Frank Fairlegh Part 40

"Is there nothing you can recollect to sing, my dear?" asked Mrs.

Coleman.

She paused for a moment as if in thought, ere she replied:--

"There is an old air, which I think I could remember; but I do not know whether you will like it. The words," she added, glancing towards me, "refer to the subject on which we have just been speaking."

She then seated herself at the instrument, and, after striking a few simple chords, sang, in a sweet, rich soprano, the following stanzas;--

I

"Behold, how brightly seeming All nature shows: In golden sunlight gleaming, Blushes the rose.

How very happy things must be That are so bright and fair to see!

Ah, no! in that sweet flower, A worm there lies; And lo! within the hour, It fades--it dies.

II

"Behold, young Beauty's glances Around she flings; While as she lightly dances, Her soft laugh rings: How very happy they must be, Who are as young and gay as she!

'Tis not when smiles are brightest, So old tales say, The bosom's lord sits lightest-- Ah! well-a-day!

III

"Beneath the greenwood's cover The maiden steals, And, as she meets her lover, Her blush reveals How very happy all must be Who love with trustful constancy.

By cruel fortune parted, She learns too late, How some die broken-hearted-- Ah! hapless fate!"

-263-- The air to which these words were set was a simple, plaintive, old melody, well suited to their expression, and Miss Saville sang with much taste and feeling. When she reached the last four lines of the second verse, her eyes met mine for an instant, with a sad, reproachful glance, as if upbraiding me for having misunderstood her; and there was a touching sweetness in her voice, as she almost whispered the refrain, "Ah! well-a-day!" which seemed to breathe the very soul of melancholy.

"Strange, incomprehensible girl!" thought I, as I gazed with a feeling of interest I could not restrain, upon her beautiful features, which were now marked by an expression of the most touching sadness--"who could believe that she was the same person who, but five minutes since, seemed possessed by the spirit of frolic and merriment, and appeared to have eyes and ears for nothing beyond the jokes and drolleries of Freddy Coleman?"

"That's a very pretty song, my dear," said Mrs. Coleman; "and I'm very much obliged to you for singing it, only it has made me cry so, it has given me quite a cold in my head, I declare;" and, suiting the action to the word, the tender-hearted old lady began to wipe her eyes, and execute sundry other manoeuvres incidental to the malady she had named.

At this moment Freddy returned, laden with music-books. Miss Saville immediately fixed upon a lively duet which would suit their voices, and song followed song, till Mrs. Coleman, waking suddenly in a fright, after a tremendous attempt to break her neck, which was very near proving successful, found out that it was past eleven o'clock, and consequently bed-time.

It can scarcely be doubted that my thoughts, as I fell asleep (for, unromantic as it may appear, truth compels me to state that I never slept better in my life), turned upon my unexpected meeting with Clara Saville. The year and a half which had elapsed since the night of the ball had altered her from a beautiful girl into a lovely woman. Without in the slightest degree diminishing its grace and elegance, the outline of her figure had become more rounded, while her features had acquired a depth of expression which was not before observable, and which was the only thing wanting to render them (I had almost said) perfect. In her manner there was also a great alteration; the quiet reserve she had maintained when in the presence of Mr. Vernor, and the calm frankness displayed during our accidental meeting in Barstone -264-- Park, had alike given way to a strange excitability, which at times showed itself in the bursts of wild gaiety which had annoyed my fastidious sensitiveness in the earlier part of the evening, at others in the deep impa.s.sioned feeling she threw into her singing, though I observed that it was only in such songs as partook of a melancholy and even despairing character that she did so. The result of my meditations was, that the young lady was an interesting enigma, and that I could not employ the next two or three days to better advantage than in "doing a little bit of OEdipus." as Coleman would have termed it, or, in plain English, "finding her out ";--and hereabouts I fell asleep.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV -- THE RIDDLE BAFFLES ME!

"Your riddle is hard to read."

--_Tennyson_.

'"Are you content?

I am what you behold.

And that's a mystery."

_The Two Foscari_.

THE post next morning brought a letter from Mr. Vernor to say that, as he found the business on which he was engaged must necessitate his crossing to Boulogne, he feared there was no chance of his being able to return under a week, but that, if it should be inconvenient for Mrs.

