Good Mrs Hypocrite/Chapter 3
It was nearly dark, and a foggy November evening, when Catherine Macpherson found herself at her destination.
She was cold and tired; the fog had got down her throat and into her eyes. Her boots were muddy, and her skirts splashed and draggled. She was in a bad temper, and her very ring of the bell had a defiant clang and challenge about it.
"Is Mrs. Weimar in?" she demanded, as the door opened, and a neat maid-servant showed herself at the entrance.
She had no intention of bestowing on her niece the foreign title of "Madame." Everything foreign, from a title to a toy, savored of the "Scarlet Woman" and the "Seven Hills" to the mind of Catherine Macpherson.
Being informed that her niece was in, she followed the servant into the dining- room, which opened out of the small entrance-hall. Here, sitting before a dull fire and looking as desolate and melancholy as itself, was a small, fair person, in a plain, black gown. She rose as the door opened, and looked somewhat doubtfully at her visitor.
"Weil, Margaret, don't you know me?" snapped the good lady; "I'm your Aunt Catherine."
"Oh, I — I beg your pardon. . . . You see it is so long since I saw you," stammered Margaret Weimar, and she held out her hands, and received a frosty peck on her cheek by way of greeting.
Then she drew an armchair up to the fire, and stirred the dull coals to a blaze.
"It was good of you to come so soon," she said, trying to bring back to her mind some memory of this austere and terrible- looking person. " I have been in great trouble and anxiety. My mother's illness was very dreadful, and then I had to come over from Germany suddenly and leave my children."
"How many have you?" asked Catherine Macpherson sharply. " I was never told anything about your marriage. I only know it was some foreign man you got."
"My husband is German," said her niece, coloring softly. "I have three children," she added.
"Hoot-toots!" cried Aunt Macpherson, lapsing into Scotch, as was her way if excited or displeased "Three, is it ? Mair papists, I'm thinking. I hope you do your duty by them, for all you're living in a foreign land where there's no respecting the Sabbath at all, so I hear. And your gudeman, what sort is he, and what's his business!"
"He is an artist," said Margaret Weimar.
"A what?" demanded her aunt.
"An artist. He paints pictures, you know. He is very clever, quite celebrated in Köln, where we live."
"Gude sakes!" gasped Catherine Macpherson. "A painter, and a foreigner, and a papist. Was ever the like of it? It's my opinion, Margaret, that you've done but ill for yourself and your family marrying in such a fashion. There's aye a rod for a fule's back, says the Scriptures, and I doubt not ye hae made your own."
Margaret Weimar began to think that Aunt Macpherson was a very extraordinary person indeed. This frank speaking was certainly not pleasant.
From any one, not a relative, it would have savored of downright rudeness; but Margaret had yet to learn that to a Christian and a relative a very large margin must be allowed.
"I don't know what you mean," she said coldly. " My husband is not a papist, as you call it. He is a Protestant like myself, and as for being a fool, I married him because I loved him and esteemed him, not because he was well off."
"Hoot-toots!" said Aunt Macpherson again." Ye talk like a schoolgirl. I wouldn't be sure, now I come to think of it, that ye weren't always a foolish romantic lassie, aye poring over books and poetry and the like. And this is what they've brought ye to! 'I said to the ungodly, set not up your horn and speak not with a stiff neck.'"
"Don't you think,! suggested Margaret, "that we had better get to the business which brought you here. There is very little use in discussing my affairs — and they really do not concern you in any way. You never gave any sign of remembering my existence from the day you left Sydney until the present moment."
"The Lord knoweth the ways of the godly," replied Aunt Macpherson. "I have had my 'call,' child, and my work has been given unto me ; and I have labored in and out of season; yea, I have not feared to admonish and reprove, for so the Lord has bidden me. And now — what is it you want with me?" she added abruptly.
" It will take some time to explain," said Margaret. " Can I offer you tea or wine or anything? and won't you take off your cloak?"
"I never take wine," said Aunt Macpherson. " It is a snare of the Evil One. 'Behold, the cup is red, and their feet that go thither do stumble.' But I will have a cup of tea, and remove my cloak, as you suggest."
