Wych Hazel

by Susan Warner; Anna Bartlett Warner

CHAPTER XL.

SOMETHING NEW.

So Jeannie Deans went back into the stable, and carried her light burden no more for some time. But Hazel did not go to Beacon Hill, in any fashion nor on any day; and it is to be hoped Jeannie Deans was less restless than she.

'Miss Wych—my dear!' said Mrs. Bywank in remonstrance; 'if you cannot sit still, why don't you go out? You are just wearing yourself pale in the house; and why, I do not see.'

'Nobody sees—' said the girl with a long breath. 'My wings are clipped, Byo,—that is all.'

'My dear!' Mrs. Bywank said again. 'I think you shouldn't talk so, Miss Wych.'

'Very likely not,' said Hazel. But if ever I am a real runaway, Byo, it will be for the sake of choosing my own ruler. So you can remember.'

'Miss Wych—' Mrs. Bywank began, gravely. Hazel came and flung herself down on the floor, and laid her head on the old housekeeper's lap.

'O, I know!' she said. 'Why did they ever call me so, Byo? I think it hangs over me like a fate. Could they find no other name for their little brown baby but that? I can no more help being a witch, than I can help breathing.'

The old housekeeper stroked the young head tenderly, softly parting and smoothing down the hair.

'They liked the name, my dear,' she said. 'And so would you, if you could remember the tone in which Mrs. Kennedy used to say: "My Wych!"—"My little Wych!"—'

Hazel sprang away as if the words had been a flight of arrows.

And so the fall went on; and since Miss Kennedy would stay at home, perforce the world must come to see her there; and the old house at least sounded gay enough. And then society began slowly to steal away to winter quarters. The two young officers went back to their posts, without even a hope (it was said) that might make them ever return again to the neighbourhood of Chickaree. And Mr. May sailed for Europe, having a gentle dismissal from the little hands for which he cared so much; and the Powders departed to ex-official duties; and Mme. Lasalle to town. The leaves fell, having done their sweet summer duty far better than these rational creatures; and then Wych Hazel took to long early and late walks by herself, threading the leafless woods, and keeping out of roads and choosing by-paths; wandering and thinking—both—more than was good for her; and enjoying just one thing, the being alone.

Rollo all this while had kept the promise he made when he told her that he would see her and meant she should see him. He came very frequently; he rode with her if she would ride, and talked with her when she would talk; or he talked to Mr. Falkirk in her hearing. He sometimes gave her riding lessons. Whatever her mood, he was just himself; free, pleasant and watchful of her; sometimes a little Spanish in his treatment of her. Her clouds did not seem to put him in shadow. And she would not always refuse a lesson, or a ride, or a talk,—it was not in her nature to be ungraceful or rough in any way; only it could not be said that she took pleasure in them, as a certain thing. They broke up the intolerable loneliness of her life just then, but otherwise were not always a success. Constantly now expecting to be drawn back, or ordered back, as she phrased it; expecting forbidden things at every turn; she did not want to be alone with Mr. Rollo, nor to go with other people where he might come. In fact, she did not quite understand herself; and she grew more and more restless and eager to get away.

'Why should we not go on Monday?' she asked Mr. Falkirk.

'Go?' echoed her guardian. 'Are we to take up our travels again, my dear?'

'Did you suppose yourself settled for the winter, sir? I expect to go to town, like other people.'

'What are we to do when we get there?'

'Keep house, sir. You can take one-half the bricks, and I the other. Or any proportions that may suit your views,' said Miss Hazel compliantly.

Now Mr. Falkirk did not, it is true, understand the course things had taken for the last few weeks; he was only a man; and though Wych Hazel's guardian for many years might be supposed to hold a clue to her moods, this was what Mr. Falkirk failed to do in the present instance. But using his wits as well as he was able, he had come to the conclusion, not without some secret gratification, that Miss Hazel preferred the society of her old guardian to that of her new one. Certainly he was in no mind to cross her wish to go to the city, if she had such a wish. However, mindful of his duty, he mentioned her desire to Rollo, and asked if he had any objection to it. Rollo was silent a minute, and then gave a frank 'No.' And Mr. Falkirk wrote to make arrangements, and even went himself to perfect them. And he lost no time; by the end of October the change was made, and Wych Hazel established in a snug little house in one of the best streets on Murray Hill.

