Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 (41 page)

 
          
I
liked that little speech, and recollecting the wistful look he had given me,
the significant words that had escaped him, and the variations of tone and
manner constantly succeeding one another, I felt assured that my cousin was
cognizant of the family league, and accepted it, yet with the shyness of a
young lover, knew not how to woo. This pleased me, and quite satisfied with my
morning's work, I mentally resolved to charm my cousin slowly, and enjoy the
romance of a genuine wooing, without which no woman's life seems complete—in
her own eyes at least. He had gathered me a knot of purple heather, and as he
gave it I smiled my sweetest on him, saying, “I commission you to supply me
with nosegays, for you have taste, and I love wild flowers. I shall wear this
at dinner in honor of its giver. Now take me home; for my moors, though
beautiful, are chilly, and I have no wrapper but this microscopic
handkerchief.”

 
          
Off
went his riding jacket, and I was half smothered in it. The hat followed next,
and as he sprang up behind I took the reins, and felt a thrill of delight in
sweeping down the slope with that mettlesome creature tugging at the bit, that
strong arm around me, and the happy hope that the heart I leaned on might yet
learn to love me.

 
          
The
day so began passed pleasantly, spent in roving over house and grounds with my
cousin, setting my possessions in order, and writing to dear old Madame.
Twilight found me in my bravest attire, with Guy’s heather in my hair,
listening for his step, and longing to run and meet him when he came. Punctual
to the instant he appeared, and this dinner was a far different one from that
of yesterday, for both father and son seemed in their gayest and most gallant
mood, and I enjoyed the hour heartily. The
world seemed all
in tune now, and when I went to the drawing room I was moved to play my most
stirring marches, sing
my blithest songs, hoping to bring one at least
of the gentlemen to join me. It brought both, and my first glance showed me a
curious change in each. My uncle looked harassed and yet amused; Guy looked
sullen and eyed his father with covert glances.

 
          
The
mornings chat flashed into my mind, and I asked myself, “Is Guy jealous so
soon?” It looked a little like it, for he threw himself upon a couch and lay
there silent and morose; while my uncle paced to and fro, thinking deeply,
while apparently listening to the song he bade me finish. I did so, then
followed the whim that now possessed me, for I wanted to try my power over them
both, to see if I could restore that gentler mood of my uncle’s, and assure
myself that Guy cared whether I was friendliest with him or not.

 
          
“Uncle,
come and sing with me; I like that voice of yours.”

 
          
“Tut,
I am too old for that; take this indolent lad instead. His voice is fresh and
young, and will chord well with yours.”

 
          
“Do
you know that pretty chanson about ‘love and wine, and the
Seine
tomorrow,’
cousin
Guy?” I asked, stealing a sly glance at my uncle.

 
          
“Who
taught you that?” And Guy eyed me over the top of the couch with an astonished
expression which greatly amused me.

 
          
“No
one; Uncle sang a bit of it in the carriage yesterday. I like the air, so come
and teach me the rest.”

 
          
“It
is no song for you, Sybil. You choose strange entertainment for a lady, sir.”

 
          
A
look of unmistakable contempt was in the son’s eye, of momentary annoyance in
the father’s, yet his voice betrayed none as he answered, still pacing placidly
along the room, “I thought she was asleep, and unconsciously began it to
beguile a silent drive. Sing on, Sybil; that Bacchanalian snatch will do you no
harm.”

 
          
But
I was tired of music now they had come, so I went to him, and passing my arm
through his, walked beside him, saying with my most persuasive aspect, “Tell me
about Paris, Uncle; I intend to go there as soon as Im of age, if you will let
me. Does your guardianship extend beyond that time?”

 
          
“Only till you marry.”

 
          
“I
shall be in no haste, then, for I begin to feel quite homelike and happy here
with you, and shall be content without other society; only you’ll soon tire of
me, and leave me to some dismal governess, while you and Guy go pleasuring.”

 
          
“No
fear of that, Sybil; I shall hold you fast till some younger guardian comes to
rob me of my merry ward.”

 
          
As
he spoke, he took the hand that lay upon his arm into a grasp so firm, and
turned on me a look so keen, that I involuntarily dropped my eyes lest he
should read my secret there. Eager to turn the conversation, I asked, pointing
to a little miniature hanging underneath the portrait of his son, before which
he had paused, “Was that Guy’s mother, sir?”

 
          
“No, your own.”

 
          
I
looked again, and saw a face delicate yet spirited, with dark eyes, a
passionate mouth, and a head crowned with hair as plenteous and golden as my
own; but the whole seemed dimmed by age, the ivory was stained, the glass
cracked, and a faded ribbon fastened it. My eyes filled as I looked, and a
strong desire seized me to know what had defaced this little picture of the
mother whom I never knew.

 
          
“Tell
me about her, Uncle; I know so little, and often long for her so much. Am I
like her, sir?”

 
          
Why
did my uncle avert his eyes as he answered, “You are a youthful image of her,
Sybil”?

 
          
“Go
on, please, tell me more; tell me why this is so stained and worn; you know
all, and surely I am old enough now to hear any history of pain and loss.”

