Hopes and Fears Part 87

'MY DEAR PHOEBE,

'Although, after what pa.s.sed in July, I cannot suppose that the opinion of your elders can have any effect on your proceedings, yet for the sake of our relations.h.i.+p, as well as of regard to appearances, I cannot forbear endeavouring to rescue you from the consequences of your own folly and obstinacy. Nothing better was to be expected from Mervyn; but at your age, with your pretences to religion, you cannot plead simplicity, nor ignorance of the usages of the world. Neither Sir Bevil nor myself can express our amazement at your recklessness, thus forfeiting the esteem of society, and outraging the opinion of our old friends. To put an end to the impropriety, we will at once receive you here, overlooking any inconvenience, and we shall expect you all three on Tuesday, under charge of Miss Fennimore, who seems to have been about as fit as Maria to think for you. It is too late to write to Mervyn to-night, but he shall hear from us to-morrow, as well as from your guardian, to whom Sir Bevil has written, You had better bring my jewels; and the buhl clock from my mother's mantelshelf, which I was to have.

Mrs. Brisbane will pack them. Tell Bertha, with my love, that she might have been more explicit in her correspondence.

'Your affectionate sister, 'JULIANA ACTON.'

When Miss Fennimore entered the room, she found Phoebe sitting like one petrified, only just able to hold out the letter, and murmur--'What does it mean?' Imagining that it could only contain something fatal about Robert, Miss Fennimore sprang at the paper, and glanced through it, while Phoebe again faintly asked, 'What have I done?'

'Lady Acton is pleased to be mysterious!' said the governess. 'The kind sister she always was!'

'Don't say that,' exclaimed Phoebe, rallying. 'It must be something shocking, for Sir Bevil thinks so too,' and the tears sprang forth.

'He will never think anything unkind of you, my dear,' said Miss Fennimore, with emphasis.

'It must be about Mr. Hastings!' said Phoebe, gathering recollection and confidence. 'I did not like to tell you yesterday, but I had a letter from poor Lucy Sandbrook. Some friends of that man, Mr. Hastings, have set it about that he is going to be married to me!' and Phoebe laughed outright. 'If Juliana has heard it, I don't wonder that she is shocked, because you know Miss Charlecote said it would never do for me to a.s.sociate with those gentlemen, and besides, Lucy says that he is a very bad man. I shall write to Juliana, and say that I have never had anything to do with him, and he is going away to-morrow, and Mervyn must be told not to have him back again. That will set it all straight at Acton Manor.'

Phoebe was quite herself again. She was too well accustomed to gratuitous unkindness and reproaches from Juliana to be much hurt by them, and perceiving, as she thought, where the misconception lay, had no fears that it would not be cleared up. So when she had carefully written her letter to her sister, she dismissed the subject until she should be able to lay it before Miss Charlecote, dwelling more on Honor's pleasure on hearing of Lucy than on the more personal matter.

Miss Fennimore, looking over the letter, had deeper misgivings. It seemed to her rather to be a rebuke for the whole habit of life than a warning against an individual, and she began to doubt whether even the seclusion of the west wing had been a sufficient protection in the eyes of the family from the contamination of such society as Mervyn received.

Or was it a plot of Lady Acton's malevolence for hunting Phoebe away from her home? Miss Fennimore fell asleep, uneasy and perplexed, and in her dreams beheld Phoebe as the Lady in Comus, fixed in her chair and resolute against a cup effervescing with carbonic acid gas, proffered by Jack Hastings, who thereupon gave it to Bertha, as she lay back in the dentist's chair, and both becoming transformed into pterodactyles, flew away while Miss Fennimore was vainly trying to summon the brothers by electric telegraph.

There was a whole bevy of letters for Phoebe the following morning, and first a kind sensible one from her guardian, much regretting to learn that Mr. Fulmort's guests were undesirable inmates for a house where young ladies resided, so that, though he had full confidence in Miss Fulmort's discretion, and understood that she had never a.s.sociated with the persons in question, he thought her residence at home ought to be reconsidered, and should be happy to discuss the point on coming to Beauchamp, so soon as he should have recovered from an unfortunate fit of the gout, which at present detained him in town. Miss Fulmort might, however, be a.s.sured that her wishes should be his chief consideration, and that he would take care not to separate her from Miss Maria.

That promise, and the absence of all mention of Lucilla's object of dread, gave Phoebe courage to open the missive from her eldest sister.

'MY DEAR PHOEBE,

'I always told you it would never answer, and you see I was right.

If Mervyn will invite that horrid man, whatever you may do, no one will believe that you do not a.s.sociate with him, and you may never get over it. I am telling everybody what children you are, quite in the schoolroom, but nothing will be of any use but your coming away at once, and appearing in society with me, so you had better send the children to Acton Manor, and come to me next week. If there are any teal in the decoy bring some, and ask Mervyn where he got that Barton's dry champagne.

'Your affectionate sister, 'AUGUSTA BANNERMAN.'

She had kept Robert's letter to the last, as refreshment after the rest.

'St. Matthew's, Dec. 18th.

