Not Without Thorns

“She is pretty enough to do very well if she had more manner and experience,” Mrs Eyrecourt allowed, with the impartiality on which she prided herself. “But she is really incredibly ignorant, and less docile than I expected. Ah, Beauchamp, you have made a sad mistake!”

The half-hour with Floss in the morning proved to have been the pleasantest part of Eugenia’s first day at Winsley. Mrs Eyrecourt was, of course, civil and attentive, but though, had she met her in other circumstances, Eugenia might have bestowed upon her a fair share of liking, it seemed impossible to Beauchamp’s wife to feel perfectly at ease with her; she felt herself, as it were, constantly on the defensive, and felt, too, that Gertrude was as constantly occupied in taking her measure, criticising what she considered her deficiencies, and noting her observations and opinions. It was far from comfortable. Never before, perhaps, in all her life had Eugenia been so painfully self-conscious, never before had her latent antagonism been so fully aroused; and what was, perhaps, in great measure the cause of both, never before had she known the meaning of – “ennui.” This sort of life, the being treated with the formality due to a visitor, unsoftened by intimacy or association, was to her intolerably dull. She tried to read, but her attention seemed beyond her control, and there was no one at hand to compare notes with, even if she did succeed in becoming interested; for though Gertrude rather affected literary tastes, and talked a good deal of the advantage and desirability of “keeping up with the books of the day,” her ideas of the hooks of the day hardly coincided with Eugenia’s, and to the girl’s inexperience her sister-in-law’s narrow-mindedness on many points seemed unparalleled. On some subjects Gertrude could talk with intelligence and even originality, but on few of these subjects was Eugenia much at home. She had never been inside a London theatre, the best singers of the day she knew but by name, she had never seen the Academy! Gossip or even mild scandal was utterly lost upon her, for she was a complete stranger to the section of the fashionable world in which Mrs Eyrecourt lived and moved and had her being, in which it was her fondest ambition to shine. Gertrude was not much given to exerting herself for the entertainment of her own sex at the best of times, but with respect to her sister-in-law she had really intended to do her utmost, and finding that she did not succeed did not add to her amiability. There would have been some amount of pleasurable excitement in taking Eugenia by the hand in the sense of patronising her, and it had been in this direction that Captain Chancellor had reckoned sanguinely on his sister’s goodwill, not taking into account the one obstacle to this comfortable arrangement – Eugenia’s decided objection to anything of the kind, which from the first Mrs Eyrecourt was quick to perceive and indirectly to resent. In this particular, as in many others, Beauchamp had read his wife’s character wrong, had been unable to estimate the past influences of her life. He had mistaken docility for weakness; the humility and self-distrust engendered by her great love and faith had seemed to him mere consciousness of ignorance and inexperience – a state of mind, to his thinking, eminently becoming in the untrained girl he had honoured by selecting as his wife.

It happened, unfortunately, too, that just at this time there was considerably less than usual “going on” in the Winsley neighbourhood. Of the adjacent families whom Gertrude thought fit to visit some were still in town, some had illness among them – nearly all, from one reason or another, were hors de combat with respect of dinner-parties, picnics, croquet, and the like. And in a general way the neighbourhood was remarkably sociable and friendly, and would have been very ready to make a nine days’ pet of the pretty bride, provided Mrs Eyrecourt had given it to be understood that such attention to her sister-in-law would be agreeable to herself, for Gertrude managed to “queen it” to a considerable extent over society in her part of the county.

“You will have rather an unfavourable idea of Winsley in one respect, I fear, Eugenia,” said Mrs Eyrecourt, one day. “I mean you must think it very dull. But nearly all our neighbours are still away. A month or two hence it will be quite different.”

“I don’t care about gaiety much, thank you,” replied Eugenia. “I have never been accustomed to it, and I can feel quite as happy without it.”

