Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (258 page)

“Is Mr Moore within?”

“No, sir; master left home last week for the assizes.”

Sir William affected disappointment. He turned, and made a show of consulting me in a whisper. Then again, addressing the servant: “Miss Moore is at home, perhaps?” “Yes, sir.”

“Then be kind enough to give in our names to her — Messrs Clarke and Gardiner — and say we wish to see her for an instant on a matter of some importance”

The servant bowed, and politely requesting us to walk forward, threw open the door of a small sitting-room. The apartment was prettily furnished. Its single large window, flung wide open, admitted the faint gale which now and then breathed over the languor of the burning noon. This window looked specially pleasant, for it had a deep recess and a seat pillowed with a white cushion, over which waved the festoons of a muslin curtain. Seating ourselves within this embayment, we leaned over the sill, and scented the jessamine whose tendrils were playing in the breeze around the casement.

“This is Miss Moore’s own parlour,” said Sir William pointing to a little work-table with scissors, thimble and lace upon it, and then, reverting his eye to a cabinet piano with an open music book above its key-board. “I always appropriate when I’m left alone in a lady’s boudoir,” he continued; and getting up softly, he was on the point of prigging something from the work-table, when a voice slightly hummed in the passage, and without any other sound, either of footstep or rustling dress, Miss Moore like an apparition dawned upon us. The Colonel turned, and she was there. He looked at her, or rather through her, before he spoke. Really, she seemed to be haloed — there was something so radiant in her whole appearance. Not the large dark eyes of the west, nor the large even arch of the eye-brow; not the enthusiastic and poetic look, nor the braided or waving locks of solemn shade; but just a girl in white, plump and very tall. Her riding-habit was gone, and her beaver; and golden locks (the word golden I use in courtesy, mind, reader) drooped on the whitest neck in Angria. Her complexion seemed to glow: it was so fair, so blooming. She had very rosy lips and a row of small even teeth sparkling like pearls; her nose was prominent and straight and her eyes very spirited. Regularity of feature by no means formed her chief charm: it was the perfection of a lively complexion and handsome figure.

The lady looked very grave; her curtsey was dignified and distant.

“Permit me, madam,” said the Colonel, “to introduce myself and my friend. I am Mr Clarke, this gentleman, Mr Gardiner. We are both clients of your father. You will have heard him mention the lawsuit now pending between Clarke and Gardiner versus Jowett.”

“I daresay,” returned Miss Moore, “though I don’t recollect just now. Will you be seated, gentlemen?”

She took her own seat on a little couch near the work-table and, resting her elbow on the arm, looked very graceful and majestic.

“A warm morning,” observed Sir William, by way of keeping up the conversation.

“Very,” she replied demurely.

“A pretty place Mr Moore has here,” said I.

“Rather,” was Miss Moore’s answer; then, carelessly taking up her work, she continued. “How can I serve you, gentlemen?”

Sir William rubbed his hand. He was obliged to recur to business.

“Why, madam, will you be so good as to say to Mr Moore when he returns that James Cartwright, the witness who was so reluctant to come up, has at length consented to appear, and that consequently the trial may proceed, if he thinks proper, next month.”

“Very well,” said she. Then, still bending her eyes upon the lace, she continued. “How far have you come to tell my father this? Do you reside in the neighbourhood?”

“No, madam, but we are both on a visit there at present. We came to look after some little mill-property we possess in Zamorna.”

You must have had a hot walk,” pursued Miss Moore. “Will you take some refreshment?”

We both declined, but she took no notice of our refusal, and, touching a bell, ordered the servant who answered it to bring wine etc. She then quietly returned to her lace-work. We might have been lap-dogs or children for all the discomposure our presence seemed to occasion her. Sir William was a match for her, however. He sat, one leg crossed over the other, regarding her with a hard stare. I believe she knew his eyes were fixed upon her, but she kept her countenance admirably. At last he said, “I have had the pleasure of seeing you before, madam.”

“Probably, sir; I don’t always stay at home.”

“It was in Zamorna Minster last September.”

She did colour a little, and laughed, for she recollected, doubtless, the admiration with which her name had been mentioned at that time in the journals, and the thousand eyes which had been fixed upon her as the centre of attraction as she sat in her white satin robe high placed in the lofty gallery of the minster.

“A great many people saw me at that time,” she answered, “and talked about me too, for my size gave me wonderful distinction.”

“Nothing but size?” asked Sir William, and his look expressed the rest.

“Will you take some salmagundi, Mr Clarke?” said she, rising and approaching the tray which the servant had just placed on the table. Mr Clarke expressed his willingness; so did Mr Gardiner. She helped both, plentifully, and they fell to.

A knock came to the door. She stept to the window and looked out. I saw her nod and smile, and her smile was by no means a simper: it showed her front teeth, and made her eyes shine very pleasantly. She walked into the passage, and opened the door herself.

“Now, Jane, how are you?” said a masculine voice. Percy winked at me.

“How are you?” she answered. “And why are you come here this hot day?”

“What! you’re not glad to see me, I guess,” returned the visitor.

“Yes I am, because you look so cool! I’m sorry we’ve no fire to warm you, but you can step into the kitchen.”

