TROUBLE AT HAMLEY HALL.
If Molly that peace at Hamley Hall she was mistaken. Something was out of in the whole establishment; and, for a very thing, the common to have produced a common bond. All the were old in their places, and were told by some one of the family, or gathered, from the on them, that master or or either of the gentlemen. Any one of them have told Molly that the which at the of everything, was the amount of the up by Osborne at Cambridge, and which, now that all of his a was over, came upon the Squire. But Molly, of being told by Mrs. Hamley herself anything which she her to hear, no from any one else.
She was with the in "madam's" look as soon as she of her in the room, on the sofa in her dressing-room, all in white, which almost the white of her face. The Squire Molly in with,—
"Here she is at last!" and Molly had that he had so much in the of his voice—the of the was spoken in a loud manner, while the last were audible. He had the death-like on his wife's face; not a new sight, and one which had been presented to him enough, but which was now always him a fresh shock. It was a winter's day; every branch and every on the trees and was with of the sun-melted hoar-frost; a was on a holly-bush, cheerily; but the were down, and out of Mrs. Hamley's nothing of all this was to be seen. There was a large screen her and the wood-fire, to keep off that blaze. Mrs. Hamley out one hand to Molly, and hers firm; with the other she her eyes.
"She is not so well this morning," said the Squire, his head. "But fear, my dear one; here's the doctor's daughter, nearly as good as the doctor himself. Have you had your medicine? Your beef-tea?" he continued, going about on and into every empty cup and glass. Then he returned to the sofa; looked at her for a minute or two, and then her, and told Molly he would her in charge.
As if Mrs. Hamley was of Molly's or questions, she in her turn a of interrogatories.
"Now, dear child, tell me all; it's no of confidence, for I shan't mention it again, and I shan't be here long. How it all go on—the new mother, the good resolutions? let me help you if I can. I think with a girl I have been of use—a mother not know boys. But tell me anything you like and will; don't be of details."
Even with Molly's small of she saw how much of there was in this speech; and instinct, or some such gift, her to tell a long of many things—the wedding-day, her visit to Miss Brownings', the new furniture, Lady Harriet, &c., all in an easy of talk which was very to Mrs. Hamley, as it gave her something to think about her own sorrows. But Molly did not speak of her own grievances, of the new relationship. Mrs. Hamley noticed this.
"And you and Mrs. Gibson on together?"
"Not always," said Molly. "You know we didn't know much of each other we were put to live together."
"I didn't like what the Squire told me last night. He was very angry."
That had not yet over; but Molly silence, her to think of some other of conversation.
"Ah! I see, Molly," said Mrs. Hamley; "you won't tell me your sorrows, and yet, perhaps, I have done you some good."
"I don't like," said Molly, in a low voice. "I think papa wouldn't like it. And, besides, you have helped me so much—you and Mr. Roger Hamley. I often think of the he said; they come in so usefully, and are such a to me."
"Ah, Roger! yes. He is to be trusted. Oh, Molly! I've a great to say to you myself, only not now. I must have my medicine and try to go to sleep. Good girl! You are than I am, and can do without sympathy."
Molly was taken to another room; the who her to it told her that Mrs. Hamley had not her to have her nights disturbed, as they might very have been if she had been in her sleeping-room. In the Mrs. Hamley sent for her, and with the want of common to invalids, to those from long and maladies, she told Molly of the family and disappointment.
She Molly near her on a little stool, and, her hand, and looking into her to catch her spoken from their than she from her words, she said,—
"Osborne has so us! I cannot it yet. And the Squire was so angry! I cannot think how all the money was spent—advances through money-lenders, bills. The Squire not me how angry he is now, he's of another attack; but I know how angry he is. You see he has been so much money in that land at Upton Common, and is very hard pressed himself. But it would have the value of the estate, and so we anything of which would Osborne in the long run. And now the Squire says he must some of the land; and you can't think how it him to the heart. He a great of to send the two boys to college. Osborne—oh! what a dear, boy he was: he was the heir, you know; and he was so clever, every one said he was sure of and a fellowship, and I don't know what all; and he did a scholarship, and then all wrong. I don't know how. That is the worst. Perhaps the Squire too angrily, and that stopped up confidence. But he might have told me. He would have done, I think, Molly, if he had been here, to with me. But the Squire, in his anger, told him not to his at home till he had paid off the he had out of his allowance. Out of two hundred and fifty a year to pay off more than nine hundred, one way or another! And not to come home till then! Perhaps Roger will have too! He had but two hundred; but, then, he was not the son. The Squire has orders that the men are to be off the draining-works; and I of their families this weather. But what shall we do? I've been strong, and, perhaps, I've been in my habits; and there were family as to expenditure, and the of this land. Oh! Molly, Osborne was such a sweet little baby, and such a boy: so clever, too! You know I read you some of his poetry: now, a person who like that do anything very wrong? And yet I'm he has."
