The Semi-detached House/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III.
Arthur was gone. He brought his wife to Pleasance and passed one day there with her, in order that he might fancy her way of life while he was absent; and then departed, having promised positively not to dance with Madame von Moerkerke.
"I will not as you make a point of it; but I cannot think why you are jealous of that yea and nay woman, who has but the one merit of being well dressed."
"Oh, Arthur dear, remember that ball at L——— House, where you devoted yourself to her, and never spoke to me at all."
"Of course I did not, for remember the morning of that day, when you let that fellow Hilton ride by your side for two hours, and talked to him all through dinner. I made a vow never to speak to you again, and by the help of the angelic Moerkerke, kept it for a whole evening. The next day, you know, I was obliged to break it, in order to tell you I could not live without you."
Blanche felt the glow these words gave her, even when Arthur had left her, but still he was gone. She cried herself to sleep, and cried when she woke, and cried when Aileen arrived; and then Dr. Ayscough drove down, and gave her a regular scolding, and assured her she would destroy her health and her hopes if she behaved so foolishly, and that he could see nothing to cry about. Mrs. Ayscough had been in Wales with her mother all the summer, and he did not go about sobbing to all his patients; and he told Aileen to have a sofa placed out on the lawn, and make her sister pass the afternoon in the open air. Then Arthur's fond letter came, and after that matters mended considerably. There was the house to shew to Aileen, and the garden to investigate, and all sorts of red and gold barges came careering up the river, with well-dressed people, looking slightly idiotical as they danced furiously in the hot sun. Aunt Sarah and one or two intimate friends drove down, and envied Blanche her shady trees and cool river, and even insinuated that Arthur was very lucky to have obtained such a good appointment. But there Blanche drew her line, she steadily refused that comfort. She had several visitors the first week, and Dulham Lane was, as Janet and Rose had hoped, much enlivened thereby.
But Mrs. Hopkinson sat with her broad back to the window, pertinaciously declining to look at all the wickedness on wheels that was rolling by her door. She had found that the plan of shutting her shutters would probably end in a fall down her narrow staircase, so she had told her girls not to look out of the window, that poor Willis had reason to believe that the people next door were not at all creditable; and as Janet and Rose were singularly innocent in the ways of the world, and were always desirous to thwart Willis, and as they were particularly anxious to know whether flounces or double skirts were the prevailing fashion, they resented this exclusion from their only point of observation. Charlie missed his airings in the garden, and altogether the advent of Lady Chester had thrown a gloom over the Hopkinson circle.
When Sunday arrived, a fresh grievance occurred. The Hopkinsons had been allowed to make use of the pew belonging to Pleasance, and that was now occupied by Lady Chester and her sister. The slight bustle occasioned by the attempt to find a seat for Mrs. Hopkinson, who was of large dimensions, caused Blanche to look up, and with natural good breeding she opened her pew door, and beckoned to that lady to come in. She did so, and what with the heat of the day, and the thought of what Willis would say when he saw her sitting next to a lady of doubtful character, who had made a "fracaw in high life," she could hardly breathe. She enclosed herself in a palisade of hymn books and prayer books, sat close to the pew door, ready to burst through it at the slightest appearance of levity on the part of her companions, and it was only by dint of much fanning that she was enabled to sit through the service. She disappeared at the close of it before the sisters had finished their devotions.
"That poor woman seemed to feel the heat of the weather dreadfully," said Aileen.
"Yes, and I felt the heat of the poor woman, did not you? It was like having a stove put into the pew; but I am glad we were able to give her a seat, she looked troubled in mind. What a good sermon it was! I think we ought to make acquaintance with the clergyman, but I do not know how to set about it."
"I mean to go to the school," said Aileen, "and I suppose he takes charge of that," and so the sisters sauntered home. Mrs. Hopkinson had in the meantime hurried to rejoin her daughters and Willis, who had found places in the gallery. She could hardly wait till they were out of the church, before she began. "Oh, dear me! I wished I had toiled up to the gallery with you, girls; Willis, where do you think I got a seat?"
"On one of the tombs, ma'am?" he gloomily asked.
"No, my dear, in the Pleasance pew, actually in the same pew with one of those shocking women who made the fracaw. I never was so uncomfortable, and they are so pretty, and what is odd, they were so attentive to the service, never took their eyes off their prayer books, and they look so young to be so wicked."
"I forgot to tell you that my paper must have made a mistake," said Mr. Willis in his slowest and most complacent tone. "I saw the real Lady Chester and her sister drive by last Thursday and turn into the gate; fine horses she drives."
"And you have known it was the wife ever since Thursday?" said Mrs. Hopkinson, stopping short in her toilsome walk, and facing her son-in-law, "and never told me; and there was I, actually in church, fancying all sorts of shocking things about those pretty young creatures, and all because of you and your 'Weekly Lyre.' If you bring that vile paper into the house, I will put it into the fire, I will, depend upon it," and she looked as if it were just possible that she might wrap Willis up in the paper before the conflagration commenced. He was almost frightened, his mother-in-law so seldom turned upon him.
