Маргарет Олифант
Old Mr. Tredgold
Algy gaped at Katherine, who was supposed to be a sort of incipient old maid and no fun at all, with eyes and mouth wide. “Oh, thanks!” he said. He could not master this new idea. She had been always supposed to be elderly and plain, whereas it appeared in reality that she was just as pretty as the other one. He had to be left in silence to assimilate this new thought.
“Mind you tell me every word Lottie Seton says. She is fun when she is proper, and she just can be proper to make your hair stand on end. Now remember, Miss Stella, that’s a bargain. You are to tell me every word she says.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort; you must think much of her indeed when you want to hear every word. I wonder you didn’t go after her if you thought so much of her as that.”
“Oh, yes, she’s very amusing,” said Sir Charles. “She doesn’t always mean to be, bless you, but when she goes in for the right and proper thing! Mrs. Grundy is not in it, by Jove! She’ll come to the hotel and go on at Algy; but it’s with you that the fun will be. I should like to borrow the servant’s clothes and get in a corner somewhere to hear. Lottie never minds what she says before servants. It is as if they were cabbages, don’t you know?”
“You seem to know a great deal about Mrs. Seton, Sir Charles,” said Stella severely; but he did not disown this or hesitate as Stella expected. He said, “Yes, by Jove,” simply into his big moustache, meaning Stella did not know what of good or evil. She allowed him to put her into the carriage which was waiting without further remark. Stella began to feel that it was by no means plain sailing with these young soldiers. Perhaps they were not so silly with her as with Mrs. Seton, perhaps Stella was not so clever; and certainly she did not take the lead with them at all.
“I think they are rude,” said Katherine; “probably they don’t mean any harm. I don’t think they mean any harm. They are spoiled and allowed to say whatever they like, and to have very rude things said to them. Your Mrs. Seton, for instance–”
“Oh, don’t say my Mrs. Seton,” said Stella. “I hate Mrs. Seton. I wish we had never known her. She is not one of our kind of people at all.”
“But you would not have known these gentlemen whom you like but for Mrs. Seton, Stella.”
“How dare you say gentlemen whom I like? as if it was something wrong! They are only boys to play about,” Stella said.
Which, indeed, was not at all a bad description of the sort of sentiment which fills many girlish minds with an inclination that is often very wrongly defined. Boys to play about is a thing which every one likes. It implies nothing perhaps, it means the most superficial of sentiments. It is to be hoped that it was only as boys to play about that Mrs. Seton herself took an interest in these young men. But her promise of a visit and a scold was perplexing to Stella. What was she to be scolded about, she whom neither her father nor sister had scolded, though she had given them such a night! And what a night she had given herself—terror, misery, and cold, a cold, perhaps, quite as bad as Algy Scott’s, only borne by her with so much more courage! This was what Stella was thinking as she drove home. It was a ruddy October afternoon, very delightful in the sunshine, a little chilly out of it, and it was pleasant to be out again after her week’s imprisonment, and to look across that glittering sea and feel what an experience she had gained. Now she knew the other side of it, and had a right to shudder and tell her awe-inspiring story whenever she pleased. “Oh, doesn’t it look lovely, as if it could not harm anyone, but I could tell you another tale!” This was a possession which never could be taken from her, whoever might scold, or whoever complain.
CHAPTER VII
“I only wonder to find you holding up your head at all. Your people must be very silly people, and no mistake. What, to spend a whole night out in the bay with Charlie Somers and Algy Scott, and then to ask me what you have done? Do you know what sort of character these boys have got? They are nice boys, and I don’t care about their morals, don’t you know? as long as they’re amusing. But then I’ve my husband always by me. Tom would no more leave me with those men by myself—though they’re all well enough with anyone that knows how to keep them in order; but a young girl like you—it will need all that your friends can do to stand by you and to whitewash you, Stella. Tom didn’t want me to come. ‘You keep out of it. She has got people of her own,’ he said; but I felt I must. And then, after all that, you lift up your little nozzle and ask what you have done!”
Stella sat up, very white, in the big easy-chair where she had been resting when Mrs. Seton marched in. The little girl was so entirely overwhelmed by the sudden downfall of all her pretensions to be a heroine that after the first minute of defiance her courage was completely cowed, and she could not find a word to say for herself. She was a very foolish girl carried away by her spirits, by her false conception of what was smart and amusing to do, and by the imperiousness natural to her position as a spoilt child whose every caprice was yielded to. But there was no harm, only folly, in poor little Stella’s thoughts. She liked the company of the young men and the éclat which their attendance gave her. To drag about a couple of officers in her train was delightful to her. But further than that her innocent imagination did not go. Her wild adventure in the yacht had never presented itself to her as anything to be ashamed of, and Mrs. Seton’s horrible suggestion filled her with a consternation for which there was no words. And it gave her a special wound that it should be Mrs. Seton who said it, she who had first introduced her to the noisy whirl of a “set” with which by nature she had nothing to do.
