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The Young Step Mother

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Young Step Mother




'I am ready to submit to anything,' he added, fervently. 'As long as
you forgive me, I am ready to bear anything.'

'I forgive you from my heart,' said Mr. Kendal, warmly. 'I only wish
to consider what may be most expedient for you. I should scarcely
like to send you back to Oxford to retrieve your character, unless I
were sure that you would be more resolute in resisting temptation.
No, do not reply; your actions during this time of penance will be a
far more satisfactory answer than any promises. I had thought of
again applying to your cousin John, to take you into his bank, though
you could not now go on such terms as you might have done when there
was no error in the background, and I still sometimes question
whether it be not the safer method.'

'Whatever you please,' said Gilbert; 'I deserve it all.'

'Nay, do not look upon my decision, whatever it may be, as
punishment, but only as springing from my desire for your real
welfare. I will write to your cousin and ask whether he still has a
vacancy, but without absolutely proposing you to him, and we will
look on the coming months as a period of probation, during which we
may judge what may be the wisest course. I will only ask one other
question, Gilbert, and you need not be afraid to answer me fully and
freely. Have you any debts at Oxford?'

'A few,' stammered Gilbert, with a great effort.

'Can you tell me to whom, and the amount?'

He tried to recollect as well as he could, while completely
frightened and confused by the gravity with which his father was
jotting them down in his pocket-book.

'Well, Gilbert,' he concluded, 'you have dealt candidly with me, and
you shall never have cause to regret having done so. And now we will
only feel that you are at home, and dwell no longer on the cause that
has brought you. Come out, and see what we have been doing in the
meadow.'

Gilbert seemed more overthrown and broken down by kindness than by
reproof. He hardly exerted himself even to play with Maurice, or to
amuse his grandmother; and though his sisters treated him as usual,
he never once lifted up his eyes to meet Sophy's glance, and scarcely
used his voice.

Nothing could be more disarming than such genuine sorrow; and Sophy,
pardoning him with all her heart, and mourning for her past want of
charity, watched him, longing to do something for his comfort, and to
evince her tenderness; but only succeeded in encumbering every petty
service or word of intercourse with a weight of sad consciousness.




CHAPTER XXI.



'I had almost written to ask your pardon,' said Mrs. Dusautoy, as
Albinia entered her drawing-room on the afternoon following. 'I
should like by way of experiment to know what _would_ put that boy
out of countenance. He listened with placid graciousness to his
uncle's lecture, and then gave us to understand that he was obliged
for his solicitude, and that there was a great deal of jealousy and
misrepresentation at Oxford; but he thought it best always to submit
to authorities, however unreasonable. And this morning, after
amiably paying his respects to me, he said he was going to inquire
for Gilbert. I intimated that Willow Lawn was the last place where
he would be welcome, but he was far above attending to me. Did
Gilbert see him?'

'Gilbert was in the garden with us when we were told he was in the
house. Poor fellow, he shuddered, and looked as if he wanted me to
guard him, so I sent him out walking with Maurice while I went in,
and found Lucy entertaining the gentleman. I made myself as cold and
inhospitable as I could, but I am afraid he rather relishes a
dignified retenue.'

'Poor boy! I wonder what on earth is to be done with him. I never
before knew what John's love and patience were.'

'Do you think he will remain here?'

'I cannot tell; we talk of tutors, but John is really, I believe,
happier for having him here, and besides one can be sure the worst he
is doing is painting a lobster. However, much would depend on what
you and Mr. Kendal thought. If he and Gilbert were doing harm to
each other, everything must give way.'

'If people of that age will not keep themselves out of harm's way,
nobody can do it for them,' said Albinia, 'and as long as Gilbert
continues in his present mood, there is more real separation in
voluntarily holding aloof, than if they were sent far apart, only to
come together again at college.'

Gilbert did continue in the same mood. The tender cherishing of his
home restored his spirits; but he was much subdued, and deeply
grateful, as he manifested by the most eager and affectionate
courtesy, such as made him almost the servant of everybody, without
any personal aim or object, except to work up his deficient studies,
and to avoid young Dusautoy. He seemed to cling to his family as his
protectors, and to follow the occupations least likely to lead to a
meeting with the Polysyllable; he was often at church in the week,
rode with his father, went parish visiting with the ladies, and was
responsible when Maurice fished for minnows in the meadows. Nothing
could be more sincerely desirous to atone for the past and enter on a
different course, and no conduct could be more truly humble or
endearing.

