Ombra

by Mrs. Oliphant

CHAPTER XXV.

With a malice sometimes shown by Providence, we have said; and we feel sure that we are but expressing what many a troubled housewife has felt, and blamed herself for feeling. Is it not on such days—days which seemed to be selected for their utter inconvenience and general wretchedness—that troublesome and ‘particular’ visitors always do come? When a party is going on, and all the place is in gay disorder, as now it was, is it not then that the sour and cynical guest—the person who ought to be received with grave looks and sober aspect—suddenly falls upon us, as from the unkind skies? The epicure comes when we are sitting down to cold mutton—when the tablecloth is not so fresh as it might be. Everything of this accidental kind, or almost everything, follows the same rule, and therefore it is with a certain sense of malicious intention in the untoward fate which pursues us that so many of us regard such a hazard as this which had befallen Mrs. Anderson. She rose with a feeling of impatient indignation which almost choked her. Yes, it was ‘just like’ what must happen. Of course it was he, because it was just the moment when he was not wanted—when he was unwelcome—of course it must be he! But Mrs. Anderson was equal to the occasion, notwithstanding the horrible consciousness that there was no room ready for him, no dinner cooked or cookable, no opportunity, even, of murmuring a word of apology. She smoothed her brows bravely, and put on her most cheerful smile.

‘I am very glad to see you—I am delighted that you have made up your mind to come to see us at last,’ she said, with dauntless courage.

Mr. Courtenay made her his best bow, and looked round upon the scene with raised eyebrows, and a look of criticism which went through and through her. ‘I did not expect anything so brilliant,’ he said, rubbing his thin hands. ‘I was not aware you were so gay in Shanklin.’

Gay! If he could only have seen into her heart!

For at that very moment the two Berties had joined the party, and were standing by Ombra in her corner; and the mother’s eye was drawn aside to watch them, even though this other guest stood before her. The two stood about in an embarrassed way, evidently not knowing what to do or say. They paid their respects to Ombra with a curious humility and deprecating eagerness; they looked at her as if to say, ‘Don’t be angry with us—we did not mean to do anything to offend you;’ whereas Ombra, on her side, sat drawn back in her seat, with an air of consciousness and apparent displeasure, which Mrs. Anderson thought everybody must notice. Gay!—this was what she had to make her so; her daughter cold, estranged, pale with passion and disappointment, and an inexpressible incipient jealousy, betraying herself and her sentiments; and the young men so disturbed, so bewildered, not knowing what she meant. They lingered for a few minutes, waiting, it seemed, to see if perhaps a kinder reception might be given them, and then withdrew from Ombra with almost an expression of relief, to find more genial welcome elsewhere; while she sank back languid and silent, in a dull misery, which was lit up by jealous gleams of actual pain, watching them from under her eyelids, noting, as by instinct, everyone they spoke to or looked at. Poor Mrs. Anderson! she turned from this sight, and kept down the ache in her heart, and smiled and said,

‘Gay!—oh! no; but the children like a little simple amusement, and this is Kate’s birthday.’ If he had but known what kind of gaiety it was that filled her!—but had he known, Mr. Courtenay fortunately would not have understood. He had outgrown all such foolish imaginations. It never would have occurred to him to torment himself as to a girl’s looks; but there seemed to him much more serious matters concerned, as he looked round the pretty lawn. He had distinguished Kate now, and Kate had just met the two Berties, and was talking to them with a little flush of eagerness. Kate, like the others, did not know which Bertie it was who had thrust himself so perversely into her cousin’s life; but it had seemed to her, in her self-communings on the subject, that the thing to do was to be ‘very civil’ to the Berties, to make the Cottage very pleasant to them, to win them back, so that Ombra might be unhappy no more. Half for this elaborate reason, and half because she was in high spirits and ready to make herself agreeable to everybody, she stood talking gaily to the two young men, with three pair of eyes upon her. When had they come?—how nice it was of them to have arrived in time for her party!—how kind of Bertie Hardwick to bring her those flowers from Langton!—and was it not a lovely day, and delightful to be out in the air, and begin Summer again!

All this Kate went through with smiles and pleasant looks, while they looked at her. Three pairs of eyes, all with desperate meaning in them. To Ombra it seemed that the most natural thing in the world was taking place. The love which she had rejected, which she had thrown away, was being transferred before her very face to her bright young cousin, who was wiser than she, and would not throw it away. It was the most natural thing in the world, but, oh, heaven, how bitter!—so bitter that to see it was death! Mrs. Anderson watched Kate with a sick consciousness of what was passing through her daughter’s mind, a sense of the injustice of it and the bitterness of it, yet a poignant sympathy with poor Ombra’s self-inflicted suffering.

Mr. Courtenay’s ideas were very different, but he was not less impressed by the group before his eyes. And the other people about looked too, feeling that sudden quickening of interest in Kate which her guardian’s visit naturally awakened. They all knew by instinct that this was her guardian who had appeared upon the scene, and that something was going to happen. Thus, all at once, the gay party turned into a drama, the secondary personages arranging themselves intuitively in the position of the chorus, looking on and recording the progress of the tale.

‘I suppose Kate’s guardian must have come to fetch her away. What a loss she will be to the Andersons!’ whispered a neighbouring matron, full of interest, in Mrs. Eldridge’s ear.