CHAPTER XIVTHRUST AND PARRY
‘Of course you are quite strange to Bradstane?’ began Magdalen.
‘Yes, quite—at least, practically so. I can’t recall much about it. In fact, I’m strange to the north altogether, except Scotland—staying at hotels or shooting-boxes, you know.’
‘Ah, yes. Those are luxuries for the rich,’ said Magdalen, whose whole person, attire, and surroundings breathed an atmosphere of more than riches, of extravagance. ‘I may say I have never been in the south, for I haven’t, except to Bournemouth, with my aunt. Well, I wonder how you will “like,” as they say here. The society of Bradstane is a little peculiar. It is not intellectual—Eleanor felt a little surprise at this; Magdalen herself had not struck her as looking intellectual—‘and it is not by any means lively. And I suppose you have been accustomed to a good deal of variety in your life?’
‘Not lately. Six months ago, my aunt, Mrs. Stanley, who has been my second mother, died very suddenly. We have had a very quiet and a very sad house ever since, and if Bradstane were ever so gay, I should not be going out much now.’
‘Ah, yes, very sad—Otho mentioned your loss,’ murmuredMagdalen, who, with the self-absorption of her kind, had forgotten Eleanor’s account of her uncle’s condition.
‘And then,’ added Eleanor, feeling her heart beating just a little faster, but marching straight into the fray, ‘I have Otho. I hope to see something of him now. He is my only brother, and I have been much separated from him.’
‘Ah, your brother,’ said Magdalen, all at once discarding her purring tone, and taking up her knitting, with the expression of one who has just come to some mental decision. ‘He was the attraction, was he?’
‘Hateful woman!’ said Eleanor within herself. ‘She thinks he is her property, and that I am come to dispute him with her. So I have, and so I will.’ Then aloud, ‘Certainly, he was an attraction, if it needed a great attraction to make me wish to visit my own home, after so many years. Besides, who knows how long I may have the chance to be with him, and get to know him? I am astonished that he has not married before now.’
A slight pause. Eleanor herself was surprised to find in what style she was talking; but something in the very presence of the other woman seemed to arouse her pugnacity, and to place her in an almost aggressive attitude.
‘At any rate, while I have the field to myself, I mean to let Otho know that he has a sister,’ she pursued, with a slight laugh.
‘Highly commendable,’ said Magdalen, either with constraint or a slight sneer; it would have been difficult to say which.
‘He is a great friend of yours, I find,’ continued Eleanor, looking directly at Magdalen, who made no reply to the words. Eleanor paused a moment, andthen took her course. She was really anxious to learn, if she could, the extent of this woman’s influence over her brother; but more than that, to get to know whether she were a sincere woman, or a false one. She would feign a tender interest in Otho’s affairs, and a sisterly solicitude for his welfare. As a matter of fact, she knew nothing of the said affairs, nor whether well or ill might be the word to apply to his spiritual condition. She would try to discover. It was a hardy resolution, with such a woman as Magdalen for her opponent, but want of courage was not one of Eleanor’s defects.
‘It seems so strange,’ she presently went on, in a musing tone, ‘that you, living in the same place and being his friend, must have seen him often, and know him quite well, while I, his own sister, scarcely know anything about him.’
‘You think that is a great loss, I suppose?’
‘Well, yes, I do. I think I ought to know about him—good or bad. It seems to me unnatural that I should not. I wish you would tell me something about him, Miss Wynter. It really seems as though he had left us on purpose that we might discuss him.’
‘Why discuss him at all?’
‘Well,’ said Eleanor with a smile, ‘I don’t think you and I can have many objects of mutual interest to talk about. Otho is one, obviously—my brother and your friend. I think it is most natural to talk about him. From what he said of you, I am sure you must know a great deal of his character and disposition. He is very reserved, I think. I want to get on with him, of course. Can’t you tell me something of his tastes and habits?’