The imaginary disdain of Ulick O'More was entirely gone, and
perceiving that the Irishman's delicacy was keeping him away from
Willow Lawn, Gilbert himself met him and brought him home, in the
delight of having heard of a naval cadetship having been offered to
his brother, and full of such eager joy as longed for sympathy.

'Happy fellow!' Gilbert murmured to himself.

Younger in years, more childish in character, poor Gilbert had
managed to make his spirit world-worn and weary, compared with the
fresh manly heart of the Irishman, all centered in the kindred
'points of Heaven and home,' and enjoying keenly, for the very reason
that he bent dutifully with all his might to a humble and uncongenial
task.

Yet somehow, admire and esteem as he would, there arose no intimacy
or friendship between Gilbert and Ulick; their manners were frank and
easy, but there was no spontaneous approach, no real congeniality,
nor exchange of mind and sympathy as between Ulick and Mr. Kendal.
Albinia had a theory that the friendship was too much watched to
take; Sophy hated herself for the recurring conviction that 'Gilbert
was not the kind of stuff,' though she felt day by day how far he
excelled her in humility, gentleness, and sweet temper.

When the Goldsmiths gave their annual dinner-party, Albinia felt a
sudden glow at the unexpected sight of Ulick O'More.

'I am only deputy for the Orange man,' he said; 'it is Hyder Ali who
ought to be dining here! Yes, it is his doing, I'd back him against
any detective!'

'What heroism have you been acting together?'

'We had just given Farmer Martin L120 in notes, when as he went out,
we heard little Hyder growling and giving tongue, and a fellow
swearing as if he was at the fair of Monyveagh, and the farmer
hallooing thieves. I found little Hyder had nailed the rascal fast
by the leg, just as he had the notes out of the farmer's pouch. I
collared him, Johns ran for the police, and the rascal is fast.'

'What a shame to cheat Mr. Kendal of the committal.'

'The policeman said he was gone out, so we had the villain up to the
Admiral with the greater satisfaction, as he was a lodger in one of
the Admiral's pet public-houses in Tibb's Alley.'

'Ah, when Gilbert is of age,' said Albinia, 'woe to Tibb's! So you
are a testimonial to the Tripod?'

'So I suspect, for I found an invitation when I came home, I would
have run down to tell you, but I had been kept late, and one takes
some getting up for polite society.'

There was a great deal of talk about Hyder's exploit, and some
disposition to make Mr. O'More the hero of the day; but this was
quickly nipped by his uncle's dry shortness, and the superciliousness
with which Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy turned the conversation to the
provision of pistols, couriers, and guards, for travelling through
the Abruzzi. The polysyllabic courage, and false alarms on such a
scale, completely eclipsed a real pick-pocket, caught by a gipsy's
cur and a banker's clerk.

Not that Ulick perceived any disregard until later in the evening,
when the young Kendals arrived, and of course he wanted each and all
to hear of his Tripod's achievement. He met with ready attention
from Sophy and Gilbert, who pronounced that as the cat was to
Whittington, so was Hyder to O'More; but when in his overflowing he
proceeded to Lucy, she had neither eyes nor ears for him, and when
the vicar told her Mr. O'More was speaking to her, she turned with an
air of petulance, so that he felt obliged to beg her pardon and
retreat.

The Bayford parties never lasted later than a few minutes after ten,
but when once Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy and Miss Kendal had possession
of the piano and guitar, there was no conclusion. Song succeeded
song, they wanted nothing save their own harmony, and hardly waited
for Miss Goldsmith's sleepy thanks. The vicar hated late hours, and
the Kendals felt every song a trespass upon their hosts, but the
musicians had their backs to the world, and gave no interval, so that
it was eleven o'clock before Mr. Kendal, in desperation, laid his
hand on his daughter, and barbarously carried her off.

The flirtation was so palpable, that Albinia mused on the means of
repressing it; but she believed that to remonstrate, would only be to
give Lucy pleasure, and held her peace till a passion for riding
seized upon the young lady. The old pony had hard service between
Sophy's needs and Maurice's exactions, but Lucy's soul soared far
above ponies, and fastened upon Gilbert's steed.

'And pray what is Gilbert to ride?'

'Oh! papa does not always want Captain, or Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy
would lend him Bamfylde.'

'Thank you,' returned Gilbert, satirically.

Next morning Lucy, radiant with smiles, announced that all was
settled. Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy's Lady Elmira would be brought down
for her to try this afternoon, so Gilbert might keep his own horse
and come too, which permission he received with a long whistle and
glance at Mrs. Kendal, and then walked out of the room.

