Mr Dawson allowed himself to be persuaded to go and pass a few days with his friend.
Mr Corbett had not been a very successful man in the way of making money, and he had a large family, few of them able to do much for themselves. But they were cheerful, hopeful people, and made the best of things. There had been illness among them recently, which had left the younger children white and thin, and not likely to mend during the summer heat in a close city street; and when Mr Dawson asked as many of them as liked to spend a month or two among the sea breezes of Portie, the invitation was accepted gratefully. But it was doubtful whether, for economic reasons, they could have availed themselves of it, if Mr Dawson had not taken matters into his own hand, and insisted on taking some of them home at once.
So the two youngest, Polly and Dick, with an elder sister of fifteen to be responsible for their well-being and well-doing, were carried off to Saughleas, and presented unannounced to the startled, but well pleased, household. Their coming gave interest, and occupation as well, to every one, for “Mr Dawson had given mamma no time for preparation,” as the pretty, anxious elder sister was fain to explain when she asked Miss Dawson’s advice and assistance in the matter of shoes and stockings, and other things suitable for the perfect enjoyment of the rocks and sands of Portie. Miss Dawson made all that easy, taking the equipment of the children, and the elder sister as well, into her own hands.
And the puny city children enjoyed the sands and the sea, the running and clambering, and the free out-of-doors life, as much as their father had done in his boyish days; and their own mother would hardly have recognised their round brown faces before the first month was over.
As to their needing entertainment in the way of children’s parties, that was not likely. But for the sake of their father and grandfather they had been invited to many houses in Portie, and it was but right that they should have a chance to invite their young friends in return. And so the party was decided on, and was much enjoyed, and so might be dismissed with no more words about it, except for a circumstance or two which attended it.
Mrs Eastwood was there again, but not by invitation. She had not been aware that there was to be such gay doings at Saughleas, she said, when she came into the garden, and she stayed a while at Miss Jean’s request, to enjoy the sight of so many happy bairns. But she was not bright and beaming and bent on pleasing every one, as she had been the first time she was at Saughleas.
To tell the truth, she was anxious and unhappy, at a loss what to do, or whether she should do any thing, or just let events take their own course. It was her brother and his affairs that occupied her thoughts. She had been so long accustomed to think for him, and advise him, he had come to her so constantly for help in the various difficulties into which he had fallen during his life, and she had been so successful in helping him, and so happy in doing so, that she could not—though she sometimes tried—divest herself of a feeling of personal responsibility for his well-being. And now that he seemed to be at a turning point in his life, she felt all the anxiety of one who had a decision of importance to make, with no one at hand on whose judgment she could rely for guidance.
It added to her unhappiness, that she could not quite free herself from blame in regard to the matter to be decided. She need not have made herself unhappy about her own course. Nothing that she had done or left undone, had much to do with the intentions of which her brother had informed her that morning. She had been conscious of a feeling of relief for herself at the chance of his finding the means of amusing himself innocently in the country. That was the uttermost of her sin towards him. But his frequent visits to Saughleas, and his loiterings in Portie, would have been none the less frequent had he believed that his sister missed and mourned every hour of his absence.
And her present anxiety as to his next step was just as vain. She could neither help nor hinder it, and, whatever might be the result, neither praise nor blame could justly fall to her because of it. But she did not see it so, and so she had come to Saughleas with many vague thoughts as to what it might be wise to do, but with a firm determination as to one thing that was to be plainly said before she went away again.
Her first thought when she saw the pleasant confusion that the children were making on the lawn and in the gardens was, that nothing could be said to-day. But by and by, when children and young people, her brother among the rest, went away to amuse themselves with games in the field beyond the wood, the way to speak was opened to her, and she saw no reason why she should not say all that was in her mind. It was to Miss Jean she had intended to say it, and Miss Jean was sitting under the beeches with folded hands, ready to listen. And yet, looking into the grave, serene face of Miss Jean, she did hesitate. She could not tell why; for Miss Jean was only a person who had kept a shop, and counted and hoarded the pence, and who knew their value. A commonplace, good-natured woman, not easily offended, why should she not say to her all that she had to say—and say it plainly too?
