EVENTS MOVE APACE.
Mrs. Bell was very successful in her purchase of plums. In her way she
was a notable housewife, and she returned home about eight o'clock that
evening with a large basket of greengages, which were all to be boiled
down for preserving the following day.
As soon as she entered the house the maid came to meet her.
"You take these carefully down and put them in the larder, Hannah," said
her mistress. "Be careful you don't knock any of them, or the bloom will
go off. Why what's the matter, girl? Is Miss Matty worse?"
"Lor, no, ma'am. Miss Matty is up, and out a-pleasuring, ma'am. But if
you please, there's a visitor in the drawing-room who would like to have
a word with you the minute you come in."
"A visitor?"
Mrs Bell felt her heart beat. The Northbury people did not stand on
ceremony with each other, nor wait in each other's drawing-rooms, for
the return of an absent hostess. A wild idea came across Mrs. Bell's
brain. Could Captain Bertram have quarrelled with Beatrice, and come
back to Matty, his first and only true love.
"A visitor? Male or female?" she inquired of the girl.
"A lady, ma'am. Dressed most elegant."
"Dear, dear, dear! Then I suppose I must see her, and I so dead beat!
She didn't give her name, did she, Hannah?"
"No, ma'am. But she have been a-setting in the drawing-room for over an
hour."
"And Miss Matty, you say, is out!"
"Oh, yes, ma'am; a-pleasuring in her shot silk, and the open-worked
stockings you ironed up a fortnight back."
"Well, I feel bothered altogether, but I must go and see this visitor."
Accordingly Mrs. Bell entered her drawing-room, where she was instantly
confronted by a tall girl who greeted her with warmth, flashed her
brilliant eyes into her face, subjugated her in a moment, and then made
a bold request.
"My name is Josephine Hart. About a month ago I took rooms at the
Testers. I find Mrs. Bertram has forbidden them to receive me again. I
don't know where to go, as I am not acquainted with Northbury, but I can
pay for good rooms. Can you recommend any?"
"My dear child, now let me think. The place is packed just at
present--simply packed. Dear, dear! I have heard of you, Miss Hart. And
so Mrs. Bertram doesn't like you?"
"No, she hates me."
"Well, I'm sure. You don't look like a young lady to be hated."
"No one else hates me, Mrs. Bell, but she does, because she has a
reason. I have come back to Northbury on purpose to make her
uncomfortable, and I must stay."
"So you shall, my dear. I applaud a girl with spirit. And so you hate
Mrs. Bertram? And you have a spite against her with reason. Well, I may
as well own that I don't love her, having good cause not to do so. She
has been the means of breaking my young daughter's heart. My child is
even now lying on her bed of--" but here Mrs. Bell remembered what
Hannah had said about the shot silk, and the open-worked stockings.
"I wish I could help you, my dear young lady," she said.
"I was hoping you would help me. Might I not come and live with you
here? I would pay you well."
Mrs. Bell started and blushed. Caste was a very marked feature in
Northbury society, and between the people who let lodgings for money,
and those who lived genteelly on their means was a great and awful gulf.
No people were poorer in their way than the Bells, and no one would have
more dearly liked to add to her little store of this world's pelf than
would poor Mrs. Bell. She could scarcely afford to take a fashionable
girl in for nothing, and yet--dared she accept payment? Bell, if he
knew, would never forgive her, and, as to the town, it would simply cut
her dead.
The tall girl who was watching Mrs. Bell's face seemed, however, to be
able to read her through. She spoke in a moment in a very gentle and
pleading voice:
"I understand your position; you are a lady, and you don't like to
accept money."
"I couldn't do it, my dear. I couldn't really; Bell, he'd take on awful.
It isn't the custom in Northbury, Miss--Miss Hart."
"And I couldn't come to you without paying. Now, suppose you and I
managed it between us and nobody knew."
"Oh, Miss Hart, I'd be terrified. These things always leak out, they do
really."
"Not if they are properly managed. You might leave that part to me. And
you need not name any sum. I shall see that all your expenses are
covered. Have you a private cupboard in your bedroom? Unlock it every
Monday. That's all you need do. You can give out to all your friends
that you have received me as a visitor, because you were kind to me, and
I wanted to come back to Northbury so badly."