If Mr. Falkirk was misled before, his mind was not likely to clear up as the weeks went on. Whatever had come over his ward, she was unmistakably changed from her old self; as now, living in the house with her again, Mr. Falkirk could not fail to perceive. Quiet steps, a gentle voice that quite ignored its old bursts of singing; brown eyes that looked softly through things and people at something else; with a mood docile because it did not care: but that he did not know. Apparently she had not come to town for stir,—her going out was of the quietest kind. Sometimes a specially fine concert would tempt her; once in a while she made one of her radiant toilettes and went to a state dinner party, now and then to a lunch or a kettle-drum; but balls and evening parties of every sort were invariably declined. Instead, she plunged into study,—went at German as if her life depended on it, took up her Italian again, and began to perfect herself in French. Read history, knit her brows over science, and sat and drew by the hour.

Of course society could not quite be baffled so: mornings brought carriage after carriage, and evenings a run upon the door. Mr. Falkirk had little peace of his life, unless it were a reposeful thing for him to sit by and see the play.

Between whiles this winter, Hazel did a great deal of thinking: even German could not crowd it out. She knew, the minute she had said she would come to town, that she wished something could step in and keep her at Chickaree; or at least she knew that she was leaving more there than she had counted upon; and the knowledge chafed her. It was all very well to like—somebody—(name of course unknown)—to a certain degree; but when the liking made itself into bonds and ties and hindrances, then Miss Wych rebelled. She brought up all sorts of questions in the most unattractive shape, to find them suited with answers that could find no reply. It was simply unbearable, she urged upon herself, this being held in and watched and restricted,—very unbearable! Only, somehow, the person who did it all, was not. And the doubt whether life would be worth having, in such guardianship, started a more difficult point: what would it be worth without? And the mental efforts to shake herself into clear order, just seemed, as sometimes happens, to tie three knots where there was one before.

'It will go after a while,' she said, twisting herself about under the new form of loneliness and unrest which possessed her when she got to town. And it did: deeper in.

Mr. Falkirk, blind bat that he was (for a sharp-sighted man), was not discontented with his winter. He had Wych Hazel to himself, and she gave him no more trouble than he liked by the force of old associations. He watched the play in which she was so prominent and so pretty a figure, and found it amusing. It seemed safe play, so far; the fort that he was set to keep seemed quite secure from any attacks that presently threatened; and Mr. Falkirk had no suspicion that its safety was owing to a garrison within the walls. The outside he knew he watched well. It was a very quiet winter, indeed, except at such times as Miss Kennedy's doors were open to all comers; but Mr. Falkirk did not find fault with that. He had never been garrulous in his ward's company or in any other. Certainly he liked to hear her talk; and he knew that she talked far less than usual, when they were alone; but he argued with himself that Wych Hazel was growing older, was seriously engaging herself in study, after other than a school-girl's fashion; and that all this winter's development was but the sweet maturing of the fruit which in growing mature was losing somewhat of its liveliness of flavour.

They were alone one evening, rather past the middle of the winter. It was not one of Miss Kennedy's at-home nights; and in a snug little drawing-room the two were seated on opposite sides of the tea service. A fire of soft coal burning luxuriously; thick curtains drawn; warm-coloured paperhangings on the walls; silver bright in the gaslight, and Mr. Falkirk's evening papers ready at his hand. To-night Mr. Falkirk rather neglected them, and seemed to be in a meditative mood.

'Whereabouts are we in pursuit of our fortune, Miss Hazel?' he asked as he tasted his cup of hot tea.

'Rather deep down in Schiller and Dante, Sir.'

'Il Paradiso?' asked Mr. Falkirk meaningly.

'Pray do you call that "deep down"?' demanded Miss Hazel.

'I am merely inquiring where you are, my dear. I have heard of people's being over head and ears.'

'Only hearsay evidence, sir?' said Miss Hazel recklessly. But then she was not going to stand up and be shot at!

'I should like to know, merely as a satisfaction to my own mind, whether the quest is ended, Miss Hazel? Has Cinderella's glass slipper been fitted on? or has Quickear seized the singing bird and the golden water?'

'Princes are scarce!' said the girl derisively, but not without a rising blush.

'The true one not found yet, my dear?' said Mr. Falkirk with an amused glance across the table. 'What is to be our next move in search of him?'

'That is one way of putting it,' said Wych Hazel. 'I should think, sir, you had taken lessons of your devotee, Miss Fisher.'