And so she did. And Miss Jean listened with no offence apparently, with only a little gleam of surprise and interest in her eyes, and perhaps a little gleam of amusement also. Mrs Eastwood was not sure. She did not say much, but she said it very plainly.
Miss Jean must have noticed the frequency of Captain Harefield’s visits to Saughleas, and his warm admiration of the young ladies, her nieces. It had gone beyond admiration, she had reason to think, as to one of them. Indeed her brother had intimated as much to her, and had filled her with anxiety; for her brother had no fortune. Of course if he married he would wish to leave the army. Could Miss Jean tell her whether the fortune which Mr Dawson could give his daughter would be sufficient to insure the comfort of the young people in case of a marriage?
“And did your brother send you to ask?” said Miss Jean quietly. “And why do you ask me?”
“Of course he did not I speak because of my own anxiety, and you must see that I could not speak to Mr Dawson about money until a proposal had been made.”
“Weel, madam, I can give you no help and no information. I have no’ sufficient knowledge of my brother’s means, or of his intentions. And I could not influence him in this matter, even if I were to try. Which of them is it?”
But strangely enough Mrs Eastwood could not answer this question. The intimation she had that morning received of her brother’s intention to propose to Mr Dawson for the hand of his daughter, had not been very definite or very clearly given. It had come in during a discussion of other and painful matters, with which money, or rather the want of money, had to do. And if her brother had told her which of them he intended to honour, she had failed to understand him, or she had forgotten. So her reply did not touch this question.
“I cannot say whether I approve or disapprove of his choice. Your niece is very pretty and lady-like, and she would take her husband’s rank—and, my dear Miss Dawson, I trust you will not think me mercenary, but my brother can give his wife a high station, and a place in society, and to make the marriage an equal one, or in the least degree suitable, there should not only be beauty and grace, which your niece I must acknowledge has, but—money.”
“And plenty of it,” said Miss Jean.
“Of course. And unless there is, as you say, plenty of it, Percy should not be allowed to speak.”
“But if they love one another?”
Mrs Eastwood turned and looked at Miss Jean. She had rather avoided doing so hitherto. She was not sure that the old woman was not laughing at her. Miss Jean’s face was grave enough however.
“If there is not a prospect of—of—a fortune, he should not be allowed to speak. Not that I do not admire your niece. I admire her extremely. She is clever, and sensible also, and would restrain—I mean she would influence her husband. She would make a good wife to Percy, who is—who needs some one to lean on.”
“A heavy handfu’,” said Miss Jean, unconsciously repeating her niece’s words.
There was a silence of several minutes between them, and then Mrs Eastwood continued, carrying on her own train of thought.
“Of course I knew that the foolish boy admired the young lady—fancied himself in love; but that has often happened to him before, and I thought it would pass with the month. But they are very pretty and fresh, and the tall one is clever, and she would—yes, she would make him a good wife—provided—”
Miss Jean’s spirit was stirred within her, but she said nothing; and Mrs Eastwood said all the more, unconsciously betraying her belief that it would be the best thing that could happen to her brother, that he should marry and settle down with a wife clever enough to influence him. And to influence him meant, evidently, to keep him from spending too much money, and from the companionship of those who loved to lead him astray.
She did not say in plain words that his marriage with such a one would be a great relief to her and that it would be the saving of him to be kept out of London and out of harm’s way for the greater part of the year; but Miss Jean saw clearly that she was more eager for his success than she was willing to acknowledge. Miss Jean listened silently and patiently. Her niece knew her own mind, doubtless, and would not be likely to allow herself to be influenced by the wishes of any one, and she had no call to reprove, or even to resent, the “ill manners” of the lady.
So she sat silent and let the softly spoken words “go in at one ear and out of the other,” till she heard the tramp of a horse’s feet, and knew that her brother was come home, and then she rose, and invited Mrs Eastwood into the house, hoping that she would refuse the invitation and take her departure. For at the sound of her brother’s voice, Miss Jean’s heart misgave her.