"I did not know you cared about it; indeed it rather surprises me, who can no longer take any interest in life, to see you so excited, and all for a woman who has separated herself from her husband."
"But we do not know that she has, it is only your paper that says so; and, indeed, if she has, it is probably Lord Chester's fault. I have always observed that when man and wife part, the husband is a brute. And to think how I behaved, puffing and blowing, and going off at last without even saying thank you, and all on account of the 'Weekly Lyre.'" The warm-hearted woman was really vexed, the more so, that she did not see how any amende was to be made. However, chance befriended her.
Lady Chester was quite knocked up by the morning's exertion, so Aileen went alone to the afternoon service, and found her fat friend of the morning coming out of the adjoining house, accompanied by her slim daughters. They arrived at the church door together, and then Aileen said, "If you are not provided with a seat, my sister is not coming to church, and there will be room in our pew for all your party." She was surprised to see the difference in Mrs. Hopkinson's appearance since the morning. Her good-humoured face had its usual benevolent look; she was actually cool, though the thermometer was some degrees higher than it had been, and her thanks were so cordial, that Aileen felt pleased to find her little civility so much valued.
"Who do you think that lady was who sat with us this morning?" Aileen said, as she rejoined Blanche on the lawn.
"How can I possibly guess, dear? Somebody evidently perturbed in mind, and very uncomfortable in body; but I have not an idea who she is."
"Neighbour Hopkinson," said Aileen quietly.
"You don't say so! now do write a line to Aunt Sarah forthwith, and beg her to come and see my Semi-detachment, and judge for herself if I am imaginative. I said Mrs. Hopkinson would be immensely fat, and so she is; you did not happen to see if she wore mittens, did you, Aileen?"
"I did not observe what she wore this evening; but I have a faint idea of a mitten holding a fan in the morning."
"No, have you?" said Blanche joyfully. "Tell Aunt Sarah to come early, and for the whole day at least! there are two of my imaginings verified, and perhaps the girls will begin practising 'Partant pour la Syrie' tomorrow."
"They are nice-looking girls," said Aileen, "and I do not think you would have thought the mother so fat this afternoon; and she looked so placid, I cannot think why she was so fussy in the morning; however, it is no business of ours, and now Blanche, come in, the dew is falling."
Aunt Sarah arrived, and, admitting the facts of size and mittens, suggested that they could in no way affect Blanche's daily comfort. While she was sitting by the river side with her nieces, a boat drew to the landing place, and Edwin Grenville's joyous voice hailed his sisters–"Can you give us some luncheon, Blanche? we are starving and tired."
"Then pray come and eat; but who are 'we?'"
"Harcourt, and Grey, and Hilton."
"Hilton," whispered Blanche. "Oh, Aunt Sarah, I wish Edwin would not bring him here, Arthur will be so angry."
"I cannot see why," said Aileen, hastily, and colouring up to the eyes.
"You are both much too young to receive morning visits from Edwin's brother officers," said Aunt Sarah, "and so I shall tell him; and I can safely undertake to make myself so unpleasant to his friends that they will be glad to go away again."
But there Aunt Sarah was signally mistaken. All her pithy remarks and sensible snubs were received by the young men as excellent jokes, and when they finally went away, Harcourt observed to Grey that "My Aunt was a jolly old fellow," and that he hoped she would be there next time they went. However, Blanche took the opportunity when Aileen was walking by the river side with three of the gentlemen, to tell her brother, that though it had been a very pleasant party, and though she was always glad to see him, yet, perhaps, he had better not bring his friends again. Arthur might not like it, he had rather a prejudice against Colonel Hilton.
"Oh, nonsense, Blanche! you must cure Arthur of prejudice; and the best of it is, that it was Hilton who proposed our landing here."
"Ah! that's just it," said Blanche.
"Just what?" said Edwin, "Why, Blanche, I thought the great good of your being married, was, that you became a staid, sober chaperone for Aileen."
"Well, I am very staid, and quite sober and steady, as you would say of your groom; but you know I am only eighteen, Edwin, and Arthur is away, and all circumstances considered, you had better come alone."
"Well! I never heard such nonsense; did you, Aunt Sarah?"
"No, my dear, I think it is excellent sense, quite refreshing. I could have said nothing better myself, and as the tide has turned, you may as well go. Good-bye, Edwin, you have been lucky in your tides to-day; generally they seem to me to run the wrong way. Aileen, bid your friends good-bye, for we are going in, Blanche is tired."
And so they all dispersed, and Blanche said to her sister, "I am glad Aunt Sarah was here. I shall tell Arthur how it was, and that I had nothing to do with Colonel Hilton's coming here. The next thing will be, that we shall hear of Arthur's waltzing with that horrid Madame von Moerkerke."
Aileen smiled, but made no answer, though she was in such excellent spirits the rest of the day, that it was obvious that she had no fear of Arthur or a rival.