'How disobliging!' said Lucy. 'Well then, Sophy, you must make your
old hat look as well as you can, for I suppose it will not quite do
to go without anyone.'

Sophy, like her brother, looked at Mrs. Kendal, and with an eye of
indignant appeal and entreaty, while Albinia's countenance was so
full of displeasure, that Lucy continued earnestly, 'O, mamma, you
can't object. You used to go out riding with papa when he was at
Colonel Bury's.'

'Well, Lucy!' exclaimed her sister, 'I did not think even you capable
of such a comparison.'

'It's all the same,' said Lucy tartly, blushing a good deal.

Sophy leapt up to look at her, and Albinia trying to be calm and
judicious, demanded, 'What is the same as what?'

'Why, Algernon and _me_,' was the equally precise reply.

In stately horror, Sophy rose and seriously marched away, leaving, by
her look and manner, a species of awe upon both parties, and some
seconds passed ere, with crimson blushes, Albania ventured to invite
the dreaded admission, by demanding, 'Now, Lucy, will you be so good
as to tell me the meaning of this extraordinary allusion?'

'Why, to be sure--I know it was very different. Papa was so old, and
_there were us_,' faltered Lucy, 'but I meant, you would know how it
all is--how those things--'

'Stop, Lucy, am I to understand by those things, that you wish me to
believe you and Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy are on the game terms as--No,
I can't say it.'

'I don't know what you mean,' said Lucy, growing frightened, 'I never
thought there could be such an uproar about my just going out
riding.'

'You have led me to infer so much more, that it becomes my duty to
have an explanation, at least,' she added, thinking this sounded
cold, 'I should have hoped you would have given me your confidence.'

'O, but you always would make game of him!' cried Lucy.

'Not now; this is much too serious, if you have been led to believe
that his attentions are not as I supposed, because you are the only
girl about here whom he thinks worthy of his notice.'

'It's a great deal more,' said Lucy, with more feeling and less
vanity than had yet been apparent.

'And what has he been making you think, my poor child?' said Albinia.
'I know it is very distressing, but it would be more right and safe
if I knew what it amounts to.'

'Not much after all,' said Lucy, her tone implying the reverse, and
though her cheeks were crimson, not averse to the triumph of the
avowal, nor enduring as much embarrassment as her auditor, 'only he
made me sure of it--he said--(now, mamma, you have made me, so I
must) that he had changed his opinion of English beauty--you know,
mamma. And another time he said he had wandered Europe over to--to
find loveliness on the banks of the Baye. Wasn't it absurd? And he
says he does not think it half so much that a woman should be
accomplished herself, as that she should be able to appreciate other
people's talents--and once he said the Principessa Bianca di Moretti
would be very much disappointed.'

'Well, my dear,' said Albinia, kindly putting her arm round Lucy's
waist, 'perhaps by themselves the things did not so much require to
be told. I can hardly blame you, and I wish I had been more on my
guard, and helped you more. Only if he seems to care so little about
disappointing this lady might he not do the same by you?'

'But she's an Italian, and a Roman Catholic,' exclaimed Lucy.

Albinia could not help smiling, and Lucy, perceiving that this was
hardly a valid excuse for her utter indifference towards her
Grandison's Clementina, continued, 'I mean--of course there was
nothing in it.'

'Very possibly; but how would it be, if by-and-by he told somebody
that Miss Kendal would be very much disappointed?'

'O, mamma,' cried Lucy, hastily detaching herself, 'you don't know!'

'I cannot tell, my poor Lucy,' said Albinia. 'I fear there must be
grief and trouble any way, if you let yourself attend to him, for you
know, even if he were in earnest, it would not be right to think of a
person who has shown so little wish to be good.'

Lucy stood for a few moments before the sense reached her mind, then
she dropped into a chair, and exclaimed,

'I see how it is! You'll treat him as grandpapa treated Captain
Pringle, but I shall break my heart, quite!' and she burst into
tears.

'My dear, your father and I will do our best for your happiness, and
we would never use concealment. Whatever we do shall be as Christian
people working together, not as tyrants with a silly girl.'

Lucy was pleased, and let Albinia take her hand.

'Then I will write to decline the horse. It would be far too
marked.'

'But oh, mamma! you wont keep him away!'

