Lover and Husband: A Novel

by Mrs. Molesworth

It was very provoking! Just when he had hoped to be of some use to her, to cheer her a little in her present gloomy life. Geoffrey had never before in his life thought so much, or so continuously, on any subject, as during the dull autumn weeks he thought of his poor little ward at the Cross House. He wrote to her once or twice, though he was by no means a great hand at letter writing; and was immensely delighted with the answers he duly received. At last, by the beginning of December, he found himself on his way home; much to his satisfaction, for not only was he anxious to see Marion again, but was also in a great state of fidget about his hunters. The season had opened most favourably, no signs of frost to speak of, and already he had missed some capital days. It was really too provoking, thought Geoffrey to himself, as comfortably ensconced in the railway carriage, he lit his last pipe before entering Mallingford station.

The next day he rode over to see Marion. Being well acquainted with the Cross House hours, he took care to be there early, and the great clock in the Market Place was only just striking eleven as he stood on the door steps. Miss Tremlett was not yet visible, he was informed by the sour-faced Martha (who, however, as we have seen, was more amiable than she looked), Miss Vere was up-stairs, but if Mr. Baldwin would step into the drawing-room, the young lady should be told he was there.

So into the grim drawing-room Geoffrey stepped. Grimmer than ever it looked at this season; when truly it takes an extra amount of bright colours and cheerful faces inside, to balance the dismalness of all things out-of-doors. And this winter was what they called an open season. Damp and dank and foggy. Above all—for a flat unpicturesque county like Brentshire, whose only beauty consisted in the freshness and luxuriance of its vegetation, this “grim December” was not the time to see it to advantage.

Geoffrey shivered slightly as he entered the uninviting room. From physical causes only; he was not particularly sensitive to more recondite influences. The fire was only just lighted and was smouldering and sputtering with that irritating air of feeling offended at having been lighted at all, peculiar to inartistically built fires on a damp winter’s morning. Mr. Baldwin strolled to the window and stood biting the end of his riding whip, staring out on the ugly, dreary plot of ground misnamed a garden.

“It’s not a pleasant place for her to be in, certainly,” thought he, “My little breakfast-room at the Manor Farm, notwithstanding all the litter of guns and fishing-rods and pipes, is a much more inviting room than this. To my mind at least—I wonder if she would think so!” And then he fell to wondering which of his horses would carry him best to cover on the morrow, considering the direction which was likely to be taken, the nature of the ground &c. “By-the-bye,” he thought suddenly, “I wonder if Miss Vere has ever been at a meet. I’ll ask her. Bessie, I’m certain, would carry a lady, only then who would be with her? If Harry were here it would be all right. There are those Copley girls, they are very good-natured, and might ask her to join them. I’ll see if I can’t manage it.”

But his further reflections were interrupted by the opening of the door, and the entrance of Marion herself. She knew who was there, and her pale face was slightly flushed with pleasure as she came in; but for all that, Geoffrey was not a little startled by her appearance. She looked painfully fragile. The cold weather and her black dress increased the extreme delicacy of her complexion, and the almost attenuated look of her slight, tall figure. Strangely enough, at that moment there thrilled through Geoffrey the same foreboding, the same acute misgiving as had tortured the heart of Ralph Severn that last evening at Altes. And in the present instance it acted to some extent as a revelation. As his gaze rested on Marion, a tremor seized the strong man. Horses, hunting, all he had been thinking of with so much interest but a moment before, faded from his mind, and in perfect silence he touched the hand so cordially extended to him, and mechanically drew nearer the fire a chair on which Marion seated herself. She did not observe his agitation, and began to talk brightly and heartily.

“I am so glad, so very glad, to see you again, Mr. Baldwin,” she said, “I really began to think you were never coming back. And I wanted to tell you that I have, really and truly, been doing my very best to be good and patient—but really, Mr. Baldwin, it is drearily, inexpressibly dull here.”

Geoffrey’s only answer was a glance of sympathy, enough however to encourage her to proceed.

“It did not seem so bad at first,” she went on, “it was more like a rest to me; but now it is getting very bad. There are days on which I can hardly bear the terrible monotony and loneliness. I have not told Harry so for fear of disturbing him; but I have wished very much to see you and tell you, Mr. Baldwin. I really would rather be a servant,” (a governess she was going to have said, but the association was too painful), “or anything in the world than live on here like this always. You are not angry with me for saying this, Mr. Baldwin? I know it seems childish and selfish, but today I was feeling so—I don’t know what to call it—homesick expresses it best; and I thought it would be such a relief to tell you about it; but I hope you are not vexed with me?” she repeated, looking up at his face beseechingly.

“Vexed with you! My dear Miss Vere,” exclaimed Geoffrey. “How can you use such expressions? As if, even if I had a right to be vexed with you, which I have not, anything you could by any possibility say or do, could ever seem to me anything—I am stupid—I can’t make pretty speeches, least of all when I most mean them. Only don’t ever speak as if I could be vexed with you. I am sorry, terribly sorry to see you looking so pale and thin, and to hear how this wretched life is trying you. But what is to be done? There is the difficulty. As I said to you before, I see present no help for it, unless——.” But here he stopped abruptly, his fair face suddenly flushing crimson.