'I am glad you don't,' said Mr. Falkirk earnestly. 'Miss Hazel, I should prefer that when such princesses are in the parlour, Cinderella should keep to her kitchen. It is the court end in such a case.'

Kitty Fisher's name brought up visions. Hazel was silent.

'Do you ever hear from Chickaree?' her guardian asked presently.

'No one to write, sir, but Mrs. Bywank,—and she, you know, is not a scribe. I understand that the kitten is well.'

'That is important,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'She hasn't told you lately anything about your friend Rollo?'

'No, sir. Have you given up your share in his friendship?' inquired Miss Hazel.

Mr. Falkirk made no answer to this query, and seemed to have forgotten it presently in his musings. Hazel glanced at him furtively, choosing her form of attack; for Mr. Falkirk's manner seemed to say that he had heard.

'You always played into each other's hands so delightfully, sir,' she began, with a very dégagé air,—'it is of course natural that he should keep you posted as to his own important proceedings. And a little ungrateful in you, Mr. Falkirk, I must say, to fling him off in this fashion.'

'I've nothing on my conscience respecting him,' said Mr. Falkirk, eating his toast with a contented air. 'I'm not his guardian, nor ever was.'

'What a pity!' said Wych Hazel. 'Both of us together might have made your life more lively than my unassisted efforts could do.'

Mr. Falkirk grunted, and went on with his tea; and sent his cup to be refilled.

Hazel pondered.

'You seem depressed, Mr. Falkirk,' she said. 'Shall I give you an additional lump of sugar?'

Now Mr. Falkirk in truth seemed anything but depressed; and he raised his head to look at his questioner.

'I am quite satisfied with things as they are, Miss Hazel.'

'Are you, sir? I am delighted!' said Hazel. 'But I never even supposed such a thing possible. How are "things"—if I may be allowed to inquire?'

Some things are new,' returned her guardian. 'And I should not be satisfied with them, if they concerned me. Which I take for granted they do not. I saw Dr. Arthur down town to-day; and he told me some odd news about Rollo.' Mr. Falkirk was finishing his tea in a leisurely way, evidently not thinking that the news, whatever it was, concerned either of them seriously.

'Why did you not bring Dr. Arthur home to tea?' inquired his ward.

'I did not think of it, Miss Hazel. But he volunteered a visit in the course of the evening.'

'That will be delightful,—I like Dr. Arthur,' said Hazel, feeling that somehow or other she must get a glimpse of his news before he came.

'Well, if what he said gave you so much pleasure, why don't you repeat it to me, Mr. Falkirk,' she ventured.

'I do not remember that I said anything gave me pleasure,' returned her guardian. 'This don't. By what he says, Rollo has lost his wits. I thought him a shrewd man of business; and he was that, when your affairs were in his hand last summer; but if what Dr. Arthur tells me is true, and it must be, he has done a very strange thing with his own fortune.'

'Dear me! I hope he did not hurt himself looking after mine!' said Wych Hazel innocently. 'Are fortune and wits both in peril, Mr. Falkirk?'

'Not yours, I hope,' said her guardian. 'I should be very uneasy if I thought that. I should have no power to interfere. The will gives him absolute control, supposing that he had control at all.'

Perhaps it was just as well that at this moment Dr. Arthur was announced. Alas, not only Dr. Arthur, but Mrs. Coles! And Hazel, giving greetings to one and welcome to the other; insisting that they should come to the tea table, late as it was; went on all the while looking after her own wits and picking up her energies with all speed. She had need; for the harmless-seeming eyes of Mrs. Coles were always to her neighbours' interests. Very graciously now they watched Wych Hazel.

There was a great deal to talk about, in Miss Kennedy's house and winter and engagements; and in Dr. Maryland's house, and Primrose, and her school. An endless succession of points of talk, that ought to have been very interesting, to judge by the spirit with which they were discussed. All the while, Wych Hazel was watching for something else; and Prudentia, was she keeping the best for the last? She was extremely affable; she enjoyed her tea; she took off her bonnet and displayed the pale bandeaux of hair which were inevitably associated in Miss Kennedy's mind with one particular day and conversation; she admired the furniture; she discoursed on the advantages of city life. Dr. Maryland was, perforce, rather silent.

'Well, Arthur dear,' she said at last, taking her bonnet, 'we must be going presently. What do you think of Dane, Mr. Falkirk?'

