The Complete Novels of Elizabeth Gaskell. Elizabeth Gaskell
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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 of a new suit of clothes, which had been ordered for the occasion, and for school afterwards. Mrs. Browne remembered having heard the rector say, “A woman never looked so lady-like as when she wore black satin,” and kept her spirits up with that observation; but when she saw how worn it was at the elbows, she felt rather depressed, and unequal to visiting. Still, for her children’s sake, she would do much.
After her long day’s work was ended, Nancy sat up at her sewing. She had found out that among all the preparations, none were going on for Margaret; and she had used her influence over her mistress (who half-liked and half-feared, and entirely depended upon her) to obtain from her an old gown, which she had taken to pieces, and washed and scoured, and was now making up, in a way a little old-fashioned to be sure; but, on the whole, it looked so nice when completed and put on, that Mrs. Browne gave Maggie a strict lecture about taking great care of such a handsome frock and forgot that she had considered the gown from which if had been made as worn out and done for.
Chapter II.
At length they were dressed, and Nancy stood on the court-steps, shading her eyes, and looking after them, as they climbed the heathery slope leading to Combehurst.
“I wish she’d take her hand sometimes, just to let her know the feel of her mother’s hand. Perhaps she will, at least after Master Edward goes to school.”
As they went along, Mrs. Browne gave the children a few rules respecting manners and etiquette.
“Maggie! you must sit as upright as ever you can; make your back flat, child, and don’t poke. If I cough, you must draw up. I shall cough whenever I see you do anything wrong, and I shall be looking at you all day; so remember. You hold yourself very well, Edward. If Mr. Buxton asks you, you may have a glass of wine, because you’re a boy. But mind and say, ‘Your good health, sir,’ before you drink it.”
“I’d rather not have the wine if I’m to say that,” said Edward, bluntly.
“Oh, nonsense! my dear. You’d wish to be like a gentleman, I’m sure.”
Edward muttered something which was inaudible. His mother went on:
Of course you’ll never think of being helped more than twice. Twice of meat, twice of pudding, is the genteel thing. You may take less, but never more.”
“Oh, mamma! how beautiful Combehurst spire is, with that dark cloud behind it!” exclaimed Maggie, as they came in sight of the town.
“You’ve no business with Combehurst spire when I’m speaking to you. I’m talking myself out of breath to teach you how to behave, and