After considerable more parley on both sides, the matter was arranged,
and who more cheerful than Mrs. Bell as she tripped upstairs to prepare
Matty's room for her guest. She was quite obliged to Matty now for
having left her bed, for the thought of that little secret hoard, which
Monday by Monday she might collect, and no one be the wiser, had filled
her heart with rejoicing. So she helped Hannah to spread Josephine's bed
with her finest linen sheets, and altogether she made the little chamber
cosy and pleasant for its new inmate. All signs of poor Matty's illness
were removed, and that young lady's possessions were hastily carried
into her sisters' joint bedroom. Here they would be anything but wanted
or appreciated but what cared Mrs. Bell for that?
Mrs. Meadowsweet, meanwhile, was having a somewhat exciting time.
Beatrice was engaged. That event had taken place which the widow had
only thought about as a distant and possible contingency. Captain
Bertram had himself come to his future mother-in-law, and said a few
words with such grace and real feeling that the old lady's warm heart
was touched. She laid her hands within those of the handsome lad, and
blessed him, and kissed him.
She was not a woman who could see far beneath the surface, and she
thought Loftus Bertram worthy even of Beatrice. Beatrice herself said
very little on the subject.
"Yes, I will marry him," she said once to her mother. "I have made up my
mind, and I will do it. They want the wedding to be soon. Let it be
soon. Where's the use of lingering over these things."
"You speak somehow, Trixie, I mean Bee, my girl, as if you
didn't--didn't quite like it," said the mother, then a trace of anxiety
coming into her smooth, contented voice: "You shan't have him, I mean he
shan't have you, unless you want him with your whole heart, Bee, my
darling."
"Mother," said Beatrice, kneeling down by her, and putting her arms
round her neck, "it is not given to all girls to want a thing with their
whole heart. I have always been happy, always filled, always content.
Therefore I go away without any special sense of rejoicing. But oh, not
unhappily--oh, far from that."
"You're sure, Trixie--you are speaking the whole truth to your own
mother? Your words are sober to belong to a young girl who is soon to be
a bride. Somehow I wasn't like that when your father came for me."
"No two girls are alike, mother. I speak the sober truth, the plain,
honest truth, when I tell you that I am happy. Still, my happiness is
not unmixed when I think of leaving you."
"Hoots-toots, child, I'll do well enough. Jane will look after me, and
that nice little friend of yours, Catherine, will come and cheer me up
now and then. I shall have lots to do, too, this autumn, for I'm going
to have all the chintzes recalendered, and the carpets taken up and
darned in the weak places, and there are some sheets to be cut down the
middle and sewn up again. I won't have breathing-time, let alone
half-hours for fretting. So the thought of the old mother needn't
trouble you, my dearie dear. And the captain has promised to bring you
back as soon as ever he can get fresh leave, so I can look forward to
that, if I have a minute of time to look forward at all."
Beatrice smiled and kissed her mother.
"I don't think any one ever had a dearer mother than you are," she said,
"or a more unselfish one."
"Oh, now, my pet," replied the crafty old lady, "you know you'd change
me for Mrs. Bertram any day; she's so stylish, Bee, and so--so genteel,
darling. You know I never did aim at being genteel. I always
acknowledged that I was a step below your father and you."
"Hush! You were a step below no one. You stand on a pinnacle which no
other mother can reach, as far as I am concerned. Compare you with Mrs.
Bertram indeed!"
Here Beatrice tried to look scornful. The expression was so foreign to
her face that her mother absolutely laughed and chuckled. Of course, she
had meant Bee to say the kind of thing she had said; it was balm to the
old lady to hear such words from her beautiful child.
Up at the Manor now everything went smoothly. Mrs. Bertram was in
perfect health, and perfect spirits. The bustle of a coming wedding
excited and pleased the girls. There was that fuss about the place which
generally precedes an event of rejoicing. Such fuss was delicious to
Catherine and Mabel. Captain Bertram not only looked perfectly happy,
but all his best qualities appeared now on the surface. New springs of
feeling, depths hitherto untouched, had been awakened by Beatrice. She
had a power over this young man; she could arouse all the latent
nobility which he possessed. He thought he was very much in love with
her; he certainly did care for her, but more as his guardian-angel than
with the passionate love he might offer to a wife. He made all sorts of
good resolves when he was with Beatrice, and these resolves grew into
his face, and made it look pleasant, and touched it with a light never
before seen there, and strengthened it with a touch which banished for
a time the evil lines of irresolution and weakness.
