BLUEBELL'S DEBUT IN THE OLD COUNTRY.
Says "Be content my lovely May,
For thou shalt be my bride."
With her yellow hair, that glittered fair,
She dried the trickling tear,
And sighed the name of Branxholm's heir,
The youth that she loved dear.
--Scott.
Next morning Bluebell rose early, and wrote out an advertisement, in
which she described herself, more truthfully, than diplomatically, as a
young person of eighteen, proficient in music, but not skilled enough in
other branches of education for advanced pupils.
The captain promised to write to Mrs. Leighton, reporting her arrival,
and explaining that "Miss Leigh would not think of intruding on her in
her bereavement, but only requested permission to be allowed to apply to
her as a reference when she heard of another situation." He added, "That
in the meantime Miss Leigh was remaining in his family."
Armed with the advertisement, Bluebell pensively walked off to get it
inserted in the _Liverpool Mercury_. The captain lived in a suburb of the
town, and had given her clear directions how to find the office. It was a
disagreeable walk, and she was obliged to concentrate all her attention
on not losing the way, so her thoughts could not well stray to Harry
Dutton; but ere she had proceeded many streets--she met him! He was
looking very haggard, but eagerness and triumph lighted up his large
brown eyes as he perceived her. Bluebell was in a state of half terror,
half delight, and whole bewilderment.
"How is it you are still in Liverpool?" she gasped.
"I have been walking about all day in hopes of meeting you!" cried he,
disregarding her question.
Bluebell felt as if she had recovered an old friend. She told him of her
rough reception by Mrs. Davidson, and how annoyed she was at being forced
to remain there an unwelcome guest.
The answer to this was obvious, but the lieutenant would say nothing now
to scare her.
"Why we have got to the river," she said, after some unheeded period of
eager conversation, "and my advertisement! It must be miles from the
office!"
"Much too far to go back," said the sailor "Give it me, I will insert it
for you."
"Thank you," said the heedless Bluebell. "That will be so much
pleasanter, and we need not thread those horrid streets again!"
There was nothing more to do but to go home, and yet she didn't directly.
There would be only Mrs. Davidson in, who was so ungracious and
disagreeable, and she lingered half an hour or so, talking to Harry
Dutton, who would, perhaps, be gone by to-morrow, but he wasn't, nor the
next day, nor the next. They never made any assignations, yet day after
day Bluebell met him, and for a brief space they were together.
Harry Dutton was only twenty-two, he had been at sea all his life, and
had never been seriously in love before. But now he had completely lost
his head, and all considerations were swept away by this overmastering
passion, which his knowledge that Bluebell did not fully return only
seemed to augment. His uncle was a selfish, exacting old man, but he had
been kind enough to this boy who, with the usual ingratitude of human
nature, forgot everything to gratify the fancy of the moment.
Dutton had never been thrown in contact with so pretty a creature, and,
notwithstanding the apparent aberration of mind displayed in thus
jeopardizing his prospects, laid his plans coolly and cleverly enough.
Bluebell still talked of her impending governess life, and he kept his
own council, though firmly resolved never to lose sight of her again.
She was beginning to wonder that her advertisements had elicited no
replies, and Mrs. Davidson had been especially unpleasant about it, when
one day the wished-for letter arrived.
"Mrs. Giles Johnson, having seen 'B.L.'s' advertisement in the _Liverpool
Mercury_, is requiring such a person to instruct and to take entire
charge of the wardrobes of five little girls, one of whom, being nervous,
she would be required to sleep with. Mrs. G. J. trusts she is obliging,
and would have no objection, when the lady's-maid has a press of work, to
assist her with it, or make herself generally useful in any other way.
'B.L.'s' attainments being apparently limited, and Mrs. Giles Johnson
having an abhorrence of music, she can only offer a salary of eighteen
pounds a year."
Bluebell alternated between tears and laughter on the perusal of this
letter.
"Why, at the Rollestons'," she cried, "I had thirty pounds a year, only
Freddy to teach, and did what I liked! But they were friends,"--and a
home-sick feeling came over her.
"If ye just turn up your nose at every situation, ye'll never be placed,"
said Mrs. Davidson.
"Oh, perhaps I shall get another letter to-morrow. I would go back to
Canada if I had money enough."
Bluebell put on her hat. Whichever way she went she was quite certain
of meeting Mr. Dutton, to whom she wished to display this wonderful
document. It was all very well to laugh, but it certainly was most
discouraging and vexatious. Yet Mr. Dutton, when she saw him, gravely
affirmed it to be "quite as good an offer as he had expected, and was
only surprised at her getting any answers at all,"--which well indeed he
might be, considering that the advertisement never appeared in any paper,
and that the liberal proposals of Mrs. Giles Johnson were an emanation
from his own brain.
He proceeded to relate the most uncomfortable anecdotes of governess life
in England, making it appear that they were treated like white slaves,
and expected to know everything.
Bluebell, though only half believing it, began seriously to question
whether her small attainments were saleable at all. Her friend the
captain would go to sea again shortly, and having prevailed on Mrs.
Davidson to receive a small contribution towards her board, the ten
pounds were dwindling away.
