Mrs. Curtis paused, Miss Wellwood was as pink as her cap strings. Rachel grasped the meaning at last. “Oh!” she said, with less reticence than her elders, “there must needs be a spice of flirtation to give piquancy to the mess of gossip! I don’t wonder, there are plenty of people who judge others by themselves, and think that motive must underlie everything! I wonder who imagines that I am fallen so low?”
“There, I knew she would take it in that way,” said Mrs. Curtis. “And so you understand us, my dear, we could not bear to ask you to do anything so distressing except for your own sake.”
“I am far past caring for my own sake,” said Rachel, “but for yours and Grace’s, mother, I will give as much ocular demonstration as I can, that I am not pining for this hero with a Norman name. I own I should have thought none of the Dean’s friends would have needed to be convinced.”
“Oh, no! no! but—” Miss Wellwood made a great confusion of noes, buts, and my dears, and Mrs. Curtis came to the rescue. “After all, my love, one can’t so much wonder! You have always been very peculiar, you know, and so clever, and you took up this so eagerly. And then the Greys saw you so unwilling to prosecute. And—and I have always allowed you too much liberty—ever since your poor dear papa was taken—and now it has come upon you, my poor child! Oh, I hope dear Fanny will take warning by me,” and off went poor Mrs. Curtis into a fit of sobs.
“Mother—mother! this is worse than anything,” exclaimed Rachel in an agony, springing to her feet, and flying after sal volatile, but feeling frightfully helpless without Grace, the manager of all Mrs. Curtis’s ailments and troubles. Grace would have let her quietly cry it out. Rachel’s remedies and incoherent protestations of all being her own fault only made things worse, and perhaps those ten minutes were the most overwhelming of all the griefs that Rachel had brought on herself. However, what with Miss Wellwood’s soothing, and her own sense of the becoming, Mrs. Curtis struggled herself into composure again by the time the maid came to dress them for dinner; Rachel all the while longing for Grace’s return, not so much for the sake of hearing the verdict, as of knowing whether the mother ought to be allowed to go down to dinner, so shaken did she look; for indeed, besides her distress for her daughter, no small ingredient in her agitation was this recurrence to a stated custom of her husband’s magisterial days.
Persuasion was unavailing. At any cost the Curtis family must present an unassailable front to the public eye, and if Mrs. Curtis had forced forward her much tried and suffering daughter, far more would she persist in devoting herself to gaiety and indifference, but her nervousness was exceeding, and betrayed itself in a continual wearying for Grace, without whom neither her own dress nor Rachel’s could be arranged to her satisfaction, and she was absolutely incapable of not worrying Rachel about every fold, every plait, every bow, in a manner that from anyone else would have been unbearable; but those tears had frightened Rachel into a penitent submission that endured with an absolute semblance of cheerfulness each of these torments. The languor and exhaustion had been driven away, and feverish excitement had set in, not so much from the spirit of defiance that the two elder ladies had expected to excite, as from the having been goaded into a reckless determination to sustain her part. No matter for the rest.
It often happened in these parties that the ladies would come in from the country in reasonable time, while their lords would be detained much later in court, so when the cathedral clock had given notice of the half-hour, Mrs. Curtis began to pick up fan and handkerchief, and prepare to descend. Rachel suggested there would be no occasion so to do till Grace’s return, since it was plain that no one could yet be released.
“Yes, my dear, but perhaps—don’t you think it might be remarked as if you chose to keep out of sight?”
“Oh, very well.”
Rachel followed her mother down, sustained by one hope, that Captain Keith would be there. No; the Deanery did not greatly patronize the barracks; there was not much chance of any gentleman under forty, except, perhaps, in the evening. And at present the dean himself and one canon were the entire gentleman element among some dozen ladies. Everybody knew that the cause of delay was the trial of the cruel matron, and added to the account of Rachel’s iniquities their famished and weary state of expectation, the good Dean gyrating among the groups, trying to make conversation, which everyone felt too fretful and too hungry to sustain with spirit. Rachel sat it out, trying to talk whenever she saw her mother’s anxious eyes upon her, but failing in finding anything to say, and much doubting whether her neighbours liked talking to her.
At last gentlemen began to appear in twos and threes, and each made some confidence to the womankind that first absorbed him, but no one came in Rachel’s way, and the girl beside her became too unfeignedly curious to support even the semblance of conversation, but listened for scraps of intelligence. Something was flying about respecting “a gentleman who came down by the train,” and something about “Lady Temple” and “admirable,” and the young lady seized the first opportunity of deserting Rachel, and plunging into the melee. Rachel sat on, sick with suspense, feeling utterly unable to quit her seat. Still they waited, the whole of the party were not arrived, and here was the curfew ringing, and that at
