Scenes of Clerical Life

Chapter 11

The following Sunday, the morning being rainy, it was determined that the

family should not go to Cumbermoor Church as usual, but that Mr. Gilfil,

who had only an afternoon service at his curacy, should conduct the

morning service in the chapel.

Just before the appointed hour of eleven, Caterina came down into the

drawing-room, looking so unusually ill as to call forth an anxious

inquiry from Lady Cheverel, who, on learning that she had a severe

headache, insisted that she should not attend service, and at once packed

her up comfortably on a sofa near the fire, putting a volume of

Tillotson's Sermons into her hands--as appropriate reading, if Caterina

should feel equal to that means of edification.

Excellent medicine for the mind are the good Archbishop's sermons, but a

medicine, unhappily, not suited to Tina's case. She sat with the book

open on her knees, her dark eyes fixed vacantly on the portrait of that

handsome Lady Cheverel, wife of the notable Sir Anthony. She gazed at the

picture without thinking of it, and the fair blonde dame seemed to look

down on her with that benignant unconcern, that mild wonder, with which

happy self-possessed women are apt to look down on their agitated and

weaker sisters.

Caterina was thinking of the near future--of the wedding that was so soon

to come--of all she would have to live through in the next months.

'I wish I could be very ill, and die before then,' she thought. 'When

people get very ill, they don't mind about things. Poor Patty Richards

looked so happy when she was in a decline. She didn't seem to care any

more about her lover that she was engaged to be married to, and she liked

the smell of the flowers so, that I used to take her. O, if I could but

like anything--if I could but think about anything else! If these

dreadful feelings would go away, I wouldn't mind about not being happy. I

wouldn't want anything--and I could do what would please Sir Christopher

and Lady Cheverel. But when that rage and anger comes into me, I don't

know what to do. I don't feel the ground under me; I only feel my head

and heart beating, and it seems as if I must do something dreadful. O! I

wonder if any one ever felt like me before. I must be very wicked. But

God will have pity on me; He knows all I have to bear.'

In this way the time wore on till Tina heard the sound of voices along

the passage, and became conscious that the volume of Tillotson had

slipped on the floor. She had only just picked it up, and seen with alarm

that the pages were bent, when Lady Assher, Beatrice, and Captain Wybrow

entered, all with that brisk and cheerful air which a sermon is often

observed to produce when it is quite finished.

Lady Assher at once came and seated herself by Caterina. Her ladyship had

been considerably refreshed by a doze, and was in great force for

monologue.

'Well, my dear Miss Sarti, and how do you feel now?--a little better, I

see. I thought you would be, sitting quietly here. These headaches, now,

are all from weakness. You must not over-exert yourself, and you must

take bitters. I used to have just the same sort of headaches when I was

your age, and old Dr Samson used to say to my mother, "Madam, what your

daughter suffers from is weakness." He was such a curious old man, was Dr

Samson. But I wish you could have heard the sermon this morning. Such an

excellent sermon! It was about the ten virgins: five of them were

foolish, and five were clever, you know; and Mr. Gilfil explained all

that. What a very pleasant young man he is! so very quiet and agreeable,

and such a good hand at whist. I wish we had him at Farleigh. Sir John

would have liked him beyond anything; he is so good-tempered at cards,

and he was such a man for cards, was Sir John. And our rector is a very

irritable man; he can't bear to lose his money at cards. I don't think a

clergyman ought to mind about losing his money; do you?--do you now?'

'O pray, Lady Assher,' interposed Beatrice, in her usual tone of

superiority, 'do not weary poor Caterina with such uninteresting

questions. Your head seems very bad still, dear,' she continued, in a

condoling tone, to Caterina; 'do take my vinaigrette, and keep it in your

pocket. It will perhaps refresh you now and then.'

'No, thank you,' answered Caterina; 'I will not take it away from you.'

'Indeed, dear, I never use it; you must take it,' Miss Assher persisted,

holding it close to Tina's hand. Tina coloured deeply, pushed the

vinaigrette away with some impatience, and said, 'Thank you, I never use

those things. I don't like vinaigrettes.'

Miss Assher returned the vinaigrette to her pocket in surprise and

haughty silence, and Captain Wybrow, who had looked on in some alarm,

said hastily, 'See! it is quite bright out of doors now. There is time

for a walk before luncheon. Come, Beatrice, put on your hat and cloak,

and let us have half an hour's walk on the gravel.'

'Yes, do, my dear,' said Lady Assher, 'and I will go and see if Sir

Christopher is having his walk in the gallery.'

As soon as the door had closed behind the two ladies, Captain Wybrow,

standing with his back to the fire, turned towards Caterina, and said in

a tone of earnest remonstrance, 'My dear Caterina. Let me beg of you to

exercise more control over your feelings; you are really rude to Miss

Assher, and I can see that she is quite hurt. Consider how strange your

behaviour must appear to her. She will wonder what can be the cause of

it. Come, dear Tina,' he added, approaching her, and attempting to take

her hand; 'for your own sake let me entreat you to receive her attentions

politely. She really feels very kindly towards you, and I should be so

happy to see you friends.'

Caterina was already in such a state of diseased susceptibility that the

most innocent words from Captain Wybrow would have been irritating to

her, as the whirr of the most delicate wing will afflict a nervous

patient. But this tone of benevolent remonstrance was intolerable. He had

inflicted a great and unrepented injury on her, and now he assumed an air

of benevolence towards her. This was a new outrage. His profession of

goodwill was insolence.

Caterina snatched away her hand and said indignantly, 'Leave me to

myself, Captain Wybrow! I do not disturb you.'

'Caterina, why will you be so violent--so unjust to me? It is for you

that I feel anxious. Miss Assher has already noticed how strange your

behaviour is both to her and me, and it puts me into a very difficult

position. What can I say to her?'

'Say?' Caterina burst forth with intense bitterness, rising, and moving

towards the door; 'say that I am a poor silly girl, and have fallen in

love with you, and am jealous of her; but that you have never had any

feeling but pity for me--you have never behaved with anything more than

friendliness to me. Tell her that, and she will think all the better of

you.'

Tina uttered this as the bitterest sarcasm her ideas would furnish her

with, not having the faintest suspicion that the sarcasm derived any of

its bitterness from truth. Underneath all her sense of wrong, which was

rather instinctive than reflective--underneath all the madness of

her jealousy, and her ungovernable impulses of resentment and

vindictiveness--underneath all this scorching passion there were still

left some hidden crystal dews of trust, of self-reproof, of belief that

Anthony was trying to do the right. Love had not all gone to feed the

fires of hatred. Tina still trusted that Anthony felt more for her than

he seemed to feel; she was still far from suspecting him of a wrong

which a woman resents even more than inconstancy. And she threw out this

taunt simply as the most intense expression she could find for the anger

of the moment.

As she stood nearly in the middle of the room, her little body trembling

under the shock of passions too strong for it, her very lips pale, and

her eyes gleaming, the door opened, and Miss Assher appeared, tall,

blooming, and splendid, in her walking costume. As she entered, her face

wore the smile appropriate to the exits and entrances of a young lady who

feels that her presence is an interesting fact; but the next moment she

looked at Caterina with grave surprise, and then threw a glance of angry

suspicion at Captain Wybrow, who wore an air of weariness and vexation.

'Perhaps you are too much engaged to walk out, Captain Wybrow? I will go

alone.'

'No, no, I am coming,' he answered, hurrying towards her, and leading her

out of the room; leaving poor Caterina to feel all the reaction of shame

and self-reproach after her outburst of passion.