Frederica and her Guardians Part 13

Mr St. Cyr laughed in a way which was not pleasant to hear.

"You have not forgotten Pauline Precoe, it seems," said he.

"I must see her," said Jerome. "It may not be too late yet. These children must be saved."

"It is too late to think of availing yourself of Pauline Precoe's help in your good work, however. She is now in Mrs Vane's house, but she shall not be there long. I have no influence with Mr Vane--he hates me like poison; but I think he may be made to see that it will not be for his interest that Madame Ascot should stay much longer in his family."

"Why? What has she done, poor Pauline? You did not use to hate her so."

"I never respected her. She was never worthy of respect. She was and is an utterly unscrupulous person. I say to you what I mean to say to her soon--she is a dishonest person. I might even say worse than that."

"She has not been under right direction," said his brother.

"And you would like to be her director henceforth. I wish you joy of the office. But you must not hope through her to gain influence over Theresa St. Hubert and her children."

"And they and their wealth must be lost to the Church? You are not so good a Christian as you once were, Cyprien," said his brother.

"That is as may be. I do not think it is my Christian duty, or yours, to seek to obtain possession of Mr St. Hubert's wealth, or any part of it, by any means, or for any purpose whatever."

"I seek nothing for myself," said his brother; "and we will discuss the subject no more."

"There is just this to be said more," said Mr St. Cyr, gravely and firmly: "Do not meddle with their affairs, my brother. No good can come of it, to you or to any one. You wish none of it for yourself? To wish for it for any purpose--yes, even to build churches, or to feed and clothe your orphans--is covetousness. To obtain possession of it would be dishonesty. Put it altogether from your thoughts."

There was a silence of several minutes, and Mr St. Cyr rose to leave the room.

"Brother," said Jerome, meekly, "I had hoped that after all these years of separation we might at least have lived in peace together--the last of our race as we are."

"With all my heart, let it be peace. Only there must be no meddling with this matter, or with any matter in which my honour as a gentleman and a man of business is involved. That must be clearly understood."

"I must be faithful with you," said Jerome, still speaking softly: "I consider that you have been Culpably negligent with regard to these children. It is their souls for which I am anxious, not their wealth.

It is for you to render an account of them--not me."

"So be it! I will answer," said Mr St. Cyr. After a moment he added, "Do not, my brother, let us become unfriendly over this matter. When Mr St. Hubert left his property to me, in trust for his daughter and her children, I did all that was permitted me to do to have these children placed under Christian influence and teaching. In fact, I would have confided them to the care of the ladies of the Sacred Heart, as you suggest, if I had been consulted. Mr Vane had other plans, and I had no right to interfere. I cannot say that I now regret that my plans for them failed. They are good and sweet children, frank and loving, and conscientious, with far more strength of character and truthfulness, than would have been developed in them had they been educated within convent walls. And they will need these qualities, poor children."

"All that sounds strangely from the lips of one who has the reputation of being a religious man," said his brother gravely.

"Have I that reputation? Well, we will say no more, lest your next word be not so flattering. And now I must leave you to amuse yourself, while I without loss of time attend to this unpleasant business. We shall see each other again soon."

It truly was an unpleasant business to all concerned; and all the more so, that instead of shutting his eyes, and seeming not to see what was wrong, as he had often done before, in matters where Mr Vane was concerned, he was determined to search to the bottom the affair of the misappropriated money. He had no expectation that it would be restored; he did not care about that: the result he desired to bring about was the departure of Mrs Ascot from the house. She would have been sent away long before, if Mrs Vane in her ill-health could have found courage to dissent from the will of her dead father who had placed her there, or to oppose the expressed will of her husband, whose ease and interest Mrs Ascot in all things studied.

So Mr St. Cyr did his best to make it unpleasant business to both Mrs Ascot and Mr Vane, and they did the same for each other. With the details our story has nothing to do, but the result was matter of rejoicing to the Vanes. The very first thing that Fred and Tessie heard when they came home for the holidays was that Madame Ascot was going to be married! It was madame herself who told them. She was to many her own cousin, Mr Joseph Precoe, who was a merchant in the city. It would have happened long ago, only she had never been able to induce herself to forsake dear Mrs Vane, who had been so much in need of her. But now in justice to Mr Precoe, who had waited so long, she must wait no longer.

