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Vicissitudes of Bessie Fairfax

<h3>CHAPTER XXIX.</h3> <h3>LADY LATIMER IN WOLDSHIRE.</h3> Mr. Fairfax welcomed Elizabeth on her arrival with an air of reserve, as if he did not wish to receive any intelligence from Minster Court. Bessie took the hint. The only news he had for her was that she might mount Janey now as soon as she pleased. Bessie was pleased to mount her the next morning, and to enjoy a delightful ride in her grandfather's company. Janey went admirably, and promised to be an immense addition to the cheerfulness of her mistress's life. Mr. Fairfax was gratified to see her happy, and they chatted cordially enough, but Bessie did not find it possible to speak of the one thing that lay uppermost in her mind. In the afternoon Mrs. Stokes called, and having had a glimpse of Mr. Laurence Fairfax's secret, and heard various reports since, she was curious for a full revelation. Bessie gave her the narrative complete, interspersed with much happy prediction; and Mrs. Stokes declared herself infinitely relieved to hear that, in spite of probabilities, the mysterious wife was a quite presentable person. "You remember that I told you Miss Jocund was a lady herself," she said. "The Jocunds are an old Norminster family, and we knew a Dr. Jocund in India. It was an odd thing for Miss Jocund to turn milliner; still, it must be much more comfortable than dependence upon friends. There is nothing so unsatisfactory as helpless poor relations. Colonel Stokes has no end of them. I wish they would turn milliners, or go into Lady Angleby's scheme of genteel mistresses for national schools, or do anything but hang upon us. And the worst is, they are never grateful and never done with." "Are they ashamed to work?" "No, I don't think shame is in their way, or pride, but sheer incompetence. One is blind, another is a confirmed invalid." "Then perhaps Providence puts them in your lot for the correction of selfishness," said Bessie laughing. "I believe if we all helped the need that belongs to us by kindred or service, there would be little misery of indigence in the world, and little superfluity of riches even amongst the richest. That must have been the original reading of the old saw that sayeth, 'Charity should begin at home.'". "Oh, political economy is not in my line," cried Mrs. Stokes, also laughing. "You have caught a world of wisdom from Mr. Cecil Burleigh, no doubt, but please don't shower it on me." Bessie did not own the impeachment by a blush, as she would have done a week ago. She could hear that name with composure now, and was proving an apt pupil in the manners of society. Mrs. Stokes scanned her in some perplexity, and would have had her discourse of the occupations and diversions of Brentwood, but all Bessie's inclination was to discourse of those precious boys in Minster Court. "They are just of an age to be play-fellows with your boys," she said to the blooming little matron. "How I should rejoice to see them racing about the garden together!" Bessie was to wish this often and long before her loving desire was gratified. If she had not been preassured that her grandfather did, in fact, know all that was to be known about the children, nothing in his conduct would have betrayed it to her. She told the story in writing to her mother, and received advice of prudence and patience. The days and weeks at Abbotsmead flowed evenly on, and brought no opportunity of asking the favor of a visit from them. Mr. and Mrs. Chiverton drove over to luncheon, and Bessie and her grandfather returned the civility. Sir Edward Lucas came to call and stayed a long time, planning his new town for colliers: Miss Fairfax said a word in praise of steep tiled roofs as more airy than low roofs of slate, and Sir Edward was an easy convert to her opinion. Mr. Cecil Burleigh came twice to spend a few days, and brought a favorable report of his canvass; the second time his sister accompanied him, and they brought the good news that Lady Latimer was at Brentwood, and was coming to Hartwell the following week. Bessie Fairfax was certainly happier when there was company at Abbotsmead, and she had a preference for Miss Burleigh's company; which might be variously interpreted. Miss Burleigh herself considered Miss Fairfax rather cold, but then Bessie was not expansive unless she loved very fondly and familiarly. One day they fell a-talking of Mr. Laurence Fairfax's wife, and Miss Burleigh suggested a cautious inquiry with a view to obtaining Bessie's real sentiments respecting her. She received the frankest exposition of them, with a bit of information to boot that gave her a theme for reflection. "I think her a perfect jewel of a wife," said Bessie with genuine kindness. "My uncle Laurence and she are quite devoted to one another. She sings like a little bird, and it is beautiful to see her with those boys. I wish we had them all at Abbotsmead. And she is so pretty—the prettiest lady I ever saw, except, perhaps, one." "And who was that one?" Miss Burleigh begged to know. "It was a Miss Julia Gardiner. I saw her first at Fairfield at the wedding of Lady Latimer's niece, and again at Ryde the other day." "Oh yes! dear Julia was very lovely once, but she has gone off. The Gardiners are very old friends of ours." Miss Burleigh turned