'I shall not alter our habits unless I see cause. He is much too
young for us to think seriously of what he may have said; and I
entreat you to put it out of your mind, for it would be very sad for
you to fix your thoughts on him, and then find him not in earnest,
and even if he were, you know it would be wrong to let affection grow
up where there is no real dependence upon a person's goodness.'

The kindness soothed Lucy, and though she shed some tears, she did
not resist the decision. Indeed she was sensible of that calm
determination of manner, which all the family had learnt to mean that
the measures thus taken were unalterable, whereas the impetuous
impulses often were reversed.

Many a woman's will is like the tide, ever fretting at the verge of
the boundary, but afraid to overpass it, and only tempting the utmost
limit in the certainty of the recall, and Lucy perhaps felt a kind of
protection in the curb, even while she treated it as an injury. She
liked to be the object of solicitude, and was pleased with Albinia's
extra kindness, while, perhaps, there was some excitement in the
belief that Algernon was missing her, so she was particularly
amenable, and not much out of spirits.

The original Meadows character, and Bayford breeding, had for a time
been surmounted by Albinia's influence and training; but so ingrain
was the old disposition, that a touch would at once re-awaken it, and
the poor girl was in a neutral state, coloured by whichever
impression had been most recent. Albinia's hopes of prevailing in
the end increased when Mrs. Dusautoy told her, with a look of
intelligence, that Algernon was going to stay with a connexion of his
mother, a Mr. Greenaway, with six daughters, very stylish young
ladies.

Six stylish young ladies! Albinia could have embraced them all, and
actually conferred a cordial nod on Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy when she
met him on the way home.

But as she entered the house, so ominous a tone summoned her to the
library, that she needed not to be told that Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy
had been there.

'I told him,' said Mr. Kendal, 'that he was too young for me to
entertain his proposal, and I intimated that he had character to
redeem before presenting himself in such capacity.'

'I hope you made the refusal evident to his intellect.'

'He drove me to be more explicit than I intended. I think he was
astonished. He stared at me for full three minutes before he could
believe in the refusal. Poor lad, it must be real attachment, there
could be no other inducement.'

'And Lucy is exceedingly pretty.'

Mr. Kendal glanced at the portrait over the mantelpiece smiled sadly,
and shook his head.

'Poor dear,' continued Albinia, 'what a commotion there will be in
her head; but she has behaved so well hitherto, that I hope we may
steer her safely through, above all, if one of the six cousins will
but catch him in the rebound! Have you spoken to her?'

'Is it necessary?'

'So asked her grandfather,' said Albinia, smiling, as he, a little
out of countenance, muttered something of 'foolish affair--mere
child--and turn her head--'

'That's done!' said Albinia, 'we have only to try to get it straight.
Besides, it would hardly be just to let her think he had meant
nothing, and I have promised to deal openly with her, otherwise we
can hardly hope for plain dealing from her.'

'And you think it will be a serious disappointment?'

'She is highly flattered by his attention, but I don't know how deep
it may have gone.'

'I wish people would let one's daughters alone!' exclaimed Mr.
Kendal. 'You will talk to her then, Albinia, and don't let her think
me more harsh than you can help, and come and tell me how she bears
it.'

'Won't you speak to her yourself?'

'Do you think I must?' he said, reluctantly; 'you know so much better
how to manage her.'

'I think you must do this, dear Edmund,' she said, between decision
and entreaty. 'She knows that I dislike the man, and may fancy it my
doing it she only hears it at second hand. If you speak, there will
be no appeal, and besides there are moments when the really nearest
should have no go-betweens.'

'We were not very near without you,' he said. 'If it were Sophy, I
should know better what to be about.'

'Sophy would not put you in such a fix.'

'So I have fancied--' he paused, smiling, while she waited in eager
curiosity, such as made him finish as if ashamed. 'I have thought
our likings much the same. Have you never observed what I mean?'

'Oh! I never observe anything. I did not find out Maurice and
Winifred till he told me. Who do you think it is? I always thought
love would be the making of Sophy. I see she is another being. What
is your guess, Mr. Hope?'

Mr. Kendal made a face of astonishment at such an improbable guess,
and was driven into exclaiming, 'How could any one help thinking of
O'More?'

'Oh! only too delightful!' cried Albinia. 'Why didn't I think of
it--but then his way is so free and cousinly with us all.'

'There may be nothing in it,' said Mr. Kendal; 'and under present
circumstances it would hardly be desirable.'

'If old Mr. Goldsmith acts as he ought,' continued Albinia, 'we
should never lose our Sophy--and what a son we should have! he has so
exactly the bright temper that she needs.'