“It was all an accident,” Stella murmured at last; “everybody knows it was an accident. I meant to go—for ten minutes—just to try—and then the wind got up. Do you think I wanted to be drowned—to risk my life, to be so ill and frightened to death? Oh!” the poor little girl cried, with that vivid realisation of her own distress which is perhaps the most poignant sentiment in the world—especially when it is unappreciated by others. Mrs. Seton tossed her head; she was implacable. No feature of the adventure moved her except to wrath.
“Everybody knows what these accidents mean,” she said, “and as for your life it was in no more danger than it is here. Charlie Somers knows the bay like the palm of his hand. He is one of the best sailors going. I confess I don’t understand what he did it for. Those boys will do anything for fun; but it wasn’t very great fun, I should think—unless it was the lark of the thing, just under your father’s windows and so forth. I do think, Stella, you’ve committed yourself dreadfully, and I shouldn’t wonder if you never got the better of it. I should never have held up my head again if it had been me.”
They were seated in the pretty morning-room opening upon the garden, which was the favourite room of the two girls. The window was open to admit the sunshine of a brilliant noon, but a brisk fire was burning, for the afternoons were beginning to grow cold, when the sunshine was no longer there, with the large breath of the sea. Mrs. Seton had arrived by an early train to visit her friends, and had just come from Algy’s sick bed to carry fire and flame into the convalescence of Stella. Her injured virtue, her high propriety, shocked by such proceedings as had been thus brought under her notice, were indescribable. She had given the girl a careless kiss with an air of protest against that very unmeaning endearment, when she came in, and this was how, without any warning, she had assailed the little heroine. Stella’s courage was not at all equal to the encounter. She had held her own with difficulty before the indifference of the young men. She could not bear up at all under the unlooked-for attack of her friend.
“Oh, how cruel you are!—how unkind you are!—how dreadful of you to say such things!” she cried. “As if I was merely sport for them like a—like any sort of girl; a lark!—under my father’s windows–” It was too much for Stella. She began to cry in spite of herself, in spite of her pride, which was not equal to this strain.
Katherine had come in unperceived while the conversation was going on.
“I cannot have my sister spoken to so,” she said. “It is quite false in the first place, and she is weak and nervous and not able to bear such suggestions. If you have anything to say against Stella’s conduct it will be better to say it to my father, or to me. If anybody was to blame, it was your friends who were to blame. They knew what they were about and Stella did not. They must be ignorant indeed if they looked upon her as they would do upon”—Katherine stopped herself hurriedly—“upon a person of experience—an older woman.”
“Upon me, you mean!” cried Mrs. Seton. “I am obliged to you, Miss Tredgold! Oh, yes! I have got some experience and so has she, if flirting through a couple of seasons can give it. Two seasons!—more than that. I am sure I have seen her at the Cowes ball I don’t know how many times! And then to pretend she doesn’t know what men are, and what people will say of such an escapade as that! Why, goodness, everybody knows what people say; they will talk for a nothing at all, for a few visits you may have from a friend, and nothing in it but just to pass the time. And then to think she can be out a whole night with a couple of men in a boat, and nothing said! Do you mean to say that you, who are old enough, I am sure, for anything–”
“Katherine is not much older than I am,” cried Stella, drying her tears. “Katherine is twenty-three—Katherine is–”
“Oh, I’m sure, quite a perfect person! though you don’t always think so, Stella; and twenty-three’s quite a nice age, that you can stand at for ever so long. And you are a couple of very impudent girls to face it out to me so, who have come all this way for your good, just to warn you. Oh, if you don’t know what people say, I do! I have had it hot all round for far more innocent things; but I’ve got Tom always to stand by me. Who’s going to stand by you when it gets told all about how you went out with Charlie Somers and Algy Scott all by yourself in a boat, and didn’t come back till morning? You think perhaps it won’t be known? Why, it’s half over the country already; the men are all laughing about it in their clubs; they are saying which of ’em was it who played gooseberry? They aren’t the sort of men to play gooseberry, neither Algy nor Charlie. The old father will have to come down strong–”
Poor Stella looked up at her sister with distracted eyes. “Oh, Kate, what does she mean? What does she mean?” she cried.
“We don’t want to know what she means,” cried Katherine, putting her arms round her sister. “She speaks her own language, not one that we understand. Stella, Stella dear, don’t take any notice. What are the men in the clubs to you?”
