The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Anne Brontë (librera reader .txt) 📖

I was in such a good humour that night: Milicent told me I was the life of the party, and whispered she had never seen me so brilliant. Certainly, I talked enough for twenty, and smiled upon them all. Grimsby, Hattersley, Hargrave, Lady Lowborough, all shared my sisterly kindness. Grimsby stared and wondered; Hattersley laughed and jested (in spite of the little wine he had been suffered to imbibe), but still behaved as well as he knew how. Hargrave and Annabella, from different motives and in different ways, emulated me, and doubtless both surpassed me, the former in his discursive versatility and eloquence, the latter in boldness and animation at least. Milicent, delighted to see her husband, her brother, and her overestimated friend acquitting themselves so well, was lively and gay too, in her quiet way. Even Lord Lowborough caught the general contagion: his dark greenish eyes were lighted up beneath their moody brows; his sombre countenance was beautified by smiles; all traces of gloom and proud or cold reserve had vanished for the time; and he astonished us all, not only by his general cheerfulness and animation, but by the positive flashes of true force and brilliance he emitted from time to time. Arthur did not talk much, but he laughed, and listened to the rest, and was in perfect good-humour, though not excited by wine. So that, altogether, we made a very merry, innocent, and entertaining party.

9th.⁠—Yesterday, when Rachel came to dress me for dinner, I saw that she had been crying. I wanted to know the cause of it, but she seemed reluctant to tell. Was she unwell? No. Had she heard bad news from her friends? No. Had any of the servants vexed her?

“Oh, no, ma’am!” she answered; “it’s not for myself.”

“What then, Rachel? Have you been reading novels?”

“Bless you, no!” said she, with a sorrowful shake of the head; and then she sighed and continued: “But to tell you the truth, ma’am, I don’t like master’s ways of going on.”

“What do you mean, Rachel? He’s going on very properly at present.”

“Well, ma’am, if you think so, it’s right.”

And she went on dressing my hair, in a hurried way, quite unlike her usual calm, collected manner, murmuring, half to herself, she was sure it was beautiful hair: she “could like to see ’em match it.” When it was done, she fondly stroked it, and gently patted my head.

“Is that affectionate ebullition intended for my hair, or myself, nurse?” said I, laughingly turning round upon her; but a tear was even now in her eye.

“What do you mean, Rachel?” I exclaimed.

“Well, ma’am, I don’t know; but if⁠—”

“If what?”

“Well, if I was you, I wouldn’t have that Lady Lowborough in the house another minute⁠—not another minute I wouldn’t!”

I was thunderstruck; but before I could recover from the shock sufficiently to demand an explanation, Milicent entered my room, as she frequently does when she is dressed before me; and she stayed with me till it was time to go down. She must have found me a very unsociable companion this time, for Rachel’s last words rang in my ears. But still I hoped, I trusted they had no foundation but in some idle rumour of the servants from what they had seen in Lady Lowborough’s manner last month; or perhaps from something that had passed between their master and her during her former visit. At dinner I narrowly observed both her and Arthur, and saw nothing extraordinary in the conduct of either, nothing calculated to excite suspicion, except in distrustful minds, which mine was not, and therefore I would not suspect.

Almost immediately after dinner Annabella went out with her husband to share his moonlight ramble, for it was a splendid evening like the last. Mr. Hargrave entered the drawing-room a little before the others, and challenged me to a game of chess. He did it without any of that sad but proud humility he usually assumes in addressing me, unless he is excited with wine. I looked at his face to see if that was the case now. His eye met mine keenly, but steadily: there was something about him I did not understand, but he seemed sober enough. Not choosing to engage with him, I referred him to Milicent.

“She plays badly,” said he, “I want to match my skill with yours. Come now! you can’t pretend you are reluctant to lay down your work. I know you never take it up except to pass an idle hour, when there is nothing better you can do.”

“But chess-players are so unsociable,” I objected; “they are no company for any but themselves.”

“There is no one here but Milicent, and she⁠—”

“Oh, I shall be delighted to watch you!” cried our mutual friend. “Two such players⁠—it will be quite a treat! I wonder which will conquer.”

I consented.

“Now, Mrs. Huntingdon,” said Hargrave, as he arranged the men on the board, speaking distinctly, and with a peculiar emphasis, as if he had a double meaning to all his words, “you are a good player, but I am a better: we shall have a long game, and you will give me some trouble; but I can be as patient as you, and in the end I shall certainly win.” He fixed his eyes upon me with a glance I did not like, keen, crafty, bold, and almost impudent;⁠—already half triumphant in his anticipated success.

“I hope not, Mr. Hargrave!” returned I, with vehemence that must have startled Milicent at least; but he only smiled and murmured, “Time will show.”

We set to work: he sufficiently interested in the game, but calm and fearless in the consciousness of superior skill: I, intensely eager to disappoint his expectations, for I considered this the type of a more serious contest, as I imagined he did, and I felt an almost superstitious dread of being beaten: at all events, I could ill endure that present success should add one tittle to