aside her face as she spoke. She had not heard before that Miss Fairfax had met her rival and predecessor in Mr. Cecil Burleigh's affections: why had her dear Cecil been so rash as to bring them in contact and give her the opportunity of drawing inferences? That Bessie had drawn her inferences truly was plain, from a soft blush and glance and a certain tone in her voice as she mentioned the name of Miss Julia Gardiner, as if she would deprecate any possible idea that she was taking a liberty. The subject was not pursued. Miss Burleigh wished only to forget it; perhaps Bessie had expected a confidential word, and was abashed at hearing none, for she began to talk with eagerness, rather strained, of Lady Latimer's promised visit to Hartwell. Lady Latimer's arrival was signalized by an immediate invitation to Mr. Fairfax and his granddaughter to go over and lunch on a fixed day. Bessie was never so impatient as till the day came, and when she mounted Janey to ride to Hartwell she palpitated more joyously than ever she had done yet since her coming into Woldshire. Her grandfather asked her why she was so glad, but she found it difficult to tell him: because my lady had come from the Forest seemed the root of the matter, as far as it could be expressed. The squire looked rather glum, Macky remarked to Mrs. Betts; and if she had been in his shoes wild horses should not have drawn her into company with that proud Lady Latimer. The golden harvest was all gone from the fields, and there was a change of hue upon the woods—yellow and red and russet mingled with their deep green. The signs of decay in the vivid life of Nature could not touch Bessie with melancholy yet—the spring-tides of youth were too strong in her—but Mr. Fairfax, glancing hither and thither over the bare, sunless landscape, said, "The winter will soon be upon us, Elizabeth. You must make the best of the few bright days that are remaining: very few and very swift they seem when they are gone." Hartwell was as secluded amongst its evergreens and fir trees now as at midsummer, but in the overcast day the house had a dull and unattractive aspect. The maiden sisters sat in the gloomy drawing-room alone to receive their guests, but after the lapse of a few minutes Lady Latimer entered. She was dressed in rich black silk and lace—carefully dressed, but the three years that had passed since Bessie Fairfax last saw her had left their mark. Bessie, her heart swelling, her eyes shining with emotion, moved to meet her, but Lady Latimer only shook hands with sweet ceremoniousness, and she was instantly herself again. The likeness that had struck the maiden sisters did not strike my lady, or, being warned of it, she was on her guard. There was a momentary silence, and then with cold pale face she turned to Mr. Fairfax, congratulated him on having his granddaughter at home, and asked how long she had been at Abbotsmead. Soon appeared Mr. Oliver Smith, anxious to talk election gossip with his neighbor; and for a few minutes Bessie had Lady Latimer to herself, to gaze at and admire, and confusedly to listen to, telling Beechhurst news. "Mr. and Mrs. Carnegie charged me with innumerable kind words for you—Jack wants you to go home before he goes to sea—Willie and Tom want you to make tails for their kites—Miss Buff will send you a letter soon—Mr. Wiley trusts you have forgiven him his forgetfulness of your message." "Oh no, I have not. He lost me an opportunity that may come again I know not when," said Bessie impetuously. "I must persuade your grandfather to lend you to me for a month next spring, when the leaves are coming out and the orchards are in blossom; or, if he cannot spare you then, when the autumn tints begin." "Oh, thank you! But I think the Forest lovely at all seasons—when the boughs are bare or when they are covered with snow." Bessie would have been glad that the invitation should come now, without waiting for next year, but that was not even thought of. Lady Latimer was looking towards the gentlemen, more interested in their interests than in the small Beechhurst chat that Bessie would never have tired of. After a few minutes of divided attention my lady rose, and a propos of the Norminster election expressed her satisfaction in the career that seemed to be opening for Mr. Cecil Burleigh: "Lord Latimer thought highly of him from a boy. He was often at Umpleby in the holidays. He is like a son to my old friend at Brentwood; Lady Angleby is happy in having a nephew who bids fair to attain distinction, since her own sons prefer obscurity. She deplores their want of ambition: it must be indeed a trial to a mother of her aspiring temper." So my lady talked on, heard and not often interrupted; it was the old voice and grand manner that Bessie Fairfax remembered so well, and once so vastly reverenced. She did not take much more notice of Bessie. After luncheon she chose to pace the lawn with her brother and Mr. Fairfax, debating and predicting the course of public affairs, which shared her thoughts with the government of Beechhurst. Bessie remained indoors with the two quiet sisters, who were not disposed to forsake the fireside for the garden: the wood-fire was really comfortable that clouded afternoon, though September was not yet far advanced. Miss Charlotte sat by one of the windows, holding back