“You are very philosophical,” said Gertrude. “But I am surprised to hear you say you have not been accustomed to that sort of thing. I always understood that up among the Cottonocracy there were all sorts of grand doings; overwhelmingly magnificent dinner-parties and balls, and so on.”

“I dare say there are,” replied Eugenia, “but we never went to them. My father very seldom let us go anywhere, except to intimate friends like Mrs Dalrymple.”

“Oh indeed!” said Gertrude, and in her own mind she thought, “These Laurences considered themselves too good for Wareborough society, it appears. How absurd people are!”

On the whole, the pleasantest part of Eugenia’s days at Winsley was the half-hour in the morning when Floss joined her in her stroll in the garden, or on wet days in her own room. The stories went on at a great rate, and after she had exhausted all those relating to her own childhood Eugenia had to ransack her memory, and sometimes even to set her inventive powers to work. All seemed equally delightful to Floss. The child had never been so happy in her life, and to Eugenia the consciousness of having gained the little girl’s affection was very sweet.

End of Volume Two.

Volume Three – Chapter One.

Roma’s Sentiments

And if thy wife and thou agree

But ill, as like when short of victual.

T. Carlyle, The Beetle.

Il m’est impossible de ne point tous féliciter.

    Les Misérables.

Captain Chancellor had been away more than a fortnight. During that time Eugenia had received several short notes from him, most of which contained pretty much the same information, that business matters at Halswood had proved more complicated than he had expected, that there was so much to arrange and settle he found it impossible to return to Winsley as quickly as he had intended, but that he trusted Eugenia was comfortable and happy with his sister; indeed he felt sure she would be so, and so on. There was never any allusion to the little scene which had occurred the morning he left, and from the tone of his letters it was so evident to Eugenia that long before the remembrance of it had ceased acutely to distress her, her husband had forgotten all about it, that she on her side refrained from mentioning it.

“It will be best never to refer to it,” she thought to herself. “Only when Beauchamp returns I shall be doubly careful, so that he may see how anxious I am to please him even in trifles.”

More than once it had happened that the same post which brought Eugenia a short note from her husband brought Mrs Eyrecourt a much lengthier epistle from him. This was the case one morning about this time. It was a dull, close day, and Eugenia, always sensitive to such influences, had been hoping earnestly while dressing that her letters might bring news of Beauchamp’s speedy return. The disappointment was great when she opened the thin letter addressed to her, dated this time from Bridgenorth, and found that another fortnight must pass before he could rejoin her.

“I came on here yesterday,” he wrote, “having got through the most pressing part of the business at Halswood, and hoping to get my leave, which is up next week, extended at once, for my papers were sent in last week. But I find as I am here I must stay till the middle of the month, when I hope to get away for good.”

“Another whole fortnight,” sighed Eugenia. “Oh dear, how I do wish Beauchamp had let me wait for him at home instead of here. It would have been so different. I could have seen Sydney every day.”

The tears rose unbidden to her eyes at the thought of the contrast between such a state of things and her present position, but she checked them back quickly, as looking up she saw that Gertrude was watching her. She went on reading her letter, though she already knew its few words by heart, holding it so as to prevent her sister-in-law seeing how short it was.

“You have a letter from Beauchamp, I suppose,” said Gertrude. “So have I – a tremendous one, isn’t it?” she fluttered half a dozen sheets through her fingers for Eugenia’s benefit. “I really can’t read it all till after breakfast. It is all about Halswood. I was anxious to know how he finds everything, and so Beauchamp has sent me all the details – the particulars of the whole, the rents of the great farms, how the entailed money property is invested, and I don’t know all what, but all so interesting to me of course, knowing it so well. It isn’t exactly womens’ business certainly, but then I have had a good deal of business to look after in my time. The womenkind of men of property should be able to help their husbands and sons, you know.”

She went on speaking as if Eugenia were an ordinary uninterested visitor, either really forgetting, or affecting to do so, that to the woman before her of all women in the world Beauchamp Chancellor’s interests must be the closest and dearest. The blood seemed to boil in the young wife’s veins, but recent experience had not been lost upon her, and her power of self-control had increased greatly in the last few weeks.

