Ruth (30 page)

Ruth rose early, and shared the household work with Sally and Miss
Benson till seven; and then she helped Leonard to dress, and had a
quiet time alone with him till prayers and breakfast. At nine she
was to be at Mr Bradshaw's house. She sat in the room with Mary and
Elizabeth during the Latin, the writing, and arithmetic lessons,
which they received from masters; then she read, and walked with
them, they clinging to her as to an elder sister; she dined with her
pupils at the family lunch, and reached home by four. That happy
home—those quiet days!

And so the peaceful days passed on into weeks, and months, and years,
and Ruth and Leonard grew and strengthened into the riper beauty of
their respective ages; while as yet no touch of decay had come on the
quaint, primitive elders of the household.

It was no wonder that the lookers-on were perplexed as to the state
of affairs between Jemima and Mr Farquhar, for they too were sorely
puzzled themselves at the sort of relationship between them. Was it
love, or was it not? that was the question in Mr Farquhar's mind. He
hoped it was not; he believed it was not; and yet he felt as if it
were. There was something preposterous, he thought, in a man nearly
forty years of age being in love with a girl of twenty. He had gone
on reasoning through all the days of his manhood on the idea of a
staid, noble-minded wife, grave and sedate, the fit companion in
experience of her husband. He had spoken with admiration of reticent
characters, full of self-control and dignity; and he hoped—he
trusted, that all this time he had not been allowing himself
unconsciously to fall in love with a wild-hearted, impetuous girl,
who knew nothing of life beyond her father's house, and who chafed
under the strict discipline enforced there. For it was rather a
suspicious symptom of the state of Mr Farquhar's affections, that
he had discovered the silent rebellion which continued in Jemima's
heart, unperceived by any of her own family, against the severe laws
and opinions of her father. Mr Farquhar shared in these opinions; but
in him they were modified, and took a milder form. Still, he approved
of much that Mr Bradshaw did and said; and this made it all the more
strange that he should wince so for Jemima, whenever anything took
place which he instinctively knew that she would dislike. After an
evening at Mr Bradshaw's, when Jemima had gone to the very verge
of questioning or disputing some of her father's severe judgments,
Mr Farquhar went home in a dissatisfied, restless state of mind,
which he was almost afraid to analyse. He admired the inflexible
integrity—and almost the pomp of principle—evinced by Mr Bradshaw
on every occasion; he wondered how it was that Jemima could not see
how grand a life might be, whose every action was shaped in obedience
to some eternal law; instead of which, he was afraid she rebelled
against every law, and was only guided by impulse. Mr Farquhar had
been taught to dread impulses as promptings of the devil. Sometimes,
if he tried to present her father's opinions before her in another
form, so as to bring himself and her rather more into that state
of agreement he longed for, she flashed out upon him with the
indignation of difference that she dared not show to, or before,
her father, as if she had some diviner instinct which taught her
more truly than they knew, with all their experience; at least, in
her first expressions there seemed something good and fine; but
opposition made her angry and irritable, and the arguments which he
was constantly provoking (whenever he was with her in her father's
absence) frequently ended in some vehemence of expression on her part
that offended Mr Farquhar, who did not see how she expiated her anger
in tears and self-reproaches when alone in her chamber. Then he would
lecture himself severely on the interest he could not help feeling in
a wilful girl; he would determine not to interfere with her opinions
in future, and yet, the very next time they differed, he strove to
argue her into harmony with himself, in spite of all resolutions to
the contrary.

Mr Bradshaw saw just enough of this interest which Jemima had excited
in his partner's mind, to determine him in considering their future
marriage as a settled affair. The fitness of the thing had long ago
struck him; her father's partner—so the fortune he meant to give
her might continue in the business; a man of such steadiness of
character, and such a capital eye for a desirable speculation as
Mr Farquhar—just the right age to unite the paternal with the
conjugal affection, and consequently the very man for Jemima, who
had something unruly in her, which might break out under a
régime
less wisely adjusted to the circumstances than was Mr Bradshaw's (in
his own opinion)—a house ready-furnished, at a convenient distance
from her home—no near relations on Mr Farquhar's side, who might be
inclined to consider his residence as their own for an indefinite
time, and so add to the household expenses—in short, what could
be more suitable in every way? Mr Bradshaw respected the very
self-restraint he thought he saw in Mr Farquhar's demeanour,
attributing it to a wise desire to wait until trade should be rather
more slack, and the man of business more at leisure to become the
lover.