'Well, well, that is all in the clouds,' said Mr. Kendal. 'I wish
the present were equally satisfactory.'

'Ah, I had better call poor Lucy.'

'Come back with her, pray,' called Mr. Kendal, nervously.

Albinia regretted her superfluous gossip when Lucy appeared with eyes
so sparkling, and cheeks so flushed, that it was plain that she had
been in all the miseries of suspense. Her countenance glowed with
feeling, that lifted her beyond her ordinary doll-like prettiness.
Albinia's heart sank with compassion as she held her hand, and her
father stood as if struck by something more like the vision or his
youth than he had been prepared for; each feeling that something
genuine was present, and respecting it accordingly.

'Lucy,' said Mr. Kendal, tenderly, 'I see I need not tell you why I
have sent for you. You are very young, my dear, and you must trust
us to care for your happiness.'

'Yes.' Lucy looked up wistfully.

'This gentleman has some qualities such as may make him shine in the
eyes of a young lady; but it is our duty to look farther, and I am
afraid I know nothing of him that could justify me in trusting him
with anything so precious to me.'

Lucy's face became full of consternation, her hand lay unnerved in
Albinia'a pressure, and Mr. Kendal turned his eyes from her to his
wife, as he proceeded,

'I have seen so much wretchedness caused by want of religious
principle, that even where the morals appeared unblemished, I should
feel no confidence where I saw no evidence of religion, and I should
consider it as positively wrong to sanction an engagement with such a
person. Now you must perceive that we have every means of forming an
opinion of this young man, and that he has given us no reason to
think he would show the unselfish care for your welfare that we
should wish to secure.'

Albinia tried to make it comprehensible. 'You know, my dear, we have
always seen him resolved on his own way, and not caring how he may
inconvenience his uncle and aunt. We know his temper is not always
amiable, and differently as you see him, you must let us judge.'

Wrenching her hand away, Lucy burst into tears. Her father looked at
Albinia, as if she ought to have saved him this infliction, and she
began a little whispering about not distressing papa, which checked
the sobs, and enabled him to say, 'There, that's right, my dear, I
see you are willing to submit patiently to our judgment, and I
believe you will find it for the best. We will do all in our power
to help you, and make you happy,' and bending down he kissed her, and
left her to his wife.

In such family scenes, logic is less useful than the power of coming
to a friendly conclusion; Lucy's awe of her father was a great
assistance, she was touched with his unwonted softness, and did not
apprehend how total was the rejection. But what he was spared, was
reserved for Albinia. There was a lamentable scene of sobbing and
weeping, beyond all argument, and only ending in physical exhaustion,
which laid her on the bed all the rest of the day.

Gilbert and Sophy could not but be aware of the cause of her
distress. The former thought it a great waste.

'Tell Lucy,' he said, 'that if she wishes to be miserable for life,
she has found the best way! He is a thorough-bred tyrant at heart,
pig-headed, and obstinate, and with the very worst temper I ever came
across. Not a soul can he feel for, nor admire but himself. His
wife will be a perfect slave. I declare I would as soon sell her to
Legree.'

Sophy's views of the gentleman were not more favourable, but she was
in terror lest Lucy should have a permanently broken heart, after the
precedent of Aunt Maria. And on poor Sophy fell the misfortune of
being driven up by grandmamma's inquiries, to own that the proposal
had been rejected.

Shade of poor dear Mr. Meadows, didst thou not stand aghast! Five
thousand a year refused! Grandmamma would have had a fit if she had
not conceived a conviction, that imparted a look of shrewdness to her
mild, simple old face. Of course Mr. Kendal was only holding off
till the young man was a little older. He could have no intention of
letting his daughter miss such a match, and dear Lucy would have her
carriage, and be presented at court.

Sophy argued vehemently against this, and poor grandmamma, who had
with difficulty been taught worldly wisdom as a duty, and always
thought herself good when she talked prudently, began to cry. Sophy,
quite overcome, was equally distressing with her apologies; Albinia
found them both in tears, and Sophy was placed on the sick-list by
one of her peculiar headaches of self-reproach.

It was a time of great perplexity. Lucy cried incessantly, bursting
out at every trifle, but making no complaints, and submitting so
meekly, that the others were almost as unhappy as herself.

She was first cheered by the long promised visit from Mrs. Annesley
and Miss Ferrars. Albinia had now no fears of showing off home or
children, and it was a great success.

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