Good Mrs Hypocrite/Chapter 4

by Eliza Margaret Jane Humphreys

True to her word, the third day saw Catherine Macpherson arrived at Strome Villa, with a cab containing her earthly belongings.

She signalized her arrival by a lengthy dispute with the cabman as to the amount of his fare, and having fired off a brisk fusillade of texts in answer to his demands and threats, she gave him the disputed sixpence, accompanied by a tract which bore the inviting title of "Halt, O Man of Sin!"

Her brother and her niece were having their early dinner when she arrived. Fashionable hours had never been popular with the Macphersons.

Scotch people are, perhaps, the least demonstrative in the way of affection of any nation on the face of the earth. Still, it surprised Margaret Weimar to see her father and his sister greet each other as if their parting had been a thing of days instead of years. There was a stiffness and formality about them that made the meal decidedly uncomfortable.

Family topics always seemed to show Catherine as a victim suffering from the rapacity, unkindness, or neglect of any relative she possessed. There was a vast amount of scriptural flavoring in her conversation, but very little charity. Once or twice her brother caught her up sharply for things she said, and then a war of words would follow, and Margaret had to fulfil the duties of peacemaker.

She grew decidedly uncomfortable as the dinner progressed, and wondered if, after all, she had not made an unwise choice of caretaker. Perhaps the doubt expressed itself in her face; perhaps Catherine Macpherson reflected that it was early days for her to show herself in her true colors. At all events, she dropped the argumentative side for the non-committive, and gave a sketch of her late life of Christian duties, in which her virtues suffered nothing by her own powers of description.

She bored her brother inexpressibly. He was a frail-looking old man in whom the Macpherson "shortness of temper" was allied to a further brain irritability, the result of accident and ill-health. He always frankly acknowledged these failings, and his daughter's tact and delicacy of feeling led her to steer clear of any rock of offense in their discussions.

Not so Aunt Catherine. She never made allowances for any infirmity of mind or body. The one was the work of the devil, and as such had to be met and combatted; the other — the result of neglected health, or excess in some shape.

However, she felt that the time had not yet come for the use of her weapons of warfare, and so bided her time, and sharpened them in the background on the whetstone of strong doctrine.

When the meal was over, her niece showed her her room, and the luxury and comfort of walnut-wood toilet table, glass- paneled wardrobe, and cretonne hang- ings, appealed to Catherine Macpherson as strongly as any duty she had ever recognized.

"My father's room is next to yours," said Margaret ; " so in case be should be ill, or require anything at night, you are sure to hear."

Then she went on to explain the arrangement of the linen cupboard, and furnished her aunt with an inventory of its contents. " My mother had a very large s^ck of household things," she said, pointing with some pride to the shelves, with their delicate napery and linen, the piles of frilled pillow-cases, and damask towels, and quilts and toilet covers. " You will not require to use one half of these. Aunt Catherine," she continued ; " but I give you the list, and shall, of course, expect to find them as I leave them, allowing for reasonable wear and tear."

Aunt Catherine sniffed.

It was one of her habits when she thought words might be self-committing. She had already begun to dislike her niece, and to fancy she was ordering and dictating to her. Conduct utterly unseemly on the part of a younger relative!

Margaret Weimar did not know then what the sniff meant.

She took her aunt next to the kitchen regions, and showed her the store of glass and china, all neatly arranged on shelf of pantry or dresser. The neat maid servant was in attendance now, and Catherine Macpherson took an instant prejudice against her by reason of her pretty face, and her well-fitting black gown.

Her own figure was chiefly remarkable for an utter absence of curves or outlines, and her gown hung on her as gracefully as on a clothes-prop. But she decided that there was something improper about a servant girl who had a well-rounded shape, and a clear complexion, and a quantity of soft brown hair.

She foresaw much wrestling between the handmaiden and herself, when once she should stand to her in the place of mistress. Meanwhile, she said little, but looked at everything, and laid many plans for the future in her own mind.

It was nearly four o'clock when they returned to the sitting-room. The old man was sitting by the fire, warming his feet. He looked up as his daughter entered.

"You've forgotten my toddy, Maggie," he said.

"Oh, no, father; it's just coming up."

Catherine opened her eyes, as she saw a tray with glasses brought in, followed by a steaming kettle on a plated stand.

