Читать книгу A Crooked Path - Mrs. Alexander - Страница 14

"You shall see. If I can have a little chat with you every week I shall be able for a good deal. Then, remember, the book still remains. When that succeeds we may snap our fingers at rich uncles."

"When that time comes," interrupted her mother, "you will be tied to the poor old miser by habit and the subtle claims which pity and comprehension weave round the sympathetic."

"Oh, if I ever grow to like him it will simplify matters very much. I almost hope I may, but it is not likely. How strange it will be to live in a different house from you! How dreadfully the boys will tease you when I am away! Come; suppose we go and see the Cheerful Visitor—the editor, I mean—before we return, and then we can say we have been to a publisher. I really do not think Ada knows the difference between an editor and a publisher."

"Very likely; nor would you, probably, if you had not a mother who scribbles weak fiction."

"It is a great deal better than much that is published and paid for," said Katherine, emphatically.

"Ah! Kate, when money has long been scarce you get into a bad habit of estimating things merely at their market value. However, let us visit the Cheerful Visitor on our homeward way. Of course we must tell Ada of the impending change, but we need not explain too much."

The journey back was less silent. Both mother and daughter were oppressed by the task undertaken by the latter. But Katherine was successful in concealing the dismay with which she contemplated a residence with John Liddell. "Whatever happens, I must not seem afraid of him or be afraid of him," she thought, with instinctive perception. "I will try to do what is just and right, and leave the rest to Providence. It must be a great comfort to have faith—to believe that if you do the right thing you will be directed and assisted by God. What strength it would give! But I haven't faith. I cannot believe that natural laws will ever be changed for me, and I know that good, honest, industrious creatures die of hunger every day. No matter. Do rightly, come what may, is the motto of every true soul. I don't suppose I shall melt this old man's stony heart, but I will do my best for him. His has been a miserable life in spite of his money. There is so much money cannot buy!"

"How dreadfully late you are!" said Mrs. Frederic, querulously, when they reached home. "I really could not keep the children waiting for you, so we have finished dinner; but Maria is keeping the mutton as hot as she can for you. Dear me! how sick I am of roast mutton! but I suppose it is cheap"—contemptuously.

"Poor dear! it shall have something nice to-morrow," returned Mrs. Liddell, with her usual strong good temper.

"I suppose you are too tired, Katherine, to come with me. The band plays in Kensington Gardens to-day, and I wanted so much to go and hear it."

"I am indeed! Besides, mother has a great deal to tell you when we have had some dinner."

"Oh, indeed! Has your book been accepted, Mrs. Liddell? or has that terrible uncle of ours declared Katherine to be his heiress?"

"Have a little patience, and you shall hear everything."

"I am dying of curiosity and impatience. Here, Sarah, do bring up dinner—Mrs. Liddell is so hungry!"

The announcement that Katherine was invited to live with John Liddell created a tornado of amazement, envy, anticipation—with an undercurrent of exultant pride that they were at last recognized by the only rich man in the family—in the mind of the pretty, impressionable little widow.

"Gracious! What a grand thing for Kate! But she will be moped to death, and he will starve her. Why, Katherine, when it is known that a millionaire has adopted you his den will be besieged by your admirers. You will never be able to stand such a life for long at a time. Suppose I relieve guard every fortnight? You must let me have my innings too. Old gentlemen always like me, I am so cheerful. Then I might have the boys to see him; you know he ought to divide the property between us."

"Of course he ought. I wish he would have us alternately; it would be a great relief," said Katherine, laughing.

"I fancy he is im-mensely rich," continued Ada. "Why, Mr. Errington evidently knew his name."

"Who is Mr. Errington?" asked Mrs. Liddell, with languid curiosity.

"Did you never hear of the Calcutta Erringtons?" cried Ada, with infinite superiority. "There are as rich as Jews, and one of the greatest houses in India. Old Mr. Errington bought a fine place in the country lately, and this young man—I'm sure I don't know if he is young; he is as grave as a judge and as stiff as a poker—at all events he is an only son. I met him at the Burnett's yesterday. Well, he seemed to know Mr. Liddell's name quite well. Colonel Ormonde pricked up his ears too when I said you had gone to see him. It is a great advantage to have a rich old bachelor uncle, Katherine, but you must not keep him all to yourself."

The next few days were agitated and much occupied. Katherine went for part of each to read and write and market for the old recluse, and he grew less formidable, but not more likable, as he became more familiar. He was an extraordinary example of a human being converted into a money-making and accumulating machine. He was not especially irritable; indeed his physical powers were weak and dying of every species of starvation; but his coldness was supernatural. Fortunately for Katherine, his former housekeeper was greedy and extravagant, so that his niece's management seemed wise and economical, and she had an excellent backer-up in Mr. Newton.

The old miser was with difficulty persuaded to see his sister-in-law; but Mrs. Liddell insisted on an interview, and Mr. Newton himself supported her through the trying ordeal.

