Hopes and Fears Part 98

Surely this might be contrived between sister, governess, and German nurse, and if Mr. Fulmort himself would go too, it would be the best thing for his health, which needed exemption from business and excitement.

Here was playing into the governess's hands! Mindful of Juliana's injunctions, Lady Bannerman announced her intention of calling heaven and earth together rather than sanction the impropriety, and set off for her party at the sheriff's in a mood which made Phoebe tremble lest the attractions of ortolans and Burgundy should instigate the 'tremendous sacrifice' of becoming chaperon.

Mervyn thought the doctor's sentence conclusive as to Miss Fennimore's plans, but to his consternation it made no change in them, except that she fixed the departure of the family as the moment of parting. Though her manner towards him had become open and friendly, she was deaf to all that he could urge, declaring that it was her duty to leave his sisters, and that the change, when once made, would be beneficial to Bertha, by removing old a.s.sociations. In despair, he came to Miss Charlecote, begging her to try her powers of persuasion for the sake of poor Bertha, now his primary object, whom he treated with spoiling affection. He was quite powerless to withstand any fancy of Bertha in her present state, and not only helpless without Miss Fennimore, but having become so far used to her that for his own sake he could not endure the notion of a subst.i.tute. 'Find out the objection,' he said, 'that at least I may know whether to punch Augusta's head.'

Honora gratified him by seeking an interview with the governess, though not clear herself as to the right course, and believing that her advice, had she any to give, would go for very little with the learned governess.

Miss Fennimore was soft and sad, but decided, and begging to be spared useless arguments. Whether Lady Bannerman had insulted her by hinting her suspicions, Honor could not divine, for she was firmly entrenched within her previous motive, namely, that it would be wrong to remain in a family where first her system, and then her want of vigilance, had produced such results. And to the representation that for her own sake the present conjuncture was the worst in which she could depart, she replied that it mattered not, since she saw her own deficiencies too plainly ever to undertake again the charge of young ladies, and only intended to find employment as a teacher in a school.

'Say no more,' she entreated; 'and above all do not let Phoebe persuade me,' and there were tears on either cheek.

'Indeed, I believe her not having done so is a most unselfish act of deference to your judgment.'

'I know it for a sign of true affection! You, who know what she is, can guess what it costs me to leave her above all, now that I am one in faith with her, and could talk to her more openly than I ever dared to do; she whose example first showed me that faith is a living substance! Yes, Miss Charlecote, I am to be received into the Church at St. Wulstan's, where I shall be staying, as soon as I have left Beauchamp.'

Overcome with feeling, Honora hastily rose and kissed the governess's forehead, her tears choking her utterance. 'But--but,' she presently said, 'that removes all possible doubt. Does not Robert say so?'

'He does,' said Miss Fennimore; 'but I cannot think so. After having miserably infused my own temper of rationalism, how could I, as a novice and learner, fitly train that poor child? Besides, others of the family justly complain of me, and I _will_ not be forced on them. No, nor let my newly-won blessing be alloyed by bringing me any present advantage.'

'I honour you--I agree with you,' said Miss Charlecote, sadly; 'but it makes me the more sorry for those poor girls. I do not see what is to be done! A stranger will be worse than no one to both the invalids; Lieschen has neither head nor nerve; and though I do not believe Phoebe will ever give way, Bertha behaves very ill to her, and the strain of anxiety may be too much for such a mere girl, barely twenty! She may suffer for it afterwards, if not at the time.'

'I feel it all,' sighed Miss Fennimore; 'but it would not justify me in letting myself be thrust on a family whose confidence in me has been deceived. n.o.body could go with them but you, Miss Charlecote.'

'Me! how much obliged Mervyn would be,' laughed Honora.

'It was a wild wish, such as crosses the mind in moments of perplexity and distress; but no one else could be so welcome to my poor Bertha, nor be the motherly friend they all require. Forgive me, Miss Charlecote; but I have seen what you made of Phoebe, in spite of me and my system.'

So Honor returned to announce the ill-success of her mission.

'There!' said Mervyn; 'goodness knows what will become of us! Bertha would go into fits at the sight of any stranger; and such a hideous old catamaran as Juliana will be sure to have in pickle, will be the death of her outright. I think Miss Charlecote had better take pity on us!'

'Oh, Mervyn, impossible!' cried Phoebe, shocked at his audacity.

'I protest,' said Mervyn, 'nothing else can save you from some nasty, half-bred companion! Faugh! Now, Miss Charlecote would enjoy the trip, put Maria and Bertha to bed, and take you to operas, and pictures, and churches, and you would all be off my hands!'

'For shame, Mervyn,' cried Phoebe, crimson at his cavalier manner.

'It is the second such compliment I have received, Phoebe,' said Honor.

'Miss Fennimore does me the honour to tell me to be her subst.i.tute.'

'Then if she says so,' said Mervyn, 'it is our only rescue!'

If Honor laughed it was not that she did not think. As she crossed the park, she felt that each bud of spring beauty, each promised crop, each lamb, each village child, made the proposal the more unwelcome; yet that the sense of being rooted, and hating to move, ought to be combated. It might hardly be treating Humfrey's 'goodly heritage' aright, to make it an excuse for abstaining from an act of love; and since Brooks attended to her so little when at home, he could very well go on without her. Not that she believed that she should be called on to decide. She did not think Mervyn in earnest, nor suppose that he would enc.u.mber himself with a companion who could not be set aside like a governess, and was of an age more 'proper' and efficient than agreeable. His unceremonious manner proved sufficiently that it was a mere joke, and he would probably laugh his loud, scoffing laugh at the old maid taking him in earnest. Yet she could not rid herself of the thought of Phoebe's difficulties, and in poor Bertha, she had the keen interest of nurse towards patient.

