Queechy Volume Ii Part 92

Drawing Fleda's arm within hers, and giving kind recognition to the rest who stood around, Mrs. Carleton led her to the stairs and mounted them, repeating in a whisper, "He will be here presently again." They went to Mrs. Carleton's dressing- room, Fleda wondering in an internal fever, whether "orders had been given" to expect her also? ? from the old butler's benign look at her, as he said, "All is well!" she could not help thinking it. If she maintained her outward quiet, it was the merest external crust of seeming; there was nothing like quiet beneath it; and Mrs. Carleton's kiss and fond words of welcome were hardly composing.

Mrs. Carleton made her sit down, and with very gentle hands was busy arranging her hair, when the housekeeper came in to pay her more particular respects, and to offer her services.

Fleda hardly ventured a glance to see whether _she_ looked benign. She was a dignified elderly person, as stately and near as handsome as Mrs. Carleton herself.

"My dear Fleda," said the latter, when she had finished the hair, "I am going to see my sister; will you let Mrs.

Fothergill help you in anything you want, and take you then to the library ? you will find no one, and I will come to you there. Mrs. Fothergill, I recommend you to the particular care of this lady."

The recommendation was not needed, Fleda thought, or was very effectual; the housekeeper served her with most a.s.siduous care, and in absolute silence. Fleda hurried the finis.h.i.+ng of her toilet.

"Are the people quiet in the country?" she forced herself to say.

"Perfectly quiet, Ma'am. It needed only that my master should be at home to make them so."

"How is that?"

"He has their love and their ear, Ma'am, and so it is that he can just do his pleasure with them."

"How is it in the neighbouring country?"

"They're quiet, Ma'am, I believe ? mostly ? there's been some little disturbance in one place and another, and more fear of it, as well as I can make out, but it's well got over, as it appears. The n.o.blemen and gentlemen in the country around were very glad, all of them, I am told, of Mr. Carleton's return.

Is there nothing more I can do for you, Ma'am?"

The last question was put with an indefinable touch of kindliness which had not softened the respect of her first words. Fleda begged her to show the way to the library, which Mrs. Fothergill immediately did, remarking, as she ushered her in, that "those were Mr. Carleton's favourite rooms."

Fleda did not need to be told that; she put the remark and the benignity together, and drew a nervous inference. But Mrs.

Fothergill was gone, and she was alone. n.o.body was there, as Mrs. Carleton had said.

Fleda stood still in the middle of the floor, looking around her, in a bewildered effort to realize the past and the present; with all the mind in the world to cry, but there was too great a pressure of excitement, and too much strangeness of feeling at work. Nothing before her, in the dimly familiar place, served at all to lessen this feeling, and, recovering from her maze, she went to one of the glazed doors, which stood open, and turned her back upon the room with its oppressive recollections. Her eye lighted upon nothing that was not quiet now. A secluded piece of smooth green, partially bordered with evergreens, and set with light shrubbery of rare kinds, exquisitely kept; over against her a sweetbriar that seemed to have run wild, indicating, Fleda was sure, the entrance of the path to the rose garden, that her memory alone would hardly have helped her to find. All this in the bright early summer morning, and the sweet aromatic smell of firs and flowers coming with every breath. There were draughts of refreshment in the air. It composed her, and drinking it in delightedly, Fleda stood with folded arms in the doorway, half forgetting herself and her position, and going in fancy from the firs and the roses, over a very wide field of meditation indeed. So lost that she started fearfully on suddenly becoming aware that a figure had come just beside her.

It was an elderly and most gentlemanly-looking man, as a glance made her know. Fleda was rea.s.sured and ashamed in a breath. The gentleman did not notice her confusion, however, otherwise than by a very pleasant and well-bred smile, and immediately entered into some light remarks on the morning, the place, and the improvements Mr. Carleton had made in the latter. Though he said the place was one of those which could bear very well to want improvement; but Carleton was always finding something to do which excited his admiration.

"Landscape gardening is one of the pleasantest of amus.e.m.e.nts,"

said Fleda.

"I have just knowledge enough in the matter to admire; to originate any ideas is beyond me; I have to depend for them upon my gardener and my wife, and so I lose a pleasure, I suppose; but every man has his own particular hobby. Carleton, however, has more than his share ? he has half a dozen, I think."

"Half a dozen hobbies!" said Fleda.

"Perhaps I should not call them hobbies, for he manages to ride them all skilfully; and a hobby-horse, I believe, always runs away with a man."

Fleda could hardly return his smile. She thought people were possessed with an unhappy choice of subjects in talking to her that morning. But fancying that she had very ill kept up her part in the conversation, and must have looked like a simpleton, she forced herself to break the silence which followed the last remark, and asked the same question she had asked Mrs. Fothergill ? if the country was quiet?

"Outwardly quiet," he said; "O yes ? there is no more difficulty ? that is, none which cannot easily be handled.

