The Semi-attached Couple/Chapter 12
CHAPTER XII
The Teviots had reached the end of the second week of their honeymoon undisturbed, except by the visits of two or three neighbours. It was almost time that there should be some change, at least Mrs. Tomkinson wished to goodness there might soon be what she called "a little staying company" in the house, if it were only that my lady might wear some of her bettermost gowns; and she also thought my lady seemed rather moped somehow. Mr. Phillips gave it as his humble opinion that "our folks had had enough of their own company for one while." It has never been definitely stated what period of time "one while" comprises, nor whether there is a plural to the substantive, and "two whiles" represent a certain number of days or weeks. However that may be, Phillips and Tomkinson had judged with their usual discrimination. That same day Lord Teviot went into Helen's boudoir with some letters in his hand.
"Helen, here is some company for you. Lady Portmore has offered herself for Friday."
"That is rather a short notice, is it not?"
"Yes—no; I do not think that signifies. We should be glad of her visit, either on a short notice or a long one. I shall be delighted to see her, and she must know she is welcome at St. Mary's—always has been, and always will be."
"Are you expecting any other friends?" said Helen, putting aside the question of the Portmore welcome.
"Yes, two or three men. Lady Portmore says she is sure we shall have been too much occupied with each other"—and he smiled rather scornfully—"to think of arranging a pleasant party, and that we shall be obliged to her for inviting a few people we all know."
"I am not sure that I am obliged to her just now," said Helen, hurrying on through her sentence. "My letters had given me the idea of a totally different plan. The Trevors have been obliged to go to Walden, and papa and mamma are left quite alone; and I thought we might surprise them with a visit now, instead of next month, when you promised to go to them. How I should like it! but, if we cannot put off Lady Portmore"
"We neither can nor will," said Lord Teviot. "I am sorry you are already tired of your own home; but, such as it is, I am afraid I must trouble you to stay in it. And though my friends are not, of course, to be compared to yours, I cannot begin by affronting them all."
Helen made no answer, and after a moment's pause took up her work. Lord Teviot walked to the window, and began playing with the tame bullfinch that stood in it. The silence that ensued was long and awful, but was broken by him as he said, in a constrained voice, "Have you had no other letter but that from your mother?"
"None of any consequence."
"Did not Beaufort write? I thought I saw his hand."
"There is his letter; there are all my letters, if you like to see them," said Helen—a faint suspicion dawning on her mind that Lord Teviot was jealous of her family. He seemed to waver, but she placed them on the table, and, moving her work-frame nearer to the window, left the field open to him. He took up the letters with a slight sensation of shame. Lady Eskdale's was as usual affectionate and amiable; and though she expressed strongly her wish to see her daughter, she said she knew it was not likely Lord Teviot could leave his home again so soon; and she mentioned her invitation to Eliza Douglas, which she hoped would satisfy Helen's doubts of her comfort. "It is a sad change, my darling, but as it is for your happiness I cannot complain, and your letters are the greatest possible comfort to me. Do tell your idle husband to write to me." Lord Beaufort wrote from London, where he had seen the Portmores, and he said he should have joined their party to St. Mary's, but that he was seized with a fit of filial duty, and meant to run down to Eskdale Castle, to console his respected and deserted papa and mamma. " They fancy, poor deluded creatures, that they miss you dreadfully, and that no one can fill up your vacant place. Strange illusion! which my august presence will instantly dispel. After I have raised their spirits to their proper pitch, it is just possible that I may raise my own, by coming to see my little Nell; so tell Teviot to expect me, and to turn his attention towards partridges and pheasants." There was a third letter in a hand-writing Lord Teviot did not know. "Am I to read this, Helen?"
"If you like. It is from my friend Mary Forrester, of whom you may have heard me speak."
"Yes; I have seen her at the Portmores: a very handsome girl. Where is she now?"
"At Richmond, with her aunt."
She, like the other two, seemed full of deep interest in Helen, and it was with a strange mixture of pride in the affection she inspired, and jealousy of those who expressed it so warmly, that he perused these letters. He saw how tenderly Helen had always been treated; how dear she was to her family. He himself loved Lady Eskdale almost as a mother. Lord Beaufort was one of the young men of his own standing, whom he liked best; but when he looked upon them as his rivals in the heart of his wife, he could not bring himself to speak kindly of them, at least not to her. He hardly knew how to begin the conversation again. Helen seemed to have no curiosity about his guests; but he recollected a paragraph in Beaufort's letter that might help him.
