“I hope you’ll continue in that mind; and recollect this: you have been very friendly and pleasant in this house at a time when I was scarcely my own man, and took the entertainment on your shoulders, and were just the life and soul—— If I can give you a day in harvest, as the country folks say, another time—” He smote Eddy on the shoulders a genial blow, but it made his slight figure quiver. “You may not understand that homely form of speech; but if I can serve you, my boy, at a pinch—— I never grudge anything I can do for a man that’s served me in time of need. What’s the matter with you, boy? are you ill?”
“No,” said Eddy, after a pause. “No—I’m not ill; it was only something in my throat. You’re too good, sir. I can’t look you in the face when I think——”
“Well, well,” said Rowland. It pleases a man to make an impression—to bring repentance to a careless soul. “You must just never do it again, as the children say. It’s a bad thing from beginning to end: even gambling in business I never could agree with. Honest work, that’s the only salvation—in this world. Don’t forget what I’ve said. And now we’ll go in to the ladies, who are waiting to give you your tea, and purr over you. For the steamboat will wait for no man, and you should leave here when we see her starting from the head of the loch.”
They went in together with a wonderful look of friendship, and there were curious signs of emotion in Eddy’s face. Had he spoken to papa? Marion asked herself. If he had done so, it was clear that the answer had not been unfavourable; but in that case, why was Eddy in so dreadful a hurry to get away?
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Eddy had gone, and a silence, that seemed to radiate round the house like a special atmosphere, fell upon Rosmore. Winter, which had been only threatening, dropped all at once in torrents of sweeping rain and wild winds that shook the house. It requires a lively spirit at any time to stand up against the pale downpour which falls in sheets from the colourless sky between the large dull windows and the cowering trees, and shuts out every other prospect: but when there is misery within, the climax afforded by that dismal monotony without is appalling. The two girls scarcely knew what it was; it was the re-action after the ball, which had been such a great thing to look forward to, and now was over, and everything connected with it: no more preparations or consultations—everything swept away and ended. It was the departure of everybody, even “the boys,” as Marion called them, Archie and Eddy, who had been the constant companions of “the girls” in all their walks and talks: quite enough to account for the dismal dullness which fell over these two unfortunate young women like a pall. Rosamond had not gone with her brother, partly because she was under her father’s orders to remain, and partly because a great fear of some discovery, she did not know what, which might be made after Eddy was gone, and for which he would need an advocate and champion on the spot, was in her mind. Eddy had so often wanted a defender; there had been so often discoveries made after he had got himself out of reach of censure; and it was so much more likely in this particular matter, which was disturbing the house, whatever it might be, that it was Eddy and not Archie who was to blame. Rosamond thought, with a little contempt of Archie, that it was so little likely he would be to blame. He had not spirit enough to go wrong. He was so tame, so unaccustomed to do anything—and to do something, even if it were wrong, seemed so much better than the nullity of such a limited life. It seemed to Rosamond that Eddy, who was always in scrapes, always doing something, and mostly wrong things, was twenty times more interesting than the other, but far more likely to be the author of this trouble which hung so heavy on the house than Archie was. It seemed to the experienced sister that something was sure to happen in a day or two to prove this; to bring back Archie and place her in her accustomed position as her brother’s defender. That anticipation, and a deep knowledge of the dreariness of the London house, all shut up and dusty, with the dreadful ministrations of the charwoman, and the gloom of the closed rooms from which she could not escape to any cheerfulness of a club, kept her in Rosmore, though she was exceedingly tired of it and of the society of Marion, now her chief companion. They were as unlike each other as girls could be. Rosamond’s aspirations were not perhaps very lofty, but that hope of departing from all the conventionality (as she thought) of life, and setting up with Mabel Leighton in lodgings like two young men, to work together at whatever fantasy might be uppermost, was an opening at least to the imagination which Marion’s limited commonplace had no conception of. Marion thought of the glories of the coming spring, of going to Court and the dress she should wear, and the suitors who would come to her feet. That duke!—she had not made acquaintance with any dukes, and wondered whether there was one young enough and free, so as to realize Eddy’s prophecy. She did not even know that all that information could be acquired from Debrett, nor was there a Debrett in the house, had she been aware of its qualities. The duke was a sort of Prince Charming,—always possible. If it could only come about by any combination of fortune that Eddy should turn out to be one! but that was a contingency which Marion knew to be impossible, and upon which she did not suffer herself to dwell.
It was in reality a sign of her simplicity and unsophisticated mind that she gave herself up so unhesitatingly to this dream. Rosamond knew a great deal better: she knew for one thing that there was no duke in the market—a fact hidden from poor Marion—and that suitors do not precipitate themselves at the feet even of a rich young woman in society, unless she is a fabulously rich young woman. Rosamond was also much too experienced to imagine for a moment, as the simple Marion did, that whatever Archie had done he would be summarily disinherited and all his advantages handed over to his sister. There had been a row, Rosamond was aware, but it would pass over as rows did in families, and the son would have his natural place, and May would but be a prettyish underbred girl the more, with a good deal of money, but not that fabulous fortune which alone works miracles. Rosamond did not think very highly of Marion’s chances; and all that she thought about Archie was a hope that her father might not see him and build any plans upon him in respect to herself.
While, however, the girls, in waterproofs, took occasional walks together, not knowing how to make conversation, two creatures speaking different languages, and found time hang very heavy on their hands—indoors the elder pair also passed the days heavily, with an absence of all meaning and motive in their life, such as aggravates every trouble. It is always a difficult matter for a man who has led a busy life, full of work and its excitements, to settle down in the country, especially if he has no estate to manage,—nothing to do, as people say, but enjoy himself. And no doubt this first setting in of winter and the virtual separation from the world caused by the persistent bad weather, would have been, under any circumstances, a trial of James Rowland’s cheerfulness and patience. But enhanced as this was by the horror and shame of such a discovery—one that turned the wavering balance of disappointment and hope, sometimes swaying to one side and sometimes to the other, into an immovable bar of sharp despair and bitter rage against his only son, the unworthy and shameless boy who had left him so little in doubt as to his character and qualities—the effect was terrible. Sometimes Evelyn persuaded him to go out with her down the glistening gravel paths towards the woods, or even to the Manse and the village: for he now loathed “the view” which he had loved, and avoided that favourite peep of Clyde, as if it had a voice to taunt him with the disappointment of his hopes. The minister and his wife received them indeed with open arms, with the cordial “Come away in” of Scotch hospitality, and brewed, or rather “masked” (or perhaps Mrs. Dean, an advanced person, “infused”) the genial tea, and spread the steaming scones, which are a simple (and inexpensive) substitute for the fatted calf, gone out of fashion, for those rare guests. “Indeed, I thought we were never to see you again,” said the minister’s wife, not without a touch of offence. And when Evelyn put forward a hesitating excuse as to the bad weather, the west-country lady took her up a little sharply. “Lady Jean used never to mind. We are well used to the rain here, and it does no harm. You just put on a waterproof and you are quite safe. Indeed, I have heard people from the South say that though we have a great deal of rain, it’s very rare to find a day that you can’t go out sooner or later.”
“Mrs. Rowland will think, my dear,” said the minister, “that you are less glad to see her now than to upbraid her with not coming before.”
“That means that I am interfering with his department,” said Mrs. Dean. “I will not do that; and indeed, I have not seen you since the ball. Such a success as it was! I have seen very grand doings in the old times, when Lord Clydesdale had more heart to make a stir.”