CHRISTMAS AT STONELEIGH.
Two years and a half after that visit to London, Bessie McPherson, now a
young lady of nearly eighteen, stood by the western window of the old
house at Stoneleigh reading a letter from Neil. He had been at
Stoneleigh several times since that summer in London, and these visits,
with his letters always so affectionate and bright, were the only breaks
in Bessie's monotonous life. Once Jack had been there for a few days, or
rather to the "George," where he slept and took his meals, spending the
rest of the time with Bessie, who interested him more and more, and from
whom he at last fled as from a positive danger. With his limited income
and his habits, he could not hope to marry, even if Bessie would have
joined her young life with his matured one, which he doubted, and, with
a great pang of regret he left her in the old Stoneleigh garden and did
not dare look back at her, sitting there with the troubled look on her
face, because he was leaving, lest he should turn back and, taking her
in his arms, say the words he must not say.
And so he went his way to busy London, and heard from Blanche that the
white-haired old earl in the north of England was dead, and the puny
Dick master in his place.
"Only two between you and a fortune," seemed whispered in his ear, and
with it came a thought of Bessie sitting under the old yew tree in the
summer sunshine and looking after him.
"Murderer!" he said to himself again, "do you wish Dick dead and Hal,
too, the finest fellow that ever lived, for the sake of a young girl
whose mind is full of a prig like Neil McPherson?"
And so he put all thoughts of Bessie aside, and wore mourning for his
great-uncle, and wrote a letter to the new heir, Sir Dick, and sent his
love to Flossie, and went no more to Stoneleigh. But Neil was coming
again, and his letter to Bessie was as follows:
"LONDON, Dec, 20th, 18--,
"MY SWEETEST COUSIN: and when I say that I mean it, for though
Blanche is just as much my cousin as you are, and is in her way
sweet as sugar, she bears no comparison to you, my little Dot, as I
used to call you when you were a wee thing and let me kiss you as
often as I liked. My Welsh rose I call you now, when you wear long
dresses and will not let me kiss you, or at least will not kiss me
as you did before you made that trip to London two years ago last
June. Something happened to you then which shot you up into a woman,
and I lost my little Bessie. But how absurdly I am writing, as if I
were your lover, instead of your cousin, and as good as engaged to
Blanche. I suppose mother would break her heart if I did not marry
that £10,000 a year. I used to say I wouldn't, you know; but, _nous
verrons_; what I wish to tell you now is, that I am coming to
Stoneleigh for the holidays. Mother wishes me to go with her and
Blanche to some stupid place near Edinburgh, and we have had a jolly
row about it, but I prefer Stoneleigh and you; so you may expect me
the 23rd, on the evening train from Bangor; and please tell old
Dorothy to have a roasting fire in my room, which you know is
something after the stable order, and oh, if she would have
plum-pudding and chicken-pie for dinner! You see, I make myself
quite at home at Stoneleigh, and I have a weakness for the good
things of this world. I do not believe I was cut out for a poor man.
I might be poor and honest, but never poor and happy.
"By the way, I am to bring a friend with me, or rather he is to stop
first at Carnarvon, to hunt up somebody by the name of Rogers, whom
he is very anxious to find."
"Rogers--Rogers," Bessie repeated, thoughtfully. "Seems to me I have
heard that name before. Who is Neil's friend, I wonder? I am sorry he is
coming, for that means another fire, and another plate at table, and we
are so poor. Neil is right; it is not so easy to be poor and happy as
one might think," and the look of care habitual to Bessie's face
deepened upon it, for funds were very low at Stoneleigh just then.
It was weeks since they had received anything from Daisy, and Archie's
slender income would barely suffice for absolute necessaries, leaving
nothing for extra fires and extra mouths to feed with plum-pudding and
chicken-pie, and all the etceteras of a regular Christmas dinner such as
Neil would expect.
Resuming the letter at last, Bessie read on:
"I have asked him to spend a day at Stoneleigh after he has finished
his business in Carnarvon, and he has accepted and will be with us
at Christmas. He is an American--Grey Jerrold, from Boston--and the
right sort of a fellow, too: not a bit of a cad, if he did thrash me
unmercifully the first time I ever saw him. He served me just right,
and we are great friends now. He was at Eton with me and at Oxford,
too, and took the wind out of all our sails in both places. No sneak
about him, and though he seems more English than American from
having lived with us so long, he would knock me down now if I were
to say a word against his star spangled banner. His father and
mother are in Boston, and he has crossed, I don't know how many
times, mostly, I think, to see an old Aunt Hannah, whom he seems to
worship, and whose photograph he actually kissed the day he got it
at Eton. Such an old fashioned woman, too, as she must be, judging
from her dress and hair; but such a sweet, patient, sorry face, with
an expression about the mouth like you when 'la petite madame' is
under discussion. I hear she is at Monte Carlo still. A friend saw
her there flirting with and fleecing an Italian count, who has quite
cut out that poodle of a Hardy."
"Oh, Neil! oh, mother!" Bessie cried, and the look about her mouth, of
which Neil had spoken, was pitiable to see, as the lips quivered and the
great tears sprang to her eyes and stood on her long lashes. "Fleecing
an Italian count!" she whispered. "If mother were to send us money now,
I do not believe I would touch it."
Then she read on:
"You are sure to like Grey Jerrold, and if you do not fall in love
with him I shall be surprised. He, of course, will surrender to you
at once, and he is worthy of you. I am to make some stupid calls
with my mother and Blanche so good-by till Tuesday night. I only
live till then.