There was some danger a few months ago, but it is blown over; all was quiet on Carleton's estates so soon as he was at home, and that, of course, had great influence on the neighbourhood.

No, there is nothing to be apprehended. He has the hearts of his people completely, and one who has their hearts can do what he pleases with their heads, you know. Well, he deserves it ? he has done a great deal for them."

Fleda was afraid to ask in what way; but perhaps he read the question in her eyes.

"That's one of his hobbies ? ameliorating the condition of the poorer cla.s.ses on his estates. He has given himself to it for some years back; he has accomplished a great deal for them ? a vast deal indeed! He has changed the face of things, mentally and morally, in several places, with his adult schools, and agricultural systems, and I know not what; but the most powerful means, I think, after all, has been the weight of his personal influence, by which he can introduce and carry through any measure; neither ignorance, nor prejudice, nor obstinacy, seem to make head against him. It requires a peculiar combination of qualities, I think ? very peculiar and rare ? to deal successfully with the mind of the ma.s.ses."

"I should think so, indeed," said Fleda.

"He has it ? I don't comprehend it ? and I have not studied his machinery enough to understand that; but I have seen the effects. Never should have thought he was the kind of man either ? but there it is ? I don't comprehend him. There is only one fault to be found with him, though."

"What is that?" said Fleda, smiling.

"He has built a fine Dissenting chapel down here towards Hollonby," he said, gravely, looking her in the face ? "and, what is yet worse, his uncle tells me, he goes there half the time himself."

Fleda could not help laughing, nor colouring, at his manner.

"I thought it was always considered a meritorious action to build a church," she said.

"Indubitably. ? But you see, this was a chapel."

The laugh and the colour both grew more unequivocal ? Fleda could not help it.

"I beg your pardon, Sir ? I have not learned such nice distinctions. Perhaps a chapel was wanted just in that place."

"That is presumable. But _he_ might be wanted somewhere else.

However," said the gentleman, with a good-humoured smile ?

"his uncle forgives him; and if his mother cannot influence him, I am afraid n.o.body else will. There is no help for it.

And I should be very sorry to stand ill with him. I have given you the dark side of his character."

"What is the other side in the contrast?" said Fleda, wondering at herself for her daring.

"It is not for me to say," he answered, with a slight shrug of the shoulders and an amused glance at her; "I suppose it depends upon people's vision ? but if you will permit me, I will instance a bright spot that was shown to me the other day, that I confess, when I look at it, dazzles my eyes a little."

Fleda only bowed; she dared not speak again.

"There was a poor fellow ? the son of one of Mr. Carleton's old tenants down here at Enchapel ? who was under sentence of death, lying in prison at Carstairs. The father, I am told, is an excellent man, and a good tenant; the son had been a miserable scapegrace, and now for some crime ? I forget what ?

had at last been brought to justice. The evidence against him was perfect, and the offence was not trifling; there was not the most remote chance of a pardon, but it seemed the poor wretch had been building up his dependence upon that hope, and was resting on it; and, consequently, was altogether indisposed and unfit to give his attention to the subjects that his situation rendered proper for him.

"The gentleman who gave me this story was requested by a brother clergyman to go with him to visit the prisoner. They found him quite stupid ? unmovable by all that could be urged, or rather, perhaps, the style of the address, as it was described to me, was fitted to confound find bewilder the man rather than enlighten him. In the midst of all this, Mr.

Carleton came in ? he was just then on the wing for America, and he had heard of the poor creature's condition in a visit to his father. He came ? my informant said ? like a being of a different planet. He took the man's hand ? he was chained foot and wrist ? 'My poor friend,' he said, 'I have been thinking of you here, shut out from the light of the sun, and I thought you might like to see the face of a friend;' ? with that singular charm of manner which he knows how to adapt to everybody and every occasion. The man was melted at once ? at his feet, as it were ? he could do anything with him. Carleton began then, quietly, to set before him the links in the chain of evidence which had condemned him ? one by one ? in such a way as to prove to him, by degrees, but irresistibly, that he had no hope in this world. The man was perfectly subdued ? sat listening and looking into those powerful eyes that perhaps you know ? taking in all his words, and completely in his hand. And then Carleton went on to bring before him the considerations that he thought should affect him in such a case, in a way that this gentleman said was indescribably effective and winning; till that hardened creature was broken down ? sobbing like a child ? actually sobbing!"

Fleda did her best, but she was obliged to hide her face in her hands, let what would be thought of her.

"It was the finest exhibition of eloquence, this gentleman said, he had ever listened to. For me it was an exhibition of another kind. I would have believed such an account of few men, but of all the men I know I would least have believed it of Guy Carleton a few years ago; even now I can hardly believe it. But it is a thing that would do honour to any man."

Fleda felt that the tears were making their way between her fingers, but she could not help it; and she presently knew that her companion had gone, and she was left alone again. Who was this gentleman? and how much did he know about her? More than that she was a stranger, Fleda was sure; and dreading his return, or that somebody else might come and find her with the tokens of tears upon her face, she stepped out upon the greensward, and made for the flaunting sweet-briar that seemed to beckon her to visit its relations.