“I’d like to know,” said Mrs. Seton with a laugh, “which of us can afford to think like that of the men in the clubs. Why, it’s there that everything comes from. A good joke or a good story, that’s what they live by—they tell each other everything! Who would care to have them, or who would ask them out, and stand their impudence if they hadn’t always the very last bit of gossip at their fingers’ ends? And this is such a delicious story, don’t you know? Charlie Somers and Algy Scott off in a little pleasure yacht with a millionaire’s daughter, and kept her out all night, by Jove, in a gale of wind to make everything nice! And now the thing is to see how far the old father will go. He’ll have to do something big, don’t you know? but whether Charlie or Algy is to be the happy man–”
“Kate!” said Stella with a scream, hiding her head on her sister’s shoulder. “Take me away! Oh, hide me somewhere! Don’t let me see anyone—anyone! Oh, what have I done—what have I done, that anything so dreadful should come to me.”
“You have done nothing, Stella, except a little folly, childish folly, that meant nothing. Will you let her alone, please? You have done enough harm here. It was you who brought those—those very vulgar young men to this house.”
Even Stella lifted her tearful face in consternation at Katherine’s boldness, and Mrs. Seton uttered a shriek of dismay.
“What next—what next? Vulgar young men! The very flower of the country, the finest young fellows going. You’ve taken leave of your senses, I think. And to this house—oh, my goodness, what fun it is!—how they will laugh! To this house–”
“They had better not laugh in our hearing at least. This house is sacred to those who live in it, and anyone who comes here with such hideous miserable gossip may be prepared for a bad reception. Those vulgar cads!” cried Katherine. “Oh, that word is vulgar too, I suppose. I don’t care—they are so if any men ever were, who think they can trifle with a girl’s name and make her father come down—with what? his money you mean—it would be good sound blows if I were a man. And for what? to buy the miserable beings off, to shut their wretched mouths, to–”
“Katherine!” cried Stella, all aglow, detaching herself from her sister’s arms.
“Here’s heroics!” said Mrs. Seton; but she was overawed more or less by the flashing eyes and imposing aspect of this young woman, who was no “frump” after all, as appeared, but a person to be reckoned with—not Stella’s duenna, but something in her own right. Then she turned to Stella, who was more comprehensible, with whom a friend might quarrel and make it up again and no harm done. “My dear,” she said, “you are the one of this family who understands a little, who can be spoken to—I shan’t notice the rude things your sister says—I was obliged to tell you, for it’s always best to hear from a friend what is being said about you outside. You might have seen yourself boycotted, don’t you know? and not known what it meant. But, I dare say, if we all stand by you, you’ll not be boycotted for very long. You don’t mean to be rude, I hope, to your best friends.”
“Oh, Lottie! I hope you will stand by me,” cried Stella. “It was all an accident, as sure, as sure–! I only took them to the yacht for fun—and then I thought I should like to see the sails up—for fun. And then—oh, it was anything but fun after that!” the girl cried.
“I dare say. Were you sick?—did you make an exhibition of yourself? Oh, I shall hear all about it from Algy—Charlie won’t say anything, so he is the one, I suppose. Don’t forget he’s a very bad boy—oh, there isn’t a good one between them! I shouldn’t like to be out with them alone. But Charlie! the rows he has had everywhere, the scandals he has made! Oh, my dear! If you go and marry Charlie Somers, Stella, which you’ll have to do, I believe–”
“He is the very last person she shall marry if she will listen to me!”
“Oh, you are too silly for anything, Katherine,” said Stella, slightly pushing her away. “You don’t know the world, you are goody-goody. What do you know about men? But I don’t want to marry anyone. I want to have my fun. The sea was dreadful the other night, and I was terribly frightened and thought I was going to be drowned. But yet it was fun in a way. Oh, Lottie, you understand! One felt it was such a dreadful thing to happen, and the state papa and everybody would be in! Still it is very, very impudent to discuss me like that, as if I had been run away with. I wasn’t in the least. It was I who wanted to go out. They said the wind was getting up, but I didn’t care, I said. ‘Let’s try.’ It was all for fun. And it was fun, after all.”
“Oh, if you take it in that way,” said Mrs. Seton, “and perhaps it is the best way just to brazen it out. Say what fun it was for everybody. Don’t go in for being pale and having been ill and all that. Laugh at Algy for being such a milksop. You are a clever little thing, Stella. I am sure that is the best way. And if I were you I should smooth down the old cats here—those old cats, you know, that came to the picnic—and throw dust in the eyes of Lady Jane, and then you’ll do. I’ll fight your battles for you, you may be sure. And then there is Charlie Somers. I wouldn’t turn up my nose at Charlie Somers if I were you.”