She rose, and unhooked the garment, and walked over to the couch and laid it down. During her walk to and from her chair she had an opportunity of noticing that the carpet was Brussels, and the furniture solid and handsome.
" My brother has a fairly gude establish- ment, I'm thinking," she observed, as she returned to her seat.
" Everything in this house belonged to my mother," answered her niece. " I must explain to you that on their return from Australia they came here to live so as to be near her mother. She was very well off, and furnished this house, and made it a present to her daughter, on condition that it should all come to me, her eldest grandchild. By my mother's death, therefore, I have the lease of this house and everything in it ; but I promised her that as long as my father lived he should have the use of it, unless he should prefer to come abroad and live with me. But he won't do that. He is somewhat prejudiced and obstinate."
"It ill-becometh a child to speak disrespectfully of a parent," interrupted Aunt Macpherson severely.
"Oh, I meant no disrespect, I simply stated a fact ; and surely when a child is grown up. Aunt Catherine, it has as much right to criticise a parent as a parent has ever had to punish or control it. I don't approve of arbitrary distinctions. We must exercise our own judgment on occasions."
" In a meek and God-fearing spirit only," said Aunt Catherine.
"Well, well," said her niece impatiently, "we won't argue about the spirit. I say again that as my father won't leave England or this house, of which, by the bye, there is nearly a seven years' lease to run, and I cannot live here with him — "
"What is the reason o' that, may I inquire?"
"My husband hates England, and he could not follow his profession so successfully as in a land where he is known and appreciated."
"I see, I see," said Catherine Mac- pherson. " Go on with your history, Margaret."
"I debated what was best to be done," she continued, " and at last I thought of you. The Forbes in Edinburgh gave me your address at the Deaconess House, and from there I learnt where you were. It must be a very hard and dreary life. Aunt Catherine — " she broke off suddenly.
" It was the Lord's will to call me to it," said Catherine severely. " And, hard or not, I've always fulfilled my duty, where'er I've seen it set before me. When we know where to seek grace and how to find it, there's nothing too hard for us."
" Well," said Margaret gently, " I only know that it seemed to me a very toilful and self-denying life, and many a time my father and I talked about it. So at last I thought I would ask you to come and see me, Aunt Catherine, and then make a — suggestion — "
"I'm listening for it," said her aunt briefly.
"My father is old and feeble, and you, I believe, are independent of all ties. Would you live here with him? His income will keep you both in comfort, and it will give you a home, and not leave you to the mercies of strangers. No doubt you would find plenty of good work to do here as well as at Barnes. You might give it a trial — say, for a year. I will leave everything in the house just as it is, with the exception of the plate, which I will divide between us."
"Have you the right to do that?" asked Catherine Macpherson sharply.
Her niece lifted her head and looked at her in astonishment.
"The right?" she repeated vaguely. "Haven't I told you my mother left everything to me?"
"But was it strictly hers to leave, that's what is not clear to me ? " said Aunt Macpherson. " The plate, I ken well, was your father's. There's the Macpherson crest on it. Dinna remove anither man's land-marks ; it's nae right nor honorable to meddle with what is nae yours by strict letter of the law."
Margaret Weimar looked at her uncompromising relative with bewildered eyes.
"I — I really don't understand you," she said. " Do you suppose I should do anything that was not fair or just? A great portion of the plate was bought with my mother's money, or left to her by her own people. That is what I should take. The Macpherson portion I would leave for my father's use. There is ample for both of us. He never entertains, and I hardly suppose you would be giving parties," with an expressive glance at her aunt's extraordinary garb. "I have arranged all this with my father," she added, somewhat haughtily." I fail to see that you have any right to question my proceedings."
"I would not have my brother wronged by a hair's-breadth, if justice could be brought to it," said Aunt Macpherson doggedly. " But we will no argufy over matters just at present. They may bide till I see Jamie himself. And, by the way, where is the man?"
" He has gone to bed," said Margaret, coloring once more. " He often takes it into his head to do that at odd times. I told you he was a little queer. He had a sunstroke in Sydney, you know, and has never been the same since. That is why I want some one in the family to look after him. The doctor says — Oh, but here is your tea," she broke off suddenly, as the servant entered. " We will finish our conversation when you have had a cup. I'm sure you are cold and tired."