Then, when she was reduced to the depths of perplexity and depression,
Harry Dutton cautiously pleaded his cause, and, as a strong will bent on
one object will always sway an irresolute mind, Bluebell listened, and
for once tried to realize what it would be. She had been frightened at
Dutton's precipitancy in the first instance; but now he had become in a
manner necessary to her, and she certainly liked him,--immensely. Still,
of course, after her experience of the _grande passion_, this mere
_entente cordiale_ could not be mistaken for the real article. But there
was another question: had she not, by meeting him so often, given him a
right so to speak, with fair expectation of success? She had heedlessly
walked into the snare with her eyes open, and felt no resisting power to
break through the mesh of circumstances that environed her.
Bluebell wavered and hesitated. Harry followed up his advantage. Ere a
few stars twinkled out, "single spies" on their colloquy, the struggle
was over, and the bold wooer had extorted from his _fiancée_ a promise
to marry him the following morning but one at a register office in
Liverpool.
The very next day they would probably not meet, as he had everything to
arrange, and also to prepare a lodging for her, for they had determined
to leave Liverpool immediately afterwards.
One thing only Bluebell retained her firmness sufficiently to stipulate
for, which was, that the kind old captain should be told of it. Mr.
Dutton agreed, on condition that she did not breathe a syllable till
after their marriage, when he promised to write himself and acquaint the
skipper.
Bluebell could scarcely trust herself to think as she walked slowly home.
She felt quite reckless, and as though she were fated to do this act,
that seemed so desperate. What would all her friends in Canada say?
Somehow she did not look forward to telling the news to Mrs. Rolleston.
She supposed Cecil would be pleased, and it might clear up matters
between her and Bertie. Ah! if it were only him she was going to be
married to! Why does one always like the wicked ones best? She wished to
imagine him desperate, remorseful, beside himself with jealousy. But she
knew that would not be so. At the utmost he would, perhaps, toss off a
brandy-and-soda, give a tremendous sigh, and ejaculate, "Ah! poor, dear
little Bluebell!" and then reflect that he would rather like to meet her
again, when there would be no question of marrying--the only thing he was
unprepared to do for her.
From which tolerably accurate surmise our reader will perceive that our
heroine has rather come on in penetration since we first presented her
fresh and verdant in these pages.
Then she thought of her mother, and how disappointed she would be at not
being present at the marriage. She had written to her on landing, but
this letter had been posted in Ireland. Since then she had acquainted her
with the facts of Evelyn's death, and of her own exertions to obtain
another situation, lodging in the mean time with Mrs. Davidson.
On her re-appearance Bluebell was received somewhat coldly by the old
captain, who asked her where she could find to walk so long every day. It
was very disagreeable having to answer evasively, and he did not appear
satisfied--on the contrary, eyed her askance all the evening.
The reason was, he had accidentally observed Mr. Dutton coming out of an
hotel, and was unable to conjecture what kept him in Liverpool, unless he
were lingering there on Bluebell's account. Connecting this with her
frequent absence from home, he began to think it time to be relieved from
the responsibility of this dangerous young guest. He did not reveal his
suspicions to his wife, but the following day kept something of a watch
over her, and proposed himself to accompany her out.
Somewhat surprised by the placid gratitude of her reply, his suspicions
were still further allayed by seeing no sign of the lieutenant, for whom
he kept a sharp look-out. He told the girl--narrowly watching her all the
time--that there were many snares in Liverpool, and that unless he could
see her safely placed in a _feymily_ before the next trip of the
"Hyperion," he must arrange with the owners for the passage-money, and
take her back to her friends, trusting to them to, repay him.
"How generous you are, dear Captain Davidson!" was all she said. But he
noticed she turned deadly pale, and two bright drops stood in her eyes.
The idea was so tempting for a moment, with the irrevocable step of the
morrow hanging over her like a troubled dream. What if she could return
to the old, happy, careless days, and leave this smoky, foggy England,
where care and anxiety rose up at every step! But there is no going back
in life. What should she do in Canada? Her connection with the Rollestons
was played out, and for every one's happiness it was better severed.
There was scarcely any demand for governesses in the Dominion, as the
children commonly went to school; so she would encumber her mother with
the expenses of the voyage, with no prospect of contributing anything to
her very slender fund.
All this passed rapidly through Bluebell's mind; but it soon settled into
an acceptance of what appeared the inevitable, while the good captain
talked on, hoping to induce her to place some confidence in him, if she
did know of her admirer's presence in Liverpool.
The girl fathomed the old man's drift, and most heartily wished she had
not promised to conceal it from him. It would be an unspeakable relief if
this fatherly captain could only countenance and witness her marriage, to
say nothing of being spared the treachery of deceiving him after all his
kindness. But, there!--she had promised Harry, and must abide by her
word.
Only, that evening at bed-time, observing Mrs. Davidson buried head and
shoulders in a cupboard she was straightening, Bluebell suddenly threw
her arms round the old skipper's neck, gave him a silent hug, and glided
from the room, and in the solitude of her own wrote, as fast as pen could
scribble, an impulsive, affectionate letter of adieu, confessing what she
was to do on the morrow, which her husband (she did not mention his name)
would then write and announce to him.
"Eh! is the lassie daft?" had half murmured the not ill-pleased captain;
then, perceiving that the salute had been bestowed without the detection
of his partner, a large slow smile expanded itself all over his broad
face.
"Wha are ye girning for like an auld Cheshire cat?" inquired the
unsuspicious lady.
"Nonsense, my dear; nonsense!" complacently stirring his grog and looking
rather foolish. His Scotch head had disapproved of what his good heart,
of no nationality, had decided with regard to Bluebell. I am not sure
now, though, that he did not think the money might be worse risked than
in taking this personable lassie another trip across the Atlantic.