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Vicissitudes of Bessie Fairfax

<h3>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h3> <h3>AT FAIRFIELD.</h3> "We thought you were lost," was Lady Latimer's greeting to Bessie Fairfax when she entered the Fairfield drawing-room, tired with her long walk, but still in buoyant spirits. "Oh no!" said Bessie. "I have come from Brook. When I had seen them all at home my father carried me off there to tea." "I observed that you were not at the evening service. The Musgraves and those people drink tea at five o'clock: you must be ready for your supper now. Mr. Logger, will you be so good as to ring the bell?" Bessie was profoundly absorbed in her own happiness, but Lady Latimer's manner, and still more the tone of her voice, struck her with an uncomfortable chill. "Thank you, but I do not wish for anything to eat," she said, a little surprised. The bell had rung, however, and the footman appeared. "Miss Fairfax will take supper—she dined in the middle of the day," said Lady Latimer, but nothing could be less hospitable than the inflection of her speech as she gave the order. "Indeed, indeed, I am not hungry; we had chicken and tongue to tea," cried Bessie, rather shamefaced now. "And matrimony-cake and hot buttered toast—" "No, we had no matrimony-cake," said Bessie, who understood now that my lady was cross; and no one could be more taunting and unpleasant than my lady when she was cross. The footman had taken Miss Fairfax's remonstrative statement for a negative, and had returned to his own supper when the drawing-room bell rang again: "Why do you not announce Miss Fairfax's supper? Is it not ready yet?" "In a minute, my lady," said the man, and vanished. In due time he reappeared to say that supper was served, and Lady Latimer looked at her young guest and repeated the notice. Bessie laughed, and, rising with a fine color and rather proud air, left the room and went straight to bed. When neither she nor Mrs. Betts came in to prayers half an hour later, my lady became silent and reflective: she was not accustomed to revolt amongst her young ladies, and Miss Fairfax's quiet defiance took her at a disadvantage. She had anticipated a much more timid habit in this young lady, whom she had undertaken to manage and mould to the will of her grandfather. In the morning her humor was gracious again, and Bessie, who had received counsel from Dora Meadows, deeply experienced in Aunt Olympia's peculiarities, made no sign of remembering that there had been any fray. But she was warned of the imperious temper of her hostess, who would have no independence of action amongst her youthful charges, but expected them to consult her and defer to her at every step. "Why, then," thought Bessie, "did she bid me, in the first instance, do exactly what I liked?" To this there was no answer: is there ever an answer to the why of an exacting woman's caprice? After breakfast the young ladies took Mr. Logger out for a salubrious airing across the heath. In their absence Harry Musgrave and young Christie called at Fairfield, and, no longer in terror of Lady Latimer's patronage, talked to her of themselves, which she liked. She was exceedingly kind, and asked them both to dine the next day. "You will meet Mr. Cecil Burleigh: you may have heard his name, Mr. Musgrave? The Conservative member for Norminster," she said rather imposingly. "Oh yes, he is one of the coming men," said Harry, much interested, and he accepted the invitation. Mr. Christie declined it. His mother was very ill, he said, but he would send his portfolio for her ladyship to look over, if she would allow him. Her ladyship would be delighted. When the young ladies brought Mr. Logger back to luncheon the visitors were gone, but Lady Latimer mentioned that they had been there, and she gave Mr. Logger a short account of them: "Mr. Harry Musgrave is reading for the bar. He took honors at Oxford, and if his constitution will stand the wear and tear of a laborious, intellectual life, great things may be expected from him. But unhappily he is not very strong." Mr. Logger shook his head, and said it was the London gas. "Mr. Christie is a son of our village wheelwright, himself a most ingenious person. Mr. Danberry found him out, and spoke those few words of judicious praise that revealed the young man to himself as an artist. Mr. Danberry was staying with me at the time, and we had him here with his sketches, which were so promising that we encouraged him to make art his study. And he has done so with much credit." "Christie? a landscape-painter? does a portrait now and then? I have