Hopes and Fears Part 104

CHAPTER XXV

Turn again, Whittington!--_Bow Bells_

May had come round again before Robert Fulmort stood waiting at the Waterloo Station to welcome the travellers, who had been prohibited from putting Bertha's restored health to the test of east winds. It was a vista of happy faces that he encountered as he looked into the carriage window, yet the first questions and answers were grave and mournful.

'Is Mr. Henderson still alive?' asked Honora.

'No, he sank rapidly, and died on Sunday week. I was at the funeral on Sat.u.r.day.'

'Right; I am glad you went. I am sorry I was away.'

'It was deeply felt. Nearly all the clergy in the archdeaconry, and the entire parish, were present.'

'Who is taking care of the parish?'

'Charlecote Raymond has been coming over for the Sundays, and giving great satisfaction.'

'I say, Robert, where's the Bannerman carriage? Phoebe is to be victimized there--more's the pity,' interposed Mervyn.

'There is their brougham. I meant to drive to Albury-street with her,'

said Robert, gazing at his brother as if he scarcely knew him without the characteristic knitting of the brow under a grievance, the scowl, or the half-sneering smile; and with the cleared and lightened air that he had worn ever since that little spark of hope had been left to burn and shine undamped by dissipation or worldly policy. Bertha also was changed. She had grown tall and womanly, her looks beyond her age, and if her childish vivacity were gone, the softened gravity became her much better. It was Phoebe's report, however, for which he chiefly longed, and he was soon seated beside her on the way to Albury-street, while the others betook themselves Citywards.

'So, Phoebe, it is all right, and you are satisfied?'

'Satisfied, grateful, thankful to the utmost,' said Phoebe, fervently.

'I think I never was so happy as all through the latter part of the journey.'

'You think well of Bertha?'

'I cannot call her restored, for she is far more than she was before.

That meeting with Cecily Raymond did for her what we could not do, and she is growing to be more than we knew how to wish for.'

'Her spirits?'

'Never high, and easily shaken. Her nerves are not strong yet, and she will never, I fear, be quite girlishly careless and merry, but she is grave and sweet. She does not shrink from people now, and when I saw her among other girls at Paris, she seemed older, much deeper, and altogether superior.'

'Does she think seriously?'

'She thinks and reads, but it is not easy to guess what she thinks, for she keeps silence, and has happily quite left off arguing with Miss Charlecote. I believe Cecily has great influence over her, and I think she will talk a great deal to Miss Fennimore. Robin, do you think we could have dear Miss Fennimore again?'

'I do not know what Mr. Parsons would say to you. As you know, she told him that she wanted to do the most useful work he could trust to her, so he has made her second mistress at the day-school for his tradesmen's daughters; and what they would do without her I cannot think!'

'She must have very insufficient pay.'

'Yes, but I think she is glad of that, and she had saved a good deal.'

'I give you notice that I shall try hard to get her, if Mr. Crabbe will only let us be as we were before. Do you think there is any hope for us?'

'I cannot tell. I suspect that he will not consent to your going home till Mervyn is married; and Augusta wants very much to have you, for the season at least.'

'Mervyn and Miss Charlecote both say I ought to see a little of the London world, and she promises to keep Maria and Bertha till we see our way. I should not like them to be without me anywhere else. You have not told me of poor Bevil. You must have seen him often.'

'Yes, he clings very much to me, poor fellow, and is nearly as much cast down as at first. He has persuaded himself that poor Juliana always continued what he thought her when they met in their youth. Perhaps she had the germs of it in her, but I sometimes hardly know which way to look when he is talking about her, and then I take shame to myself for the hard judgments I cannot put away even now!'

'Poor Juliana!' said Phoebe, saddened by her own sense that the difficulties of her present position were lessened by the removal of this sister. 'And little Elizabeth?'

'She is a nice little thing, and her father hardly lets her out of his sight. I have sometimes speculated whether he might not ask you to keep house for him, but last time I saw him, I fancied that he was inclined to hold aloof from you.'

'I had rather he did not ask us,' said Phoebe.

'Why so?'

'Because I am afraid Bertha would not look up to him if she lived with him,' said Phoebe.

