Back Aa

Vicissitudes of Bessie Fairfax

Close

<h3><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></SPAN>CHAPTER XXX.</h3> <h3><i>MY LADY REVISITS OLD SCENES</i>.</h3> <p>To meet Lady Latimer and Mr. Oliver Smith at Abbotsmead, Lady Angleby and Mr. Cecil Burleigh came over from Brentwood. Bessie Fairfax was sorry. She longed to have my lady to herself. She thought that she might then ask questions about other friends in the Forest—about friends at Brook—which she felt it impossible to ask in the presence of uninterested or adverse witnesses. But Lady Latimer wished for no confidential communications. She had received at Brentwood full particulars of the alliance that was projected between the families of Fairfax and Burleigh, and considered it highly desirable. My lady's principle was entirely against any wilfulness of affection in young girls. In this she was always consistent, and Bessie's sentimental constancy to the idea of Harry Musgrave would have provoked her utter disapproval. It was therefore for Bessie's comfort that no opportunity was given her of betraying it.</p> <p>At luncheon the grand ladies introduced their philanthropic hobbies, and were tedious to everybody but each other. They supposed the two young people would be grateful to be left to entertain themselves; but Bessie was not grateful at all, and her grandfather sat through the meal looking terribly like Mr. Phipps—meditating, perhaps, on the poor results in the way of happiness that had attended the private lives of his guests, who were yet so eager to meddle with their neighbors' lives. When luncheon was over, Lady Latimer, quitting the dining-room first, walked through the hall to the door of the great drawing-room. The little page ran quickly and opened to her, then ran in and drew back the silken curtains to admit the light. The immense room was close yet chill, as rooms are that have been long disused for daily purposes.</p> <p>"Ah, you do not live here as you used to do formerly?" she said to Mr. Fairfax, who followed her.</p> <p>"No, we are a diminished family. The octagon parlor is our common sitting-room."</p> <p>Bessie had promised Macky that some rainy day she would make a tour of the house and view the pictures, but she had not done it yet, and this room was strange to her. The elder visitors had been once quite familiar with it. Lady Latimer pointed to a fine painting of the Virgin and Child, and remarked, "There is the Sasso-Ferrato," then sat down with her back to it and began to talk of political difficulties in Italy. Mr. Cecil Burleigh was interested in Italy, so was Mr. Oliver Smith, and they had a very animated conversation in which the others joined—all but Bessie. Bessie listened and looked on, and felt not quite happy—rather disenchanted, in fact. Lady Latimer was the same as ever—she overflowed with practical goodness—but Bessie did not regard her with the same simple, adoring confidence. Was it the influence of the old love-story that she had heard? My lady seemed entirely free from pathetic or tender memories, and domineered in the conversation here as she did everywhere. Even Lady Angleby was half effaced, and the squire had nothing to say.</p> <p>"I like her best at Fairfield," Bessie thought, but Bessie liked everything best in the Forest.</p> <p>Just before taking her leave my lady said abruptly to the young lady of the house, "An important sphere is open to you: I hope you will be able to fill it with honor to yourself and benefit to others. You have an admirable example of self-devotion, if you can imitate it, in Mrs. Chiverton of Castlemount. She told me that you were school-fellows and friends already. I was glad to hear it."</p> <p>These remarks were so distinctly enunciated that every eye was at once attracted to Bessie's face. She colored, and with an odd, fastidious twist of her mouth—the feminine rendering of the squire's cynical smile—she answered, "Mrs. Chiverton has what she married for: God grant her satisfaction in it, and save me from her temptation!" In nothing did Bessie Fairfax's early breeding more show itself than in her audacious simplicity of speech when she was strongly moved. Lady Latimer did not condescend to make any rejoinder, but she remarked to Mr. Fairfax afterward that habits of mind were as permanent as other habits, and she hoped that Elizabeth would not give him trouble by her stiff self-opinion. Mr. Fairfax hoped not also, but in the present instance he had silently applauded it. And Mr. Burleigh was charmed that she had the wit to answer so skilfully.</p> <p>When my lady was gone, Bessie grieved and vexed herself with compunctious thoughts. But that was not my lady's last visit; she came over with Miss Charlotte another afternoon when Mr. Fairfax was gone to Norminster, and on this occasion she behaved with the gracious sweetness that had fascinated her young admirer in former days. Bessie said she was like herself again. At my lady's request Bessie took her up to the white parlor. On the threshold she stopped a full minute, gazing in: nothing of its general aspect was changed since she saw it last—how long ago! She went straight to the old bookcase, and took down one of Dorothy Fairfax's manuscript volumes and furled over the leaves. Miss Charlotte drew Bessie to the window and engaged her in admiration of the prospect, to leave her sister undisturbed.</p> <p>Presently my lady said, "Charlotte, do you remember these old books of Dorothy's?" and Miss Charlotte went and looked over the page.</p> <p>"Oh yes. Dear Dorothy had such a pretty taste—she always knew when a sentiment was nicely put. She was a great lover of the old writers."