Good-Bye
While Jane and Francis were discussing the state of Brandon's
affections, the object of their solicitude was going as fast as the
railway could take him to Ashfield, where his widowed mother lived with
his unmarried sister, a confirmed invalid, and a widowed sister, Mrs.
Holmes, the mother of those wonderful nephews and nieces whose
ignorance on the subject of dirt-pies had so much impressed Emily
Phillips. Brandon had always been very glad to go to see them, and to
stay a short time, but the intolerable dullness of the place had always
driven him back to London. Australians generally prefer a large town as
a residence, and London most of all; for though their relatives in
small country towns or rural neighbourhoods fancy that it must be so
much more lively with them than it is in the bush, there is a great
difference between the dullness where there is plenty of work to be
done, and the dullness where there is absolutely nothing.
Mrs. Brandon was a conscientious and, to a certain extent, rather a
clever woman, but she had many prejudices and little knowledge of the
world. Mary Brandon was the most amiable and the most pious and patient
of sufferers, who only got out in a Bath chair, and received a great
deal of care from her mother, while Mrs. Holmes devoted herself to her
children with a fidelity and an exclusiveness that made her influence
elsewhere almost infinitesimal. All of them loved Walter dearly, and
were very anxious that he should be married--most disinterestedly--for
their circumstances were straitened, and but for Walter's assistance,
which had been given whenever he could possibly afford to do so, they
would have found it difficult to make ends meet. Mr. Holmes had been
unfortunate in business, and the widow had sacrificed part of her
jointure, and the invalid sister as much of her little fortune as was
at her own disposal, to assist him in his difficulties. Their
generosity had the usual result of only delaying the crash for him, and
of finally impoverishing themselves.
One most promising brother had died at the close of a long, expensive
professional education, which he had expected to turn to great account
for the benefit of his sisters. Walter himself had been sent out to
Australia in his father's lifetime with a better capital than could
have been given afterwards, so that he always considered that he had
got more than his share, and that his assistance was nothing at all
generous.
The young Holmeses were taught and guarded by their mother night and
day; she accompanied their walks, she overlooked their games, she read
all their books before giving them to the children to read, and cut out
or erased anything that she thought incorrect in fact or questionable
in tendency. She allowed no intercourse with servants, and almost as
little with playfellows of their own age. And when Uncle Walter from
Australia came first to disturb the even tenor of their way by lavish
presents of sweetmeats, cakes, and toys, and by offers to take the
whole family to every attainable amusement, he was first reasoned with,
and then, as he was not convinced, he was put down, his gifts returned,
and the children instructed to say that they would rather not have the
treats he offered. He certainly preferred the wild spirits and
rebellious conduct of the little Phillipses, even in their worst days,
to the prim good-child behaviour of his own nephews and nieces.
He had the pleasure of telling Mrs. Holmes on this occasion that the
wild young Australians had been reduced to something like order by an
admirable governess whom he had been the means of procuring for them:
that in spite of all the overindulgence she had suffered from, Emily
was proving a very tolerable scholar--that she had good abilities and
an excellent heart, though she did climb on his knee for comfits, and
beg to be taken to Astley's. Mrs. Holmes wondered at his procuring a
governess for the children, and asked a good deal about her, with the
view of ascertaining if her brother was fixed at last; but he talked
about her with perfect NONCHALANCE, saying that she was a particular
favourite of an old servant of his called Peggy Walker, and that her
account of Miss Melville's qualifications was perfectly satisfactory,
as the result had proved. Mrs. Holmes was bewildered as to the curious
social relations of Australian people, but her mind was set at rest
about Jane Melville.
"But, Fanny," said he to his sister, "you know I have come to bid you
goodbye in a week or ten days. I cannot help it; things look so badly
just at present that unless I am on the spot I cannot see my way at all
clearly. I have little doubt that I will work things all right again;
the master's eye makes all go well. There need be no difference in the
little allowance I sent to my mother and you--that will be sent home
regularly as before. But I want to assist you otherwise if you will
allow me to do it. You have enough to do to bring up those six children
of yours, even with my little help. I will take your boy Edgar with me;
as I am not going overland it will not be so expensive. I will train
him to be useful to me, and make a man of him."
"No, no, Walter, I could not let him be away from under my own eye; he
is so young--his education is not finished," said Mrs. Holmes.
"And never will be, if you keep him always at your apron-string. You
cannot do it, Fanny; you must turn him into the world some day, and
surely he will be better turned out under my guidance than under none
at all. Why, the lad is sixteen, and though he is uncommonly ignorant
of the world, he knows enough of books and that sort of thing to acquit
himself very fairly in Australia. I promise to do my very best for him,
and he can be of great service to me very soon, if he has only a head
on his shoulders. And though it is very hard to find out what your
children are fit for, I dare say the boy has average intelligence."
"Average intelligence!" exclaimed Mrs. Holmes; "his memory is
admirable. If you would only examine him in history, or geography, or
Latin, or scientific dialogues, or chronology, you would find----"
"That I do not know the tenth part of what he does, no doubt," said
Brandon. "But that is not what will make him get on in the world. You
cannot afford to give him a profession."