 
          
Something
caused my uncle to knit his brows, but his bland voice never varied a tone as
he placed the picture in my hand and gave me this brief explanation:

 
          
“Just
before your birth your father was obliged to cross the Channel, to receive the
last wishes of a dying friend. There was an accident; the vessel foundered, and
many lives were lost. He escaped, but by some mistake his name appeared in the
list of missing passengers; your mother saw it, the shock destroyed her, and
when your father returned he found only a motherless little daughter to welcome
him. This miniature, which he always carried with him, was saved with his
papers at the last moment; but though the seawater ruined it he would never
have it copied or retouched, and gave it to me when he died in memory of the
woman I had loved for his sake. It is yours now, my child; keep it, and never
feel that you are fatherless or motherless while I remain.”

 
          
Kind
as was both act and speech, neither touched me, for something seemed wanting. I
felt yet could not define it, for then I believed in the sincerity of all I
met.

 
          
“Where
was she buried, Uncle? It may be foolish, but I should like to see my
mothers
grave.”

 
          
“You
shall someday, Sybil,” and a curious change came over my uncles face as he
averted it.

 
          
“I
have made him melancholy, talking of Guys mother and my own; now HI make him
gay again if possible, and pique that negligent boy,” I thought, and drew my
uncle to a lounging chair, established myself on the arm thereof, and kept him
laughing with my merriest gossip, both of us apparently unconscious of the long
dark figure stretched just opposite, feigning sleep, but watching us through
halfclosed lids, and never stirring except to bow silently to my careless “Good
night.”

 
          
As
I reached the stairhead, I remembered that my letter to Madame, full of the
frankest criticisms upon people and things, was lying unsealed on the table in
the little room my uncle had set apart for my boudoir; fearing servants’ eyes
and
tongues,
I slipped down again to get it. The room
adjoined the parlors, and just then was lit only by a ray from the hall lamp.

 
          
I
had secured the letter, and was turning to retreat, when I heard Guy say
petulantly, as if thwarted yet submissive, “I am civil when you leave me alone;
I do agree to marry her, but I won’t be hurried or go a-wooing except in my own
way. You know I never liked the bargain, for it’s nothing else; yet I can
reconcile myself to being sold, if it relieves you and gives us both a home.
But, Father, mind this, if you tie me to that girl’s sash too tightly I shall
break away entirely, and then where are we?”

 
          
“I
should be in prison and you a houseless vagabond. Trust me, my boy, and take
the good fortune which I secured for you in your cradle. Look in pretty Sybil’s
face, and resignation will grow easy; but remember time presses, that this is
our forlorn hope, and for God’s sake be cautious, for she is a headstrong
creature, and may refuse to fulfill her part if she learns that the contract is
not binding against her will.”

 
          
“I
think she’ll not refuse, sir; she likes me already. I see it in her eyes; she
has never had a lover, she says, and according to your account a girls first
sweetheart is apt to fare the best. Besides, she likes the place, for I told
her it was hers, as you bade me, and she said she could be very happy here, if
my father was always kind.”

 
          
“She
said that, did she? Little hypocrite! For your father, read yourself, and tell
me what else she babbled about in that early tete-a-tete of yours.”

 
          
“You
are as curious as a woman, sir, and always make me tell you all I do and say,
yet never tell me anything in return, except this business, which I hate,
because my liberty is the price, and my poor little cousin is kept in the dark.
Til tell her all, before I marry her, Father.”

 
          
“As you please, hothead.
I am waiting for an account of the
first love passage, so leave blushing to Sybil and begin.”

 
          
I
knew what was coming and stayed no longer, but caught one glimpse of the pair.
Guy in his favorite place, erect upon the rug, half laughing, half frowning as
he delayed to speak, my uncle serenely smoking on the couch; then I sped away
to my own room, thinking, as I sat down in a towering passion, “So he does know
of the baby betrothal and hates it, yet submits to please his father, who
covets my fortune—mercenary creatures! I can annul the contract, can I? I’m
glad to know that, for it makes me mistress of them both. I like you already,
do I, and you see it in my eyes? Coxcomb! Til be the thornier for that. Yet I
do like him; I do wish he cared for me, I’m so lonely in the world, and he can
be so kind.”

 
          
So
I cried a little, brushed my hair a good deal, and went to bed, resolving to
learn all I could when, where, and how I pleased, to render myself as charming
and valuable as possible, to make Guy love me in spite of himself, and then say
yes or no, as my heart prompted me.

 
          
That
day was a sample of those that followed, for my cousin was by turns attracted
or repelled by the capricious moods that ruled me. Though conscious of a secret
distrust of my uncle, I could not resist the fascination of his manner when he
chose to exert its influence over me; this made my little plot easier of
execution, for jealousy seemed the most effectual means to bring my wayward
cousin to subjection. Full of this fancy, I seemed to tire of his society, grew
thorny as a brier rose to him, affectionate as a daughter to my uncle, who
surveyed us both with that inscrutable glance of his, and slowly yielded to my
dominion as if he had divined my purpose and desired to aid it. Guy turned cold
and gloomy, yet still lingered near me as if ready for a relenting look or
word. I liked that, and took a wanton pleasure in prolonging the humiliation of
the warm heart I had learned to love, yet not to value as I ought, until it was
too late.

 
          
One
dull November evening as I went wandering up and down the hall, pretending to enjoy
the flowers, yet in reality waiting for Guy, who had left me alone all day, my
uncle came from his room, where he had sat for many hours with the harassed and
anxious look he always wore when certain foreign letters came.