Hopes and Fears Part 105

'The parsonage?'

'What! did you not know the living was in Miss Charlecote's gift?'

'Do you mean that she has offered it to Robert?'

'Yes--no--at least she has told me of her intentions. Highly proper in the old girl, isn't it? They will settle it to-night, of course. I'll have the grounds laid out, and make quite a pretty modern place of it.

It has quite taken a weight off my mind to know he is so well provided for.'

'It will make us all very happy; but I think he will be sorry for St.

Matthew's, too.'

'Oh! parsons think nothing of changes. He can appoint his own successor, and I'll not let things die away. And now, Phoebe, is there anything you want to do? I will not have Augusta tie you by the leg. I will look out a lady's horse to-morrow, and come to ride with you; or if you want to do anything, you can have the brougham any day.'

'Thank you; there is one thing I want very much to do,' and she explained.

'Ha!' said Mervyn, 'a romantic meeting. If I remember right, Mr. Robin used to be much smitten with that little thing. Don't reckon too much on the parsonage, Phoebe.'

'What are we to do if both brothers turn us out?' smiled Phoebe.

'Don't talk of that. I should be glad enough to get you in--and I am far enough from _the other thing_ yet.'

So Phoebe obtained the use of the brougham for the next day and set off for her long Ess.e.x drive, much against Augusta's will, and greatly wondering what it would produce; compa.s.sionate of course for poor Lucilla, yet not entirely able to wish that Robert should resign the charge for which he was so eminently fitted, even for the sake of Hiltonbury and home. Lucy must be altered, indeed, if he would not be happier without her.

Phoebe had written a few lines, saying that hearing that Lucy was so near, she could not help begging to see her. This she sent in with her card, and after a little delay, was invited to come in. Lucilla met her at the top of the stairs, and at first Phoebe only felt herself, clasped, clung to, kissed, fondled with a sudden gasping, tearful eagerness. Then as if striving to recall the ordinary tone, Lucilla exclaimed--'There--I beg your pardon for such an obstreperous greeting, but I am a famished creature here, you see, and I did not expect such kindness. Luckily some of my pupils are driving out with their mamma, and I have sent the others to the nurse. Now then, take off your bonnet, let me see you; I want to look at a home face, and you are as fresh and as innocent as if not a year had pa.s.sed over you.'

Lucilla fervently kissed her again, and then holding her hand, gazed at her as if unwilling that either should break the happy silence. Meantime Phoebe was shocked to see how completely Robert's alarms were justified by Lucy's appearance. The mere absence of the coquettish ringlets made a considerable difference, and the pale colour of the hair, as it was plainly braided, increased the wanness of her appearance. The transparent complexion had lost the lovely carnation of the cheek, but the meandering veins of the temples and eyelids were painfully apparent; and with the eyes so large and clear as to be more like veronicas than ever, made the effect almost ghastly, together with excessive fragility of the form, and the shadowy thinness of the hand that held Phoebe's.

Bertha's fingers, at her weakest, had been more substantial than these small things, which had, however, as much character and force in their grasp as ever.

'Lucy, I am sure you are ill! How thin you are!'

'Well, then, cod-liver oil is a base deception! Never mind that--let me hear of Honor--are you with her?'

'No, my sisters are, but I am with Augusta.'

'Then you do not come from her?'

'No; she does not know.'

'You excellent Phoebe; what have you done to keep that bonny honest face all this time to refresh weary eyes--being a little heroine, too. Well, but the Honor--the old sweet Honey--is she her very self?'

'Indeed, I hope so; she has been so very kind to us.'

'And found subjects in you not too cross-grained for her kindness to be palatable! Ah! a good hard plunge into the world teaches one what one left in the friendly s.h.i.+p! Not that mine has been a hard one. I am not one of the pathetic governesses of fiction. Every one has been kinder to me than I am worth--But, oh! to hear myself called Lucy again!'--and she hid her face on Phoebe's shoulder in another access of emotion.

