ELIZABETH GASKELL Premium Collection: 10 Novels & 40+ Short Stories; Including Poems, Essays & Biographies (Illustrated). Elizabeth Gaskell
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there were inhabitants. So he stood there, stooping a little under the low-browed lintels of the kitchen door, and looking large, and red, and warm, but with a pleased and almost amused expression of face.
“Lord bless me, sir! what a start you gave me!” said Nancy, as she suddenly caught sight of him. “I’ll go and tell my missus in a minute that you’re come.”
Off she went, leaving Maggie alone with the great, tall, broad gentleman, smiling at her from his frame in the door-way, but never speaking. She went on dusting a wine-glass most assiduously.
“Well done, little girl,” came out a fine strong voice at last. “Now I think that will do. Come and show me the parlor where I may sit down, for I’ve had a long walk, and am very tired.”
Maggie took him into the parlor, which was always cool and fresh in the hottest weather. It was scented by a great beau-pot filled with roses; and, besides, the casement was open to the fragrant court. Mr. Buxton was so large, and the parlor so small, that when he was once in, Maggie thought when he went away, he could carry the room on his back, as a snail does its house.
“And so, you are a notable little woman, are you?” said he, after he had stretched himself (a very unnecessary proceeding), and unbuttoned his waistcoat, Maggie stood near the door, uncertain whether to go or to stay. “How bright and clean you were making that glass! Do you think you could get me some water to fill it? Mind, it must be that very glass I saw you polishing. I shall know it again.”
Maggie was thankful to escape out of the room; and in the passage she met her mother, who had made time to change her gown as well as her cap. Before Nancy would allow the little girl to return with the glass of water she smoothed her short-cut glossy hair; it was all that was needed to make her look delicately neat. Maggie was conscientious in trying to find out the identical glass; but I am afraid Nancy was not quite so truthful in avouching that one of the six, exactly similar, which were now placed on the tray, was the same she had found on the dresser, when she came back from telling her mistress of Mr. Buxton’s arrival.
Maggie carried in the water, with a shy pride in the clearness of the glass. Her mother was sitting on the edge of her chair, speaking in unusually fine language, and with a higher pitched voice than common. Edward, in all his Sunday glory, was standing by Mr. Buxton, looking happy and conscious. But when Maggie came in, Mr. Buxton made room for her between Edward and himself, and, while she went on talking, lifted her on to his knee. She sat there as on a pinnacle of honor; but as she durst not nestle up to him, a chair would have been the more comfortable seat.
“As founder’s line, I have a right of presentation; and for my dear old friend’s sake” (here Mrs. Browne wiped her eyes), “I am truly glad of it; my young friend will have a little form of examination to go through; and then we shall see him carrying every prize before him, I have no doubt. Thank you, just a little of your sparkling cowslip wine. Ah! this gingerbread is like the gingerbread I had when I was a boy. My little lady here must learn the receipt, and make me some. Will she?”
“Speak to Mr. Buxton, child, who is kind to your brother. You will make him some gingerbread, I am sure.”
“If I may,” said Maggie, hanging down her head.
“Or, I’ll tell you what. Suppose you come to my house, and teach us how to make it there; and then, you know, we could always be making gingerbread when we were not eating it. That would be best, I think. Must I ask mamma to bring you down to Combehurst, and let us all get acquainted together? I have a great boy and a little girl at home, who will like to see you, I’m sure. And we have got a pony for you to ride on, and a peacock and guinea fowls, and I don’t know what all. Come, madam, let me persuade you. School begins in three weeks. Let us fix a day before then.”
“Do mamma,” said Edward.
“I am not in spirits for visiting,” Mrs. Browne answered. But the quick children detected a hesitation in her manner of saying the oft spoken words, and had hopes, if only Mr. Buxton would persevere in his invitation.
“Your not visiting is the very reason why you are not in spirits. A little change, and a few neighborly faces, would do you good, I’ll be bound. Besides, for the children’s sake you should not live too secluded a life. Young people should see a little of the world.”
Mrs. Browne was much obliged to Mr. Buxton for giving her so decent an excuse for following her inclination, which, it must be owned, tended to the acceptance of the invitation. So, “for the children’s sake,” she consented. But she sighed, as if making a sacrifice.
“That’s right,” said Mr. Buxton. “Now for the day.”
It was fixed that they should go on that day week; and after some further conversation about the school at which Edward was to be placed, and some more jokes about Maggie’s notability, and an inquiry if she would come and live with him the next time he wanted a housemaid, Mr. Buxton took his leave.
His visit had been an event; and they made no great attempt at settling again that day to any of their usual employments. In the first place, Nancy came in to hear and discuss all the proposed plans. Ned, who was uncertain whether to like or dislike the prospect of school, was very much offended by the old servant’s remark, on first hearing of the project.
“It’s time for him. He’ll learn his place there, which, it strikes me, he and others too are apt to forget at home.”
Then followed discussions and arrangements respecting his clothes. And then they came to the plan of spending a day at Mr. Buxton’s, which Mrs. Browne was rather shy of mentioning, having a sort of an idea of inconstancy and guilt connected with the thought of mingling with the world again. However, Nancy approved: “It was quite right,” and “just as it should be,” and “good for the children.”
“Yes; it was on their account I did it, Nancy,” said Mrs. Browne.
“How many children has Mr. Buxton?” asked Edward.
“Only one. Frank, I think, they call him. But you must say Master Buxton; be sure.”
“Who is the little girl, then,” asked Maggie, “who sits with them in church?”
“Oh! that’s little Miss Harvey, his niece, and a great fortune.”
“They do say he never forgave her mother till the day of her death,” remarked Nancy.
“Then they tell stories, Nancy!” replied Mrs. Browne (it was she herself who had said it; but that was before Mr. Buxton’s call). For d’ye think his sister would have left him guardian to her child, if they were not on good terms?”
“Well! I only know what folks say. And, for sure, he took a spite at Mr. Harvey for no reason on earth; and every one knows he never spoke to him.”
“He speaks very kindly and pleasantly,” put in Maggie.
“Ay; and I’m not saying but what he is a very good, kind man in the main. But he has his whims, and keeps hold on ’em when he’s got ’em. There’s them pies burning, and I’m talking here!”
When Nancy had returned to her kitchen, Mrs. Browne called Maggie up stairs, to examine what clothes would be needed for Edward. And when they were up, she tried on the black satin gown, which had been her visiting dress ever since she was married, and which she intended should replace the old, worn-out bombazine on the day of the visit to Combehurst.
“For Mrs. Buxton is a real born lady,” said she; “and I should like to be well dressed, to do her honor.”
“I did not know there was a Mrs. Buxton,” said Maggie. “She is never at church.”
“No; she is but delicate and weakly, and never leaves the house. I think her maid told me she never left her room now.”
The Buxton family, root and branch, formed the pièce de résistance in the conversation between Mrs. Browne and her children for the next week. As the day drew near, Maggie almost wished to stay at home, so impressed was she with the awfulness of the visit. Edward felt bold in the idea