“He is nothing to me,” said Stella. “He has never said a word to me that all the world—that Kate herself—mightn’t hear. When he does it’ll be time enough to turn up my nose, or not. Oh, what do I care? I don’t want to have anybody to stand up for me. I can do quite well by myself, thank you. Kate, why should I sit here in a dressing gown? I am quite well. I want the fresh air and to run about. You are so silly; you always want to pet me and take care of me as if I were a child. I’m going out now with Lottie to have a little run before lunch and see the view.”
“Brava,” said Mrs. Seton, “you see what a lot of good I’ve done her—that is what she wants, shaking up, not being petted and fed with sweets. All right, Stella, run and get your frock on and I’ll wait for you. You may be quite right, Miss Tredgold,” she said, when Stella had disappeared, “to stand up for your family. But all the same it’s quite true what I say.”
“If it is true, it is abominable; but I don’t believe it to be true,” Katherine cried.
“Well, I don’t say it isn’t a shame. I’ve had abominable things said of me. But what does that matter so long as your husband stands by you like a brick, as Tom does? But if I were you, and Charlie Somers really comes forward—it is just as likely he won’t, for he ain’t a marrying man, he likes his fun like Stella—but if he does come forward–”
“I hope he will have more sense than to think of such a thing. He will certainly not be well received.”
“Oh, if you stick to that! But why should you now? If she married it would be the best thing possible for you. You ain’t bad looking, and I shouldn’t wonder if you were only the age she says. But with Stella here you seem a hundred, and nobody looks twice at you–”
Katherine smiled, but the smile was not without bitterness. “You are very kind to advise me for my good,” she said.
“Oh, you mean I’m very impudent—perhaps I am! But I know what I’m saying all the same. If Charlie Somers comes forward–”
“Advise him not to do so, you who are fond of giving advice,” said Katherine, “for my father will have nothing to say to him, and it would be no use.”
“Oh, your father!” said Mrs. Seton with contempt, and then she kissed her hand to Stella, who came in with her hat on ready for the “run” she had proposed. “Here she is as fresh as paint,” said that mistress of all the elegancies of language—“what a good ’un I am for stirring up the right spirit! You see how much of an invalid she is now! Where shall we go for our run, Stella, now that you have made yourself look so killing? You don’t mean, I should suppose, to waste that toilette upon me?”
“We’ll go and look at the view,” said Stella, “that is all I am equal to; and I’ll show you where we went that night.”
“Papa will be ready for his luncheon in half an hour, Stella.”
“Yes, I know, I know! Don’t push papa and his luncheon down my throat for ever,” cried the girl. She too was a mistress of language. She went out with her adviser arm-in-arm, clinging to her as if to her dearest friend, while Katherine stood in the window, rather sadly, looking after the pair. Stella had been restored to her sister by the half-illness of her rescue, and there was a pang in Katherine’s mind which was mingled of many sentiments as the semi-invalid went forth hanging upon her worst friend. Would nobody ever cling to Katherine as Stella, her only sister, clung to this woman—this—woman! Katherine did not know what epithet to use. If she had had bad words at her disposal I am afraid she would have expended them on Mrs. Seton, but she had not. They were not in her way. Was it possible this—woman might be right? Could Stella’s mad prank, if it could be called so—rather her childish, foolish impulse, meaning no harm—tell against her seriously with anybody in their senses? Katherine could not believe it—it was impossible. The people who had known her from her childhood knew that there was no harm in Stella. She might be thoughtless, disregarding everything that came in the way of her amusement, but after all that was not a crime. She was sure that such old cats as Mrs. Shanks and Miss Mildmay would never think anything of the kind. But then there was Lady Jane. Lady Jane was not an old cat; she was a very important person. When she spoke the word no dog ventured to bark. But then her kindness to the Tredgold girls had always been a little in the way of patronage. She was not of their middle-class world. The side with which she would be in sympathy would be that of the young men. The escapade in the boat would be to her their fun, but on Stella’s it would not be fun. It would be folly of the deepest dye, perhaps—who could tell?—depravity. In fiction—a young woman not much in society instinctively takes a good many of her ideas from fiction—it had become fashionable of late to represent wicked girls, girls without soul or heart, as the prevailing type. Lady Jane might suppose that Stella, whom she did not know very well, was a girl without soul or heart, ready to do anything for a little excitement and a new sensation, without the least reflection what would come of it. Nay, was not that the rôle which Stella herself was proposing to assume? Was it not to a certain extent her real character? This thought made Katherine’s heart ache. And how if Lady Jane should think she had really compromised herself, forfeited, if not her good name, yet the bloom that ought to surround it? Katherine’s courage sank at the thought. And, on the other hand, there was her father, who would understand none of these things, who would turn anybody out of his house who breathed a whisper against Stella, who would show Sir Charles himself the door.
