Энн Бронте – The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (страница 18)

Meantime, my brain was on fire with indignation, and my heart seemed ready to burst from its prison with conflicting passions. I regarded my two fair neighbours with a feeling of abhorrence and loathing I scarcely endeavoured to conceal: I was rallied from several quarters for my abstraction and ungallant neglect of the ladies; but I cared little for that: all I cared about, besides that one grand subject of my thoughts, was to see the cups travel up to the tea-tray, and not come down again. I thought Mr Millward never would cease telling us that he was no tea-drinker, and that it was highly injurious to keep loading the stomach with slops to the exclusion of more wholesome sustenance, and so give himself time to finish his fourth cup.

At length it was over; and I rose and left the table and the guests, without a word of apology – I could endure their company no longer. I rushed out to cool my brain in the balmy evening air, and to compose my mind, or indulge my passionate thoughts in the solitude of the garden.

To avoid being seen from the windows, I went down a quiet, little avenue, that skirted one side of the enclosure, at the bottom of which was a seat embowered in roses and honeysuckles. Here I sat down to think over the virtues and wrongs of the lady of Wildfell Hall; but I had not been so occupied two minutes, before voices and laughter, and glimpses of moving objects through the trees, informed me that the whole company had turned out to take an airing in the garden too. However, I nestled up in a corner of the bower, and hoped to retain possession of it, secure alike from observation and intrusion. But no – confound it – there was someone coming down the avenue! Why couldn’t they enjoy the flowers and sunshine of the open garden, and leave that sunless nook to me, and the gnats and midges?

But peeping through my fragrant screen of interwoven branches to discover who the intruders were (for a murmur of voices told me it was more than one), my vexation instantly subsided, and far other feelings agitated my still unquiet soul; for there was Mrs Graham, slowly moving down the walk with Arthur by her side, and no one else. Why were they alone? Had the poison of detracting tongues already spread through all; and had they all turned their backs upon her? I now recollected having seen Mrs Wilson, in the early part of the evening, edging her chair close up to my mother, and bending forward, evidently in the delivery of some important, confidential intelligence; and from the incessant wagging of her head, the frequent distortions of her wrinkled physiognomy, and the winking and malicious twinkle of her little ugly eyes, I judged it was some spicy piece of scandal that engaged her powers; and from the cautious privacy of the communication, I supposed some person then present was the luckless object of her calumnies; and from all these tokens, together with my mother’s looks and gestures of mingled horror and incredulity, I now concluded that object to have been Mrs Graham. I did not emerge from my place of concealment, till she had nearly reached the bottom of the walk, lest my appearance should drive her away; and when I did step forward, she stood still and seemed inclined to turn back as it was.

‘Oh, don’t let us disturb you, Mr Markham!’ said she. ‘We came here to seek retirement ourselves; not to intrude on your seclusion.’

‘I am no hermit, Mrs Graham – though I own it looks rather like it, to absent myself in this uncourteous fashion from my guests.’

‘I feared you were unwell,’ said she with a look of real concern.

‘I was rather, but it’s over now. Do sit here a little, and rest, and tell me how you like this arbour,’ said I, and, lifting Arthur by the shoulders, I planted him in the middle of the seat by way of securing his mamma, who, acknowledging it to be a tempting place of refuge, threw herself back in one corner, while I took possession of the other.

But that word ‘refuge’ disturbed me. Had their unkindness then really driven her to seek for peace in solitude?

‘Why have they left you alone?’ I asked.

‘It is I who have left them,’ was the smiling rejoinder. ‘I was wearied to death with small-talk – nothing wears me out like that. I cannot imagine how they can go on as they do.’

I could not help smiling at the serious depth of her wonderment.

‘Is it that they think it a duty to be continually talking,’ pursued she; ‘and so never pause to think, but fill up with aimless trifles and vain repetitions, when subjects of real interest fail to present themselves? – or do they really take pleasure in such discourse?’

‘Very likely they do,’ said I: ‘their shallow minds can hold no great ideas, and their light heads are carried away by trivialities, that would not move a better furnished skull; – and their only alternative to such discourse, is to plunge over head and ears into the slough of scandal – which is their chief delight.’

