Among the ‘county people’ (as Mrs. Gibson termed them) who called upon her as a bride, were the two young Mr. Hamleys. The Squire, their father, had done his congratulations, as far as he ever intended to do them, to Mr. Gibson himself when he came to the hall; but Mrs. Hamley, unable to go and pay visits herself, anxious to show attention to her kind doctor’s new wife, and with perhaps a little sympathetic curiosity as to how Molly and her stepmother got on together, made her sons ride over to Hollingford with her cards and apologies. They came into the newly-furnished drawing-room, looking bright and fresh from their ride: Osborne first, as usual, perfectly dressed for the occasion, and with the sort of fine manner which sate so well upon him; Roger, looking like a strong-built, cheerful, intelligent country farmer, followed in his brother’s train. Mrs. Gibson was dressed for receiving callers, and made the effect she always intended to produce, of a very pretty woman, no longer in first youth, but with such soft manners and such a caressing voice, that people forgot to wonder what her real age might be. Molly was better dressed than formerly; her stepmother saw after that. She disliked anything old or shabby, or out of taste about her; it hurt her eye; and she had already fidgeted Molly into a new amount of care about the manner in which she put on her clothes, arranged her hair, and was gloved and shod. Mrs. Gibson had tried to put her through a course of rosemary washes and creams in order to improve her tanned complexion; but about that Molly was either forgetful or rebellious, and Mrs. Gibson could not well come up to the girl’s bedroom every night and see that she daubed her face and neck over with the cosmetics so carefully provided for her. Still, her appearance was extremely improved, even to Osborne’s critical eye. Roger sought rather to discover in her looks and expression whether she was happy or not; his mother had especially charged him to note all these signs.
Osborne and Mrs. Gibson made themselves agreeable to each other according to the approved fashion when a young man calls on a middle-aged bride. They talked of the ‘Shakespeare and musical glasses’ of the day, each viewing with the other in their knowledge of London topics. Molly heard fragments of their conversation in the pauses of silence between Roger and herself. Her hero was coming out in quite a new character; no longer literary or poetical, or romantic, or critical, he was now full of the last new play, the singers at the opera. He had the advantage over Mrs. Gibson, who, in fact, only spoke of these things from hearsay, from listening to the talk at the Towers, while Osborne had run up from Cambridge two or three times to hear this, or to see that, wonder of the season. But she had the advantage over him in greater boldness of invention to eke out her facts; and besides she had more skill in the choice and arrangement of her words, so as to make it appear as if the opinions that were in reality quotations, were formed by herself from actual experience or personal observation; such as, in speaking of the mannerisms of a famous Italian singer, she would ask —
‘Did you observe her constant trick of heaving her shoulders and clasping her hands together before she took a high note?’— which was so said as to imply that Mrs. Gibson herself had noticed this trick. Molly, who had a pretty good idea by this time of how her stepmother had passed the last year of her life, listened with no small bewilderment to this conversation; but at length decided that she must misunderstand what they were saying, as she could not gather up the missing links for the necessity of replying to Roger’s questions and remarks. Osborne was not the same Osborne he was when with his mother at the hall. Roger saw her glancing at his brother.
‘You think my brother looking ill?’ said he, lowering his voice.
‘No — not exactly.’
‘He is not well. Both my father and I are anxious about him. That run on the Continent did him harm, instead of good; and his disappointment at his examination has told upon him, I’m afraid.’
‘I was not thinking he looked ill; only changed somehow.’
‘He says he must go back to Cambridge soon. Possibly it may do him good; and I shall be off next week. This is a farewell visit to you, as well as one of congratulation to Mrs. Gibson.’
‘Your mother will feel your both going away, won’t she? But of course young men will always have to live away from home.’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Still she feels it a good deal; and I am not satisfied about her health either. You will go over and see her sometimes, will you? she is very fond of you.’
‘If I may,’ said Molly, unconsciously glancing at her stepmother. She had an uncomfortable instinct that, in spite of Mrs. Gibson’s own perpetual flow of words, she could, and did, hear everything that fell from Molly’s lips.
‘Do you want any more books?’ said he. ‘If you do, make a list out, and send it to my mother before I leave, next Tuesday. After I am gone, there will be no one to go into the library and pick them out.’
After they were gone, Mrs. Gibson began her usual comments on the departed visitors.
‘I do like that Osborne Hamley! What a nice fellow he is! Somehow, I always do like eldest sons. He will have the estate, won’t he? I shall ask your dear papa to encourage him to come about the house. He will be a very good, very pleasant acquaintance for you and Cynthia. The other is but a loutish young fellow, to my mind; there is no aristocratic bearing about him. I suppose he takes after his mother, who is but a parvenue, I’ve heard them say at the Towers.’