'Once before,' she thought, 'have I gone out of the beaten track upon impulse. Cruel consequences! Yet do I repent? Not of the act, but of the error that ensued. Then I was eager, young, romantic. Now I would rather abstain: I am old and sluggish. If it is to be, it will be made plain. I do not distrust my feeling for Phoebe--it is not the jealous, hungering love of old; and I hope to be able to discern whether this be an act of charity! At least, I will not take the initiative. I did so last time.'

Honor's thoughts and speculations were all at Beauchamp throughout the evening and the early morning, till her avocations drove it out of her mind. She was busy, trying hard to get her own way with her bailiff as to the crops, when she was interrupted by tidings that Mr. Fulmort was in the drawing-room; and concluding it to be Robert, she did not hurry her argument upon guano. On entering the room, however, she was amazed at beholding not Robert, but his brother, cast down in an armchair, and looking thoroughly tired out.

'Mervyn! I did not expect to see you!'

'Yes, I just walked over. I thought I would report progress. I had no notion it was so far.'

And in fact he had not been at the Holt since, as a pert boy, he had found it 'slow.' Honor was rather alarmed at his fatigue, and offered varieties of sustenance, which he declined, returning with eager nervousness to the subject in hand.

The Bannermans, he said, had offered to go with Bertha and Phoebe, but only on condition that Maria was left at a boarding-house, and a responsible governess taken for Bertha. Moreover, Augusta had told Bertha herself what was impending, and the poor child had laid a clinging, trembling grasp on his arm, and hoa.r.s.ely whispered that if a stranger came to hear her story, she would die. Alas! it might be easier than before. He had promised never to consent. 'But what can I do?' he said, with a hand upon either temple; 'they heed me no more than Maria!'

Robert had absolutely half consented to leave his cure in the charge of another, and conduct his brother and sisters, but this plan did not satisfy the guardian, who could not send out his wards without some reliable female.

He swung the ta.s.sel of the sofa-cus.h.i.+on violently as he spoke, and looked imploringly at Honora, but she, though much moved, felt obliged to keep her resolution of not beginning.

'Very hard,' he said, 'that when there are but two women in the world that that poor child likes, she can have neither!' and then, gaining hope from something in her face, he exclaimed, 'After all, I do believe you will take pity on her!'

'I thought you in joke yesterday.'

'I thought it too good to be true! I am not so cool as Phoebe thought me. But really,' he said, a.s.suming an earnest, rational, gentlemanly manner, 'you have done so much for us that perhaps it makes us presume, and though I know it is preposterous, yet if it were possible to you to be long enough with poor Bertha to bring her round again, I do believe it would make an infinite difference.'

'What does Phoebe say?' asked Honor.

'Phoebe, poor child, she does not know I am come. She looks as white as death, and got up a smile that was enough to make one cry, but she told me not to mind, for something would be sure to bring it right; and so it will, if you will come.'

'But, Mervyn, you don't consider what a nuisance I shall be to you.'

Mervyn looked more gallant than Robert ever could have done, and said something rather foolish; but anxiety quickly made him natural again, and he proceeded, 'After all, they need not bother you much. Phoebe is of your own sort, and Maria is inoffensive, and Bertha will have Lieschen, and I--I'll take my own line, and be as little of a bore as I can.

You'll go?'

'If--if it will do.'

That odd answer was enough. Mervyn, already leaning forward with his arms on his knees, held out one hand, and shaded his eyes with the other, as, half with a sob, he said, 'There, then, it is all right! Miss Charlecote, you can't guess what it is to a man not to be trusted with his own sisters!'

These words made that _bete noire_, John Mervyn Fulmort, nearly as much a child of her own as his brother and sister; for they were in a tone of self-blame--not of resentment.

She was sufficiently afraid of him to respect his reserve; moreover, he looked so ill and hara.s.sed that she dreaded his having an attack, and heartily wished for Phoebe, so she only begged him to rest till after her early dinner, when she would convey him back to Beauchamp; and then left him alone, while she went to look her undertaking in the face, rather amused to find herself his last resource, and surprised to find her spirit of enterprise rising, her memories of Alps, lakes, cathedrals, and pictures fast a.s.suming the old charm that had erst made her long to see them again. And with Phoebe! Really it would be almost a disappointment if the scheme failed.

When she again met her unwonted guest he plunged into plans, routes, and couriers, treating her as far more completely pledged than she chose to allow; and eating as heartily as he dared, and more so than she thought Phoebe would approve. She was glad to have him safe at his own door, where Phoebe ran to meet them, greatly relieved, for she had been much disturbed by his absence at luncheon.

'Miss Charlecote! Did you meet him?'

'I went after her'--and Mervyn boyishly caught his sister round the waist, and pushed her down into a curtsey--'make your obedience; she is going to look after you all.'

'Going with us!' cried Phoebe, with clasped hands.

'To see about it,' began Honor, but the words were strangled in a transported embrace.

'Dearest, dearest Miss Charlecote! Oh, I knew it would all come right if we were patient; but, oh! that it should be so right! Oh! Mervyn, how could you?'

'Ah! you see what it is not to be faint-hearted.' And Phoebe, whose fault was certainly not a faint heart, laughed at this poor jest, as she had seldom laughed before, with an _abandon_ of gaiety and joyousness.

The quiet girl was absolutely thrown off her balance, laughed and cried, thanked and exclaimed, moved restlessly, and spoke incoherently.

'Oh! may I tell Bertha?' she asked.