Madame was determined to part in friendship with everybody, it seemed, and she would not see the joyful looks the girls exchanged, nor any other indications of delight at the prospect of her departure. She not only did not resent these things, but took the utmost pains to conciliate the young people and their mother as well. There was to be a fine wedding, and Mrs Ascot's earnest wish was that she should go directly from Mrs Vane's house to the church, and that her dear little cousins should go with her as bridesmaids; and she had so much to say about the charming dresses and ornaments that would be required, that they desired it too.

Their mother did not desire it and their father, with more decision than he usually displayed in matters that did not particularly affect his own comfort, put an end to the discussion of the subject at once. Madame Ascot, an inmate of their house, had been a person of some importance, but Madame Precoe would be like any other common person with whom they had nothing at all to do. This was made quite clear to the children by him, and there was no reason, except the pretty bridesmaids' dresses, why they should regret his decision. Madame was disappointed and angry.

She showed her disappointment, but she did not show her anger. She was determined to part in friendship with them all, and she promised to come and see them often, and to render them a.s.sistance in all matters where a.s.sistance was needed.

"There must be none of that, however," said Mr Vane, when Frederica told him of Mrs Ascot's kindness. "It would suit her purpose, I daresay, to make good her position here, and it would suit other people's also; but it will not suit me; and she is not to be encouraged; remember that, Fred."

Frederica opened her eyes in astonishment at her father's unwonted warmth.

"It would not suit mama, if that is what you mean, papa--nor any of us.

We are very glad to part with her, and Mr St. Cyr does not like her at all, I am sure."

"He may wish to make use of her, though he does not like her. But she is not to be encouraged to come here."

"Very well, papa," said Frederica: but she by no means understood what her father meant, nor did it matter much that she did not.

The girls saw the wedding after all. They went to the church in the early morning, and saw madame in her fine dress and veil, and her bridesmaids, who were much better suited to the office than they would have been. Madame did not see them. They kept out of sight, and watched the ceremony with great interest, rather pitying the good-natured-looking bridegroom, and exchanging serious doubts as to his chances of good times in madame's hands. The usual carriages drawn by white horses awaited them at the door; and as they watched them driving away, Tessie said,--

"There! she has really gone at last. I have been afraid all along that Mr Precoe would repent, or that somebody would do something to put a stop to it, and that we should have p.r.i.c.kly Polly back again. I should like to dance and sing for thankfulness."

But Frederica had no thought of dancing and singing.

"There is always, some drawback," said she gravely. "If everything does not go on well in the house,--dinners, and servants, and all that,--papa will not be pleased."

"Oh, well! Why should they not go on well? You are so sensible, you know," said Tessie, laughing. "You are equal to Mrs Ascot, surely."

"I mean to be good, and try to do everything right, and then all will go well. That is what Miss Robina said to me--at least, she said I must always try to do right, whatever happened. If one could always know what is right!"

Tessie laughed.

"I wonder if it was right for us to come and see the last of Madame Ascot, after what papa said."

"Oh! our coming in this way was quite different. We were not guests, and she did not see us. And after the first moment I daresay papa did not think about it."

"That is true. Papa does not mind about things."

"But he minds about his dinner, and about everything being right when his friends come to the house, and all that; and perhaps he might mind about our coming here too. I think I shall tell him that we were in the church."

Tessie said he would be sure not to care, and Frederica thought so too, or perhaps she would not have been so ready to tell him about it. It is possible he did not care very much; but he was rather cross about it, Frederica confessed, when she told Tessie afterward. His comfort had already been interfered with since Mrs Ascot's departure, for the affairs of the house did not go on very well for a while, and he had other causes for embarra.s.sment which he could not tell to her. He only said it was not a proper thing for her to be going about the streets alone, or with no one but Tessie, and insisted that an end should be put to it.

"You are no longer a child," said he; "you are almost a woman."

"But surely, papa, I should be all the fitter to go about for that,"

said she, laughing.

"That is your idea, is it? Well, it is not mine. You must amuse yourselves within the bounds of the garden, while your vacation lasts."

"But, papa," said Frederica, with dignity, "it is not a question of amus.e.m.e.nt: you forget that I am housekeeper."

"No, I am not likely to forget that," said her father drily. "If you must go out, you must go in the carriage, or take Dixen with you. I cannot have you going here and there by yourself."

"Very well, papa: I will remember."

It was very agreeable to her that her father should acknowledge that she was no longer a child, but she was by no means sure that all the consequences of being almost a woman would be agreeable. However, she was determined to make the best of it.

"I am going to be very busy," said she. "You shall see what a housekeeper I shall be. I shall have no time to be going here and there. I shall like it, I am quite sure, better than school."