So she answered, quietly, “Yes, they certainly should, and so should other people’s wives too. It is one of my father’s hobbies that women of all classes should be better educated, so that they may be better able to help men, and sometimes to work alone even.”

“Oh, I wasn’t referring to that sort of thing. I hate all that talk about women’s rights, and so on: it is very bad taste,” exclaimed Gertrude, contemptuously. “I don’t know, and don’t want to know anything about the women of any class but my own. But of course there is nothing unfeminine in managing one’s own business matters when one understands how. I have almost been brought up to it, you see, always having lived on our own land – and I certainly need all I know now, with Quintin’s long minority before me and Beauchamp at the head of the Halswood affairs too. He is sure to be always consulting me. That reminds me I must be quick, for I must answer his letter before luncheon, and it will take me a good while.”

She went on with her breakfast, but happening to move aside the large envelope of her brother’s letter, her eye fell on another, which, with a little exclamation, “From Roma, I didn’t expect to hear from her to-day,” she took up and read.

“Roma is coming home to-morrow,” she announced to Eugenia, in a minute or two. “A week sooner than she expected.”

“Is she really? I am so glad!” exclaimed Eugenia, thankful for any interruption to the present uncongenial tête-à-tête with her sister-in-law, doubly thankful that it came in the shape of a person she was already inclined to like.

“Why, have you ever seen her? Oh yes, to be sure, she stayed a night at Wareborough and was at your marriage. I forgot you had seen her,” said Mrs Eyrecourt.

“I saw more of her last winter,” said Eugenia, “at the time she stayed a week or so with Mrs Dalrymple – just when Beauchamp first came to Wareborough,” – “and I met him in the fog, and all the world was changed to me,” was the unspoken conclusion of her sentence.

“Oh yes; I think I remember something about it,” said Gertrude, indifferently. “Dear me, was that only last winter? What changes in so short a time!”

She sighed softly. Somehow the sigh was irritating to Eugenia; her instinct told her that the reflections accompanying it would not have been gratifying to her to hear. But she little guessed what they actually were. “If I had foreseen it all,” thought Gertrude, “I certainly would not have been so eager to prevent Beauchamp’s marrying Roma,” (for that this would have come to pass had she chosen to encourage it, no power on earth, no protestations of the young lady herself, however earnest, could ever make Mrs Eyrecourt cease to believe): “it would have been far – oh, infinitely better than this! Though of course even now nothing could have been so perfectly suitable as Addie Chancellor,” and then poor Gertrude sighed.

“I am very glad too Roma is coming,” she said, amiably, becoming conscious suddenly of the audibleness of her sigh, and feeling a little shocked at herself. “By-the-bye, Eugenia, she sends her love to you and hopes to find you still here.”

“Thank you,” replied Eugenia, rather coldly. But in her heart she did feel very glad of the news. She hoped many things from Roma’s advent. Roma was kind and womanly and sensible. She had known Beauchamp all his life, and must understand him thoroughly. Her advice Eugenia would not feel inclined to scorn. Roma could never be patronising; hers was by many degrees too large a nature for anything so small. And though clever mostly in a worldly sense perhaps – clever and satirical and dreadfully au fait of everything – Eugenia did not feel in the least afraid of her. Though she had been everywhere and seen everything and knew everybody; though her education had reached far, in directions where Eugenia Laurence’s had never even begun, yet she was not conventional, not spoilt, not incapable of sympathy with the great human universe outside her own immediate sphere. Such at least was Eugenia’s ideal Roma – Roma with the bright dark eyes, ready words, and kindly smile.

And Mrs Eyrecourt was very glad too. Roma would help her, she hoped, to entertain this pretty, uninteresting wife of Beauchamp’s, whom she found such heavy work; for Roma was great at this sort of task – she had quite a knack of getting stupid people to talk, discordant ones to agree, doing it too, with so much self-forgetfulness and tact, that the credit of this comfortable state of things usually fell to Gertrude’s own share.