Mr. Falkirk did not answer intelligibly, though the lady's face was turned full upon him; he uttered an inexplicable sort of grunt, and knotted his eyebrows. He didn't like Prudentia.

'I never saw anybody so changed in all my life,' pursued the lady. 'Such sudden changes are doubtful things, I always think;—come probably from some sudden cause, and may not last. But it is very surprising while it does last.'

'I am sorry to contradict you, Prudens,' said Dr. Arthur here; 'but Dane was never more himself. He only happens to stand facing due north instead of north by east.'

'He was "north" enough before,' said his sister, a little, just a little bitterly; 'a trifle more of southern direction wouldn't have hurt him. But I think, he's out of his head. Men are, sometimes, you know,' she went on, looking full at Wych Hazel now. 'I shall let Miss Kennedy be judge. Do you know what Dane has been doing, Miss Kennedy?'

'Not waltzing?' said Hazel, opening her brown eyes with an expression of mild dismay which was very nearly too much for Dr. Arthur.

'Waltzing?' said Prudentia, mystified. 'I did not say anything about waltzing. Why shouldn't he waltz? I think he used. Why yes; he was a famous waltzer. Don't you waltz, Miss Kennedy?'

'But I was always known to be out of my head,' said Hazel. 'In what other possible way could Mr. Rollo shew the state of his?'

'I don't know what you mean,' said Prudentia, handling her bonnet. 'Then you haven't heard my story already. You know that old Mr. Morton has failed; did you hear of that?'

'Not the first time, is it?' said Miss Kennedy coolly. Dr.
Arthur bit his lips.

'Yes, my dear! it's the first and only time; he was always supposed to be a very rich man. Well, Dane has taken his fortune and thrown it into those mills!'

'I was afraid you were going to say the mill stream,' said Wych Hazel, who was getting so nervous she didn't know what to do with herself; 'but the mills seem a safe place.'

'I don't know but he's better done that of the two,' said Prudentia. 'A safe place? Why, my dear, just think! he has bought all of Mr. Morton's right and title there; with Mr. Morton's three mills. Of course, it must have taken very nearly his whole fortune; it must.'

'I fancy there's a trifle left over,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'But I can't conceive what possessed him. What does Rollo know of the mill business?'

'Nothing at all, of course,' said Prudentia. 'Nor of any other business. And he has shewed his ignorance—did Arthur tell you, sir, how he has shewed it?'

'In buying three mills to begin with,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'A modest man would have begun with one.'

'But my dear sir, that isn't all. What do you suppose, Miss
Kennedy, was his first move?'

'One is prepared for almost anything.'

'He will learn the business, before long,' said Dr. Arthur, 'if close attention can do it.'

'What should he learn the business for?' said his sister. 'He has already all that the mill business could give him, without any trouble. I think he's troubled in his wits; I do indeed. He was always a wild boy, and now he's a wilder man.'

'Troubled in his wits!' said Dr. Arthur, with such supreme derision, that Wych Hazel laughed. To her own great relief, be it said.

'But what is this that he has done?' Mr. Falkirk inquired, his brows looking very much disgusted.

'My dear sir! Fancy it. Fancy it, Miss Kennedy. The first thing he did was to raise the wages of his hands!'

Just one person caught the gleam from under Hazel's down-cast eyes,—perhaps something made his own quick-sighted. Dr. Arthur answered for her.

'They were not half paid before, Mr. Falkirk. That explains it.'

'Weren't they paid as other mill hands are paid, Dr. Arthur?'

'The more need for a change, then,' said the young man, who was a trifle Quixotic himself.

'But if the change is made by one man alone, he effects nothing but his own ruin.'

'That is what Dane is about, I am firmly persuaded,' said Mrs.
Coles.

'No man ever yet went to ruin by doing right,' said Dr.
Maryland.

'Many a one!' said Mr. Falkirk,—'by doing what he thought right; from John Brown up to John Huss, and from John Huss back to the time when history is lost in a fog bank.'

'They'll get their reward, I suppose, in the other world,' said Prudentia comfortably.

'How will his ruin affect the poor mill people?' said Wych Hazel, so seriously, that perhaps only Mr. Falkirk—knowing her— knew what she was about.

'Why, my dear, it ruins them too in the end; that's it. When he fails, of course his improvements fail, and everything goes back where it was before. Only worse.'

'Precisely,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'You cannot lift the world out of the grooves it runs in, by mere force; and he who tries, will put his shoulder out of joint.'

