The Vicissitudes of Bessie Fairfax Part 39

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 gla.s.s 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.

CHAPTER XL.

_ANOTHER RIDE WITH THE DOCTOR._

Half-past nine was the breakfast-hour at Fairfield, and Bessie Fairfax said she would prepare for her ride before going down.

"Will you breakfast in your riding-habit, miss?--her ladyship is very particular," said Mrs. Betts in a tone implying that her ladyship might consider it a liberty. Bessie said Yes, she must not keep Mr. Carnegie waiting when he came.

So she went down stairs in her habit and a crimson neck-tie, with her hair compactly rolled up, and looking exceedingly well. Lady Latimer justified Dora's predictions: she kissed Bessie as if she had never been affronted. Bessie accepted the caress, and was thankful. It was no part of her pleasure to vex my lady.

They had not left the breakfast-table when the servant announced that Mr. Carnegie had arrived. "We will go out and see you mount," said Lady Latimer, and left her unfinished meal, Mr. Cecil Burleigh attending her.

Dora would have gone too, but as Mr. Logger made no sign of moving, my lady intimated that she must remain. Lady Latimer had inquiries to make of the doctor respecting several sick poor persons, her pensioners, and while they are talking Mr. Cecil Burleigh gave Bessie a hand up into her saddle, and remarked that Miss Hoyden was in high condition and very fresh.

"Oh, I can hold her. She has a good mouth and perfect temper; she never ran away from me but once," said Bessie, caressing her old favorite with voice and hand.

"And what happened on that occasion?" said Mr. Cecil Burleigh.

"She had her fling, and nothing happened. It was along the road that skirts the Brook pastures, and at the sharp turn Mr. Harry Musgrave saw her coming--head down, the bit in her teeth--and threw open the gate, and we dashed into the clover. As I did not lose my nerve or tumble off, I am never afraid now. I love a good gallop."

Mr. Cecil Burleigh asked no more questions. If it be true that out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh, Brook and Mr. Harry Musgrave must have been much in Miss Fairfax's thoughts; this was now the third time that she had found occasion to mention them since coming to breakfast.

Lady Latimer turned in-doors again with a preoccupied air. Bessie had looked behind her as she rode down the avenue, as if she were bidding them good-bye. Mr. Cecil Burleigh was silent too. He had come to Fairfield with certain lively hopes and expectations, for which my lady was mainly responsible, and already he was experiencing sensations of blankness worse to bear than disappointment. Others might be perplexed as to Miss Fairfax's sentiments, but to him they were clear as the day--friendly, but nothing more. She was now where she would be, was exuberantly contented, and could not hide how slight a tie upon her had been established by a year amongst her kindred in Woldshire.

"This is like old times, Bessie," said the doctor as the Fairfield gate closed behind them.

Bessie laughed and tossed her head like a creature escaped. "Yes, I am so happy!" she answered.

The ride was just one of the doctor's regular rounds. He had to call at Brook, where a servant was ill, and they went by the high-road to the manor. Harry Musgrave was not at home. He had gone out for a day's ranging, and was pensively pondering his way through the bosky recesses of the Forest, under the unbroken silence of the tall pines, to the seash.o.r.e and the old haunts of the almost extinct race of smugglers. The first person they met after leaving the manor was little Christie with a pale radiant face, having just come on a perfect theme for a picture--a still woodland pool reflecting high broken banks and flags and rushes, with slender birchen trees hanging over, and a cl.u.s.ter of low reed-thatched huts, very uncomfortable to live in, but gloriously mossed and weather-stained to paint.

"Don't linger here too late--it is an unwholesome spot," said Mr.

Carnegie, warning him as he rode on. Little Christie set up his white umbrella in the sun, and kings might have envied him.

"My mother is better, but call and see her," he cried after the doctor; this amendment was one cause of the artist's blitheness.

"Of course, she is better--she has had nothing for a week to make her bad," said Mr. Carnegie; but when he reached the wheelwright's and saw Mrs. Christie, with a handkerchief tied over her cap, gently pacing the narrow garden-walks, he a.s.sumed an air of excessive astonishment.

"Yes, Mr. Carnegie, sir, I'm up and out," she announced in a tone of no thanks to anybody. "I felt a sing'lar wish to taste the air, and my boy says, 'Go out, mother; it will do you more good than anything.' I could enjoy a ride in a chaise, but folks that make debts can afford to behave very handsome to themselves in a many things that them that pays ready money has to be mean enough to do without. Jones's wife has her rides, but if her husband would pay for the repair of the spring-cart that was mended fourteen months ago come Martinmas, there'd be more sense in that."

"Don't matter, my good soul! Walking is better than riding any fine day, if you have got the strength," said the doctor briskly.

"Yes, sir; there's that consolation for them that is not rich and loves to pay their way. I hope to walk to church next Sunday, please the Lord.

And if a word could be given to Mr. Wiley not to play so on the feelings, it would be a mercy. He do make such awful faces, and allude to sudden death and accidents and the like, as is enough to give an ailing person a turn. I said to Mrs. Bunny, 'Mary,' I said, 'don't you go to hear him; leastways, sit by the door if you must, and don't stop for the sermon: it might make that impression it would do the babe a mischief.'"

"Go to chapel; it is nearer. And take Mrs. Bunny with you," said Mr.

Carnegie.

"No, sir. Mrs. Wiley has been very kind in calling and taking notice since I have been laid up, and one good turn deserves another. I shall attend church in future, though the doctrine's so shocking that if folks pondered it the lunatic asylums wouldn't hold 'em all. I'll never believe as the Lord meant us to be threatened with judgment to come, and h.e.l.l, and all that, till one's afraid to lie down in one's bed. He'd not have let there be an end of us if we didn't get so mortal tired o'

living."

"Living is a weariness that men and women bear with unanimous patience, Mrs. Christie--aches and pains included."

"So it may be, sir. We are fearfully and wonderfully made. A week ago I could not have thought the pleasure it would be to-day to see the sun, and the pretty things in flower, and my boy going out with his color-box. And not as much physic have you given me, Mr. Carnegie, as would lie on a penny-piece."

Bessie Fairfax laughed as they rode on, and said, "n.o.body changes. I should be tempted to give Mrs. Christie something horribly nasty for her ingrat.i.tude."

"n.o.body changes," echoed the doctor. "She will be at her drugs again before the month is out."

A little beyond the wheelwright's, Mr. Carnegie pulled up at a spot by the wayside where an itinerant tinker sat in the shade with his brazier hot, doing a good stroke of work on the village kettles and pots: "Eh, Gampling, here you are again! They bade me at home look out for you and tell you to call. There is a whole regiment of cripples to mend."

"Then let 'em march to Hampton, sir--they'll get back some time this side o' Christmas," said the tinker, with a surly cunning glance out of the corner of his eye. "Your women's so mighty hard to please that I'm not meaning to call again; I prefers to work where I gives satisfaction."