</p> <p>After a few minutes of silent reading my lady spoke again: "She once recited to me some verses of George Herbert's—of when God at first made man, how He gave him strength, beauty, wisdom, honor, pleasure, all to keep, but with repining restlessness. They were a prophecy. I cannot find them." She restored the volume to its shelf, quoting the last lines—all she remembered distinctly:</p> <div class="poem"> <div class='stanza'><div>"Let him be rich and weary, that at last,</div> <div>If goodness lead him not, yet weariness</div> <div class='i2'>May toss him to my breast."</div> </div></div> <p>"I know; they are in the last volume, toward the end," said Bessie Fairfax, and quickly found them. "They do not say that God gave man love; and that is a craving too. Don't you think so?"</p> <p>Lady Latimer looked straight before her out of the window with lips compressed.</p> <p>"What do you mean by love, my dear?—so many foolish feelings go by that name," said Miss Charlotte, filling the pause.</p> <p>"Oh, I mean just love—the warm, happy feeling in my heart toward everybody who belongs to me or is good to me—to my father and mother and all of them at home, and to my grandfather now and my uncle Laurence, and more besides."</p> <p>"You are an affectionate soul!" said my lady, contemplating her quietly. "You were born loving and tender—"</p> <p>"Like dear Dorothy," added Miss Charlotte with a sigh. "It is a great treasure, a warm heart."</p> <p>"Some of us have hearts of stone given us—more our misfortune than our fault," said Lady Latimer with a sudden air of offence, and turned and left the room, preceding the others down stairs. Bessie was startled; Miss Charlotte made no sign, but when they were in the hall she asked her sister if she would not like to see the gardens once more. Indeed she would, she said; and, addressing Bessie with equanimity restored, she reminded her how she had once told her that Abbotsmead was very beautiful and its gardens always sunny, and she hoped that Bessie was not disappointed, but found them answer to her description. Bessie said "Yes," of course; and my lady led the way again—led the way everywhere, and to and fro so long that Miss Charlotte was fain to rest at intervals, and even Bessie's young feet began to ache with following her. My lady recollected every turn in the old walks and noted every alteration that had been made—noted the growth of certain trees, and here and there where one had disappeared. "The gum-cistus is gone—that lovely gum-cistus! In the hot summer evenings how sweet it was!—like Indian spices. And my cedar—the cedar I planted—is gone. It might have been a great tree now; it must have been cut down."</p> <p>"No, Olympia, it never grew up—it withered away; Richard Fairfax told Oliver that it died," said Miss Charlotte.</p> <p>The ladies from Hartwell were still in the gardens when the squire came home from Norminster, and on Jonquil's information he joined them there. "Ah, Olympia! are you here?" he said.</p> <p>My lady colored, and looked as shy as a girl: "Yes; we were just going. I am glad to have seen you to say good-bye."</p> <p>They did not, however, say good-bye yet; they took a turn together amongst the old familiar places, Miss Charlotte and Bessie resting meanwhile in the great porch, and philosophizing on what they saw.</p> <p>"Did you know grandpapa's wife—my grandmamma?" Bessie began by asking.</p> <p>"Oh yes, my dear. She was a sprightly girl before she married, but all her life after she went softly. Mr. Fairfax was not an unkind or negligent husband, but there was something wanting. She was as unlike Olympia as possible—very plain and simple in her tastes and appearance. She kept much at home, and never sought to shine in society—for which, indeed, she was not fitted—but she was a good woman and fond of her children."</p> <p>"And grandpapa was perfectly indifferent to her: it must have been dreary work. Oh, what a pity that Lady Latimer did not care for him!"</p> <p>"She did care for him very much."</p> <p>"But if she cared for Umpleby more?"</p> <p>Miss Charlotte sighed retrospectively and said, "Olympia was ambitious: she is the same still—I see no change. She longed to live in the world's eye and to have her fill of homage—for Nature had gifted her with the graces and talents that adorn high station—but she was never a happy woman, never satisfied or at peace with herself. She ardently desired children, and none were given her. I have often thought that she threw away substance for shadow—the true and lasting joys of life for its vain glories. But she had what she chose, and if it disappointed her she never confessed to her mistake or avowed a single regret. Her pride was enough to sustain her through all."</p> <p>"It is of no use regretting mistakes that must last a lifetime. But one is sorry."</p> <p>The squire and Lady Latimer were drawing slowly towards the porch, talking calmly as they walked.</p> <p>"Yes, one is sorry. Those two were well suited to each other once," said Miss Charlotte.</p> <p>The Hartwell carriage came round the sweep, the Hartwell coachman—who was groom and gardener too—not in the best of humors at having been kept so long waiting. Lady Latimer, with a sweet countenance, kissed Bessie at her leave-taking, and told her that permission was obtained for her to visit Fairfield next spring. Then she got into the carriage, and bowing and smiling in her exquisite way, and Miss Charlotte a little impatient and tired, they drove off. Bessie, exhilarated with her rather remote prospect of the Forest, turned to speak to her grandfather. But, lo! his brief amenity had vanished, and he was Mr. Phipps again.</p> <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />

1 of 2

2 of 2