"I fear not. I wish I could. Perhaps I might by more economy. The
education of my children has cost me very little hitherto, only the
classics and mathematics from the curate. I should like to bring Edgar
up for the Church."
"But, my dear Fanny, if you were to give him a profession, you must
send him away from you. If I take him I will do my utmost to get him
on, and I will really look after him, and keep him out of mischief,
better than you can do at a public school or a university."
"Oh! Walter, you know what a state Victoria is in--full of runaway
convicts, and all sorts of bad characters, attracted there by the
gold-diggings. I should not like Edgar to meet with such people."
"At my sheep stations he will see little or nothing of these people. I
will keep him busy, and by and by, when he comes to man's estate, I
will give him a start; and if you think I succeed with Edgar, I will
take Robert, too, when he is old enough."
"I know, Walter, that you mean very kindly by me and mine, but I do not
care so much for my boys being rich, or getting on, as you call it; I
want them to be good. I do not wish to throw them into the world till
their principles are fixed, and strong enough to withstand temptation.
Edgar is very young, and you are not firm enough to have the guidance
of him."
"I can be firm enough in important things," said Brandon; "but there
are a number of little matters that a lad should learn to determine for
himself. Let us ask Edgar if he would like to go. Don't say anything
for or against. For once let the boy exercise his choice, and have the
freedom of his own will. You may reverse his decision afterwards if you
see fit."
Mrs. Holmes assented to this, but with some fear and trembling. Edgar
was called in, and his uncle kindly and fairly made him the offer. The
lad hesitated--looked at his mother, then at his uncle, then at the
floor.
"What do you think I should do, mamma?" said he.
"Your mother wishes you to make your own choice," said Brandon.
"Then I think I should like to go with you, Uncle Walter."
"No, no; I cannot part with you yet, my dear boy."
"Nonsense, Fanny; do not stand in the boy's light," said Brandon, a
little ruffled at being taken at his word, and the lad's decision
reversed by his mother.
"I don't want to go if you do not wish it, mamma," said Edgar, looking
rather ashamed at his choice.
"Consult our mother and Mary on the matter, Fanny; I believe they will
be more reasonable."
The advice of both grandmother and aunt was to the effect that Mrs.
Holmes should take advantage of her brother's kindness, and entrust
Edgar to his care. It was not without a great effort that she made up
her mind to part with her son, and she had many serious compunctions of
conscience afterwards; but as his letters home were regular and very
prettily expressed, and as his uncle Walter generally added a few lines
to say that the boy was doing remark ably well, and growing strong and
large, she took comfort, and hoped that all was for the best.
Brandon was rather surprised at the cool reception he got from Harriett
Phillips on his return; it was a relief to him to see that she could
part from him without regret, for he felt none at leaving her. He had
been putting on his Australian set of feelings, and preparing to like
his bush life very much, as he had done in reality before. He had Edgar
with him when he came to bid the Phillipses goodbye, and Emily was much
amused at the idea of this model lad going out to Melbourne in a large
ship, and seeing dear Wiriwilta before she could do so. She gave him
messages to some of the people, and desired him to inquire after the
welfare of her pet opossum and her rose-crested cockatoo, and write her
a full, true, and particular account of them all, and of how he liked
the colony, which Edgar readily promised to do.
"And so this Mr. Hogarth has left London, Emily?" said Mr. Brandon.
"Oh, he has gone home to see about getting into Parliament--what stupid
work it must be!"
"Don't talk so absurdly," said Aunt Harriett.
"I see by the newspapers that he is likely to be put up; and you think
it stupid work, Emily, do you? You are a young lady of taste. I think
the same."
"He is quite sure of success," said Harriett Phillips, who thought the
question and remarks might have been addressed to her, as the best
informed person in the house.
"Miss Melville will be pleased at her cousin's going into the political
line," said he.
"Indeed, we are all pleased. I never saw any one so fitted to shine in
Parliament," said Harriett. "He has promised, when the election is
over, to visit papa; their politics will suit, I think."
"And how is Miss Melville?" asked Brandon.
"Quite well, she is always well; but we have been very much troubled
about servants of late. I believe really that all the good servants
have gone to Australia, for we cannot hear of a housemaid or nurse to
suit us, and it puts every one about. I know it annoys me, and Miss
Melville (who holds rather a singular combination of employments, and I
must say that she certainly discharges both of them extremely well) is
particularly engaged just now, making up her housekeeping books."
"And how is Miss Alice Melville? She is not so invariably well as her
sister is."
"No, she mopes more. She has not half the spirit of Miss Melville; but
I believe she is quite well just now."
"Well", said Brandon, with a half sigh, "I have come to bid you all
goodbye; no one can tell when we may meet again."
"Oh! no fear," said Mrs. Phillips, "we will see you here again in a
year or two. Mr. Phillips is often grumbling about his affairs, but I
know it just ends in nothing."
