We had not been so solitary as I had expected, for with the warm weather a few families had come back to their residences on the shores of the lake, and had called upon us. I had felt rather timid and awkward, as I could not speak English; but the ladies being kindly disposed, and generally knowing a little French, we managed to get on friendly terms, particularly when left to ourselves, for I was very much afraid of Gilbert's strictures—I will explain for what reasons in particular. He was, as I have said before, a very good and competent teacher, but very exacting, and he had repeatedly said that he could put up better with my faults were they the usual recognized mistakes of a foreigner, but that unluckily mine were vulgarisms. This was very humiliating, as I must confess I took a little pride in my French, which had been often praised as elegant and pure, and this had fostered in me a taste for conversation such as was still to be enjoyed in intelligent French society at that time, and of which I had never been deprived at home, my father being an excellent conversationalist, and receiving political friends of great talent as orators and debaters, such as Michel de Bourges, Baudin, Madier-de-Montjau, Boysset, and many others, as well as literary people.
On the other hand, it must be explained that I was unknown to my husband's relations, and aware of some prejudices against me among them, particularly on the part of his Aunt Susan,—the younger of the two sisters who had brought him up. She only knew that I was French, a Roman Catholic, and without fortune; all these defects were the very opposite of what she had dreamt of for her nephew, and her disappointment had been so bitter when she had heard of his engagement that, to excuse it in her own eyes, she had convinced herself that a French girl could only be flippant, extravagantly fond of amusement, and neglectful of homely duties; a Roman Catholic must of necessity be narrow-minded and bigoted, and the want of fortune betrayed low birth and lack of education. These views had been expressed at length to my betrothed, together with severe reproaches and admonitions, and it was in vain that he had attempted to justify his choice; his aunt persisted in attributing it solely to a passion he had been too weak to master. At last our marriage drawing near, Gilbert wrote to his aunt that if her next letter contained anything disrespectful to me he would return it, and do the same for the following ones, without opening them; and the correspondence had ceased.
It was quite different with his aunt Mary, who must also have been disappointed by his marriage, for with her aristocratic tastes and notions she had desired for her nephew a bride of rank, and an heiress to put him again in the station befitting the family name, to which his education and talents seemed to entitle him. But she had confidence in his judgment, and loved him with so generous a love that she congratulated him warmly when he was accepted, and wrote me an affectionate letter of thanks, and a welcome as a new member of the family.
Of course my husband had often talked to me about his aunts; not much was said of Miss Susan, but a great deal of his dear guardian, who had been like a mother to him, and who now wrote encouragingly to me from time to time about my English, and my new life. He praised both his aunts for their good management of a small income, for the position they had been able to retain in society, and particularly for their lady-like manners and good breeding; explaining sometimes that I should probably find it different in some respects from French comme-il-faut, and mentioning in what particulars. I felt that he would be very sensitive about the opinions his aunts would form of me, and I dreaded that of Miss Susan Hamerton. He had put me on my guard on some points; for instance, about the French custom of always addressing people as Monsieur or Madame, which was hard for me to relinquish, as it seemed rude; and I was also told not to be always thanking servants for their services (as we do in France), if I wished to be considered well-bred. But besides what was pointed out to me, I noticed many other things which ought to be toned down in my nature and habits, if I meant to acquire what I heard called lady-like manners. I was at that time very vivacious, merry, and impulsive, and so long as I had lived in France this natural disposition had been looked upon as a happy one, and rather pleasant than otherwise; but I did not notice anything resembling it in our visitors, who were said to be real ladies, or lady-like. They looked to my French eyes somewhat indifferent and unconcerned: it is true that they were all my seniors by at least half-a-score of years, but the fact did not put me more at ease. However, as they showed great kindness, and frequently renewed their visits and invitations, I was led to think that their judgment had not gone against me, and this gave me some courage for the day of my meeting with my Aunt Susan. And that day was drawing near, my husband having promised his relations that we should visit them after six months, which was the delay granted to me to learn a little English; and although I could not and dared not speak it at the end of the allotted time, no respite was allowed.
It was arranged that after our stay in Lancashire we should go on to Paris. This news was received with great joy and thankfulness in my family, where we had not been expected so soon, and where the sorrow for my absence was still so keen that my father wrote to my husband: "Chaque fois que je rentre je m'attends à la voir accourir au devant de moi et chaque désillusion est suivie de tristesse. Il n'est pas jusqu'au piano dont le mutisme me fait mal. J'ai beau me dire que ces impatiences, ces chagrins sont de la faiblesse: je le sais, je le sens, et je n'en suis pas plus fort."
The love of improvements, which was one of Gilbert's characteristics, had led him to plan a road on the island, which should go from the house to the lowest part of the shore, where the lake dried up in summer, so as to facilitate the conveyance of goods, which could then be carted without unloading from Inverary to the barn or kitchen-door. He gave very minute directions to Thursday and Dugald, and set them to their work just before we left for France, telling them that he expected to find the road finished on our return.
We started in November, and arrived at Todmorden on a wet day; and just before leaving the railway carriage we were much amused by a gentleman who answered the query "Is this Todmorden?" by letting down the window and thrusting his hand out, after which he gravely said: "It is raining; it must be Todmorden."
My husband's uncle, Thomas Hamerton, with his two daughters, was awaiting us at the station to welcome us and take us to his house, where we found Mrs. Hamerton, who received us very kindly, but called me Mrs. Philip Gilbert, because she despaired of ever pronouncing my Christian name rightly. I begged her to call me "niece," and her husband gave the example by calling me "my niece Eugeneï." Our cousins Anne and Jane spoke French very creditably, although they had never been in France, and we were soon on friendly terms. When my husband was away, they translated my answers to their mother's numerous questions about our life in the Highlands, my occupations, tastes, French habits, and what not. Although my powers of expression in English were very limited, I understood the greater part of what was said, and Mrs. Hamerton and my cousins being so encouraging, I did not feel so timid, and if I had stayed longer I should most certainly have made rapid progress. On that score my husband—P. G., as they called him in the family circle—was taken to task and scolded for having been too severe with "his poor little foreign wife." His cousins, with whom he was on brotherly terms, were much pleased with the soft French pronunciation of the name Gilbert, and dropped the P. G. decisively, to the great wonder of their mamma.
The following day was fixed by my husband as the day of our trial,—that is, for our visit to his aunts, who lived on a steep eminence above Todmorden, in a pleasant house, "The Jumps." Aunt Mary, in order to spare me, had offered to come down to meet us at her brother's; but as she suffered from some kind of heart complaint (the knowledge of which kept her loving nephew in constant alarm) we were afraid of the effect that fatigue and emotion might have, and preferred to encounter Miss Susan Hamerton.
The reception was typical of the different dispositions towards us. Aunt Mary was standing at the door, straining her eyes to see us sooner, and came forward to embrace me and to receive the kisses of her beloved nephew; then she whispered that "she had hoped Susan would have gone away on a visit to her friends; but she had remained obdurate to all hints and entreaties." So there was nothing for it but to meet her, since she would have it so; and with a beating heart I was led to the drawing-room by my husband. That the reader may not be misled into believing that a life-long estrangement resulted from the following scene, I will quote a passage from the preface to "Human Intercourse," which gives the unforeseen result of my acquaintance with Miss Susan Hamerton.