The mother's heart sank within her at she sight of the gloomy, desolate abode in which her bright daughter was to be immured; but she comforted herself by reflecting that it need not be for long.

Mr. Liddell did not rise from the easy-chair in which he sat crouched together, his thin gray locks escaping as usual from under the skull-cap, his long lean brown hands grasping the arms of his chair, when Mrs. Liddell came in; neither did he hold out his hand. He looked at her fixedly with his glittering dark eyes.

"You wanted to see me?" he said. "Why?"

"Because I thought it right to see and speak with you before committing my only child to your keeping."

"But you have done it!—She has agreed to the conditions, has'nt she?" turning to Newton. "If you go back, I must have my money back."

"Of course, my dear sir—of course," soothingly.

"I am glad that Katherine can be of use to you. I do not wish to retract anything I have agreed to, but I wish to remind you that my child is young; that you must let her go in and out, and have opportunities for air and exercise."

"She may do as she likes; she can do anything. So long as she reads to me, and buys my food without wasting my money, I don't want her company. She seems to know something of the value of money, and I'll keep her in pledge till you have paid me. I'll never let myself be cheated again, as I was by your worthless husband."

"Let the dead rest," said Mrs. Liddell, sadly. "I have paid you what I could."

"Ay, the principal—the bare principal. What is that? Do men lend for the love of lending?" he returned, viciously.

"Pray do not vex yourself. It is useless to look back—annoying and useless," said the lawyer, with decision.

"Useless indeed! What more have you to say?"

"I should like to see the room my daughter is to occupy. It is as well she should have the comforts necessary to health, for all our sakes. You will not find one who will serve you as Katherine can, even for a high price. I think you feel this yourself," said Mrs. Liddell, steadily.

"You may go where you like, but do not trouble me. You can come and see your daughter, but I shall not want to see you; and she may go and see you of a Sunday, when there are no newspapers to be read; but, mark you I will not pay for carriages or horses or omnibuses; and mark also that I have made my will, and I'll not alter it in any one's favor. Your daughter will have her food and lodging and my countenance and protection."

"She has done without these for nineteen years," said Mrs. Liddell, with a slight smile. "But you have given me very opportune help, for which I am grateful; so I have accepted your terms. Kate shall stay with you till I have paid you principal and interest, and then I warn you I shall reclaim my hostage."

"She'll be a good while with me," he said, with a sneer. "None of you—you, your husband, or your son—ever had thirty pounds to spare in your lives."

"Time will show," returned Mrs. Liddell, with admirable steadiness and temper. "Now I will bid you good-day, and take advantage of your permission to look over your house."

"Let me show you the way," said Newton. "I shall return to you presently, Mr. Liddell."

The old man bent his head. "See that the girl comes to-morrow," he said, and leaned back wearily in his chair.

The friendly lawyer led the way upstairs, and showed Mrs. Liddell a large room, half bed, half sitting, with plenty of heavy old-fashioned furniture. "This was, I think, the drawing-room," said Mr. Newton; "and having extracted permission from my very peculiar client to have the house cleaned, so far as it could be done, which it sorely needed, the person I employed selected the best of the furniture for this room. We propose to give the next room at the back to the servant. You have, I believe, found one?"

"Yes, a respectable elderly woman, of whom I have had an excellent character."

After Mrs. Liddell had visited the rooms upstairs—mere dismantled receptacles of rubbish—and they returned to what was to be Katherine's abode, she sat down on the ponderous sofa, and in spite of her efforts to control herself the tears would well up and roll over.

"I feel quite ashamed of myself," said she, in a broken voice; "but when I think of my Katie, here alone, with that cruel old man, it is too much for my strength. She has been so tenderly reared, her life, though quiet and humble, has been so cared for, so tranquil, that I shrink from the idea of her banishment here."

"It is not unnatural, my dear madam, but indeed the trial is worth enduring. Do not believe that the will of which Mr. Liddell speaks is irrevocable. He has made two or three to my certain knowledge, and it would be foolish to cut your daughter off from, any chance of sharing his fortune, which is considerable, I assure you, merely to avoid a little present annoyance."

"It would indeed. Do not think me very weak. It is a passing fit of the dolefuls. I have had much anxiety of late, and for the moment I have a painful feeling that I have sold myself and my dear daughter into the hands of a relentless creditor; that I shall never free my neck from his yoke. I shall probably feel differently to-morrow."

"I dare say you will. You are a lady of much imagination; a writer, your daughter tells me. Such an occupation should be an outlet for all imaginative terrors or anticipations, and leave your mind, your judgment, clear and free. I am sure Miss Liddell will do her uncle and herself good by her residence here. Mr. Liddell has been a source of anxiety to me and to my partners. We have, you know, been his legal advisers for years, and to know that he is in good hands will be a great relief. Rely on my—on our doing our best to assist your daughter in every way."

Mrs. Liddell, perceiving the friendly spirit which actuated the precise lawyer, thanked him warmly, and after a little further discussion of details, took her way home.