"Don't you know, at all, how the money has gone?" asked Molly.
"No! not at all. That's the sting. There are tailors' bills, and for book-binding and and pictures—those come to four or five hundred; and though this is extraordinary—inexplicable to such as we are—yet it may be only the luxury of the present day. But the money for which he will give no account,—of which, indeed, we only through the Squire's London agents, who out that were making as to the of the estate;—oh! Molly, than all—I don't know how to myself to tell you—as to the age and health of the Squire, his dear father"—(she to almost hysterically; yet she would go on talking, in of Molly's to stop her)—"who him in his arms, and him, I had him; and always so much of him as his and first-born darling. How he has loved him! How I have loved him! I sometimes have of late that we've almost done that good Roger injustice."
"No! I'm sure you've not: only look at the way he loves you. Why, you are his thought: he may not speak about it, but any one may see it. And dear, dear Mrs. Hamley," said Molly, to say out all that was in her mind now that she had once got the word, "don't you think that it would be not to Mr. Osborne Hamley? We don't know what he has done with the money: he is so good (is he not?) that he may have wanted it to some person—some tradesman, for instance, pressed by creditors—some—"
"You forget, dear," said Mrs. Hamley, a little at the girl's romance, but the next instant, "that all the other come from tradesmen, who complain of being out of their money."
Molly was for the moment; but then she said,—
"I they upon him. I'm sure I've of men being regular of by the in great towns."
"You're a great darling, child," said Mrs. Hamley, by Molly's partisanship, and though it was.
"And, besides," Molly, "some one must be acting in Osborne's—Mr. Osborne Hamley's, I mean—I can't help saying Osborne sometimes, but, indeed, I always think of him as Mr. Osborne—"
"Never mind, Molly, what you call him; only go on talking. It to do me good to the taken. The Squire has been so and displeased: strange-looking men into the neighbourhood, too, the tenants, and about the last of timber, as if they were calculating on the Squire's death."
"That's just what I was going to speak about. Doesn't it that they are men? and would men to upon him, and to tell in his name, and to him?"
"Don't you see, you only make him out weak, of wicked?"
"Yes; I do. But I don't think he is weak. You know yourself, dear Mrs. Hamley, how very he is. Besides, I would he was weak than wicked. Weak people may themselves all at once in heaven, when they see clearly; but I don't think the will turn themselves into people all at once."
"I think I've been very weak, Molly," said Mrs. Hamley, Molly's affectionately. "I've such an of my Osborne; and he out to have of clay, not to on the ground. And that's the best view of his conduct, too!"
What with his anger against his son, and his about his wife; the of the money required, and his at the scarce-concealed by as to the value of his property, the Squire was in a sad state. He was angry and with every one who came near him; and then was at his own and words. The old servants, who, perhaps, him in many small things, were patient under his upbraidings. They of passion, and the of his moods as well as he did himself. The butler, who was to argue with his master about every fresh direction as to his work, now Molly at dinner-time to make her eat of some dish which she had just been declining, and his as follows:—
"You see, miss, me and cook had planned a dinner as would master to eat; but when you say, 'No, thank you,' when I hand you anything, master so much as looks at it. But if you takes a thing, and eats with a relish, why he waits, and then he looks, and by-and-by he smells; and then he out as he's hungry, and to as natural as a takes to mewing. That's the reason, miss, as I gave you a and a wink, which no one me was not manners."
Osborne's name was mentioned these meals. The Squire asked Molly questions about Hollingford people, but did not much to to her answers. He used also to ask her every day how she that his wife was; but if Molly told the truth—that every day to make her and weaker—he was almost with the girl. He not it; and he would not. Nay, once he was on the point of Mr. Gibson he on a with Dr. Nicholls, the great physician of the county.