met him at Danberry's," said Mr. Logger, whose vocation it was to have met everybody who was likely to be mentioned in society. "Curious now: Archdeacon Topham was the son of a country carpenter: headstrong fellow—took a mountain-walk without a guide, and fell down a crevasse, or something." Mr. Cecil Burleigh arrived the next day to luncheon. In the afternoon the whole party walked in the Forest. Lady Latimer kept Dora at her elbow, and required Mr. Logger's opinion and advice on a new emigration scheme that she was endeavoring to develop. Bessie Fairfax was thus left to Mr. Cecil Burleigh, and they were not at a loss for conversation. Bessie was feeling quite gay and happy, and talked and listened as cheerfully as possible. The gentleman was rather jaded with the work of the session, and showed it in his handsome visage. He assumed that Miss Fairfax was so far in his confidence as to be interested in the high themes that interested himself, and of these he discoursed until his companion inadvertently betrayed that she was capable of abstracting her mind and thinking of something else while seeming to give him all her polite attention. He was then silent—not unthankfully. Their walk took them first round by the wheelwright's and afterward by the village. Lady Latimer loved to entertain and occupy her guests, even those who would have preferred wider margins of leisure. On the green in front of the wheelwright's they found little Christie seated under a white umbrella, making a sketch of his father's house and the shed. A group of sturdy children had put themselves just in the way by a disabled wagon to give it life. "I am doing it to please my mother," said the artist in reply to Lady Latimer's inquiry if he was going to make a finished picture of it. He went on with his dainty touches without moving. "I must not lose the five-o'clock effect of the sun through that tall fir," he explained apologetically. "No; continue, pray, continue," said my lady, and summoned her party to proceed. At the entrance of the village, to Bessie's great joy, they fell in with Mr. Carnegie returning from a long round on horseback. "Would Bessie like a ride with the old doctor to-morrow?" he asked her as the others strolled on. "Oh yes—I have brought my habit," she said enthusiastically. "Then Miss Hoyden shall trot along with me, and we'll call for you—not later than ten, Bessie, and you'll not keep me waiting." "Oh no; I will be ready. Lady Latimer has not planned anything for the morning, so I may be excused." Whether Lady Latimer had planned anything for the morning or not, she manifested a lofty displeasure that Miss Fairfax had planned this ride for herself. Dora whispered to her not to mind, it would soon blow over. So Bessie went up stairs to dress somewhat relieved, but still with a doubtful mind and a sense of indignant astonishment at my lady's behavior to her. She thought it very odd, and speculated whether there might be any reason for it beyond the failure in deference to herself. An idea struck her when she saw Mrs. Betts unfolding her most sumptuous dress—a rich white silk embroidered in black and silver for mourning—evidently in the intention of adorning her to the highest. "Oh, not that dress," she said. "I will wear my India muslin with black ribbons." "It is quite a set party, miss," remonstrated Mrs. Betts. "No matter," said Bessie decisively. No, she would not triumph over dear Harry with grand clothes. When her young lady had spoken, Mrs. Betts knew that it was spending her breath in vain to contradict; and Bessie went down to the drawing-room with an air of inexpensive simplicity very becoming to her beauty, and that need not alarm a poor gentleman who might have visions of her as a wife. Lady Latimer instantly accused and convicted her of that intention in it—in her private thoughts, that is. My lady herself was magnificent in purple satin, and little Dora Meadows had put on her finest raiment; but Bessie, with her wealth of fair hair and incomparable beauty of coloring, still glowed the most; and she glowed with more than her natural rose when Lady Latimer, after looking her up and down from head to foot with extreme deliberation, turned away with a scorny face. Bessie's eyes sparkled, and Mr. Logger, who saw all and saw nothing, perceived that she could look scorny too. Mr. Cecil Burleigh was pacing to and fro the conservatory into which a glass door opened from the drawing-room. His hands were clasped behind him, and his head was bent down as if he were in a profoundly cogitative mood. "I am afraid Burleigh is rather out of sorts—the effect of overstrain, the