“Such a charming hostess! so unselfish and considerate for every one.”

It was not much to be wondered at that so warm-hearted and unselfish a creature had not found the charge of her husband’s young sister a burdensome one. And as, even in this crooked life, goodness sometimes is recompensed, Gertrude Eyrecourt met with her reward. Everybody —her everybody – praised her for her sisterly behaviour to homeless Roma; and Roma herself, whose capacity for gratitude was both wide and deep, thanked her constantly, though tacitly, by doing everything in her power to please her, resolutely refusing to see her smallnesses and selfishnesses, admiring her and respecting her judgment – and now and then too by determinedly disagreeing with her.

Both Mrs Eyrecourt and her guests found their hopes fulfilled. Roma’s return improved the state of things immensely. She came home in great spirits, having enjoyed her visit far more than she had expected, yet declaring, and with evident sincerity, somewhat to Eugenia’s surprise, that she felt delighted to be at home again.

“Who do you think was my travelling companion part of the way?” she said, when the three ladies were sitting together the first morning after her arrival. “He got in at Marley, and saw me into my train at the junction – he was going on to town. Do guess who it was – he is a friend of yours, Eugenia. Why, how stupid you both are! You are generally so quick at guessing, Gertrude.”

“I!” exclaimed Mrs Eyrecourt, looking up, as if aware for the first time that Roma had been speaking to her. “I beg your pardon, I thought you said the unknown was a friend of Eugenia’s.”

“Well, and if I did, is the world so big that by no conceivable chance two people living at opposite ends of the country could happen to have any mutual acquaintances?” said Roma. “To hear you speak, Gertrude, any one would think you had never been five miles from home. Like a nun I remember seeing when I was a child, in a convent in Switzerland, who thought, but wasn’t quite sure – the mere idea even of such an adventure seemed to overawe her – that when she was quite a little girl she had once been at Martigny, six miles from home. Why, Gertrude, I thought you prided yourself on being something of a cosmopolitan. Were you never at a place that long ago, when nobody but Miss Burney’s heroines ever went anywhere, used to be called Brighthelmstone, and did you never dine with certain friends of yours there, who never get new dresses unless they are guaranteed to be of the fashion of twenty years ago, dear old souls?”

She spoke playfully, but there was a sharpness in her raillery which Mrs Eyrecourt did not love. She could not endure being laughed at, and she felt annoyed with Roma for making fun of any of her friends, be they never so funny, all of which Roma knew, and had dealt out her words accordingly, for she had not been half an hour at home before she knew exactly how the wind blew as regarded the young wife, and she was on the alert to show Gertrude she need not look to her for sympathy in her prejudice.

But to Eugenia it was actual pain to witness the annoyance or discomfiture of another. A sort of instinct made her try to change the conversation.

“Did you say that the Swiss nun had never in her life been anywhere?” she asked Roma. “Why had she been always in a convent? I never knew children could be sent to convents except as pupils.”

“This girl was an orphan, and she had some money, and she had come to look on the convent as her home,” said Roma; “she wasn’t quite a lady; her father had been a rich farmer. I daresay she was happy enough, but it made a great impression on me as a child. It seemed so dreadful to be shut in between those four high walls when the world outside was so beautiful. I shouldn’t have pitied her half so much if the convent had been in an ugly place.”

“I don’t know,” said Eugenia, with a dreamy look in her eyes; “I think it would be something to have the sky and mountains to look out at if one were miserable.”

The expression of her face struck Roma with a slight pain. It was not thus she had looked on her wedding-day, even when blinded with the tears of her farewell. Through those tears Roma had been able to pronounce her “perfectly happy.”

“Is it Gertrude’s fault, I wonder,” thought Roma, with quick indignation, “or can she be stirring already in her slumber? And only six weeks married.”