The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë (sci fi books to read TXT) 📕

with no fears, no scruples concerning his son’s future welfare; and at evenings especially, the times when the child sees him the most and the oftenest, he is always particularly jocund and openhearted: ready to laugh and to jest with anything or anybody but me, and I am particularly silent and sad: therefore, of course, the child dotes upon his seemingly joyous amusing, ever-indulgent papa, and will at any time gladly exchange my company for his. This disturbs me greatly; not so much for the sake of my son’s affection (though I do prize that highly, and though I feel it is my right, and know I have done much to earn it) as for that influence over him which, for his own advantage, I would strive to purchase and retain, and which for very spite his father delights to rob me of, and, from motives of mere idle egotism, is pleased to win to himself; making no use of it but to torment me and ruin the child. My only consolation is, that he spends comparatively little of his time at home, and, during the months he passes in London or elsewhere, I have a chance of recovering the ground I had lost, and overcoming with good the evil he has wrought by his wilful mismanagement. But then it is a bitter trial to behold him, on his return, doing his utmost to subvert my labours and transform my innocent, affectionate, tractable darling into a selfish, disobedient, and mischievous boy; thereby preparing the soil for those vices he has so successfully cultivated in his own perverted nature.

Happily, there were none of Arthur’s “friends” invited to Grassdale last autumn: he took himself off to visit some of them instead. I wish he would always do so, and I wish his friends were numerous and loving enough to keep him amongst them all the year round. Mr. Hargrave, considerably to my annoyance, did not go with him; but I think I have done with that gentleman at last.

For seven or eight months he behaved so remarkably well, and managed so skilfully too, that I was almost completely off my guard, and was really beginning to look upon him as a friend, and even to treat him as such, with certain prudent restrictions (which I deemed scarcely necessary); when, presuming upon my unsuspecting kindness, he thought he might venture to overstep the bounds of decent moderation and propriety that had so long restrained him. It was on a pleasant evening at the close of May: I was wandering in the park, and he, on seeing me there as he rode past, made bold to enter and approach me, dismounting and leaving his horse at the gate. This was the first time he had ventured to come within its inclosure since I had been left alone, without the sanction of his mother’s or sister’s company, or at least the excuse of a message from them. But he managed to appear so calm and easy, so respectful and self-possessed in his friendliness, that, though a little surprised, I was neither alarmed nor offended at the unusual liberty, and he walked with me under the ash-trees and by the waterside, and talked, with considerable animation, good taste, and intelligence, on many subjects, before I began to think about getting rid of him. Then, after a pause, during which we both stood gazing on the calm, blue water⁠—I revolving in my mind the best means of politely dismissing my companion, he, no doubt, pondering other matters equally alien to the sweet sights and sounds that alone were present to his senses⁠—he suddenly electrified me by beginning, in a peculiar tone, low, soft, but perfectly distinct, to pour forth the most unequivocal expressions of earnest and passionate love; pleading his cause with all the bold yet artful eloquence he could summon to his aid. But I cut short his appeal, and repulsed him so determinately, so decidedly, and with such a mixture of scornful indignation, tempered with cool, dispassionate sorrow and pity for his benighted mind, that he withdrew, astonished, mortified, and discomforted; and, a few days after, I heard that he had departed for London. He returned, however, in eight or nine weeks, and did not entirely keep aloof from me, but comported himself in so remarkable a manner that his quick-sighted sister could not fail to notice the change.

“What have you done to Walter, Mrs. Huntingdon?” said she one morning, when I had called at the Grove, and he had just left the room after exchanging a few words of the coldest civility. “He has been so extremely ceremonious and stately of late, I can’t imagine what it is all about, unless you have desperately offended him. Tell me what it is, that I may be your mediator, and make you friends again.”

“I have done nothing willingly to offend him,” said I. “If he is offended, he can best tell you himself what it is about.”

“I’ll ask him,” cried the giddy girl, springing up and putting her head out of the window: “he’s only in the garden⁠—Walter!”

“No, no, Esther! you will seriously displease me if you do; and I shall leave you immediately, and not come again for months⁠—perhaps years.”

“Did you call, Esther?” said her brother, approaching the window from without.

“Yes; I wanted to ask you⁠—”

“Good morning, Esther,” said I, taking her hand and giving it a severe squeeze.

“To ask you,” continued she, “to get me a rose for Mrs. Huntingdon.” He departed. “Mrs. Huntingdon,” she exclaimed, turning to me and still holding me fast by the hand, “I’m quite shocked at you⁠—you’re just as angry, and distant, and cold as he is: and I’m determined you shall be as good friends as ever before you go.”

“Esther, how can you be so rude!” cried Mrs. Hargrave, who was seated gravely knitting in her easy-chair. “Surely, you never will learn to conduct yourself like a lady!”

“Well, mamma, you said yourself⁠—” But the young lady was silenced by the uplifted finger