Deerbrook. Harriet MartineauЧитать онлайн книгу.
window behind Margaret, when she could not pretend to say that she liked it. She observed Mr. Rowland’s somewhat stiff politeness to Hester, and Mr. Enderby’s equal partition of his attentions between the two sisters. She could see Mrs. Grey watching every strawberry and sugar-plum that went down the throats of the little Rowlands, and her care, seconded by Sophia’s, that her own children should have an exactly equal portion of the good things. She believed, but was not quite sure, that she saw Hester’s colour and manner change as Mr. Hope came and went, in the course of his service about the table; and that once, upon receiving some slight attention from him, she threw a hasty glance towards her sister, and turned quite away upon meeting her eye.
The rain had not prevented the servants from trying to amuse themselves with witnessing the amusement of the family. They were clustered together under umbrellas at the window nearest the stables, where they thought they should be least observed. Some commotion took place among them, at the same moment that an extraordinary sound became audible, from a distance, above the clatter of plates, and the mingling of voices, in the summer-house.
“What in the world is that noise?” asked Margaret.
“Only somebody killing a pig,” replied Sydney, decidedly.
“Do not believe him,” said Mr. Enderby. “The Deerbrook people have better manners than to kill their pigs in the hearing of ladies on summer afternoons.”
“But what is it? It seems coming nearer.”
“I once told you,” said Mr. Enderby, “that we possess an inhabitant, whose voice you might know before her name. I suspect it is that same voice which we hear now.”
“A human voice! Impossible!”
“What is the matter, Alice?” Mrs. Grey asked of her maid out of the window.
“Oh, ma’am, it is Mrs. Plumstead! And she is coming this way, ma’am. She will be upon us before we can get to the house. Oh, ma’am, what shall we do?”
Mrs. Grey entreated permission of the ladies to allow the maid-servants to come into the summer-house. Their caps might be torn from their heads before they could defend themselves, she said, if they remained outside. Of course, leave was given instantly, and the maids crowded in, with chattering teeth and many a tale of deeds done by Mrs. Plumstead, in her paroxysms of rage.
The children shared the panic, more or less: and not only they. Mr. Grey proposed to put up the shutters of the windows nearest to the scene of action; but it was thought that this might draw on an attack from the virago, who might let the party alone if she were left unnoticed by them. She was now full in sight, as, with half Deerbrook at her heels, she pursued the object of her rage through the falling shower, and amidst the puddles in front of the stables. Her widow’s cap was at the back of her head, her hair hanging from beneath it, wet in the rain: her black gown was splashed to the shoulders; her hands were clenched; her face was white as her apron, and her vociferations were dreadful to hear. She was hunting a poor terrified young countrywoman, who, between fright and running, looked ready to sink.
“We must put a stop to this,” cried Mr. Grey and Mr. Rowland, each speaking to the other. It ended with their issuing forth together, looking as dignified as they could, and placing themselves between the scold and her victim. It would not do. They could not make themselves heard; and when she shook her fist in their faces, they retired backwards, and took refuge among their party, bringing the victim in with them, however. Mr. Enderby declared this retreat too bad, and was gone before the entreaties of his little nieces could stop him. He held his ground longer; and the dumb show he made was so energetic as to cause a laugh in the summer-house, in the midst of the uneasiness of his friends, and to call forth shouts of mirth from the crowd at the virago’s heels.
“That will not do. It will only exasperate her the more,” said Mr. Hope, pressing his way to the door. “Let me pass, will you?”
“Oh, Mr. Hope! Oh, sir!” said Alice, “don’t go! Don’t think of going, sir! She does not mind killing anybody, I assure you, sir.”
“Oh, Mr. Hope, don’t go!” cried almost everybody. Maria was sure she heard Hester’s voice among the rest. The young countrywoman and the children grasped the skirts of his coat; but he shook them off, laughing, and went. Little Mary loved Mr. Hope very dearly. She shot out at the door with him, and clasped her hands before Mrs. Plumstead, looking up piteously, as if to implore her to do Mr. Hope no harm. Already, however, the vixen’s mood had changed. At the first glimpse of Mr. Hope, her voice sank from being a squall into some resemblance to human utterance. She pulled her cap forward, and a tinge of colour returned to her white lips. Mr. Enderby caught up little Mary and carried her to her mamma, crying bitterly. Mr. Hope might safely be left to finish his conquest of the otherwise unconquerable scold. He stood still till he could make himself heard, looking her full in the face; and it was not long before she would listen to his remonstrance, and even at length take his advice, to go home and compose herself. He went with her, to ensure the good behaviour of her neighbours, and had the satisfaction of seeing her lock herself into her house alone before he returned to his party.
“It is as you told me,” said Margaret to Mr. Enderby; “Mr. Hope’s power extends even to the temper of the Deerbrook scold. How she began to grow quiet directly! It was like magic.”
Mr. Enderby smiled; but there was some uneasiness in his smile.
The countrywoman was commended to the servants, to be refreshed, and dismissed another way. There was no further reason for detaining her when it appeared that she really could give no account of how she had offended Mrs. Plumstead in selling her a pound of butter. It remained to console little Mary, who was still crying—more from grief for Mrs. Plumstead than from fear, Maria thought, though Mrs. Grey was profuse in assurances to the child that Mrs. Plumstead should not be allowed to frighten her any more. All the children seemed so depressed and confounded, that their guests exerted themselves to be merry again, and to efface, as far as was possible, the impression of the late scene. When Mr. Hope returned, he found Mr. Grey singing his single ditty, about Dame Dumshire and her crockery-ware, amidst great mirth and unbounded applause. Then Mrs. Enderby was fluttered, and somewhat flattered, by an entreaty that she would favour the company with one of the ballads for which she had been famous in her time. She could not refuse on such an occasion—if indeed she had ever been able to refuse what she was told would give pleasure. She made her son choose for her what she should sing; and then followed a wonderful story of Giles Collins, who loved a lady: Giles and the lady both died of true love; Giles was laid in the lower chancel, and the lady in the higher; from the one grave grew a milk-white rose, and from the other a briar, both of which climbed up to the church top, and there tied themselves into a true-lover’s knot, which made all the parish admire. At this part, Anna was seen looking up at the ceiling; but the rest had no eyes but for Mrs. Enderby, as she gazed full at the opposite wall, and the shrill, quavering notes of the monotonous air were poured out, and the words were as distinct as if they were spoken.
“Is that true, grandmamma?” asked Anna, when all was over.
“You had better ask the person who made the song, my dear. I did not make it.”
“But did you ever see that church with the briar growing in it, before the sexton cut it down?”
“Do not let us talk any more about it,” said Philip, solemnly. “I wonder grandmamma dares sing such a sad song.”
“Why, you asked her, Uncle Philip.”
“Oh, ay, so I did. Well, we are much obliged to her; and now we will have something that is not quite so terrible.—Miss Grey, you will favour us with a song?”
Sophia’s music-books were all in the house, and she could not sing without. Mr. Enderby would fetch some, if she would give him directions what to bring. No; she could not sing without the piano. As it was clearly impossible to bring that, Philip feared the company must wait for the pleasure of hearing Miss Grey till another time. Mr. Grey would have Hester and Margaret sing; and sing they did, very simply and sweetly, and much to the satisfaction of all present. One thing led on to another; they sang together—with Mr. Grey—with Mr. Enderby;