His omissions subsequently had grown more frequent, more disturbing, and now she had not heard from him for nearly six weeks.
Agnes Moir had suffered in the same respect and- his later letters to her had been indifferent in sentiment to the point of actual coldness, filled with veiled, then direct allusions, to the unsuitability of the Indian climate for a wife, and interpolated by intimations as to his unworthiness or unwillingness to accept her chastely proffered matrimonial relationship. Miss Moir's soft, amorous nature had received a rude and painful check by these chilling and infrequent effusions. Now, as she thought of Agnes, Mamma, with the irrational
yet inherent notion of seeking consolation in a despondency equal to her own, decided, despite her own lassitude and the inclemency of the weather, to visit her future daughter-in-law. A glance at the clock told her that she had two free hours which she could utilise for this purpose without being missed by any of the household an important point as, since Mary's banishment, Brodie expected her to account to him for her every absence from the house.
Accordingly, she got up and, ascending to her room, discarded her wrapper by allowing it to slide from her to the floor; without once regarding herself in the glass she made her toilet by giving her face a quick wipe with the wetted end of a towel. She next withdrew from the wardrobe what revealed itself to be, after removing several pinned, protecting sheets of paper, an old sealskin jacket. The jacket, a relic of the days before her marriage, was now worn, frayed, shiny, and in places of a drab, brownish tinge. It had been kept and worn intermittently for a period of over twenty years, and this decayed and dilapidated coat, which had once enclosed her young, virgin figure, held as much tragedy as Margaret Brodie herself. She did not, however, view it in this sombre light, regarding it as sealskin, real sealskin, no longer perhaps elegant in cut, but still genuine sealskin, and treasuring it accordingly as the most splendid garment she possessed. For a moment she forgot her sorrow as, holding up the jacket, denuded of its wrappings, to the satisfaction of her appraising eyes, she shook it gently, touched the faded fur with caressing fingers; then, with a sigh, as though she had shaken out from its musty texture faded recollections of her forgotten youth, slowly she assumed it, when at least it had the merit of covering her rusty gown and sheathing warmly her decrepit figure. Her next action was to cram upon her untidy hair, and to stab carelessly into position, a black hat plumed with a withered pinion which trailed, with a frightful travesty of coquetry, behind her left ear; having thus accomplished completely her attire for the outer air, she hastened downstairs and left the house with a mien which was almost stealthy.
In the street, unlike her husband, she did not swagger her way down the middle of the road, but instead crept along the inner side of the pavement with short, shuffling steps, her head inclined, her face blue with cold, her figure shirking observation, her entire aspect a graphic exposition of resigned martyrdom. The snow turned her dull sealskin to glittering ermine, blew into her eyes and mouth and made her cough, penetrated her thin, inadequate boots and soaked her feet so profusely that, long before she reached the Moir's shop, they squelched at every step.
Despite the unexpectedness of this visitation, Agnes was delighted to see her and welcomed her warmly, whilst a quick look passed between the two women, each searching the other's eyes for some recorded sign of better tidings. Immediately they knew their eager hope to be unfulfilled, deferred, and their eyes fell dejectedly; but still they voiced the question which each had, silently, already answered.
'Have you had anything this week, Aggie?'
'Not yet, Mamma.' She fondly addressed Mrs. Brodie by that term in the sanguine anticipation of her future relationship. 'Have you?'
'No, dear, not yet, but maybe the mail is delayed by the bad weather,' said Mrs. Brodie, in a despondent tone.
'I shouldn't be surprised,' replied Agnes forlornly.
Actually each attempted to delude the other, for they knew by heart the arrival of the posts from India, and the mystery of the passage of mail ships was now to them an open book; but to-day, under the intolerable burden of their growing uncertainty, this feeble effort of deception was useless and they now gazed at each other blankly, for a moment, as if they had already exhausted their entire range of conversation. Agnes, by virtue of her position- as hostess, recovered first, and collecting her forces said, considerately:
'You'll have a cup of tea with me, Mamma. You're all wet and cold from the snow.'
Mrs. Brodie assented dumbly and followed her into the little back shop where, amidst a profusion of empty biscuit tins, sweet bottles, and wooden chocolate boxes, a small iron stove threw out a meagre heat.
'Sit down there, Mamma,' continued Agnes, opening the metal window of the stove and placing a chair before this small glowing mouth. 'The weather's keeping us as quiet as can be, so I'll have time for a crack with you.'
By mutual consent an armistice was tacitly proclaimed for the cessation of their unhappy exchanges, and, whilst Agnes boiled the kettle, Mamma steamed her damp boots at the fire and agreed meditatively:
'Ay! 'Twas snowin' heavy again as I came along. It's good to see a blink of heat on a day like this.'
At these words Agnes threw a small shovelful of coke on to the red embers and enquired:
'Will you have tea or cocoa, Mamma? I've got some fresh Epps' in this week.'
'I think I would prefer the cocoa. It's more sustaining, and nourishing like, than tea, on a cold day. That's one thing about you, Agnes, you always offer a body something tasty.'
'I can surely do that for you, Mamma,' replied Miss Moir, pursing her lips significantly. 'It would be a pity if I couldn't put myself about a bit for you. Will ye not take your coat off?' and she made an advance to assist in the removal of the sealskin.
'No! No! Thanks,' cried Mamma hastily, with a drearful consciousness of her deficiencies underneath. 'I'll not be biding that long.' But her eyes watered gratefully as she took the cup of hot cocoa and sipped it appreciatively; she even accepted and nibbled a sweet biscuit; then, as comfort stole through her, she sighed:
'It's been a hard winter for me. I don't know how I've come through it.'
'I well know that, Mamma! You have suffered.'
'Ay, I've suffered! I never thought I could have endured such disgrace, Agnes. I didn't merit it. And I think her father blames me for not having watched Mary better.' She could hardly bring herself to articulate her daughter's name, it had been so firmly proscribed from her lips.
'Nobody could be blamed for her fall but herself, Mamma. Your influence could only have been for good wickedness is in the person that sins. You'll just need to let me take her place.'
'That's good o' yc, Agnes, but there's times at night I can't get her out of my head. I never thought I should miss her so much she was always that quiet and douce about the house and I don't even know where she is.'
'You must forget her now,' insisted Agnes gently.
'Her father wouldna let me speir a word about her. Not even when she was near dyin' in the hospital. Not even when the puir bairn died.'
Agnes drew her mouth together.
'I'm not sure if I should tell you, Mamma' she began slowly, 'and it's not a pleasant subject for me it's not the thing for a nice girl to be connected with, even indirectly but I heard the other day that she was in London.' She gave to the name of the city an accent of imputation and opprobrium which seemed to summarise her opinion of its manifold potentialities for wickedness.
'Do ye know what she's doing?' cried Mamma.
Agnes veiled her eyes and shook her head.
'I can't be sure,' she replied, lowering her voice, 'but I've been told only been told, mind you that it's service.'
'A servant!' gasped Mamma. 'Oh, dearie me! what a thing to come to! It's terrible! What would her father say if he knew! A Brodie a servant!'
'What else is she fitted for?' replied Agnes, with a faint toss of her head. 'We should be thankful it's an honest occupation, if indeed it is so.'
Despite the bond between Mrs. Brodie and herself it gave her a pleasurable sense of moral and social superiority to impart this news, which she had avidly sought amongst the tittle-tattle of the town.
'A servant in London!' repeated Mamma faintly. 'It's awfu'. Could these folks in Darroch no' have done something for her?'
'Indeed, that's the very point,' cried Agnes. 'These Foyles wanted the child for the sake of the son's memory,