"It's nonsense her so as that—you know it's only the she's had for years; and if you can't do her any good in such a case—no pain—only and nervousness—it is a case, eh?—don't look in that puzzled way, man!—you'd give her up altogether, and I'll take her to Bath or Brighton, or for change, for in my opinion it's only and nervousness."
But the Squire's was with anxiety, and with the of being to the of as he said these which his fears.
Mr. Gibson very quietly,—
"I shall go on to see her, and I know you'll not my visits. But I shall Dr. Nicholls with me the next time I come. I may be in my treatment; and I wish to God he may say I am in my apprehensions."
"Don't tell me them! I cannot them!" the Squire. "Of we must all die; and she must too. But the doctor in England shan't go about out the life of such as her. I I shall die first. I I shall. But I'll any one who speaks to me of death me. And, besides, I think all doctors are quacks, to knowledge they haven't got. Ay, you may at me. I don't care. Unless you can tell me I shall die first, neither you your Dr. Nicholls shall come and about this house."
Mr. Gibson away, at from the of Mrs. Hamley's death, but little of the Squire's speeches. He had almost them, in fact, when about nine o'clock that evening, a in from Hamley Hall in haste, with a note from the Squire.
Dear Gibson,—
For God's me if I was to-day. She is much worse. Come and the night here. Write for Nicholls, and all the physicians you want. Write you start off. They may give her ease. There were Whitworth doctors much talked of in my for people up by the regular doctors; can't you one of them? I put myself in your hands. Sometimes I think it is the point, and she'll after this bout. I trust all to you.
Yours ever,
R. Hamley.
P.S.—Molly is a treasure.—God help me!
Of Mr. Gibson went; for the time since his marriage Mrs. Gibson's over her life, as in that of a doctor called out at all hours of day and night.
He Mrs. Hamley through this attack; and for a day or two the Squire's and him in Mr. Gibson's hands. Then he returned to the idea of its being a through which his wife had passed; and that she was now on the way to recovery. But the day after the with Dr. Nicholls, Mr. Gibson said to Molly,—
"Molly! I've to Osborne and Roger. Do you know Osborne's address?"
"No, papa. He's in disgrace. I don't know if the Squire knows; and she has been too to write."
"Never mind. I'll it to Roger; those may be to others, there's as love as I saw, the two. Roger will know. And, Molly, they are sure to come home as soon as they my report of their mother's state. I wish you'd tell the Squire what I've done. It's not a piece of work; and I'll tell myself in my own way. I'd have told him if he'd been at home; but you say he was to go to Ashcombe on business."
"Quite obliged. He was so sorry to miss you. But, papa, he will be so angry! You don't know how he is against Osborne."
Molly the Squire's anger when she gave him her father's message. She had of the relations of the Hamley family to that, his old-fashioned courtesy, and the he to her as a guest, there was a will, and a temper, along with that of in (or "opinions," as he would have called them) so common to those who have, neither in in manhood, mixed with their kind. She had listened, day after day, to Mrs. Hamley's as to the in which Osborne was being by his father—the of his home; and she how to to tell him that the Osborne had already been sent off.
Their dinners were tête-à-tête. The Squire to make them to Molly, to her for the she was to his wife. He speeches, which away into silence, and at which they each to smile. He ordered up wines, which she did not for, but out of complaisance. He noticed that one day she had some beurré as if she liked them; and as his trees had not produced many this year, he gave that this particular should be for through the neighbourhood. Molly that, in many ways, he was full of good-will her; but it did not her of on the one point in the family. However, it had to be done, and that without delay.
The great was on the after-dinner fire, the up, the snuffed, and then the door was and Molly and the Squire were left to their dessert. She sat at the of the table in her old place. That at the was vacant; yet, as no orders had been to the contrary, the plate and and were always as and as if Mrs. Hamley would come in as usual. Indeed, sometimes, when the door by which she used to enter was opened by any chance, Molly herself looking as if she to see the tall, in the of rich and soft lace, which Mrs. Hamley was to wear of an evening.
This evening, it her, as a new of pain, that into that room she would come no more. She had to give her father's message at this very point of time; but something in her her, and she how to her voice. The Squire got up and to the fireplace, to into the middle of the great log, and it up into blazing, pieces. His was her. Molly began, "When papa was here to-day, he me tell you he had to Mr. Roger Hamley to say that—that he he had come home; and he a to Mr. Osborne Hamley to say the same thing."