'DEAR PHOEBE,

'I am afraid this may not be your first intimation of what may vex and grieve you greatly, and what calls for much cool and anxious judgment. In you we have implicit confidence, and your adherence to Miss Charlecote's kind advice has spared you all imputation, though not, I fear, all pain. You may, perhaps, not know how disgraceful are the characters of some of the persons whom Mervyn has collected about him. I do him the justice to believe that he would shelter you from all intercourse with them as carefully as I should; but I cannot forgive his having brought them beneath the same roof with you. I fear the fact has done harm in our own neighbourhood. People imagine you to be a.s.sociating with Mervyn's crew, and a monstrous report is abroad which has caused Bevil Acton to write to me and to Crabbe. We all agree that this is a betrayal of the confidence that you expressed in Mervyn, and that while he chooses to make his house a scene of dissipation, no seclusion can render it a fit residence for women or girls. I fear you will suffer much in learning this decision, for Mervyn's sake as well as your own. Poor fellow! if he will bring evil spirits about him, good angels must depart. I would come myself, but that my presence would embitter Mervyn, and I could not meet him properly. I am writing to Miss Charlecote. If she should propose to receive you all at the Holt immediately, until Crabbe's most inopportune gout is over, you had better go thither at once. It would be the most complete vindication of your conduct that could be offered to the county, and would give time for considering of establis.h.i.+ng you elsewhere, and still under Miss Fennimore's care.

For Bertha's sake as well as your own, you must be prepared to leave home and resign yourself to be pa.s.sive in the decision of those bound to think for you, by which means you may avoid being included in Mervyn's anger. Do not distress yourself by the fear that any blame can attach to you or to Miss Fennimore; I copy Bevil's expressions--"a.s.sure Phoebe that though her generous confidence may have caused her difficulties, no one can entertain a doubt of her guileless intention and maidenly discretion. If it would not make further mischief, I would hasten to fetch her, but if she will do me the honour to accept her sister's invitation, I hope to do all in my power to make her happy and mark my esteem for her." These are his words; but I suppose you will hardly prefer Acton Manor, though, should the Holt fail us, you might send the other two to the Manor, and come to Albury-street as Augusta wishes, when we could consult together on some means of keeping you united, and retaining Miss Fennimore, who must not be thrown over, as it would be an injury to her prospects. Tell her from me that I look to her for getting you through this unpleasant business.

'Your ever affectionate 'R. M. FULMORT.'

Phoebe never spoke, but handed each sheet as she finished it to her governess.

'Promise me, Phoebe,' said Miss Fennimore, as she came to Robert's last sentence, 'that none of these considerations shall bias you. Make no struggle for me, but use me as I may be most serviceable to you.'

Phoebe, instead of answering, kissed and clung to her.

'What do you think of doing?' asked the governess.

'Nothing,' said Phoebe.

'You looked as if a thought had occurred to you.'

'I only recollected the words, "your strength is to sit still," said Phoebe, 'and thought how well they agreed with Robert's advice to be pa.s.sive. Mr. Crabbe has promised not to separate us, and I will trust to that. Mervyn was very kind in letting us stay here, but he does not want us, and will not miss us,'--and with those words, quiet as they were, came a gush of irrepressible tears, just as a step resounded outside, the door was burst open, and Mervyn hurried in, purple with pa.s.sion, and holding a bundle of letters crushed together in his hand.

'I say,' he hoa.r.s.ely cried, 'what's all this? Who has been telling infamous tales of my house?'

'We cannot tell--' began Phoebe.

'Do you know anything of this?' he interrupted, fiercely turning on Miss Fennimore.

'Nothing, sir. The letters which your sister has received have equally surprised and distressed me.'

'Then they have set on you, Phoebe! The whole pack in full cry, as if it mattered to them whether I chose to have the Old Gentleman in the house, so long as he did not meddle with you!'

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Fulmort,' interposed the governess, 'the remonstrance is quite just. Had I been aware of the character of some of your late guests, I could not have wished your sisters to remain in the house with them.'

'Are these your sentiments, Phoebe?' he asked, sternly.

'I am afraid they ought to be,' she sadly answered.

'Silly child; so this pack of censorious women and parsons have frightened you into giving me up.'

'Sisters do not give up brothers, Mervyn. You know how I thank you for having me here, but I could not amuse you, or make it pleasant to you, so there must be an end of it.'

'So they hunt you out to be bullied by Juliana, or slaved to death by Augusta, which is it to be? Or maybe Robert has got his sisterhood cut and dried for you; only mind, he shan't make away with your 30,000 pounds while I live to expose those popish tricks.'

'For shame, Mervyn,' cried Phoebe, all in a glow; 'I will not hear Robert so spoken of: he is always kind and good, and has taught me every right thing I know!'

'Oh, very well; and pray when does he summon you from among the unG.o.dly?

Will the next train be soon enough?'

'Don't, Mervyn! Your friends go to-day, don't they? Mr. Crabbe does not desire any change to be made before he comes to see about it. May we not stay till that time, and spend our Christmas together?'

'You must ask Robert and Juliana, since you prefer them.'

'No,' said Phoebe, with spirit; 'it is right to attend to my elder sisters, and Robert has always helped and taught me, and I must trust his guidance, as I always have done. And I trust you too, Mervyn. You never thought you were doing us any harm. I may trust you still,' she added, with so sweet and imploring a look that Mervyn gave an odd laugh, with some feeling in it.

'Harm? Great harm I have done this creature, eh?' he said, with his hand on her shoulder.

'Few could do _her_ harm, Mr. Fulmort,' said the governess, 'but report may have done some mischief.

'Who cares for report! I say, Phoebe, we will laugh at them all. You pluck up a spirit, stay with me, and we'll entertain all the county, and then get some great swell to bring you out in town, and see what Juliana will say!'

'I will stay with you while you are alone, and Mr. Crabbe lets me,' said Phoebe.

'Old fool of a fellow! Why couldn't my father have made me your guardian, and then there would have been none of this row! One would think I had had her down to act barmaid to the fellows. And you never spoke to one, did you, Phoebe?'