Elizabeth kept a divided opinion with regard to Mrs. Morland, but the discords feared by Jim were not heard at Rowdon Cottage. The chief reason for the comparative harmony which reigned between kitchen and sitting-room was the undisguised satisfaction of Mrs. Macbean in being again in contact with gentle-people, and in seeing her young master recognized as one of them. It is to be feared that her estimation of “gentlefolk” was strictly conventional, and that in her heart of hearts she thought all the more of her “fine leddy” mistress because Mrs. Morland never dreamed of soiling her fingers over household matters, but maintained a dignified privacy among the remnants of her former prosperity.
Elizabeth found that a late dinner was expected as a matter of course. Here, there might have been a difficulty, since the old woman had been in the habit of going home to her “gudeman” as soon as she had served Jim’s tea and “tidied up”. But while ordering dinner for half-past eight, Mrs. Morland happened to mention that her stepson would dine with her; and Elizabeth immediately became complaisant.
Jim’s soul grew faint within him when he was informed of the coming ordeal—a dinner à deux with his stepmother. A refusal was on the poor lad’s lips, but he held it back. He could do nothing, he supposed, to narrow the gulf between himself and his father’s second wife; but he had determined that no act or word of his should make the gulf wider. He assented quietly to Mrs. Morland’s peremptory demand for his company in the sitting-room at half-past eight, and promised meekly enough to don his Sunday suit before he ventured to present himself.
He imagined that his stepmother’s request was prompted solely by a desire to “teach him manners”, and so render him a little more presentable to her friends; but in this he did Mrs. Morland less than justice. She was slow to act in matters for any reason displeasing to her; but having once taken a step in any direction, she did not care to turn back. She had been, in her own limited sense, in earnest when she had said that she would henceforth regard Jim as the head of the family. She meant him to endure to the full the penalties attaching at present to the unenviable position, and would not strain a nerve to lighten his load; but she intended also to see that a certain respect and consideration should be offered him by everyone except herself, and it was a part of her plan that he should be found in her company on fitting occasions.
The family meals were served in the children’s study, but at none of these was the mother present. Her breakfast was carried up to her bedroom, and she lunched alone in her sitting-room. It was Austin’s duty to take her cup backward and forward across the passage at the children’s tea-hour. After dinner Frances and Austin were ordered to appear for dessert. Thus Mrs. Morland attempted to retain among her present surroundings some of the customs and restrictions of the life she had been used to; though the imitation might be a faint likeness of the model, and the result pathetic rather than impressive.
The various courses of the meal were perhaps only Scotch broth, broiled chicken, and rice-pudding, and the dessert a dish of apples and another of nuts. But the glass, china, and silver were the joy of Elizabeth’s soul; and the simple food must be served most daintily. Jim was right in anticipating severe drilling and remorseless fault-finding; yet, taking all in wise humility, he had sense to acknowledge that the experience had its value. He soon learned to satisfy Mrs. Morland’s requirements as to his comportment at table, and his association with her and her children taught him quickly to note the errors in his speech and to correct them for himself.
“The lad is no dullard,” admitted the victorious stepmother in her thoughts; “he will be a gentleman before he knows it. A gentleman-blacksmith! Delightful absurdity! Oh, shall we never escape from this dreadful place!”
CHAPTER XIII.
“MISSY.”
After Christmas the winter arrived in earnest—such a winter as England seldom sees. Day after day keen “black” frost and bitter east wind brought hard suffering to the poor. Jim banished Austin from the smithy, and more than once the boy and his sister were prevented from paying their visits to Woodbank, and were reduced to “hearing each other” say their well-prepared lessons. Florry was not seen at Rowdon for a week at a time. Max came, of course; but Max in greatcoat, comforter, and gaiters could defy the weather.
Not so Austin; yet Austin, rash as ever, would not stay indoors. Thus Jim got into disgrace; he was condemned utterly as an aider and abettor of his brother’s defiance of prudence. Jim it was who sharpened and cleaned and polished Austin’s old skates, by way of helping the younger lad to forget that he was to have had a new pair that year. Jim it was who announced that Rowdon Pond was bearing. Jim it was who, having reasonable fears of the results when Austin mooned listlessly about the lanes, suggested the brisk exercise of skating as an excellent way of keeping boyish blood in circulation.