The Squire put the poker, but he still his to Molly.
"He sent for Osborne and Roger?" he asked, at length.
Molly answered, "Yes."
Then there was a silence, which Molly would end. The Squire had his two hands on the high chimney-piece, and over the fire.
"Roger would have been from Cambridge on the 18th," said he. "And he has sent for Osborne, too! Did he know,"—he continued, to Molly, with something of the she had in voice and look. In another moment he had his voice. "It's right, right. I understand. It has come at length. Come! come! Osborne has it on, though," with a fresh of anger in his tones. "She might have" (some word Molly not hear—she it like "lingered") "but for that. I can't him; I cannot."
And then he left the room. While Molly sat there still, very sad in her with all, he put his in again:—
"Go to her, my dear; I cannot—not just yet. But I will soon. Just this bit; and after that I won't a moment. You're a good girl. God you!"
It is not to be that Molly had all this time at the Hall without interruption. Once or twice her father had her a home. Molly she that he had it unwillingly; in fact, it was Mrs. Gibson that had sent for her, almost, as it were, to a "right of way" through her actions.
"You shall come to-morrow, or the next day," her father had said. "But to think people will put a on your being so much away from home so soon after our marriage."
"Oh, papa, I'm Mrs. Hamley will miss me! I do so like being with her."
"I don't think it is likely she will miss you as much as she would have done a month or two ago. She so much now, that she is of the of time. I'll see that you come here again in a day or two."
So out of the and the soft of the Hall Molly returned into the all-pervading of and at Hollingford. Mrs. Gibson her enough. Once she had a new winter to give her as a present; but she did not to any particulars about the friends Molly had just left; and her on the of at the Hall on the Molly.
"What a time she lingers! Your papa she would last so long after that attack. It must be very work to them all; I you look another since you were there. One can only wish it mayn't last, for their sakes."
"You don't know how the Squire every minute," said Molly.
"Why, you say she a great deal, and doesn't talk much when she's awake, and there's not the for her. And yet, at such times, people are on the tenter-hooks with and waiting. I know it by my dear Kirkpatrick. There were days when I it would end. But we won't talk any more of such things; you've had of them, I'm sure, and it always makes me to of and death; and yet your papa sometimes as if he talk of nothing else. I'm going to take you out to-night, though, and that will give you something of a change; and I've been Miss Rose to up one of my old for you; it's too tight for me. There's some talk of dancing,—it's at Mrs. Edwards'."
"Oh, mamma, I cannot go!" Molly. "I've been so much with her; and she may be so, or dying—and I to be dancing!"
"Nonsense! You're no relation, so you need not it so much. I wouldn't you, if she was likely to know about it and be hurt; but as it is, it's all that you are to go; and don't let us have any nonsense about it. We might our thumbs, and all our long, if we were to do nothing else when people were dying."
"I cannot go," Molly. And, acting upon impulse, and almost to her own surprise, she to her father, who came into the room at this very time. He his dark eyebrows, and looked as wife and their different of the into his ears. He sat in of patience. When his turn came to a decision, he said,—
"I I can have some lunch? I away at six this morning, and there's nothing in the dining-room. I have to go off again directly."
Molly started to the door; Mrs. Gibson to ring the bell.
"Where are you going, Molly?" said she, sharply.
"Only to see about papa's lunch."
"There are to do it; and I don't like your going into the kitchen."
"Come, Molly! and be quiet," said her father. "One comes home wanting peace and quietness—and food too. If I am to be to, which I I may not be another time, I settle that Molly stops at home this evening. I shall come late and tired. See that I have something to eat, goosey, and then I'll dress myself up in my best, and go and you home, my dear. I wish all these wedding were well over. Ready, is it? Then I'll go into the dining-room and myself. A doctor ought to be able to eat like a camel, or like Major Dugald Dalgetty."
It was well for Molly that came in just at this time, for Mrs. Gibson was annoyed. They told her some little local piece of news, however, which up her mind; and Molly that, if she only wonder at the they had of from the callers, the previous as to her her or not might be passed over. Not though; for the next she had to to a very touched-up account of the and the which she had missed; and also to be told that Mrs. Gibson had her mind about her the gown, and now that she should it for Cynthia, if only it was long enough; but Cynthia was so tall—quite overgrown, in fact. The as to Molly might not have the after all.