curse of our time," said Mr. Logger sententiously. Mr. Logger himself was admirably preserved. "He is looking remarkably well, on the contrary," said Lady Latimer. My lady was certainly not in her most beneficent humor. Dora darted an alarmed glance at Bessie, and at that moment Mr. Musgrave was announced. Bessie blushed him a sweet welcome, and said, perhaps unnecessarily, "I am so glad you have come!" and Harry expressed his thanks with kind eyes and a very cordial shake of the hand: they appeared quite confidentially intimate, those young people. Lady Latimer stood looking on like a picture of dignity, and when Mr. Cecil Burleigh entered from the conservatory she introduced the two young men in her stateliest manner. Bessie was beginning now to understand what all this meant. Throughout the dinner my lady never relaxed. She was formally courteous, elaborately gracious, but grande dame from her shoe-tie to the top-knot of her cap. Those who knew her well were ill at ease, but Harry Musgrave dined in undisturbed, complacent comfort. He had known dons at Oxford, and placed Lady Latimer in the donnish caste: that was all. He thought she had been a more charming woman. The conversation was interrogatory, and chiefly addressed to himself, and he had plenty to say and a pleasant way of saying it, but except for Bessie's dear bright face opposite the atmosphere would have been quite freezing. When the ladies withdrew, Mr. Logger almost immediately followed, and then Mr. Cecil Burleigh was himself again. He unbent to this athletic young man, whose Oxford double-first was the hall-mark of his quality, and whom Miss Fairfax was so frankly glad to see. Harry Musgrave had heard the reputation of the other, and met his condescension with the easy deference of a young man who knows the world. They were mutually interesting, and stayed in the dining-room until Lady Latimer sent to say that tea was in. When they entered the drawing-room my lady and Mr. Logger were deep in a report of the emigration commission. Bessie and Dora were sitting on the steps into the rose-garden watching the moon rise over the distant sea. Dora was bidden to come in out of the dew and give the gentlemen a cup of tea; Bessie was not bidden to do anything: she was apparently in disgrace. Dora obeyed like a little scared rabbit. Harry Musgrave stood a minute pensive, then took possession of a fine, quilted red silk duvet from the couch, and folded it round Bessie's shoulders with the remark that her dress was but thin. Mr. Cecil Burleigh witnessed with secret trepidation the simple, affectionate thoughtfulness with which the act was done and the beautiful look of kindness with which it was acknowledged. Bessie's innocent face was a mirror for her heart. If this fine gentleman was any longer deceived on his own account, he was one of the blind who are blind because they will not see. Lady Latimer was observant too, and she now left her blue-book, and said, "Mr. Musgrave, will you not have tea?" Harry came forward and accepted a cup, and was kept standing in the middle of the room for the next half hour, extemporizing views and opinions upon subjects on which he had none, until a glance of my lady's eye towards the clock on the chimney-piece gave him notice of the hours observed in great society. A few minutes after he took his leave, without having found the opportunity of speaking to Bessie again, except to say "Good-night." As Harry Musgrave left the room my lady rang the bell, and when the servant answered it she turned to Bessie and said in her iced voice, "Perhaps you would like to send for a shawl?" "Thank you, but I will not go out again," said Bessie mildly, and the servant vanished. Mr. Logger, who had really much amiability, here offered a remark: "A very fine young man, that Mr. Musgrave—great power of countenance. Wherever I meet with it now I say, Let us cherish talent, for it will soon be the only real distinction where everybody is rich." Mr. Cecil Burleigh made an inarticulate murmur, which might signify acquiescence or the reverse. Lady Latimer said, "Young ladies, I think it is time you were going up stairs." And with dutiful alacrity the young ladies went. "Never mind," whispered Dora to Bessie with a kiss as they separated. "If you take any notice of Aunt Olympia's tempers, you will not have a moment's peace: I never do. All will be right again in the morning." Bessie had her doubts of that, but she tried to feel hopeful; and she was not without her consolation, whether or no. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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