'Then my picture of "the loss of all things," is the portrait of a ruined man!' said Wych Hazel, with an expressive glance at Dr. Maryland. He smiled.

'It partly depends, you know, Miss Kennedy, upon where the race is supposed to end. But our friend is running well at present, for both worlds.'

'Arthur, he is not!' said his sister emphatically. 'Paul and John Charteris, the other mill-owners, hate him as hard as they can hate him; and if they can ruin him, they will; that you may depend upon.'

'And his own people love him as hard as they can,—so that, even if you allow one rich mill-owner to be worth a hundred poor employés, Dane can still strike a fair balance.'—Rather more than that, Dr. Arthur thought, as his quick eye took notice of the little screening hand that came suddenly up about Wych Hazel's mouth and chin.

'That's all nonsense, Arthur; business is business, and not sentiment. I never heard of a cotton mill yet that was run upon sentiment; nor did you. And I tell you, it won't pay. I am speaking of business as business. Paul and John Charteris will ruin Dane, if they can.'

'They probably can,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'They will make a combination with other mill-owners and undersell him; and paying less wages they can afford to do it, for a time. And a certain time will settle Rollo's business.'

'I think he has lost his wits,' Prudentia repeated, for the third or fourth utterance. 'Then another thing he has done—But really, Arthur, my dear, we must go.'

'O tell us some more!' said Miss Kennedy. 'We have not heard of any wits lost in this way, all winter; and it is quite exciting. What next, Mrs. Coles?'

Prudentia laughed.

'How comes it he don't tell you himself? I thought you used to be such friends—riding about everywhere. But indeed we don't see much of Dane now; he lives at his old nurse's ever so much of the time; and comes scouring over the country on that bay horse of his, to consult papa about something;—but I never see him, except through the window. Sometimes he rides your brown horse, I think, Miss Kennedy. I suppose he is keeping it in order for you.'

'Well, that certainly does sound erratic!' said Miss Kennedy, drawing a long breath. 'I hope he will confine all new-fangled notions to the bay.'

'He has taught that creature to stand still,' said Mrs. Coles, looking at her.

'That must afford him immense satisfaction! Rather hard upon the bay, though.'

'He stands as still as a mountain,' Prudentia went on, carrying on meanwhile privately a mental speculation about Wych Hazel;—'he stands like a glossy statue, without being held, too; and comes when Dane snaps his fingers to him.'

'It only shews what unexpected docility exists in some natures,' said Miss Kennedy with an unreadable face.

'Come, Prudens—tell your story and have done!' said Dr.
Arthur, speaking now. 'I have an appointment.'

'I am quite ready,' said Mrs. Coles starting up. 'Dear me! we have stayed an unconscionable time, but Miss Kennedy will forgive us, being country people and going back to the country to-morrow. Prim says Dane is coming down before long.'

'Tell your story!'

'Miss Kennedy won't care for it, and it will ruin Dane with Mr. Falkirk. He has introduced something like English penny readings at Morton Hollow,' said Prudentia, putting on her bonnet and turning towards Wych Hazel's guardian.

'What are penny readings?' said Mr. Falkirk.

'They had their origin in England, I believe; somebody set them on foot for the benefice of the poorer classes, or work people; and Dane has imported them. He receives the employés of the mills,' said Prudentia, chuckling,—'whoever will come and pay a penny; his own workmen and the others. The levee is held on Saturday nights; and Dane lays himself out to amuse them with reading to them and singing. Fancy it! Fancy Dane reading all sorts of things to those audiences! and the evenings are so interesting, I am told, that they do not disperse till eleven o'clock. I believe he has it in contemplation to add the more material refreshment of sandwiches and coffee as soon as he gets his arrangements perfected. And he is going to build, as soon as the spring opens, O, I don't know what!'

'Fools build houses, and other people live in them,' said Mr.
Falkirk.

'O, it's not houses to live in—though I have a notion he is going to do that too. He lives with old Gyda pretty much of the time.'

'Well,' said Dr. Arthur, looking at Mr. Falkirk but speaking to Wych Hazel, 'I need only add, that my father thoroughly approves of all Rollo's work.'

'Work?—does he call it "work"?' said Wych Hazel, looking up.

'It is not exactly play, Miss Kennedy!'—

But the soft laugh that answered that, no one could define.

'He won't find it play by the by,' said Mr. Falkirk.