Miss Wynter’s white eyelids drooped, but quiverednot. Her fingers flew in and out of the scarlet wool, and the ivory needles made a pleasant, dull clicking. What she thought with cold annoyance was, that Eleanor was impertinent and inquisitive, devoid of tact andsavoir faire. (No one knew better than Eleanor herself that her present conduct was scarcely conventional, but she felt that she did not much care what it was, so long as she rode away from Balder Hall possessed of definite views as to Magdalen’s goodness or badness, and she rather hoped the conversation would disclose badness.) If the young woman were put down at once and promptly, Magdalen argued, she might perhaps profit by the lesson; if not, if encouraged in the least, she was almost certain to become very troublesome. So she said—
‘My dear child, you surely do not suppose that because a man comes once or twice a week and chats with one for an hour or two, or even spends a whole afternoon in one’s society, that he necessarily reveals to one anything of his real habits or character?’
‘It depends on what his habits may be, of course,’ said Eleanor with gravity; and, in spite of telling herself that she was acting a part, she felt a vague uneasiness, which vexed her like a coming trouble whenever any question arose of Otho and his doings. It was not the first time she had felt it. Dim reports of his fastness and strange habits had penetrated even to her well-sheltered home with the Stanleys; and more than once her uncle had said to her, ‘My dear, I’m afraid your brother spends a good deal of money in a very reckless way.’
‘It depends on what his habits may be,’ she repeated; ‘but he could not come so often as that and not show something of his character—or disposition, perhaps I should say.’
‘Well, you will see him daily, now that you have come to live with him—possibly for many hours in each day. I see him, at the most, once or twice a week, for an hour, or perhaps two hours. It is obvious that your opportunities will be incomparably greater than mine have been. Don’t you think you had better study his character at first hand—if you are interested in it, that is?’
‘If I am interested—in my own brother?’
‘I see you have very enthusiastic ideas, and quite orthodox ones, about brothers and sisters loving each other, however dissimilar in character and disposition they may be’ (Eleanor repressed a smile. She had not expressed any such views), ‘just because they are brothers and sisters. But, you know, it is not wise to take your impressions of any one in whom you are interested from a third person. How can you know what feelings and what motives might influence me in speaking to you of him——’
‘Oh, Miss Wynter, would Otho have brought me here if you had had a bad influence over him? He thinks so much of you,’ said Eleanor, seeing that Magdalen had accepted her (Eleanor’s) presentation of herself, and feeling that herrôlewas now an easy one to play.
‘No,’ pursued Miss Wynter, apparently unheeding Eleanor’s last remark; ‘study him and his character at your ease, by yourself, and don’t worry yourself about it. As for his habits—now, this advice really comes from my heart, Miss Askam,’ and Magdalen laid down her work and looked with cold earnestness at her companion—‘if he were younger than you, or in any way in your keeping or under your control, it would clearly be your duty to become acquainted with his incomings andoutgoings, and to supervise his proceedings. But just the reverse is the case. He is older than you by several years; he is his own master, and has been so for many years, accustomed to consult himself alone—you little know how much himself alone—in the management of his own affairs. He knows his own aims and wishes, if he has any. Let me advise you, if you wish to have a shadow of influence over him, never to interfere, by word, look, or deed, with anything that he may choose to do. I do not say that by this course you will gain an influence over him, but I say that if you do not observe it, you will lose every chance of ever gaining one. He will not brook the least appearance of meddling——’
‘But, indeed, I do not want——’ began Eleanor, astounded at the revelation her ruse had called forth—amazed at the depths of angry feeling which she saw quickly enough were surging under that composed exterior called Magdalen Wynter. But Magdalen had begun her exhortation, and was not to be easily stopped. In the same cold but energetic style she went on—
‘If you once let him see that you think his affairs are anything to you, your chance is gone.’
‘My chance—of what?’ thought Eleanor, looking, as she now felt, very grave.
Magdalen saw this gravity. Her thought was, ‘Silly, sentimental creature! The idea of coming rushing in with a mission or a vocation to improve her brother! Some women never will learn.’ Then, after a moment’s pause, she continued—
‘Men are odd, you know. If they do wrong, yes, even if they wrong you—if they do something flagrantly unjust, and you reproach them, or scold them, or try to make them see how bad they have been, what good doesit do? It does not make them sorry or ashamed, but it makes them think you very disagreeable; it makes them angry with you for dictating to them; it makes them cease to have any wish to please you, or any regard for you. Let him alone, unless you wish to make mischief. You understand me, I daresay?’
‘I’m afraid I understand that my brother’s habits are not what they should be.’
