Page:Once a Week Dec 1860 to June 61.pdf/321

 310 “Who said, dear? Don’t stop to call names, as they confuse a story.”

“This Mrs. Berry, then,” said Beatrice. “Price, of course, was thunderstruck ”

“Was astonished—well.”

“The woman,” persisted Mrs. Hawkesley, regardless of her moderator, “did not at first explain that Clara had been in her charge, but made a variety of inquiries about Laura, which Price baffled as well as she could; and it was only at last, and when she had irritated Price by all sorts of hints and insolent questionings, that she mentioned that Clara had been left at Lipthwaite.”

“Mrs. Berry supposing that the child had gone home?”

“Yes, and ordering Price to bring her down. Then, I think, though Price knows her duty better than to say so, she gave the creature some very plain speaking, something like what she will get here, I can tell her.”

“I trust not in the least like it,” said Hawkesley, laying his hand on his wife’s. “Mrs. Hawkesley’s plain speaking will be as unlike Mrs. Price’s as possible. Quite plain enough, though, I have no doubt. Then Price hurried off to see whether the child were here?”

“Yes; and to say that Mrs. Berry was coming.”

“Did Mrs. Berry say so?”

“She asked for our address.”

“I wonder she was not here as soon as Price.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I think that Price, wishing to gain time”

“Did not tell the truth?”

“I don’t think she made the address very plain to her, and Maida Hill is rather a wide place.”

But, wide as it might be, less than half an hour had elapsed before Mr. Hawkesley was summoned to the parlour. There he found his wife in company with a lady whom the former introduced to him with as much frigidity as the warm-natured Beatrice could manage to superimpose upon her ordinarily demonstrative manner.

“This is Mrs. Berry, from Lipthwaite, Charles. She has called to inquire about Clara.”

“Who is here, I am glad to find—a naughty little runagate,” said Mrs. Berry, smiling kindly.

“You have informed this lady that Clara is here, and well?” said the author, addressing his wife.

“I have said nothing of the kind,” replied Mrs. Hawkesley, “as Mrs. Berry did not wait to ask the question of me, but thought proper to let the servant know that Clara had run away.”

“My dear lady,” said Mrs. Berry, “my natural impatience to know that the darling child was safe made me forget ceremony. Such a weight has been taken off my heart, that I can hardly express my sensations, but you, Mrs. Hawkesley, as a mother, will be able to appreciate them.”

Mrs. Hawkesley did not look as if she were inclined to make any particular effort to sympathise with her visitor, and Hawkesley said—

“We are happy, of course, to relieve you, Mrs. Berry, of a charge which may have been irksome. Clara will remain with us until her parents return to town.”

“Ah!” said Mrs. Berry, tenderly, “perhaps that is the best way to put it.”

“To put what?” said Mrs. Hawkesley, almost angrily.

“To arrange for Clara,” said Hawkesley, with a movement of his hand, signifying his wish to understand the speech his own way, and avoid encounter. “Mrs. Berry, of course, thinks with us, that the child will be best with her uncle and aunt.”

He would speedily have ended the interview, but neither lady was minded that it should have so inglorious an issue.

“I did not understand Mrs. Berry to mean that,” said Mrs. Hawkesley.

“Nor did I, exactly,” said Mrs. Berry, “but I perfectly comprehend Mr. Hawkesley’s reluctance to allude to any circumstances of a painful character, and I am quite prepared to let that interpretation be placed on my words.”

Her words were delivered with the utmost precision, but in the gentlest tone, and they produced in Mrs. Hawkesley certain slight indications, almost imperceptible except by her husband, that if anything more were said, it would be a good deal more. And for this he saw no reason.

“Some little portmanteau, or something of the kind, I think Clara mentioned that she had left behind her,” he said. “If you would kindly cause it to be forwarded here, that will be the last trouble she shall give you.” And he was evidently bent on bowing Mrs. Berry out of her chair. He might as well have tried to bow a limpet off a rock.

“It shall be sent up,” she said, “and I trust that you will be rewarded for your kindness to the poor motherless child.”

Over the Rubicon.

“Pray, Mrs. Berry,” said Hawkesley, sternly, “what do you mean by that expression?”

His wife’s face flushed with pleasure at his taking up the case which she had been impatiently believing that he would refuse to fight.

“What expression?” asked Mrs. Berry, so naturally.

“You called Clara motherless. Have you heard of Mrs. Lygon’s death?”

“Her death!” responded Mrs. Berry, sadly. “To her sister, and to her brother-in-law, I may be forgiven for saying—alas! no. For you will understand me.” And she put her handkerchief to her eyes.

Mrs. Hawkesley, her husband felt (though he was not looking at her), was on the point of replying that she quite understood Mrs. Berry, and of explaining, in the least agreeable manner, the view the took of that lady’s nature, but he again interposed.

“A mysterious speech of that kind, addressed to a lady’s nearest and dearest friends, must, of course, be explained,” he answered. “Mrs Berry will be good enough to understand that we have no idea of its meaning.”

“You could not say such a thing insincerely.” said Mrs. Berry, with so much energy, and looking so exceedingly pained, that Hawkesley, who knew that he had not spoken sincerely, hesitated over his reply.