Robert smiled, having himself become conscious of that weakness in his good brother-in-law which Phoebe felt, but did not name.

'And now, Phoebe,' said Robert, suddenly changing the subject, 'I have something for you to do; I want you to call on Miss Sandbrook.'

On her astonished look, he explained that he had made it his business frequently to see Owen Sandbrook's child, and of late to give it some religious teaching. While thus engaged, he had been surprised by the entrance of Lucilla, looking wretchedly ill and exhausted, and though she had rallied her spirits after the first moment, talked of having come up from Ess.e.x for a day's holiday of shopping and seeing her nephew, and had inquired eagerly and warmly for Miss Charlecote, he had been sufficiently uneasy about her to go afterwards to Mrs. Murrell, from whom he had learnt that she had avowed having consulted a physician in the morning, and had procured her address.

'And now,' said Robert, 'I want you, with whom she has never quarrelled, to call on her as an old friend just come into her neighbourhood, and find out what was the doctor's opinion. I am sure she is destroying herself.'

The whole was said with perfect simplicity, without shrinking from Phoebe's eye, as though he had absolutely forgotten what sentiments he had once entertained; and Phoebe could, neither in kindness nor humanity, refuse to be the means of reopening communication with the voluntary exile. She proposed to write and offer a call, but Robert, fearing to rouse the old perverse pride, recommended that there should be no preparation. Indeed, the chances of an independent expedition seemed likely to be scanty, for Lady Bannerman pounced on her sister as a truant bond-slave, who, when captured, was to be useful all day, and go to parties all night.

'I have told all my friends that I was going to introduce my sister, and what expectations you have,' she said. 'See, here are two cards for to-morrow night, Lady Jane Hewett and Mrs. Gosling, the young widow that I want Mervyn to meet, you know. Clear 5000 pounds a year, and such a charming house. Real first-rate suppers; not like Lady Jane's bread-and-b.u.t.ter and cat-lap, as Sir Nicholas says, just handed round.

We would never go near the place, but as I said to Sir Nicholas, any sacrifice for my sister; and she has a son, you know, a fine young man; and if we manage well, we shall be in time for Carrie Gosling's supper.

So mind that, Phoebe, and don't get engaged to too many dances.'

'Is there to be dancing?'

'Most likely. I hope you have something to wear.'

'I provided myself at Paris, thank you.'

'Not mourning, I trust! That will never do! n.o.body thinks of mourning for a sister more than six months, and it makes me so low to think of poor Juliana, and this horrid complaint being in the family. It is quite a duty to keep one's spirits up. But there's Robert always so lugubrious; and poor Sir Bevil looks as deplorable, and comes up to town with that poor little girl all in c.r.a.pe, and won't eat any luncheon! I declare it gave me such a turn that I was obliged to have my little cordial before I could swallow a mouthful! And now you come in black!

It is quite provoking! You must and shall get some colours to-morrow.'

'Thank you, what I have is white and lilac.'

On which neutral ground Phoebe took her stand, and the French style and fashion so impressed Augusta's maid, that she forced her ladyship to accept even simplicity as 'the thing,' and to sink back rebuked for the barbarism of hinting at the enlivenment of pink ribbons or scarlet flowers.

Though thus fortified against shopping on her own account, liberty even to go to see her sisters was denied her, in Augusta's infinite disgust at the locality, and consideration for the horses. She was forced to be contented with the report of Mervyn, who came to dinner and to go to the evening parties, and who spoke of the girls as well and happy; Maria 'in her native element' at the infant school, and both in a perfect rapture at receiving Miss Fennimore, whom their hostess had asked to spend the evening in Woolstone-lane.

Mervyn professed that he came entirely to see Phoebe's debut in her Parisian costume, and amused himself maliciously with endeavouring to delay the start from Lady Jane's till too late for Mrs. Gosling's supper; but Phoebe, who did not wish to enhance the sacrifice, would not abet him, and positively, as he declared, aided Augusta in her wild goose chase.

He contrived to have a good deal of conversation with Phoebe in the course of the evening, and she heard from him that old Crabbe was more crusty than ever, and would not hear of his taking his sisters home, but, said he, that mattered the less, considering that now they would be able to be at the parsonage.