‘That is a very hasty conclusion, and shows that you certainly have not understood me. If I must speak so very plainly——’
‘I do not wish to interfere with him,’ said Eleanor, with a shade of hauteur; but she was uneasy, and an anxious colour had begun to burn on either cheek. She had come hither against her will. She had disliked Magdalen from Otho’s talk of her, had disliked her more on seeing and conversing with her, and had descended to subterfuge, to find out her thoughts about her brother. She was pure of any wish to be a missionary to Otho, which was evidently what Magdalen had gathered to be her object; but she had unwittingly called forth an indirect characterisation of her brother—and that from one who evidently knew him well, and was tenacious of her hold on him—which roused her deepest uneasiness. After the last words there was a pause, and then Eleanor said slowly, and wishing the while that she had not begun the conversation—
‘And I have no doubt that you know far more about him than I do.’
‘You credit me with a great deal of very important knowledge,’ said Magdalen, coldly and sweetly. ‘All I can say is, that if I possessed that knowledge to the full, I should not think of imparting it to you—not for a moment.And let me remind you that, whether he be good or bad, I am not your brother’s keeper. I think he is quite competent to take care of himself.’
‘I was not dreaming of assuming any such office,’ Eleanor said, fully convinced from Magdalen’s tone that she did feel herself to be Otho’s keeper, in a sense; that she liked the proprietorship, and meant to fight for her possession of it, if it were disputed. The idea of entering the lists with her filled Eleanor with disgust. Her impressions, could she have reduced them to their simplest form, were that Otho was not what he ought to be in the matter of conduct, and that Magdalen knew a good deal more about him than she chose to tell. Miss Wynter, however, seemed to consider the subject at an end, and to assume that Eleanor had found out her mistake. She herself began with a new subject.
‘How came you to know Michael Langstroth?’ she inquired, with her sweetest smile.
‘Oh, I don’t consider that I know him. Did you not hear what I said to Otho? He got into the carriage I was in, at a station near Tebay. He seemed in a great hurry, and jumped in as the train was setting off——’
‘Just like him!’
‘A porter at Tebay had told me that the station after this one at which Mr. Langstroth got in would be Bradstane, so I was collecting my things, and I suppose he saw from that label on my bag where I was really going; for he said, “Are you getting out at Cotherstone?” Then, of course, I explained, and he explained, and it was all right. He got out at Cotherstone, and I came on to Bradstane.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Magdalen, who had listened attentively, and watched no less attentively the manner and gesturesof the speaker. ‘He has such long distances to go in a country place like this.’
‘Do they call him “Doctor” Langstroth here?’
‘Yes, they all do. It is a country habit. He “doctors” them, so he is “the doctor;” but he practises as a surgeon.’
‘Is he a friend of yours, then?’
‘I have known him intimately for many years.’
‘Otho says that some one whom he called “Gilbert Langstroth” is his greatest friend. Is he any relation of this Mr. Langstroth?’
‘Brother.’
‘Indeed! But Otho seemed not to know Dr. Langstroth very well.’
‘They are not devoted to each other.’
‘Have they quarrelled?’
It could hardly be that these questions of Eleanor’s, put in all innocence and good faith, were agreeable to Magdalen. Perhaps, when she asked Otho to bring his sister soon, she had foreseen some such catechism. Perhaps she had reflected that the old facts of her engagement to Michael and its rupture, and the reasons assigned for it, must surely, sooner or later, come to Eleanor Askam’s ears, since they were public property, and it was not the fashion in Bradstane to hide any treasure, however minute, of fact or fiction, gossip or scandal, which had once gained credence in the public mind. Why not, she may have reflected, let Eleanor hear the story from herself, and so at any rate gain that first hearing which is supposed to go such a long way towards deciding the final verdict? She knew quite well that, along with the simple account of her own engagement to Michael, and of its having been broken off, Eleanorwould likewise hear that she, Magdalen, had jilted Michael, hoping to be married by Otho Askam. That, whether true or not, was what was said, and Magdalen knew it as well as if she had heard it herself. She knew, too, that women had laughed at her, and did laugh at her yet, because she had thrown Michael over, they said, and not secured Otho. People did not say those things to her, of course, but she knew that they were said, and that they would be said to Eleanor. Grievous though the questions of the latter might appear to her, therefore, it might have been still more grievous to know that Eleanor was seated in other drawing-rooms, hearing other versions of the story.