As for Jemima, at times she thought she almost hated Mr Farquhar.

"What business has he," she would think, "to lecture me? Often I can
hardly bear it from papa, and I will not bear it from him. He treats
me just like a child, and as if I should lose all my present opinions
when I know more of the world. I am sure I should like never to know
the world, if it was to make me think as he does, hard man that he
is! I wonder what made him take Jem Brown on as gardener again, if he
does not believe that above one criminal in a thousand is restored to
goodness. I'll ask him, some day, if that was not acting on impulse
rather than principle. Poor impulse! how you do get abused. But I
will tell Mr Farquhar I will not let him interfere with me. If I
do what papa bids me, no one has a right to notice whether I do it
willingly or not."

So then she tried to defy Mr Farquhar, by doing and saying things
that she knew he would disapprove. She went so far that he was
seriously grieved, and did not even remonstrate and "lecture," and
then she was disappointed and irritated; for, somehow, with all her
indignation at interference, she liked to be lectured by him; not
that she was aware of this liking of hers, but still it would have
been more pleasant to be scolded than so quietly passed over. Her two
little sisters, with their wide-awake eyes, had long ago put things
together, and conjectured. Every day they had some fresh mystery
together, to be imparted in garden walks and whispered talks.

"Lizzie, did you see how the tears came into Mimie's eyes when Mr
Farquhar looked so displeased when she said good people were always
dull? I think she's in love." Mary said the last words with grave
emphasis, and felt like an oracle of twelve years of age.

"I don't," said Lizzie. "I know I cry often enough when papa is
cross, and I'm not in love with him."

"Yes! but you don't look as Mimie did."

"Don't call her Mimie—you know papa does not like it."

"Yes; but there are so many things papa does not like I can never
remember them all. Never mind about that; but listen to something
I've got to tell you, if you'll never, never tell."

"No, indeed I won't, Mary. What is it?"

"Not to Mrs Denbigh?"

"No, not even to Mrs Denbigh."

"Well, then, the other day—last Friday, Mimie—"

"Jemima!" interrupted the more conscientious Elizabeth.

"Jemima, if it must be so," jerked out Mary, "sent me to her desk for
an envelope, and what do you think I saw?"

"What?" asked Elizabeth, expecting nothing less than a red-hot
Valentine, signed Walter Farquhar,
pro
Bradshaw, Farquhar, and Co.,
in full.

"Why, a piece of paper, with dull-looking lines upon it, just like
the scientific dialogues; and I remembered all about it. It was once
when Mr Farquhar had been telling us that a bullet does not go in a
straight line, but in a something curve, and he drew some lines on a
piece of paper; and Mimie—"

"Jemima," put in Elizabeth.

"Well, well! she had treasured it up, and written in a corner, 'W.
F., April 3rd.' Now, that's rather like love, is not it? For Jemima
hates useful information just as much as I do, and that's saying a
great deal; and yet she had kept this paper, and dated it."

"If that's all, I know Dick keeps a paper with Miss Benson's name
written on it, and yet he's not in love with her; and perhaps Jemima
may like Mr Farquhar, and he may not like her. It seems such a little
while since her hair was turned up, and he has always been a grave
middle-aged man ever since I can recollect; and then, have you never
noticed how often he finds fault with her—almost lectures her?"

"To be sure," said Mary; "but he may be in love, for all that. Just
think how often papa lectures mamma; and yet, of course, they're in
love with each other."

"Well! we shall see," said Elizabeth.