From the step she had voluntarily taken there was no retreat, nor, to do her justice, was Katherine Liddell in the least disposed to turn back, having once put her hand to the plough. Indeed the blessed castle-building powers of youth disposed her to rear airy edifices as regarded the future, which lightened the present gloom. Suppose John Liddell were to soften toward her, and make her a handsome present occasionally, or forgive this debt to her mother? What a delightful reward this would be for her temporary servitude! But though Katherine really amused herself with such fancies, they never crystallized into hope. Hope still played round her mother's chance of success with the publishers. Not that she fancied her dear mother a genius; on the contrary, because she was her mother, she probably undervalued her work; but she knew that hundreds of stories printed and paid for lacked the common-sense and humor of Mrs. Liddell's.

How ardently she longed to give her mother something of a rest after the burden and heat of the day, which she had borne so well and so long—a spell of peaceful twilight before the gray shadows of everlasting darkness closed, or the brightness of eternal light broke upon her! Yes, she would stand four-square against the steely terrors of John Liddell's cold egotism and penuriousness, against the desolation and gloom of his forbidding abode, the crushing sordidness of an existence reduced to the merest straws of sustenance, provided she could lighten her mother's load—perhaps secure her future ease; and she would do her task well, thoroughly, keeping a steady heart and a bright face. Then, should the tide ever turn, what deep draughts of pleasure she would drink! Katherine was not socially ambitious; finery and grandeur as such did not attract her; but real joys, beauty and gayety, the company of pleasant people, i.e. people who suited her, graceful surroundings, becoming clothes, and plenty of them, all were dear and delightful to her.

Some of these things she had tasted when she lived with her mother in the German and Italian towns where she had been chiefly educated; the rest she was satisfied to imagine. Above all, she loved to charm those with whom she associated—loved it in a half-unconscious way. Were it to a poor blind beggar woman, or a little crossing sweeper, she would speak as gently and modulate her voice as carefully as to the most brilliant partner or the greatest lady. This might be tenderness of nature, or the profound instinct to win liking and admiration. As yet it was quite instinctive; but if hurt or offended she could feel resentment very vividly, and was by no means too ready to forgive.

Unfortunately she started with a strong prejudice against her uncle, and sometimes rehearsed in her own mind exceedingly fine speeches which she would have liked to address to her miserly relative on the subject of his cruelty to his son, his avarice, his egotism.

Still a strain of pity ran through her meditations. Was life worth living, spent as his was? How far had his nature been warped by his wife's desertion?

It was an extraordinary experience to Katherine, this packing up of her belongings to quit her home. She took as little as she could help, to keep up the idea that she was entering on a very temporary engagement; besides, as she meant to adhere rigidly to her right of a weekly visit to her mother, she could always get what she wanted.

After Mrs. Liddell, Katherine found it hardest to part with the boys, specially little Charlie, whose guardian and champion she had constituted herself. Her sister-in-law had rather an irritating effect upon her, of which she was a little ashamed, and whenever she had spoken sharply, which she did occasionally, she was ready to atone for it by doing some extra service, so that, on the whole, the pretty little widow got a good deal more out of her sister than out of her mother-in-law.

But meditations, resolutions, regrets, and preparations notwithstanding, the day of Katherine's departure arrived. It was a bright, glowing afternoon, and the Thursday fixed for the boating party. Mrs. Liddell junior had expended much eloquence to no purpose, as she well knew it would be, in trying to persuade her sister-in-law to postpone the commencement of what the little widow was pleased to call her "penal servitude," and accompany her to Twickenham.

She departed, however, without her, looking her very best, and uttering many promises to come and see Katie soon, to try her powers of pleasing on that dreadful old uncle of ours, to bring the dear boys, and see if they would not cut out their aunty, etc.

Mrs. Liddell and her daughter were most thankful to have the last few hours together, and yet they said little, and that chiefly respecting past days which they had enjoyed together—little excursions on the Elbe or in the neighborhood of Florence; a couple of months once passed at Siena, which was a mental epoch to Katherine, who was then about fifteen; promises to write; and tender queries on the mother's side if she had remembered this or that.

The little boys clung to her, Charlie in tears, Cecil very solemn. Both had taken up the sort of camera-obscura image of their elders' views which children contrive to obtain so mysteriously without hearing anything distinct concerning them, and both considered "Uncle John" a sort of modern ogre, only restrained by the policeman outside from making a daily meal of the nearest infant school, and sure to gobble up aunty some day. Charlie trembled at the thought; Cecil pondered profoundly how, by the judicious arrangement of a trap-door in the middle of his room, he might carry out the original idea of Jack the Giant-Killer.

"Pray don't think of coming with me, mother," said Katherine, seeing Mrs. Liddell take out her bonnet. "I could not bear to think of your lonely drive back. Trust me to myself. I am not going to be either frightened or cast down, and I will write to-morrow."

"Then I must let you go, darling! On Sunday next, Katie, we shall see you."

A long, fond embrace, and Mrs. Liddell was indeed alone.