'You used not to like it.'

'My Cilly days were over long ago. Only one person ever used to call me Cilla;' and she paused, and went on afresh--'So it was for Bertha's sake and Mervyn's that Honor escorted you abroad. So much Robert told me; but I don't understand it yet. It had haunted me the whole winter that Robert was the only Mr. Fulmort _she_ could nurse; and if he told you I was upset, it was that I did not quite know whether he were ghost or body when I saw him there in the old place.'

'No, he only told me you were looking very ill; and indeed--'

'I could not ask him what concatenation made Honor take Mervyn under her wing, like a hen hovering a vulture.'

'It would be a long story,' said Phoebe; 'but Bertha was very ill, and Mervyn much out of health; and we were in great distress for an escort.

I think it was the kindest thing ever done, and the most successful.'

'Has it been a comfort to her? Owen's letters must be, I am sure. He will come home this autumn, as soon as he has done laying out his railway, and then I shall get him to beg leave for me to make a little visit to Hiltonbury before we go out to Canada. I could not go out without a good word from her. She and Mr. Prendergast are all that remains of the old life. I say, Phoebe, did you hear of those cousins of mine!'

'It was one of the reasons I wished to see you. I thought you might like to hear of them.'

'You saw them!'

'Miss Charteris called on us at Nice. She--oh, Lucy! you will be surprised--she is a Plymouth sister!'

'Rashe!--old Rashe! We reverse the old transformation, b.u.t.terflies into grubs!' cried Lucy, with somewhat spasmodic laughter. 'Tell me how the wonder came about.'

'I know little about it,' said Phoebe. 'Miss Charlecote thought most likely it was the first earnest kind of religion that presented itself when she was craving for some such help.'

'Did Honor make such a liberal remark? There, I am sorry I said it; but let me hear of dear old Rashe. Has it made her very grim?'

'You know it is not an embellis.h.i.+ng dress, and she did look gaunt and haggard; but still somehow we liked her better than ever before; and she is so very good and charitable.'

'Ha! Nice is a grand place for colporteurs and tracts. She would be a s.h.i.+ning specimen there, and dissipation, religious or otherwise, old Rashe _must_ have.'

'Not only in that line,' said Phoebe, suppressing a smile at the truth of the surmise, 'but she is all kindness to sick English--'

'She tried to convert you all!--confess it. Rashe converting dear old Honor! Oh! of all comical conjunctions!'

'Miss Charlecote hushed it down,' said Phoebe; 'and, indeed, n.o.body could be with her and think that she needed rousing to religious thoughts.'

'By this attempt on Honor, I fear she has not succeeded with Lolly, whom poor Owen used to call an Eastern woman with no soul.'

'She does everything for Mrs. Charteris--dresses her, works for her--I do believe cooks for her. They live a strange, rambling life.'

'I have heard Lolly plays as deeply as Charles, does not she? All Castle Blanch mortgaged--would be sold, but that Uncle Kit is in the entail! It breaks one's heart to hear it! They all live on generous old Ratia, I suppose.'

'I believe she pays the bills when they move. We were told that it was a beautiful thing to see how patiently and resolutely she goes on bearing with them and helping them, always in hopes that at last they may turn to better things.'

Lucy was much touched. 'Poor Rashe!' she said; 'there was something great in her. I have a great mind to write to her.'

They diverged into other subjects, but every minute she became more open and confidential; and as the guarded reserve wore off, Phoebe contrived to lead to the question of her spirits and health, and obtained a fuller answer.

'Till you try, Phoebe, you can't guess the wear of living with minds that have got nothing in them but what you have put in yourself. There seems to be a fur growing over one's intellects for want of something to rub against.'

'Miss Fennimore must often have felt that with us.'

'No, you were older and besides, you have some originality in a sober way; and don't imagine Miss Fennimore had the sore heart at the bottom--the foolishness that took to moaning after home as soon as it had cast it off past recall!'

'Oh, Lucy! not past recall!'