“Come, be steady! Moore’s at Angria, varry like?”

“Varry like he is — but you may walk forwards notwithstanding.” Then, in a lower voice, “I’ve two chits in my parlour — very like counting-house clerks or young surgeons or something of that kind. Just come and look at them.”

Percy and I arrested the victual on the way to our mouths. We were wroth.

“The jade!” said Percy.

I said nothing. However, a more urgent cause of disturbance was at hand. That voice which had been speaking sounded but too familiar, both to Sir William and myself, and now the speaker was approaching with measured step and the clank of a spur. He continued talking as he came: “I’ve come to dine with you, Jane, and then I’ve to step over to Hartford Hall about some business. I’ll call again at six o’clock, and Julia says you’ve to come back with me to Girnington.”

“Whether I will or not, I suppose, General?”

“Whether you will or not.”

And here Sir Wilson Thornton paused, for he was in the room, and his glance had encountered us, seated at the table and tucking in to the wines with which Miss Moore had provided us. I don’t think either Sir William or I changed countenance. General Thornton’s eye always assumes a cold annoyed expression when it sees me. I met him freely: “Ho! General! how d’ye do? My word, you do look warm with walking! Is your face swelled?”

“Not ’at I know on, Mr Townshend,” he answered coldly, and, bowing to Sir William, he took his seat.

“My dear General,” I continued. “Don’t on any account drink water in your present state. You seem to me to be running thin! I wish you may not catch your death of cold! Dear, dear - what a pity you should appear such a figure before a beautiful young lady like Miss Moore!”

“If I’m any vex to Miss Moore she’ll be good enough to tell me of it without yer interference,” said the General, much disturbed.

“Had you ever the scarlet fever?” I inquired anxiously.

“I cannot see how my health concerns you,” he answered.

“Or the sweating sickness?” I continued.

The General brushed the dust from his coat-sleeve and, turning briskly to Miss Moore, asked her if these were the lads she had taken for two young surgeons.

“Yes,” said she, “but I begin to think I was in the wrong.”

“I would like to know what nonsense brought ’em here,” said Thornton. “They’re no more surgeons nor I am. Percy, I wonder ye’ll go looking abâat t’ country wi’ such a nout as Townshend.”

“Percy!” exclaimed Miss Moore. “O, it is Sir William Percy! I thought I had seen that gentleman before. It was at a review: he was one of the royal staff.”

The Colonel bowed. “The greatest compliment I ever had paid me,” said he, “that Miss Moore should single me out from among thousands and recollect my face.”

“Just because it struck me for its likeness to Lord Northangerland’s,” replied she.

“From whatever cause, madam, the honour is mine, and I am proud of it.”

He searched her countenance with one of those sentimental and sinister glances which, when they flicker in his eyes, do indeed make him strongly resemble his father. I don’t think he was pleased with the result of his scrutiny. Miss Moore’s aspect remained laughing and open as ever. Had she blushed or shrunk away, Sir William would have triumphed. But hers was no heart to be smitten with sudden, secret and cankering love — the sort of love he often aims to inspire.

“Come, Townshend,” said he, drawing on his gloves. “We will go.”

“I think you’d better, lad,” observed Thornton. “Neither you nor Townshend have done yourselves any credit by this spree.”

We both were bold enough to approach Miss Moore; and she was good-natured or thoughtless enough to shake hands with us freely, and say that when her father came home she should be happy to see his clients Messrs Clarke and Gardiner again, either about the lawsuit or to take a friendly cup of tea with them. The girl, to do her justice, seemed to have some tact. I don’t think I shall soon forget her very handsome face, or the sound of her voice and the pleasant expression of her eyes.

As we two passed again through the embowered gate and stept out into the now burning road, I asked Sir William if he was smitten.

“Not I,” said he. “There’s no mind there, and very little heart. If ever I marry, rest satisfied my choice will not fall upon the Rose of Zamorna.”

Yet something had evidently gone wrong with the young Colonel. His vanity was wounded, or he was vexed at the interference of General Thornton. Whatever the cause was, certain it  he grew mightily disagreeable, snapping on all sides and snarling sourly at everything. We had not walked above a quarter of a mile, when he said he had business which called him elsewhere, and he must now bid me good-day. The baronet turned into a retired lane branching from the main road, and I continued my course straight on.

Jane Moore, staying at Girnington with General and Lady Thornton, sings stirring songs of the charge of the men of Ardsley and of the siege of Evesham in the recent Angrian war. Castlereagh, Earl of Stuartville brings news that Zamorna is expected in Zamorna City next day, and that the populace, who are furious that he has been visiting Northangerland, are threatening to riot.

“The rumour of invaders through all Zamorna ran.

Then Turner Grey his watch-word gave:

Ho! Ardsley to the van!

Lord Hartford called his yeomen, and Warner raised his clan,

But first in fiercest gallop rushed Ardsley to the van!

On came Medina’s turbans, Sir John hurled his ban:

’Mid the thousand hearts who scorned it still Ardsley kept the van!

The freshening gales of battle a hundred standards fan,

And doubt not Ardsley’s pennon floats foremost in the van!