The Daughters of Mrs Peacock Read Online Free PDF Page A

question of waiting until Catherine, her resentment subsiding, her lifelong affection reasserting itself, could for all their sakes bring herself to the point of surrender. This she did, later in the afternoon, choosing a moment when her mother was alone. She said she was sorry, shed a few tears, and received a kiss of forgiveness. Peace and happiness were restored: the family was united again.
    A sweet child though wilful, thought Mrs Peacock, with a backward glance at her own spirited girlhood. As for Catherine, though in her heart she did not repent, and thought her mother unreasonable, she bore no grudge. If Mama was like that, knowing herself to be always in the right, that was how she was made, and the harmless fancy must be humoured. It did not prevent her being Mama—the best in the world.

Chapter Two
A Proposal
    Before the week was out Mr Peacock, Edmund, Papa, was in circulation again. He was a restive patient and could suffer his wife’s coddling no longer. Dr Witherby, whose appearance suggested an amiable eagle in spectacles, solemnly pronounced him to be out of danger, but taking his cue from Mrs Peacock he advised him to have a few days more rest at home, to get his legs back and build up his strength before braving the east wind again, which, it appeared, was for some unexplained reason more to be feared in the neighbourhood of Newtonbury than here at Lutterfield.
    â€˜Nonsense, Witherby!’ said Edmund Peacock. ‘I was never
in
danger. You and my wife are in a conspiracy to make an old woman of me. As for the wind, it’s shifted, or I’m a Dutchman. And anyhow there’s not enough of it to fill a paper bag.’
    The advice, however, was not unwelcome: in no great hurry to get back to the office he was glad of the excuse to spend Saturday, as well as much of Sunday, pottering about the farm in breeches and gaiters and an old tweed jacket. So clad, so occupied, he felt more himself than in his sleek town-going gear, interviewing clients, drawing up wills, executing conveyances, and dissuading hotheads from litigation. All those activities represented not onlyanother life but another personality. This was recognized by the whole family: it was one of his favourite jokes, of which they never wearied. ‘You’re a shameless woman, Emily,’ he would say. ‘You have two husbands.’ And Emily, pretending to be shocked, would answer complacently: ‘What a way to talk, and in front of the girls too!’ He did in fact sometimes shock her with his more audacious pleasantries, but she enjoyed the sensation and was perhaps obscurely gratified that though he would often defer to her judgment, more especially in matters that did not greatly concern him, he was a genially masterful person with a will of his own. His visible presence in the house—a large vigorous man, with long chestnut-brown moustaches and copious side-whiskers adorning a broad red face—made a subtly different woman of her, younger, more placid, a wife as well as a mother. For that reason alone, had there been no other, his daughters would have adored him. The family atmosphere was never so serene as when Papa was at home.
    Sunday morning was dedicated to churchgoing. The Peacocks, a full muster, occupied the family pew, the maids, following at a discreet distance, disposing themselves elsewhere, near enough to show that they belonged but not so near as to seem presuming. Cook, who was regrettably but perhaps conveniently a Dissenter, deferred her devotions till the evening, for the hot Sunday dinner at one o’clock—roast sirloin of beef with two vegetables, followed by a fruit tart—was an institution only one degree less sacred than divine service itself: it was an indispensable part of Sunday observance. In the evening,after Evensong, they would settle down to enjoy the lees of the day in whatever fashion their collective fancy suggested: desultory talk, reading aloud, or music.