Captain Bertram had made up his mind--he had been rarely blessed--he was
unworthy, but a treasure of good price had been vouchsafed to him. He
would live worthy of her. He would cast away the useless life of the
past; he would cease to be extravagant--his debts should be wiped off
and never incurred again. He would be honorable, true--a gentleman in
every sense of the word--the girl who was lowly born, but whose heart
was so patrician, and whose spirit was so loyal, should guide him in all
things.
Captain Bertram had only one uncomfortable corner in his heart just
then. He had one little secret chamber which he kept locked, and into
which, even in spirit, he never cared to enter. Men, when they are
turning over new leaves, often keep this little reserve-room of the past
uncleaned, unpurified. All else shall be swept and garnished, but this
room, carefully locked, can reveal no secrets. From its door the ghost
of past evil-doing can surely not escape to confront and destroy. So
Captain Bertram thought. He must forget Josephine; the wrong he had done
her, the vows he had made to her, could never be washed out or forgiven,
but in all else he would be perfect in the future.
Before he returned to Northbury for the express purpose of wooing and
winning Beatrice Meadowsweet, he had written to Josephine. In his letter
he had promised to marry her; he had promised to confide all about her
to his mother. He said he should be at home for a month, and during that
month he would watch his opportunity and break the news of his
engagement to Josephine to his parent. He had asked Josephine to give
him a month to do this in, and he had begged of her to leave Northbury
for the time, assuring her that her presence at his mother's gates would
be highly detrimental to their mutual interests.
Josephine had departed, and Bertram, after the fashion of men of his
class, had almost forgotten her existence in his pursuit of a new quest.
Now he was engaged, and his wedding-bells would soon ring. If the
thought of Josephine Hart did flash now and then before his mental
vision, he could only hope devoutly that she would learn nothing of his
betrothal to Beatrice until after their marriage. "She may appear then,
and I may have to tell Bee everything," he soliloquized. "Well, well,
Bee could not be hard on a fellow, and we will both do what we can for
poor Josephine. No doubt I should not have made her a good husband--no
doubt, no doubt! Poor child--poor, beautiful child." But as he said the
words under his breath, Captain Bertram felt his heart beat hard and
fast. "My God--I love her madly--I must not think of her at all," he
murmured. "I must not; I dare not!" He was uncomfortable, and even
depressed, after these musings; and he was determined to keep the door
of that chamber within him where Josephine dwelt more firmly locked than
ever in the future.
When all the people concerned are of one mind on a certain point it is
surprising how easily they can bring their wishes to bear fruit. It was
all important, both to Captain Bertram and his mother, that his marriage
should follow his engagement with the least possible delay.
Having decided to marry him, Beatrice would allow her lover to lead her
to the altar the first day he cared to do so. Mrs. Meadowsweet was, of
course, like wax in the hands of her daughter.
Accordingly, Beatrice would only be an engaged maiden for three short
weeks, and on the 10th of September, before Captain Bertram's leave
expired, Northbury was to make merry over the gayest wedding it had ever
been its lot to participate in.
Mr. Ingram, who was one of Beatrice's guardians, and from whose house
the wedding was to take place, had insisted on all his parishioners
being invited. Both rich and poor were to partake of the good things of
life at the Rectory on that auspicious day, and Mrs. Bertram, whether
she liked it or not, must sit down to her son's wedding-breakfast in the
presence of Mrs. Gorman Stanley, Mrs. Morris, Mrs. Butler, Miss Peters,
and the other despised Northbury folk.
"Your son is marrying into one of the Northbury families," the rector
had said, when the proud lady had frowned a little over this. "Beatrice
must and shall have her friends round her when she gives herself to
Bertram. Your son is making an excellent match from a money point of
view and from all other points of view, and if there is a bitter with
the sweet, he must learn to swallow it with a good grace."
When the rector had mentioned "from a money point of view" Mrs. Bertram
had forced herself to clear her brows, and smile amiably. After all,
beside this great and important question of money what were these small
worries but pinpricks.
The pin-prick, however, was capable of going somewhat deeper, when
Catherine informed her mother that Beatrice particularly wished to have
her friends, the Bells, and Daisy Jenkins as bride's-maids at her
wedding.
"No, no, impossible," burst from Mrs. Bertram's lips.
But in the end she had to yield this point also, for what will not a
woman do who is hard beset and pressed into a corner to set herself free
from so humiliating and torturing a position.
Thus everything was getting ready for the great event. The bride's
trousseau was the wonder of all beholders. The subject of Beatrice's
wedding was the only one on the _tapis_, and no one saw a little
cloud in the sky, nor guessed at even the possibility of trouble ahead.