The silver tray, with its dainty china and Qneen Ann teapot and sngar-basin, was set down on a small table by the neat servant.
Catherine Macpherson took oflF her stiff gloves, and eyed the service with frosty appreciation. She sniffed the fragrance of muffins and the delicate aroma of tea, and decided that — if she so chose — her " lines might be cast in pleasant places " indeed. To her, this well furnished room, this bright silver and delicate china, were as absolute luxuries after her little dingy parlor at Barnes, her black teapot, and oilcloth covered table, and common blue cups.
" I have no doubt I should do very well- here," she said to herself, as she took a second cup of the Indian and Ceylon blend, and felt the warmth of the now blazing fire, and surveyed the general appearance of the room under the glow of a crimson shaded lamp. "Surely Providence has thought fit to reward me for long services at last."
She lifted her eyes piously towards the ceiling. " How many rooms does this house contain ? " she asked.
" There's a drawing-room leading out of this," said her niece, " and three bedrooms and two attics, a good kitchen and scullery, and a fair-sized garden. The house is quite detached, and the road is very pleasant. The situation is cheerful, and my father likes it."
"And is there a place of worship near at hand?" asked Catherine.
"Several, I believe. I have never been able to go to church since I came, owing first to my mother's illness ; and afterwards I did not like to leave my father alone, he was in such low spirits."
"Your duty to your Maker should stand first in your sight, Margaret," said her aunt sternly. " I am surprised to hear that you have na entered the house of God since you came here. And what of Jamie ? Does he not go to kirk or church ? I mind me he was a pious. God-fearing man in his youth."
"His health is so bad," said Margaret, "he rarely goes anywhere."
Then Catherine Macpherson felt her last doubt vanish. Here was her duty plainly set before her. To look after her brother's spiritual and temporal welfare, to lead him back to the fold, to counsel, admonish, and tend him in his old age. Surely no Christian spinster could desire a better fate.
"I've been turning the whole thing over in my mind," she said to Margaret Weimar. " And though I shall have to make a great spiritual sacrifice in ordering my life anew, and giving up the work to which the Lord led me, yet I'm no slow to recognize my duty, and it is borne in upon me strongly that I am called to this work. Margaret, you can return to your husband and children as soon as ye will. I will take charge of my brother for the future."
Margaret glanced up in some alarm.
"You say future," she said, "as if the arrangement were to last forever. Please remember that I only ask you to do this until I am in a position to fulfil my mother's wishes. It may be a year or more before I can return to England — or can persuade my husband to do so. Then we should come here to live, or have my father with us. Perhaps I had better draw up an agreement which we will both sign, so that the matter may be placed beyond future disputey"
"Hoot-toots!" exclaimed Aunt Catherine. "Who ever heard the like ? An agreement between relations! as if we were two strangers to be disputing with one another. I'd have ye know, Margaret, that I'm a God-fearing woman, and that my word is as good as any document ever given. And now my mind's made up, and I ken perfectly the situation. I'll go back to Barnes and make my arrangements, and I'll be here in two days from now."
"Wouldn't you rather see my father first, and have a talk with him before coming here altogether," suggested Margaret Weimer. " You'll find him sadly changed from what you remember."
"I'm none of that kind that put their hand to the plow and then look back," said her aunt. " My feet are set in the way, and mine eyes take hold of it. No change in my brother can alter my sense of the duty I owe to him, and you'll favor me by telling him that."
She rose; having finished her third cup of tea and the two muffins provided for her.
"Are you going already?" exclaimed her niece." But I have a great deal more to tell you, and arrange with you. Aunt Catherine."
"It must bide now till I come here for good," said her aunt. " You can explain then as much as ye will ; and as for arrangements, you'll understand, Margaret, that I'm fully capable of making my ain. The Macphersons were aye notable housewives, and careful managers. I doubt not my brother's income will go as far again in my hands as it ever did in his wife's. She was a puir, feckless body at the best o' times."
"She was my mother," said Margaret, with a glance at her black dress. There were tears in her blue eyes as she looked up at the hard, cold face before her.
"And she has only been a month in her grave" she added. "You need not speak unkindly of her— yet, Aunt Catherine."