Coleman to keep Miss Saville so long at Elm Lodge, he should wish her to go back to Barstone, where, if she was in any difficulty, she could easily apply to her late hostess for advice and a.s.sistance. On being brought clearly (though I fear the word is scarcely applicable to the good lady's state of mind at any time) to understand the position of affairs, Mrs. Coleman would by no means hear of Miss Saville's departure; but, on the contrary, made her promise to prolong her stay till her guardian should return, which, as Freddy observed, involved the remarkable coincidence that if Mr. Vernor should be drowned in crossing the British Channel, she (his mother) _would have put her foot in it_.

The same post brought Freddy a summons from his father, desiring him, the moment he returned from Bury with the papers, to proceed to town immediately. There was nothing left for him, therefore, but to deposit himself upon the roof of the next coach, blue bag in hand, which he accordingly did, after having spent the intervening time in reviling -265-- all lawyers, clients, deeds, settlements, in fact, every individual thing connected with the profession, excepting fees.

"Clara and I are going for a long walk, Mr. Fairlegh, and we shall be glad of your escort, if you have no objection to accompany us, and it is not too far for you," said Mrs. Coleman (who evidently considered me in the last stage of a decline), trotting into the breakfast-room where I was lounging, book in hand, over the fire, wondering what possible pretext I could invent for joining the ladies.

"I shall be only too happy," answered I, "and I think I can contrive to walk as far as you can, Mrs. Coleman." "Oh! I don't know that," was the reply, "I am a capital walker, I a.s.sure you. I remember a young man, quite as young as you, and a good deal stouter, who could not walk nearly as far as I can; to be sure," she added as she left the room, "he had a wooden leg, poor fellow!"

I soon received a summons to start with the ladies, whom I found awaiting my arrival on the terrace walk at the back of the house, comfortably wrapped up in shawls and furs, for, although a bright sun was shining, the day was cold and frosty.

"You must allow me to carry that for you," said I, laying violent hands on a large basket, between which and a m.u.f.f Mrs. Coleman was in vain attempting to effect an amicable arrangement.

"Oh, dear! I'm sure you'll never be able to carry it--it's so dreadfully heavy," was the reply.

"_Nous verrons_," answered I, swinging it on my forefinger, in order to demonstrate its lightness.

"Take care--you mustn't do so!" exclaimed Mrs. Coleman in a tone of extreme alarm; "you'll upset all my beautiful senna tea, and it will get amongst the slices of Christmas plum-pudding, and the flannel that I'm going to take for poor Mrs. Muddles's children to eat; do you know Mrs.

Muddles, Clara, my dear?"

Miss Saville replied in the negative, and Mrs. Coleman continued:--

"Ah! poor thing! she's a very hard-working, respectable, excellent young woman; she has been married three years, and has got six children--no!

let me see--it's six years, and three children--that's it--though I can never remember whether it's most pigs or children she has--four pigs, did I say?--but it doesn't much signify, for the youngest is a boy and will soon be fat enough to kill--the pig I mean, and they're all very dirty, and have never -266-- been taught to read, because she takes in washing, and has put a great deal too much starch in my night-cap this week--only her husband drinks--so I mustn't say much about it, poor thing, for we all have our failings, you know."

[Ill.u.s.tration: page266 An Unexpected Reverie]

With suchlike rambling discourse did worthy Mrs. Coleman beguile the way, until at length, after a walk of some two miles and a half, we arrived at the cottage of that much-enduring laundress, the highly respectable Mrs. Muddles, where, in due form, we were introduced to the mixed race of children and pigs, between which heads clearer than that of Mrs. Coleman might have been at a loss to distinguish; for if the pigs did not exactly resemble children, the children most a.s.suredly looked like pigs. Here we seemed likely to remain for some time, as there was much business to be transacted by the two matrons. First, Mrs.

Coleman's basket was unpacked, during which process that lady delivered a long harangue, setting forth the rival merits of plum-pudding and black draught, and ingeniously establishing a connexion between them, which has rendered the former nearly as distasteful to me as the latter ever since. Thence glancing slightly at the overstarched night-cap, and delicately referring to the anti-teetotal propensities of the laundress's sposo, she contrived so thoroughly to confuse and interlace the various topics of her discourse, as to render it an open question, whether the male Muddles had not got tipsy on black draught, in consequence of the plum-pudding having overstarched the night-cap; moreover, she distinctly called the latter article "poor fellow!" twice.