"By the by, Emily," whispered Brandon, "you promised if I was a good
boy that you would give me a great treat. You will never have another
opportunity."
"Oh! yes," said Emily, "I recollect quite well--come along with me,"
and Brandon followed the child to the nursery. Elsie was singing
something to a tune that sounded like that of "Chevy Chase," a great
favourite with Brandon in his childhood--but she caught the sound of
footsteps at the door and stopped abruptly.
"This is our nursery," said Emily; "mamma says it is far better than
the old one at Wiriwilta, but I do not like it half so well. I have
brought Mr. Brandon here, Alice, to hear your songs and your stories,
as I promised him the night you would not sing in the drawing-room when
he asked you."
"Go on, Miss Alice, I beg of you; do not let me interrupt you. Indulge
me for once--that old air carries me back many years," said Brandon.
"Oh, no," said Alice; "I could not venture on a stanza before you. You
cannot imagine what doggerel I make to please the children."
"It is not doggerel; it is beautiful," said little Harriett; "it is the
best song of all, and the newest--the one that Alice has made about the
fire, when we were such tiny babies; and how poor mamma was so weak and
ill, and papa was away, and the flames were all around; and Peggy and
Jim--you recollect Jim, black Jim, Mr. Brandon--and Mrs. Tuck--Martha,
you know--were working so hard to save us; and then when Mr. Brandon
came up on his horse, Cantab--we told Alice his name was Cantab--she
knew all the rest of the story--and rode so fast and got off in such a
hurry, and fetched water and quenched the fire. Oh! Mr. Brandon, it is
a lovely song."
"And all made up after our talk of old times the other night; for I
thought it was just the thing for a ballad, and Alice will do anything
I ask her. You see that we will make a hero of you, and we will sing
this song in your praise when you are far away," said Emily.
"Then I am not be forgotten," said Brandon, speaking to Emily, but
looking very hard at Elsie. "I do not wish to be forgotten by any one
here; but I do not care for being remembered as a hero, which I do not
deserve to be--but as a--a friend."
"Our friends here have been so few that we are not likely to forget any
of them, and with Emily beside us we stand a good chance of hearing
your name frequently," said Elsie.
"And you made a song about me--actually about me," said Brandon,
looking as if he wished the five young Phillipses out of the way.
"Oh! Alice can make a song about anything," said Constance; "she made
one about my little kitten."
"And such a nice one about my humming-top--how it goes whiz--whiz,"
said Hubert.
"And Peggy told Alice and Miss Melville about the fire, and all about
you long ago--long before she saw any of us," said Emily.
"She made up a pretty story to amuse them just as Alice does for us
when they were sad and dull--only Peggy's story was all true, and
Alice's are mostly not."
Brandon's quick eye could observe the faintest additional flush pass
over Elsie's already crimson cheek, and guessed that Peggy's
revelations had been a little too true and minute. What motive had she
to conceal anything about him when she was relating her own experiences
to divert the minds of the two poor girls in their troubles and
perplexities? Was this the solution of his refusal in the railway
carriage? If it was, he should try again. He had been a fool, an idiot,
to give up so readily at the first nay-say. Now, it was too late; his
passage was taken out for himself and Edgar, and he was to sail on the
morrow; but if things looked decently well at Barragong on his return
he must write, though he was no great scribe.
"Shall I not call Jane?" said Elsie, who felt embarrassed by his looks
and manner, and dreaded his saying anything particular before a group
of the sharpest children in the world. "She is extremely busy, but if
you have come to bid her goodbye, she must see you for that."
"You used to talk of going to Australia--to Melbourne, I mean--with
your sister and Peggy, when she returns."
"We hope to be able to do so," said Elsie.
"Then I will see you again--I must see you again. Don't call your
sister yet--don't."
Here Brandon was interrupted by the entrance of Miss Harriett, whose
curiosity as to where Emily had taken her friend had led her to the
nursery, a place she seldom visited.
"Why, Emily, what a thing to bring Mr. Brandon into the nursery! You
are a dreadful girl! I must tell Miss Melville of this."
"I have only come to bid goodbye to some friends," said Brandon.
"They should have come to you in the drawing-room, only those children
are so fond of their liberty that they prefer the nursery, where they
can torment Alice to their hearts' content, to anything like restraint
in the drawing-room. What a litter the place is in! I do wish we could
get a nurse."
"I must see Miss Melville, too, and bid her goodbye," said Brandon.
"She is in the housekeeper's room," said Harriett. "As you have been
introduced by Emily into the nursery, perhaps you will let me take you
there."
"Goodbye, then, Miss Alice," said Brandon.
"Goodbye," said she.
Brandon could not drop a word of his intention to Jane, for Harriett
Phillips was at his elbow when he made his adieu; but somehow Elsie
treasured up his parting looks, and embarrassed expressions, with as
much fidelity as if he had made an open declaration of love. Many a
woman's heart lives long on such slight food as this. And the next day,
Brandon was on board, and soon on the high seas, on his way back to his
sheep-stations and his troubles.