The entrance of a green path was there, or a gra.s.sy glade, more or less wide, leading through a beautiful growth of firs and larches. No roses, nor any other ornamental shrubs ? only the soft well-kept footway through the woodland. Fleda went gently on and on, admiring where the trees sometimes swept back, leaving an opening, and at other places stretched their graceful branches over her head. The perfect condition of everything to the eye ? the rich coloured vegetation ? of varying colour above and below ? the absolute retirement, and the strong pleasant smell of the evergreens, had a kind of charmed effect upon senses and mind too. It was a fairyland sort of place. The presence of its master seemed everywhere ?

it was like him, and Fleda pressed on to see yet livelier marks of his character and fancy beyond. By degrees the wood began to thin on one side ? then at once the glade opened into a bright little lawn, rich with roses in full bloom. Fleda was stopped short at the sudden vision of loveliness. There was the least possible appearance of design ? no dry beds were to be seen ? the luxuriant clumps of Provence and white roses, with the varieties of the latter seemed to have chosen their own places, only to have chosen them very happily. One hardly imagined that they had submitted to dictation, if it were not that Queen Flora never was known to make so effective a disposition of her forces without help. The screen of trees was very thin on the border of this opening ? so thin that the light from beyond came through. On a slight rocky elevation, which formed the further side of it, sat an exquisite little Gothic chapel, about which, and the face of the rock below, some noisette and multiflora climbers were vying with each other, and just at the entrance of the further path a white dog-rose had thrown itself over the way, covering the lower branches of the trees with its blossoms.

Fleda stood spell-bound a good while, with a breath oppressed with pleasure. But what she had seen excited her to see more, and a dim recollection of the sea-view from somewhere in the walk drew her on. Roses met her now frequently. Now and then a climber, all alone, seemed to have sought protection in a tree by the path-side, and to have displayed itself thence in the very wantonness of security, hanging out its flowery wreaths, fearless of hand or knife. Cl.u.s.ters of noisettes, or of French or damask roses, where the ground was open enough, stood without a rival, and needing no foil other than the beautiful surrounding of dark evergreen foliage. But the distance was not long before she came out upon a wider opening, and found what she was seeking ? the sight of the sea. The glade here was upon the brow of high ground, and the wood disappearing entirely for a s.p.a.ce, left the eye free to go over the lower tree-tops, and the country beyond to the distant sh.o.r.e and sea-line. Roses were here too ? the air was full of the sweetness of damask and Bourbon varieties ? and a few beautiful banksias, happily placed, contrasted without interfering with them. It was very still ? it was very perfect ? the distant country was fresh-coloured with the yet early light which streamed between the trees, and laid lines of enchantment upon the green turf; and the air came up from the sea-board, and bore the breath of the roses to Fleda every now and then with a gentle puff of sweetness. Such light ? she had seen none such light since she was a child. Was it the burst of mental suns.h.i.+ne that had made it so bright? ? or was she going to be really a happy child again? No ? no ? not that, and yet something very like it ? so like it, that she almost startled at herself. She went no further. She could not have borne, just then, to see any more; and feeling her heart too full, she stood even there, with hands crossed upon her bosom, looking away from the roses to the distant sea-line.

That said something very different. That was very sobering; if she had needed sobering, which she did not. But it helped her to arrange the scattered thoughts which had been pressing confusedly upon her brain. "Look away from the roses," indeed, she could not, for the same range of vision took in the sea and them ? and the same range of thought. These might stand for an emblem of the present; that, of the future ? grave, far-off, impenetrable; and pa.s.sing, as it were, the roses of time, Fleda fixed upon that image of eternity; and weighing the one against the other, felt, never in her life more keenly, how wild it would be to forget in smelling the roses her preparations for that distant voyage that must be made from the sh.o.r.es where they grow. With one eye upon this brightest bit of earth before her, the other mentally was upon Hugh's grave. The roses could not be sweeter to any one; but, in view of the launching away in to that distant sea-line, in view of the issues on the other sh.o.r.e, in view of the welcome that might be had there ? the roses might fade and wither, but her happiness could not go with their breath. They were something to be loved, to be used, to be thankful for ? but not to live upon; something too that whispered of an increased burden of responsibility, and never more deeply than at that moment did Fleda remember her mother's prayer ? never more simply recognised that happiness could not be made of these things. She might be as happy at Queechy as here. It depended on the sun-light of undying hopes, which indeed would give wonderful colour to the flowers that might be in her way; on the possession of resources the spring of which would never dry; on the peace which secures the continual feast of a merry heart, Fleda could take her new honours and advantages very meekly, and very soberly, with all her appreciation of them.

The same work of life was to be done here as at Queechy. To fulfil the trust committed to her, larger here ? to keep her hope for the future ? undeceived by the suns.h.i.+ne of earth, to plant her roses where they would bloom everlastingly.