Dressed in Black

Chapter 3

Catherine could not comprehend Albert Musgrave's determined distrust of General Slater, who seemed to her a fine man with no pretensions. She had wanted to part with him on good terms, for leaving Gloucestershire in disaccord with anyone seemed unbearable to her. That is why, the morning of her departure – for the General had proposed to leave at nine of the next morning – Catherine Crane could be seen walking along the footpath from the Rose Grove to Trillynch Hall to re-establish peace with her brother-in-law.

Having been shown into the parlour and spent only a minute waiting, the gentleman appeared in his habitual guise: inexplicably mortified and firm-mannered. "Miss Crane," he bowed, preserving a modest distance between them. "I thought you had already left." Anxious to mend their friendship – if it can be called that, for they exchanged neither secrets nor thoughts and were not in the smallest way open with each other – she began forming sincere apologies and bestowing on him her kindest, most affectionate looks.

"You seem resolved not to forgive me, Mr. Musgrave," she breathed, her eyes lowering to the Persian divan with a mournfully soft expression. "And I cannot leave without the assurance of there being peace between us." Albert saw the torment in her countenance, and decided to appear as grateful and amiable as he could – though equipped with a lively mind, he was too limited by civility to exhibit it as often as he would have wished to.

"I am sorry you leave to-day," he sighed involuntarily, but, rallying his senses, continued in a firmer manner. "And the loss of your presence will be greatly felt, but if going away with the General pleases you, then I can express no more objections to the scheme in question."

"Then there is no more disaccord between us?" she looked up with a look of hope animating her eyes. He bowed, attempting an easy smile. Satisfied with their mutual agreement, Catherine asked to see Philip ere she was to depart, and Albert consented happily. He rang the bell, and in came the boy's nurse, the very person he had wanted to address.

"Nurse Reeves," he said sharply, "Miss Crane is here to see my son. Go and fetch him." Having done this he turned to Catherine, who had walked to the window and presently stood gazing into the garden with a lovely mixture of sorrow and wonder. She seemed divided between despair and oppression. His son's presence alone could pull her out of that miserable state. Albert heard his son's light patter of feet in the hall, and soon afterwards, he was throwing himself into his aunt's arms, kissing her affectionately for a boy with so calm a countenance.

Albert observed them with quiet pleasure, wondering whether his son's nature would surface as much in his aunt's absence.

"Harmon is such a rattle – and a dreadful quiz, to make matters worse," his son confided to his sincerely interested aunt with a sweet childhood lisp, and with such juvenile disbelief of mere trifles, that he was amazed – truly amazed – by Catherine's power over him. He could not resist smiling to her as she turned her eyes on him for a brief moment to make sure that he was still in the room. "He says: 'I say, Philip, by George. My father is a hundred times finer than yours. Ten to one he has got more horses than your papa.' I believe, Aunty Cathy, that he is a very silly boy."

"Your judgment can admit of no doubt," Catherine seemed amused, petting his head with a tender smile.

"Come, Miss Crane," Albert said after another ten minutes. "It is nearly nine o'clock."

"It is, Faith!" she gasped, gazing at the clock. "I had not realised. Philip, my dear boy, I am sorry..."

"Papa says you do not love us," the agitated boy burst out, tugging at her skirts. Albert frowned upon his son. "Why do you not love us? It is absurd, aunty, quite absurd!" His father blushed, struggling to remain collected. He dismissed his son after another attempt at questioning his aunt, and asked embarrassedly whether Miss Crane would not be in need of his company to return home.

"I assure you it is quite unnecessary," she curtsied, making for the door. But before she had passed through, Mr. Musgrave seized her hand and shook it firmly and warmly, wishing her a most comfortable journey. She thanked him with comparative coldness, and hurried away, mulling over his quizzical behaviour – alas! the only conclusion she could draw from it was that Albert Musgrave was a queer man with an ambiguous purpose – and so the talked of gentleman perceived himself that very moment.

*

Upon entering the drawing-room, Catherine found the general pacing the room with his arms crossed behind his back, and looking around with good-natured curiosity. He greeted her with warm cordiality, and the greeting was returned with the proper amount of civility.

"How did you find your brother-in-law, Miss Crane?" inquired the General after the proper civilities had been paid on each side. "Well, I hope?"

"Oh, firm and obliging as always, though particularly glum," she replied softly, still at a loss with his manner.

"It seems to me that a man like Musgrave can mask his emotions more effectively than others: I wonder you ever saw through his mask?"

"I am a woman, sir, and women tend to read men like books," she rejoined smoothly. "Their language is but too plainly written across their faces. In most cases, men externalise their sentiments, while women internalise them."

"Yes, that was God's scheme from the beginning: to give women the benefit of warmth of heart and veiled intelligence and men emptiness of heart and superior physical strength – that is the only way we manage to rule over your sex, madam. I think it quite unjust, Miss Crane: and though some women have no charm, you have a great deal of it." Catherine could not help smiling in wonder, for she was as aware of her ill looks as any man or woman could be.

"My daughter Henrietta is a very pretty girl, quite as pleasing as you," continued the General, and by then Catherine was quite conscious of his empty flatteries. "I daresay you will like each other, though she is downright exhausting at times. I think, Miss Crane, though you will judge for yourself – Harryo is a very stylish young woman, and she has enough openness and animation to charm every gentleman in England." Catherine was very much curious to know his daughter, who was but two years her elder, and was sincerely longing to form a friendship with her, because she wanted to bestow her affection on someone, and her father was no longer there to be the object of it. Therefore, meeting Henrietta Slater – doubtless a beautiful, virtuous lady – and living in an ancient abbey with massy walls and hidden passages, were Catherine's chief motives in going to Cambridge with the chivalrous old gentleman.

"The Abbey," resumed the General, "is a very fine place, to be sure. I trust you'll find it in very good taste and short of no domestic comforts. I take the responsibility of being your guide of it, and Harryo too, if she'll be prevailed upon to accompany us."

"Is your son, sir, to be there?" she inquired bashfully.

"Harry, you mean?" he exclaimed with an expression of surprise. "I don't imagine he will. He is seldom home, for he has his own living – he is a clergyman, you know – though he often arrives unexpectedly, and at the worst of moments! He is a very fine man, to be sure, but he is remarkably dull." Keeping in mind the General's almost exaggerated liveliness, Catherine would not form her opinion based on his judgement. She was excited on that point too, fancying that Henry Slater would arrive unexpectedly one gusty night, there being a full moon and a hint of supernatural in the air. While our young and uninformed heroine assembled these romantic ideas in her head, Mrs. Dixon arrived from out of doors – such was her colour that one knew immediately upon beholding her that she had been exposed to the chilliness of the autumn wind.

"General Slater – Miss Crane," she panted, blowing feverishly into her handkerchief. "The chaise-and-four is all set out and ready." Looking to her mistress, she curtsied, wishing her a pleasant journey, and the same to Catherine's newly assigned guardian.

"It has been my honour, madam, to have spent the night under your roof," the General bowed, bestowing a kiss on the housekeeper's hand. She flushed and faltered, tripping into the servant's quarters muttering incoherent words of astonished delight. It was rather curious: he seemed to know precisely how to please everybody whom he met without being actually acquainted with his or her character. It was as though he could flatter his way into anyone's heart.