‘Oh, it is a long tale, rather,’ said she; and she related correctly enough the history of the two brothers, not mentioning her own relations to Michael, but watching Eleanor with interest. She saw how the girl’s eyes gradually kindled, and her lips parted, as she heard, and seemed almost to foresee the end of the tale. She leaned forward eagerly as Magdalen wound up with the story of the will and its directions, and how Michael had received the blow.
‘Yes?’ said Eleanor.
‘When he found that his father’s house was all that belonged to him, the first thing he did was to turn Gilbert out of it, calling him traitor, and saying he had lost his brother. He drove him out that instant, you know, on the spot.’
‘He was right,’ exclaimed Eleanor, in a deep voice, which showed how great had been her interest and her suspense; and as she spoke, she struck her riding whip emphatically across her left hand, and looked up with a frown. ‘I would have done the same. Cowardly, snakeliketraitor!’ The instinct of the fighting animal was strong in Eleanor, as it is in most healthy creatures.
‘You think so? A great many other persons thought the same; and a great lawyer, a friend of Michael’s, wanted him to dispute the will.’
‘And did he?’
‘Michael dispute it! My dear Miss Askam, he is far too haughty and high-flown to descend to any such mundane method of settling the matter. He said he washed his hands of it, and left his brother Gilbert to his conscience. He refused to touch any of the sum which was left him—or rather, to Gilbert, to manage for him. He said he had a profession which would keep him from starvation, and a roof to cover him—he would have no more.’
‘I agree with him,’ said Eleanor, still very emphatically; and she lifted her eyes, filled with the feeling that was in her, and her whole countenance brightened with an ennobling light, the result of inner exaltation, and as Magdalen met this gaze, her own eyes dilated, a look of something like affright crossed her face; she said quickly and coldly—
‘It sounds very well—very grand, does it not? Quite heroic, in fact.’
‘I think it was very fine—very high.’
‘It sounds so, and it was so, in a way. But when one comes down to the dull regions of common sense, as one always has to do in the end, it does not work very well. For instance, that high resolution that you admire so much was the rock that Michael and I split upon.’
‘Michael—and you,’ repeated Eleanor mechanically, looking at Magdalen with a new expression, and with all the glow fading from her eyes.
‘Yes, exactly. When Mr. Langstroth died, his sonand I had been engaged three years. We had always looked forward to being married—at least, I had—when our prospects improved. But when all this came out, and it was evident that Michael would have no assistance, and even refused what he might have had, there was an end to all that, of course. He was not well off. He never will be. He has not the spirit of—I won’t say money-making, but of the most ordinary providence for the future. When he refused the provision that had been made for him, I knew that meant that I must give him up, and I did so. We have only been friends ever since, and——’
‘You gave him up, then—oh, Miss Wynter, how could you?’ Eleanor had exclaimed, before she knew what she was saying. The next moment she felt that she had committed an indiscretion, but she scarcely improved the situation by hastily exclaiming, ‘Oh, I beg your pardon!’
‘There is no need,’ said Magdalen, quite composedly. ‘One cannot enter into the details of such things with strangers. I acted, as I thought, for the best. Poor Michael! He is such a fine fellow in some ways, but so utterly, so hopelessly unpractical. He is not fit for his position, or for the present age; and yet he is so loyal, so true. I do not believe he ever cared, or ever will care, for any woman but me,’ she added, looking pensively at Eleanor as she spoke. ‘That sounds rather a self-confident thing to say, does it not? but I have known him so long—I have good grounds for thinking that I am right. He is not like those men who love here a day, and there a day, and another day somewhere else.... Poor Michael!’
While she spoke, Eleanor felt her heart as heavy aslead within her. If Magdalen Wynter and Gilbert Langstroth were Otho’s friends, and beloved of him, and this other man was shut out and disliked—yes, her idea that Magdalen knew more about Otho than she would say must be correct, and it seemed as if the whole thing were painful and discordant. But she supposed Miss Wynter must possess unusual powers of fascination, since Michael, after being treated by her in a manner which even her representations could not make to appear creditable, remained her friend. Had he not been seated there when they arrived?
Pondering painfully on this problem, she was roused by the opening of the parlour door, and looked up quickly, in the hope that it might be Otho, and that they would soon escape from this room, which had become a place that oppressed her.