‘Not all of them surely?’ cried the lady, astonished at the bitterness of my remark.

‘No, certainly; I exonerate my sister from such degraded tastes – and my mother too, if you included her in your animadversions.’

‘I meant no animadversions against anyone, and certainly intended no disrespectful allusions to your mother. I have known some sensible persons great adepts in that style of conversation, when circumstances impelled them to it; but it is a gift I cannot boast the possession of. I kept up my attention, on this occasion, as long as I could, but when my powers were exhausted, I stole away, to seek a few minutes’ repose in this quiet walk. I hate talking where there is no exchange of ideas or sentiments, and no good given or received.’

‘Well,’ said I, ‘if ever I trouble you with my loquacity, tell me so at once, and I promise not to be offended; for I possess the faculty of enjoying the company of those I – of my friends as well in silence as in conversation.’

‘I don’t quite believe you; but if it were so, you would exactly suit me for a companion.’

‘I am all you wish, then, in other respects?’

‘No, I don’t mean that. How beautiful those little clusters of foliage look, where the sun comes through behind them!’ said she, on purpose to change the subject.

And they did look beautiful, where at intervals the level rays of the sun, penetrating the thickness of trees and shrubs on the opposite side of the path before us, relieved their dusky verdure by displaying patches of semi-transparent leaves of resplendent golden green.

‘I almost wish I were not a painter,’ observed my companion.

‘Why so? one would think at such a time you would most exult in your privilege of being able to imitate the various brilliant and delightful touches of nature.’

‘No; for instead of delivering myself up to the full enjoyment of them as others do, I am always troubling my head about how I could produce the same effect upon canvas; and as that can never be done, it is mere vanity and vexation of spirit.’

‘Perhaps you cannot do it to satisfy yourself, but you may and do succeed in delighting others with the result of your endeavours.’

‘Well, after all I should not complain: perhaps few people gain their livelihood with so much pleasure in their toil as I do. Here is someone coming.’

She seemed vexed at the interruption.

‘It is only Mr Lawrence and Miss Wilson,’ said I, ‘coming to enjoy a quiet stroll. They will not disturb us.’

I could not quite decipher the expression of her face; but I was satisfied there was no jealousy therein. What business had I to look for it?

‘What sort of a person is Miss Wilson?’ she asked.

‘She is elegant and accomplished above the generality of her birth and station; and some say she is ladylike and agreeable.’

‘I thought her somewhat frigid, and rather supercilious in her manner today.’

‘Very likely she might be so to you. She has possibly taken a prejudice against you, for I think she regards you in the light of a rival.’

‘Me? Impossible, Mr Markham!’ said she, evidently astonished and annoyed.

‘Well, I know nothing about it,’ returned I, rather doggedly; for I thought her annoyance was chiefly against myself.

The pair had now approached within a few paces of us. Our arbour was set snugly back in a corner, before which the avenue, at its termination, turned off into the more airy walk along the bottom of the garden. As they approached this, I saw, by the aspect of Jane Wilson, that she was directing her companion’s attention to us; and, as well by her cold, sarcastic smile, as by the few isolated words of her discourse that reached me, I knew full well that she was impressing him with the idea that we were strongly attached to each other. I noticed that he coloured up to the temples, gave us one furtive glance in passing, and walked on, looking grave, but seemingly offering no reply to her remarks.

It was true, then, that he had some designs upon Mrs Graham; and, were they honourable, he would not be so anxious to conceal them. She was blameless, of course, but he was detestable beyond all count.

While these thoughts flashed through my mind, my companion abruptly rose, and calling her son, said they would now go in quest of the company, and departed up the avenue. Doubtless she had heard or guessed something of Miss Wilson’s remarks, and therefore, it was natural enough she should choose to continue the tête-à-tête no longer, especially as at that moment my cheeks were burning with indignation against my former friend, the token of which she might mistake for a blush of stupid embarrassment. For this I owed Miss Wilson yet another grudge; and still the more I thought upon her conduct, the more I hated her.