Mary Olivier: a Life Part 24

If she put it off till he came home again she might never do it. When Mamma had Mark with her she would never listen to anything you had to say.

Next Sunday was Epiphany. Sunday afternoon would be a good time.

But Aunt Lavvy came to stay from Sat.u.r.day to Monday. And it rained. All morning Mamma and Aunt Lavvy sat in the dining-room, one on each side of the fireplace. Aunt Lavvy read James Martineau's _Endeavours After the Christian Life_, and Mamma read "The Pulpit in the Family" out of the _Sunday At Home_. Somehow you couldn't do it with Aunt Lavvy in the room.

In the afternoon when she went upstairs to lie down--perhaps.

But in the afternoon Mamma dozed over the _Sunday At Home_. She was so innocent and pretty, nodding her head, and starting up suddenly, and looking round with a smile that betrayed her real opinion of Sunday. You couldn't do it while she dozed.

Towards evening it rained again and Aunt Lavvy went off to Ilford for the Evening Service, by herself. Everybody else stayed at home, and there was hymn-singing instead of church. Mary and her mother were alone together.

When her mother had sung the last hymn, "Lead, Kindly Light," then she would do it.

Her mother was singing:

"'Jesu, Lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer wa-a-ters roll, While the tempest still is high'"--

She could see the stiff, slender muscles straining in her mother's neck.

The weak, plaintive voice tore at her heart. She knew that her mother's voice was weak and plaintive. Its thin, sweet notes unnerved her.

"'Other refuge ha-ave I none: Hangs my helpless soul on Thee'"--

Helpless--Helpless. Mamma was helpless. It was only her love of Mark and Jesus that was strong. Something would happen if she told her--something awful. She could feel already the chill of an intolerable separation. She could give up Jesus, the lover of her soul, but she could not give up her mother. She couldn't live separated from Mamma, from the weak, plaintive voice that tore at her.

She couldn't do it.

IV.

Catty's eyes twinkled through the banisters. She caught Mary coming downstairs and whispered that there was cold boiled chicken and trifle for supper, because of Aunt Lavvy.

Through the door Mary could see her father standing at the table, and the calm b.r.e.a.s.t.s of the cold chicken smoothed with white sauce and decorated with beetroot stars.

There was a book beside Papa's plate, the book Aunt Lavvy had been reading. She had left it open on the drawing-room table when she went to church. She was late for supper and they sat there waiting for her. She came in, slowly as usual, and looking at the supper things as though they were not there. When she caught sight of the book something went up and flickered in her eyes--a sort of triumph.

You couldn't help thinking that she had left it lying about on purpose, so that Papa should see it.

He stood waiting till she had sat down. He handed the book to her. His eyes gleamed.

"When you come here," he said, "you will be good enough to leave James Martineau behind you."

Mamma looked up, startled. "You don't mean to say you've brought that man's books into the house?"

"You can see for yourself, Caroline," said Aunt Lavvy.

"I don't want to see. No, Mary, it has nothing to do with you."

Mamma was smiling nervously. You would have supposed that she thought James Martineau funny, but the least bit improper.

"But look, Mamma, it's his _Endeavours After the Christian Life_."

Her mother took up the book and put it down as if it had bitten her.

"Christian Life, indeed! What right has James Martineau to call himself a Christian? When he denies Christ--the Lord who bought him! And makes no secret of it. How can you respect an infidel who uses Christ's name to cover up his blasphemy?"

Aunt Lavvy was smiling now.

"I thought you said he made no secret of it?"

Mamma said, "You know very well what I mean."

"If you knew Dr. Martineau--"

"You've no business to know him," Emilius said, "when your brother Victor and I disapprove of him."

Emilius was carving chicken. He had an air of kindly, luscious hospitality, hesitating between the two flawless b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Dr. Martineau is the wisest and holiest man I ever knew," said Aunt Lavvy.

"I daresay your sister Charlotte thinks Mr. Marriott the wisest and the holiest man _she_ ever knew."

He settled the larger breast on Aunt Lavvy's plate and laid on it one perfect star of beetroot. He could do that while he insulted her.

"Oh--Papa--you _are_ a br--"

Aunt Lavvy shook her gentle head.

"Lavinia dear" (Mamma's voice was gentle), "did you have a nice service?"

"Very nice, thank you."

"Did you go to Saint Mary's, or the Parish church?"

Aunt Lavvy's straight, flat chin trembled slightly. Her pale eyes lightened. "I went to neither."

"Then---where did you go?"

"If you insist on knowing, Caroline, I went to Mr. Robson's church."

"You went to Mr.--to the Unitarian Chapel?"

"To the Unitarian Chapel."

"Emilius--" You would have thought that Aunt Lavvy had hit Mamma and hurt her.

Emilius took up his table napkin and wiped his moustache carefully. He was quite horribly calm.

"You will oblige me by not going there again," he said.

"You forget that I went every Sunday when we were in Liverpool."