Read Ebook: Mrs. Dorriman: A Novel. Volume 1 of 3 by Chetwynd Henry Wayland Mrs

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Ebook has 1101 lines and 54477 words, and 23 pages

d very little tallow.

The attentive shopman leaned over the counter --he was half afraid she had come to make some complaint--and he inquired in those dulcet tones in which a distinct fear might have been read, what she required.

Mrs. Dorriman gazed at him a little helplessly and made no answer for a moment or so, and then, in a lower voice than was usual with her, she asked the way to the bank.

Good Mr. Forbes immediately reflected she might have had some bad news, and he moved a chair for her sympathetically, but she would not sit down. Throwing himself over the counter he went to the door and explained that the bank was higher up the street and on the right-hand side--indeed, as the town contained very little except the one very long straggling street, it would have been very difficult to have missed it.

Mrs. Dorriman bowed her thanks, looked out to see that the pony-carriage and boy were well out of sight, having a vague feeling that, if the boy knew she had gone to the bank, all her most private intentions might immediately become known to her brother. Murmuring something indistinct about coming back, she walked up the street, the paving of which was not carried out as a whole, but boasted only of flags before the bettermost houses, and the spaces between were of earth and often muddy.

The unwonted appearance of a lady walking along called every one to their door--the two butchers' shops, not rivals but friends, who killed one sheep on alternate days not to "interfere" with each other--the baker's shop with its complement of bare-footed children around it--the post-office with an imposing board and the most excellent sweeties in one window , were all passed, and not giving herself time to think, Mrs. Dorriman hurried on, entered the bank, and asked for Mr. Macfarlane.

Mr. Macfarlane, who had been occasionally at Inchbrae to see her on business, was a little startled by the advent of a woman who had never before been to the bank, and he naturally imagined that some bad news had brought her there.

"It is no bad news," said Mrs. Dorriman, her nervousness betraying itself in her voice; "but there is no one here I can go to about anything--and I want to ask your advice about something."

Mr. Macfarlane knew the world, and he knew also a good deal more about Mrs. Dorriman's position than she did herself. But he was a man who made it a rule never to interfere in any one's business, having enough of his own on his hands. Any one looking at him and having a knowledge of countenances would have seen at once that caution predominated over all other impulses. His expression was an absolute blank just now, and Mrs. Dorriman, who had instinctively turned to him in appeal, shrank a little, and he saw it.

"I am not a man fond of interfering," he said, gravely; "but I hope I can see when I can do a kindness, and do it--always supposing that in doing it I do no one any wrong."

"I want your advice," Mrs. Dorriman said, nervously. In asking advice was she doing her brother any wrong?

"To live with him?" Mr. Macfarlane was a little surprised, but he knew also that this could not be all. "I suppose he is anxious to have more of a home than a bachelor has as a rule," he said, after a pause.

"He wishes me to give up Inchbrae."

"Give it up! You do not mean to sell it out and out?"

"Yes, he desires me to sell it," and Mrs. Dorriman's voice showed plainly what selling it meant to her, and what a pang it would give her.

He looked at her expectantly, and then he said kindly, "Then you intend going to him--you intend leaving Inchbrae?"

"I must," she said, nervously.

"And my advice is not needed then, since you have made up your mind."

There was a visible struggle going on in her. "I am afraid I must go, since he wishes it, but--need I sell the place, Mr. Macfarlane?"

"The place is yours--I would not sell it if I were you."

"And you do not know what the consequences may be if you refuse to do so?"

"I--I know nothing," she said, helplessly.

Mr. Macfarlane was sorry for her, he understood quite well what was weighing on her--she was afraid of disobeying--she thought herself too much in Mr. Sandford's hands--too much in his power. Before he had time to speak she said, hurriedly, "Perhaps it had better not be discussed, perhaps I had better do it."

But here, the thought of having no home to come to if she was unhappy--the pang of parting with the little place she so loved, where her husband had died, and each shrub and tree of which she had seen planted, was too much for her--and her quivering lips and tearful eyes awoke real sympathy in Mr. Macfarlane's heart.

"What is in your mind, Mrs. Dorriman?" he said, kindly, and putting aside his official air he leaned forward and spoke to her, inviting her to speak her confidence.

Mrs. Dorriman turned red and pale, she was troubled, and her nervousness increased.

"Yes, it might be done if the money was in your own hands. Was it bought in your name or in that of Mr. Sandford?"

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "then it is hopeless!" Her countenance fell, and Mr. Macfarlane was more sorry for her than ever.