"Did you observe that Beaufort says your cousin Ernest is coming here?"
"Yes, I supposed he was—at least, that he was asked; he is sure to be included in the Portmore list."
"That is a hit at Lady Portmore, I suppose," said Lord Teviot, again on the point of taking fire; but he checked himself. "It will be a great pleasure to you to see Ernest, I should think?"
"Yes," said Helen, faintly; "he is rather amusing."
"More than that, he is clever, and can be very pleasant when he chooses. I am going to answer Lady Portmore! Have you any message? She asks if she can bring anything from town for you?"
"Nothing whatever, thank you."
"Have you any letters for the post-bag?"
"I shall have one for papa."
"To your father?" said Lord Teviot; and suddenly the thought occurred to him that she was going to write to complain of her situation. She was silent. "Might I ask, without being considered impertinent, what is this sudden fancy for writing to Lord Eskdale, and when the idea entered your head?"
Helen stooped down, and, taking a letter from the work-basket that stood by her side, broke the seal. She pushed away her work-frame, and passing quickly by the table at which Lord Teviot sat—
"I must go and breathe the fresh air," she said, and her voice sounded low and dispirited. "There is my letter to my father; will you seal it and send it? If you like to write in this room, you will find pens and paper there, and you will not be disturbed, for I am going out." She went without waiting for an answer.
"So! I drive her out of her own room, if I come into it," thought Lord Teviot. "She thinks I am jealous, or curious, or she would not have shown me all these letters. She cannot say one kind word; she does not even look kindly at me, and she evidently thinks of nothing but her own family. I suppose she compares me with all these doting relations, and thinks me cold and hateful; and yet which of them can dote on her as I do if she would let me? She would actually have gone back to them without me, I believe. No, I remember she said we; but still she called Eskdale Castle her home. My house is clearly not her home; and she has not asked one of her friends to come and stay here. Does she think I should not like it, or is she afraid that they will see she is not happy? Not happy! Helen, my own Helen, whom I could have loved, whom I do love, as I never loved any human being. There are moments when I think she hates me. Now here is this letter to her father. How quick and angry she was about that! I did not ask to see it. I did not know she had written to him till she said so herself. I have a great mind to write to Lady Eskdale, and to ask her to come here. She and Lord Eskdale, and Beaufort, and that Miss Douglas, and the whole clan, and that will show Helen I am not jealous of them, and it is the best chance I have of pleasing her. I dare say, that because I ask them, she will not be glad to see them. Who's knocking there? Come in. Come in, I say. Good heavens, how I hate to be made to roar out 'Come in' ten times over!"
"It's only me, my lord," said Mrs. Tomkinson. "If you please, my lord, her ladyship has left her bonnet here."
"Very well, Mrs. Tomkins, look for it."
"Her ladyship will be ready in a moment, my lord," said Mrs. Tomkinson, who could not resist the chance of a little talk. She had an ambitious idea that she was diving into my lord's character.
"Very well; shut the door."
"Umph!" thought Mrs. Tomklnson, as she obeyed; "how very uncivil; and calling me Tomkins, too! I hate to be called out of my name. Now I should like to know what he's doing of with all those letters. I wonder whether my lady chooses for him to be ransacking her papers, and whether that's the right thing with married people. Here's your ladyship's bonnet. I could not lay my hand on it rightly, because of my lord's sitting so just at the writing-table."
"Is my lord writing?"
"His lordship seemed to be busy with some papers as was on the table," said Mrs. Tomkinson, guardedly, and with a look of curiosity to see if the hint told. The pause that ensued left her still in doubt. "Shall I step back and tell my lord your ladyship is ready?"
"No," said Helen, absently.
"I can easily go back on pretence to see for your ladyship's gloves"; and Tomkinson began to think the case was assuming great interest.
"No, no," said Lady Teviot, thoroughly roused; "don't disturb Lord Teviot; he was so good as to offer to finish and seal my letters; don't run in and out to disturb him."
"Law, my lady, how good his lordship is! It quite pleased me to see him sitting so comfortable and at home in your ladyship's beautiful boudoir. I wish Lord and Lady Eskdale were here to see how happy your ladyship is. There! there's my lady gone; I declare I think she looks very bad; not a hatom of colour compared to what she had. I ain't quite sure yet but what I think my lord a brute; at least, I shall make a point of thinking so if he plagues my lady. And calling me Tomkins, too—such an idea!"