Molly was spiteful enough to have great pleasure in saying —
‘I think I’ve heard her father was a Russia merchant, and imported tallow and hemp. Mr. Osborne Hamley is extremely like her.’
‘Indeed! But there’s no calculating these things. Anyhow, he is the perfect gentleman in appearance and manner. The estate is entailed, is it not?’
‘I know nothing about it,’ said Molly.
A short silence ensued. Then Mrs. Gibson said —
‘Do you know, I almost think I must get dear papa to give a little dinner-party, and ask Mr. Osborne Hamley? I should like to have him feel at home in this house. It would be something cheerful for him after the dulness and solitude of Hamley Hall. For the old people don’t visit much, I believe?’
‘He’s going back to Cambridge next week,’ said Molly.
‘Is he? Well, then, we’ll put off our little dinner till Cynthia comes home. I should like to have some young society for her, poor darling, when she returns.’
‘When is she coming?’ said Molly, who had always a longing curiosity for this same Cynthia’s return.
‘Oh! I’m not sure; perhaps at the new year — perhaps not till Easter. I must get this drawing-room all new furnished first; and then I mean to fit up her room and yours just alike. They are just the same size, only on opposite sides of the passage.’
‘Are you going to new-furnish that room?’ said Molly, in astonishment at the never-ending changes.
‘Yes; and yours, too, darling; so don’t be jealous.’
‘Oh, please, mamma, not mine,’ said Molly, taking in the idea for the first time.
‘Yes, dear! You shall have yours done as well. A little French bed,’ and a new paper, and a pretty carpet, and a dressed-up toilette-table and glass, will make it look quite a different place.’
‘But I don’t want it to look different. I like it as it is. Pray don’t do anything to it.’
‘What nonsense, child! I never heard anything more ridiculous! Most girls would be glad to get rid of furniture only fit for the lumber-room.’
‘It was my own mamma’s before she was married,’ said Molly, in a very low voice; bringing out this last plea unwillingly, but with a certainty that it would not be resisted.
Mrs. Gibson paused for a moment before she replied —
‘It’s very much to your credit that you should have such feelings, I’m sure. But don’t you think sentiment may be carried too far? Why, we should have no new furniture at all, and should have to put up with worm-eaten horrors. Besides, my dear, Hollingford will seem very dull to Cynthia, after pretty, gay France, and I want to make the first impressions attractive. I’ve a notion I can settle her down near here; and I want her to come in a good temper; for, between ourselves, my dear, she is a little, leetle wilful. You need not mention this to your papa.’
‘But can’t you do Cynthia’s room, and not mine? Please let mine alone.’
‘No, indeed! I couldn’t agree to that. Only think what would be said of me by everybody; petting my own child, and neglecting my husband’s! I couldn’t bear it.’
‘No one need know.’
‘In such a tittle-tattle place as Hollingford! Really, Molly, you are either very stupid or very obstinate, or else you don’t care what hard things may be said about me: and all for a selfish fancy of your own! No! I owe myself the justice of acting in this matter as I please. Every one shall know I’m not a common stepmother. Every penny I spend on Cynthia I shall spend on you too; so it’s no use talking any more about it.’
So Molly’s little white dimity bed, her old-fashioned chest of drawers, and her other cherished relics of her mother’s maiden-days, were consigned to the lumber-room; and after a while, when Cynthia and her great French boxes had come home, the old furniture that had filled up the space required for the fresh importation of trunks, disappeared into the lumber-room.
All this time the family at the Towers had been absent; Lady Cumnor had been ordered to Bath for the early part of the winter, and her family were with her there. On dull rainy days, Mrs. Gibson used to bethink her of missing ‘the Cumnors,’ for so she had taken to calling them since her position had become more independent of theirs. It marked a distinction between her intimacy in the family, and the reverential manner in which the townspeople were accustomed to speak of ‘the earl and the countess.’ both Lady Cumnor and Lady Harriet wrote to their dear Clare from time to time. The former had generally some commissions that she wished to have executed at the Towers, or in the town; and no one could do them so well as Clare, who was acquainted with all the tastes and ways of the countess. These commissions were the cause of various bills for flys and cars from the ‘George’ Inn. Mr. Gibson pointed out this consequence to his wife; but she, in return, bade him remark that a present of game was pretty sure to follow upon the satisfactory execution of Lady Cumnor’s wishes. Somehow, Mr. Gibson did not quite like this consequence either; but he was silent about it, at any rate. Lady Harriet’s letters were short and amusing. She had that sort of regard for her old governess which prompted her to write from time to time, and to feel glad when the ha............