" My father always has a glass of hot whisky and water at this hour," explained Margaret. " You had better watch me make it, for you will have to do it to- morrow. I leave for Germany at ten o'clock in the morning."

"You are really going, lassie?" asked her father. "I am very sorry for it. It's a long, long time since I've been so happy and comfortable, as since youVe stayed with me."

"I hope I shall do my duty to you equally to your satisfaction, Jamie," said his sister.

"I hope so, indeed," he answered grimly. " But don't you be cramming too much religion down my throat. I'm none too fond of preaching, and I hate cant with all my soul. I've a very good notion of my own sins and failings, and I can get to Heaven, if I'm to go there at all, in my own fashion, and without being dragged and driven along the road of salvation. And so the less I hear of texts and psalm-singing the better. I was never fond of the kirk in my young days. There was too much doctrine, and too little Christian charity, to please me. Can you play a game of cribbage like my lassie here, or read me the newspaper? My sight's failing me fast, and the days are long to a blind old man."

Catherine Macpherson gave a gasp.

Play cribbage! read a newspaper! Surely these were the very works and wiles of the devil!

"I have never touched a card in my life, Jamie," she said sternly. " I could not bring myself to do it now. As for newspapers," she gave a glance of dislike at the Times as she spoke, " I would, of course, do my duty to you — though I'll not say I hold with the opinions and politics of the day, or consider the contents of a journal as wholesome reading."

" I'm afraid we'll no be well matched, Catherine," said her brother, eyeing her critically. "But I suppose I must put up with you for a bit. My lassie has other duties to fulfil — and she's a good wife and a good mother. I can't be keeping her beside me any longer. Well, well," and he sighed as he drained the tumbler he held, " we must just make the best of this world while we're in it. I hope though," he added abruptly, as he again took a survey of his sister, " that you're not going about the house a scarecrow like yon. Get Maggie to choose you a decent gown before she goes. I'm not fond of seeing ill-favored women-folk about me."

Catherine Macpherson bit her nether lip with silent rage. She determined then and there that the neat-figured servant maid should have a month's warning immediately her rule began.

• • • • •

She passed the rest of that afternoon in a state of sullen disapprobation.

Whisky-drinking — card-playing — was this what she was expected to tolerate ? Truly an unregenerate household this, and yet one in which godly reproof was forbidden her.

A difficult task, indeed, lay before her.

Here was an erring soul to be brought to a knowledge of its own sinfulness. A household in which comfort held veritable snares for the unwary. Here was no sense of "danger to come," no self-conviction of sin, no fighting daily with the old Adam of unrighteousness. What a work lay before her! What a stupendous mountain of duty her feet must needs climb.

She averted her eyes from the spirit- bottle, and closed, or tried to close, her nostrils against a certain seductive odor of lemons and whisky, which once upon a time — in her unregenerate days — had not been altogether unwelcome.

A sense of danger to be met, of perils to be avoided, took hold upon her. Was this the Lord's will ? Was it for this she had given up the young men's class, the wheezy harmonium, the singing of Moody and Sankey's hymns, the oil-cloth parlor, and the district visiting at Barnes ?

She looked at the two absorbed faces before her, intent on "cribs," and "sequences," and "fifteens." The sight of the cards, the sound of the counting, were abhorrent to her ears. She rose abruptly and rustled out of the room without a word.

Father and daughter looked at each other over their respective hands.

"She'll not be the pleasantest company in the world I'm thinking, Maggie," said James Macpherson. "I mind me now, her temper was always a trying one, even when she was young and softer. I can't say I like the looks of her over much. What a figure she has made of herself, too, with that gown, and her hair dressed in such a fashion."

"Never mind, dear," said Margaret gently. " You must put up with her for a time. She may be very good and kind at heart. You know her life has been very hard, and very self-sacrificing. We mustn't blame her because she doesn't laugh or talk, or enjoy things as we do. You see I couldn't leave you alone, and you thought of her yourself. But if she worries you, and you're not happy, write and tell me, and I'll try some other plan. After all, it mayn't be for very long."

"I hope it won't," he said. "Your crib, child, isn't it?"

"Yes, father."

Perhaps it was as well neither of them could lift the veil of the future at that moment, and see how long the arrangement was destined to last, and what the results were to be of the introduction of Aunt Macpherson.