In reply to this, Mrs. Muddles, the skin of whose hands was crimped up into patterns like sea-weed, from the amphibious nature of her employment, and whose general appearance was, from the same cause, moist and spongy, expressed much grat.i.tude for the contents of the basket, made a pathetic apology to the night-cap, tried to ignore the imbibing propensity of her better half; but, when pressed home upon the point, declared that when he was not engaged in the Circe-like operation of "making a beast of hisself," he was one of the most virtuousest of men; and finally wound up by a minute medical detail of Johnny's chilblain, accompanied by a slight retrospective sketch of Mary Anne's departed hooping-cough. How much longer the conversation might have continued, it is impossible to say, for it was evident that neither of the speakers had by any means exhausted her budget, had not Johnny, the unfortunate proprietor of the chilblain above alluded to, seen fit to precipitate himself, head-foremost, into a washing-tub -267-- of nearly scalding water, whence his mamma, with great presence of mind and much professional dexterity, extricated him, wrung him out, and set him on the mangle to dry, where he remained sobbing, from a vague sense of humid misery, till a more convenient season.

This little incident reminding Mrs. Coleman that the boiled beef, preparing for our luncheon and the servants' dinner, would inevitably be overdone, induced her to take a hurried farewell of Mrs. Muddles, though she paused at the threshold to offer a parting suggestion as to the advisability, moral and physical, of dividing the wretched Johnny's share of plum-pudding between his brothers and sisters, and administering a double portion of black draught by way of compensation, an arrangement which elicited from that much-wronged child a howl of mingled horror and defiance.

We had proceeded about a mile on our return, when Mrs. Coleman, who was a step or two in advance, trod on a slide some boys had made, and would have fallen had I not thrown my arm round her just in time to prevent it.

"My dear madam," exclaimed I, "you were as nearly as possible down; I hope you have not hurt yourself."

"No, my dear--I mean--Mr. Fairlegh; no! I hope I have not, except my ankle. I gave that a twist somehow, and it hurts me dreadfully; but I daresay I shall be able to go on in a minute."

The good lady's hopes, however, were not destined in this instance to be fulfilled, for, on attempting to proceed, the pain increased to such an extent, that she was forced, after limping a few steps, to seat herself on a stone by the wayside, and it became evident that she must have sprained her ankle severely, and would be utterly unable to walk home.

In this dilemma it was not easy to discover what was the best thing to do--no vehicle could be procured nearer than Hillingford, from which place we were at least two miles distant, and I by no means approved of leaving my companions in their present helpless state during the s.p.a.ce of time which must necessarily elapse ere I could go and return. Mrs.

Coleman, who, although suffering from considerable pain, bore it with the greatest equanimity and good nature, seeming to think much more of the inconvenience she was likely to occasion us, than of her own discomforts, had just hit upon some brilliant but totally impracticable project, when our ears were gladdened by the sound of wheels, and in another moment a little pony-chaise, drawn by a -268-- fat, comfortable-looking pony, came in sight, proceeding in the direction of Hillingford. As soon as the driver, a stout, rosy-faced gentleman, who proved to be the family apothecary, perceived our party, he pulled up, and, when he became aware of what had occurred, put an end to our difficulties by offering Mrs. Coleman the unoccupied seat in his chaise.

"Sorry I can't accommodate you also, Miss Saville," he continued, raising his hat; "but you see it's rather close packing as it is. If I were but a little more like the medical pract.i.tioner who administered a sleeping draught to Master Romeo now, we might contrive to carry three."

"I really prefer walking such a cold day as this, thank you, Mr.

Pillaway," answered Miss Saville.

"Mind you take proper care of poor Clara, Mr. Fairlegh," said Mrs.

Coleman, "and don't let her sprain her ankle, or do anything foolish, and don't you stay out too long yourself and catch cold, or I don't know what Mrs. Fairlegh will say, and your pretty sister, too--what a fat pony, Mr. Pillaway; you don't give him much physic, I should think--good-bye, my dears, good-bye--remember the boiled beef."

As she spoke, the fat pony, admonished by the whip, described a circle with his tail, frisked with the agility of a playful elephant, and then set off at a better pace than from his adipose appearance I had deemed him capable of doing.

"With all her oddity, what an unselfish, kind-hearted, excellent little person Mrs. Coleman is!" observed I, as the pony-chaise disappeared at an angle of the road.