the curtain to watch the trio on the lawn, and Bessie sat near, able to observe them too. "Dear Olympia is as energetic as ever, but, Juliana, don't you think she is contracting a slight stoop to one side?" said Miss Charlotte. Miss Juliana approached to look out. "She always did hang that arm. Dear Olympia! Still, she is a majestic figure. She was one of the handsomest women in Europe, Miss Fairfax, when Lord Latimer married her." "I can well imagine that: she is beautiful now when she smiles and colors a little," said Bessie. "Ah, that smile of Olympia's! We do not often see it in these days, but it had a magic. All the men were in love with her—she made a great marriage. Lord Latimer was not one of our oldest nobility, but he was very rich and his mansion at Umpleby was splendid, quite a palace, and our Olympia was queen there." "We never married," said Miss Charlotte meekly. "It would not have done for us to marry men who could not have been received at court, so to speak—at Umpleby, I mean. Olympia said so at the time, and we agreed with her. Dear Olympia was the only one of us who married, except Maggie, our half-sister, the eldest of our father's children—Mrs. Bernard's mother—and that was long before the great event in our family." Bessie fancied there was a flavor of regret in these statements. Miss Juliana took up the thread where her sister had dropped it: "There is our dear Oliver—what a perfect gentleman he was! How accomplished, how elegant! If your sweet aunt Dorothy had not died when she did, he might have been your near connection, Miss Fairfax. We have often urged him to marry, if only for the sake of the property, but he has steadfastly refused to give that good and lovely young creature a successor. Our elder brother also died unmarried." Miss Charlotte chimed in again: "Lady Latimer moved for so many years in a distinguished circle that she can throw her mind into public business. We range with humble livers in content, and are limited to the politics of a very small school and hamlet. You will be a near neighbor, Miss Fairfax, and we hope you will come often to Hartwell: we cannot be Lady Latimer to you, but we will do our best. Abbotsmead was once a familiar haunt; of late years it has been almost a house shut up." Bessie liked the kindly, garrulous old ladies, and promised to be neighborly. "I have been told," she said after a short silence, "that my grandfather was devoted to Lady Latimer when they were young." "Your grandfather, my dear, was one amongst many who were devoted to her," said Miss Juliana hastily. "No more than that? Oh, I hoped he was preferred above others," said Bessie, without much reflecting. "Why hope it?" said Miss Charlotte in a saddened tone. "Dorothy thought that he was, and resented Olympia's marriage with Lord Latimer as a treachery to her brother that was past pardon. Oliver shared Dorothy's sentiments; but we are all friends again now, thank God! Juliana's opinion is, that dear Olympia cared no more for Richard Fairfax than she cared for any of her other suitors, or why should she have married Lord Latimer? Olympia was her own mistress, and pleased herself—no one else, for we should have preferred Richard Fairfax, all of us. But she had her way, and there was a breach between Hartwell and Abbotsmead for many years in consequence. Why do we talk of it? it is past and gone. And there they go, walking up and down the lawn together, as I have seen them walk a hundred times, and a hundred to that. How strangely the old things seem to come round again!" At that moment the three turned towards the house. Lady Latimer was talking with great earnestness; Mr. Fairfax sauntered with his hands clasped behind him and his eyes on the ground; Mr. Oliver Smith was not listening. When they entered the room her grandfather said to Bessie, "Come, Elizabeth, it is time we were riding home;" and when he saw her wistful eyes turn to the visitor from the Forest, he added, "You have not lost Lady Latimer yet. She will come over to Abbotsmead the day after to-morrow." Bessie could not help being reminded by her grandfather's face and voice of another old Beechhurst friend—Mr. Phipps. Perhaps this luncheon at Hartwell had been pleasanter to her than to him, though even she had an aftertaste of disappointment in it, because Lady Latimer no longer dazzled her judgment. To the end my lady preserved her animation, and when the visitors had mounted and were ready to ride away she still engaged Mr. Fairfax's ear while she expounded her views of the mischief that would accrue if ever election by ballot became the law of the land. "You must talk to Chiverton about that," said the squire, lifting his hat and moving off. "I shall drive over to Castlemount to-morrow," said my lady; and she accompanied her visitors to the gate with more last words on a variety of themes that had been previously discussed and dismissed. All the way home the squire never once opened his mouth to speak; he appeared thoroughly jaded and depressed and in his most sarcastic humor. At dinner Bessie heard more bitter sentiments against her sex than she had ever heard in her life before, and wondered whether they were the residuum of his disappointed passion. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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