Poor Jemima little thought of the four sharp eyes that watched her
daily course while she sat alone, as she fancied, with her secret in
her own room. For, in a passionate fit of grieving, at the impatient,
hasty temper which had made her so seriously displease Mr Farquhar
that he had gone away without remonstrance, without more leave-taking
than a distant bow, she had begun to suspect that rather than not be
noticed at all by him, rather than be an object of indifference to
him—oh! far rather would she be an object of anger and upbraiding;
and the thoughts that followed this confession to herself, stunned
and bewildered her; and for once that they made her dizzy with hope,
ten times they made her sick with fear. For an instant she planned
to become and to be all he could wish her; to change her very nature
for him. And then a great gush of pride came over her, and she set
her teeth tight together, and determined that he should either love
her as she was, or not at all. Unless he could take her with all
her faults, she would not care for his regard; "love" was too noble
a word to call such cold, calculating feeling as his must be, who
went about with a pattern idea in his mind, trying to find a wife to
match. Besides, there was something degrading, Jemima thought, in
trying to alter herself to gain the love of any human creature. And
yet, if he did not care for her, if this late indifference were to
last, what a great shroud was drawn over life! Could she bear it?

From the agony she dared not look at, but which she was going to risk
encountering, she was aroused by the presence of her mother.

"Jemima! your father wants to speak to you in the dining-room."

"What for?" asked the girl.

"Oh! he is fidgeted by something Mr Farquhar said to me, and which
I repeated. I am sure I thought there was no harm in it, and your
father always likes me to tell him what everybody says in his
absence."

Jemima went with a heavy heart into her father's presence.

He was walking up and down the room, and did not see her at first.

"Oh, Jemima! is that you? Has your mother told you what I want to
speak to you about?"

"No!" said Jemima. "Not exactly."

"She has been telling me what proves to me how very seriously you
must have displeased and offended Mr Farquhar, before he could have
expressed himself to her as he did, when he left the house. You know
what he said?"

"No!" said Jemima, her heart swelling within her. "He has no right to
say anything about me." She was desperate, or she durst not have said
this before her father.

"No right!—what do you mean, Jemima?" said Mr Bradshaw, turning
sharp round. "Surely you must know that I hope he may one day be
your husband; that is to say, if you prove yourself worthy of the
excellent training I have given you. I cannot suppose Mr Farquhar
would take any undisciplined girl as a wife."

Jemima held tight by a chair near which she was standing. She did not
speak; her father was pleased by her silence—it was the way in which
he liked his projects to be received.

"But you cannot suppose," he continued, "that Mr Farquhar will
consent to marry you—"

"Consent to marry me!" repeated Jemima, in a low tone of brooding
indignation; were those the terms upon which her rich woman's heart
was to be given, with a calm consent of acquiescent acceptance, but a
little above resignation on the part of the receiver?

—"if you give way to a temper which, although you have never dared
to show it to me, I am well aware exists, although I hoped the
habits of self-examination I had instilled had done much to cure
you of manifesting it. At one time, Richard promised to be the more
headstrong of the two; now, I must desire you to take pattern by him.
Yes," he continued, falling into his old train of thought, "it would
be a most fortunate connexion for you in every way. I should have you
under my own eye, and could still assist you in the formation of your
character, and I should be at hand to strengthen and confirm your
principles. Mr Farquhar's connexion with the firm would be convenient
and agreeable to me in a pecuniary point of view. He—" Mr Bradshaw
was going on in his enumeration of the advantages which he in
particular, and Jemima in the second place, would derive from this
marriage, when his daughter spoke, at first so low that he could not
hear her, as he walked up and down the room with his creaking boots,
and he had to stop to listen.

"Has Mr Farquhar ever spoken to you about it?" Jemima's cheek was
flushed as she asked the question; she wished that she might have
been the person to whom he had first addressed himself.

Mr Bradshaw answered,

"No, not spoken. It has been implied between us for some time. At
least, I have been so aware of his intentions that I have made
several allusions, in the course of business, to it, as a thing that
might take place. He can hardly have misunderstood; he must have seen
that I perceived his design, and approved of it," said Mr Bradshaw,
rather doubtfully; as he remembered how very little, in fact, passed
between him and his partner which could have reference to the
subject, to any but a mind prepared to receive it. Perhaps Mr
Farquhar had not really thought of it; but then again, that would
imply that his own penetration had been mistaken, a thing not
impossible certainly, but quite beyond the range of probability. So
he reassured himself, and (as he thought) his daughter, by saying,