He was himself a little puzzled and anxious. He did not know how far she could keep things to herself, and he had to think before he could offer any suggestion; it would never do to be involved in an angry discussion and correspondence with Mr. Sandford. Then a certain sense of shame came to him. He hated getting into any trouble; he hated interfering, but he was an upright man. What he knew justified him in guiding her, and he could not be so mean as to let her risk losing everything when a word might help her. He was cautious, but without entering into details he might advise her. He knew that giving up her house at Mr. Sandford's bidding was probably because Mr. Sandford had good reasons for wishing her to be under his own eye, and he had enough knowledge of circumstances to make him confident that she would lose nothing by being bolder, and asserting herself a little.

Mrs. Dorriman coloured vividly. Now exactly he understood--the remembrance of long ago, when as a girl she had been forced to go to him for every little want, and often and often had gone without things rather than face the taunts and grudging words he showered upon her, came to her now. How well! oh! how well, Mr. Macfarlane understood!

Then that hidden thought came up as it often did when memory went back to those old days, and a flash almost of terror as though she had let her secret escape her shone in her eyes and startled Mr. Macfarlane, who was watching her keenly.

"You are sure that in this instance disobeying my brother will not ... will not do harm?" she said in a faltering voice.

"I am certain of it," he said firmly, "and it is best to act quite straightforwardly--I mean," he said, hurriedly correcting himself when he saw her wince, "you would find yourself in quite a false position if you had nominally agreed to do what your brother wished and yet reserved a power which virtually neutralised the sale."

She bowed her head, "You are right, Mr. Macfarlane, and yet...."

"It is natural you should shrink from doing anything to displease him," he said, trying to follow her thoughts and fancying he had done so.

"It is not quite that--it is not only that," she murmured in a low voice.

She had purposely left the letter at home; she wanted him to help her, and yet she did not wish to show him all, or to tell him the rough terms her brother had used. Like many another person she quite forgot that a half-confidence is worse than none.

Mr. Macfarlane was more puzzled now than ever. What was really at the bottom of all this; what did she fear?

The pale slight woman before him, who had never known peace till now, had evidently some complex mode of reasoning entirely beyond his powers of divination.

Poor woman! she saw her tranquil life slipping past her beyond recall, and the problem present to her now was, how she could let Mr. Macfarlane know, she was not quite at her brother's mercy, that she held something in reserve, without allowing him to guess what that something was?

The impossibility of doing this was by turns before her with its desirability, then she joined her secret thought to his outspoken words, and said in a firm voice, "I will refuse to sell." Mr. Macfarlane was immensely surprised, but, imagining that she was simply following the advice he had given her, he was also flattered. Asking advice generally meant making up your mind beforehand and going to hear the reason for and against having done so, when it was too late to alter anything.

"You can receive the rent and forward it to me," she said, "when the place is let. I must have time," she said, with a little tremble in her voice, "to arrange and put away my things." Mr. Macfarlane was amused by her simple belief in the production of a desirable tenant at a moment's notice.

He laughed a little. "It will take a little time, Mrs. Dorriman, to get just the person you want; some weeks at any rate. A step like this cannot be taken in a hurry--you yourself will require time."

"Yes, if I can get it," she rejoined, speaking her thought aloud.

"Come and have some luncheon with my wife," he said kindly; "she will make you welcome, I know."

Mrs. Dorriman accepted the proffered kindness, and followed him into the comfortable room where Mrs. Macfarlane was found with five children; who were introduced and dismissed in a breath.

Mrs. Macfarlane was one of those pleasant cheerful kindly women who see the sunny side of life most. She had been a petted daughter, was an idolized wife, and an adored mother. Her husband carried all his perplexities and all his troubles to her, and by so doing lightened them. She had a keen, shrewd way of looking at things, and was so wrapt up in her husband and children that she had no time for outside friendships. Her chief fault was her intolerance of imaginary woes, and want of reality in any and every shape.

She thought life was made so unnecessarily hard, not by real circumstances, but by the way those circumstances were dealt with.

She saw no hardship, where health and strength existed, in self-denial for those who were loved. She was completely out of sympathy with people who suffered acutely from what they falsely considered a loss of dignity. She had seven children, a very moderate income, and two servants. If those servants were busy or out, or hard at work, she opened her own front door and saw no harm in it; just as on Sunday she took the milk in when her servants were in church. To say that she had arrived at doing this without some trouble would be untrue, because all her neighbours thought her dreadfully wanting in that high standard of gentility that was their own.

But no woman is consistent without having a certain power and influence amongst her fellows. She had splendid health, and her powers of repartee were so well known that no one cared to lay themselves open to an answer--her absence of ill-health giving her a command of temper that always placed her in an advantageous position.

She was extremely sorry for Mrs. Dorriman: to be alone as she was, to have to face the world without any backbone was to her, like expecting a fish to swim deprived of its fins.

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