"Your loving cousin,
"NEIL."
For some time after finishing Neil's letter Bessie staid by the window,
very still and thoughtful, with a half-pleased, half-troubled look in
her young face. She was thinking of Neil's projected visit, and planning
how she could make him comfortable, and his friend.
"I can dispense with a fire in my room, and the boots I was going to
buy; these are not so very bad, though they do leak at times," and she
glanced down rather ruefully at the little shabby boots in which her
feet were incased, and which she had worn so long. "I hope Neil will not
notice them, he is so fastidious about such things," she said, with a
sigh; and then her thoughts went back to the summer when she had visited
London and met Jack Trevellian who had been so kind and done so much
for her.
Her mother had been home several times since then, and had spoken of
Jack as a noble fellow, with nothing small in his nature.
"But he is greatly changed from what he used to be," she said. "When I
first knew him at Monte Carlo, he was almost as regular at the tables as
I was myself, and a capital partner at cards; but now he never plays at
all, and did not even go inside the Casino, notwithstanding I did my
best to persuade him. I think there must be some woman concerned in the
change. Well she is fortunate if she gets Jack Trevellian. I wish
Bessie, you had more tact, for I know he was interested in you. He is
worth forty Neil McPhersons."
"Oh, mother, please don't talk like that," Bessie said, thinking to
herself that she could tell, if she would, why he did not play as
formerly, and feeling a great throb of gladness that he was keeping his
promise to her.
If he had been coming to Stoneleigh, Bessie would not have cared for her
surroundings, or her shabby shoes for he would not have noticed them, or
if he did, he would not have let her know it as Neil was sure to do.
Neil was very particular and critical, and had more than once hurt
Bessie cruelly with his criticism upon her dress. But then he was just
as severe upon Blanche, and that was some comfort, and with a sigh, as
she remembered what he had said of being as good as engaged, she put the
letter aside, and went to tell Dorothy of the expected guests and to
consult with her as to the ways and means of making them comfortable.
"Fortunately I have some money saved, of my own, and you must make it go
as far as possible, and be sure that we have a good Christmas dinner,
with plum-pudding and whipped cream," she said, as she emptied into the
old servant's hand what had been intended for boots and gloves, and a
Christmas present for her father.
And now the day when Neil was expected had come, and it lacked but a few
minutes of the time for the arrival of the train. Everything was ready,
and the old house wore quite a festive appearance with its holiday dress
of evergreens and scarlet berries, and all the flowers there were in
blossom in the conservatory, which opened from the dining room, and was
kept warm without extra expense. Everything which could be spared from
other parts of the house had been brought to Neil's room, where a
cheerful fire was burning in the grate, and where Bessie's own easy
chair, and couch, and bright Afghan were doing duty, and making the
place very comfortable and attractive.
During the two years and a half which had elapsed since Bessie's visit
to London, she had changed somewhat, and was more a woman than a child,
with a matured and, if possible, a sweeter expression in her face,
though there still lingered about her mouth that same sorry, patient
look which Jack Trevellian had wanted so much to kiss away. It was very
apparent this afternoon, as she stood by the window looking out upon the
snow which covered the garden and park, and made her shiver a little,
and think of the mother who should have been at home, lightening her
daughter's burden and cheering her lonely life.
"How happy the girls must be who have real mothers," Bessie thought, and
then as if the regret for the mother reflected upon the father, who was
so much to her, she went up to him by the fire, and stooping over him
kissed him tenderly.
She always did that when her mother was in her mind and by some subtle
intuition Archie had come to know it, and now his voice was very tender
and loving as he drew her down upon his knee, and stroking her hair,
said to her:
"Good little Bessie, what should I do without you? You are very lovely
to-night in your finery. Are you glad Neil is coming?"
"Yes, very glad," Bessie replied, blushing a little. "Very glad for
Neil, but I do not think I want that American here, too. I wish Neil had
left him from the programme."
"Oh, yes; I remember you told me that Neil said he was coming. They are
great friends, I believe," Archie said. Then, after a moment, he
continued: "I dare say he is a gentleman. You may like him very much."
"No, I shall not," Bessie rejoined, tapping the floor impatiently with
her boot, whose shabbiness French blacking could not wholly conceal, "I
shall be civil to him, of course, as Neil's friend, but I would rather
he did not come, spoiling everything. I see Neil so seldom that I want
him all to myself when he is here. He is the only cousin I have, you
know."
For a moment Archie was silent, and when at last he spoke, he said:
"Bessie, don't think too much of Neil. As I told you once in London, so
I tell you now. He is too selfish by nature, and too ambitious to care
particularly for anything which cannot advance his interests. He likes
you very much, no doubt, and if you had a fortune, I dare say he would
seek to make you his wife; but as you have not he will marry Blanche
Trevellian, who has."
"Yes, he will marry Blanche," Bessie said, softly, and the old, tired,
sorry look crept into her eyes and deepened about her mouth as she
thought: "If I had a fortune! Oh, that _if_! What a big one it is in my
case. And yet it is impressed upon me that somewhere in the world there
_is_ a fortune awaiting me; very far from here, it may be, but still
somewhere; but then, Neil will be gone before I get it, and I shall not
care."
And as it had done more than once before, a sharp pain cut through
Bessie's heart as she thought what life would be with Neil making no
part of it. So absorbed had she and her father been that neither of them
had heard the train as it glided swiftly by, but when, after a few
moments had elapsed, there was the stamping of feet outside, and a
cheery call to the house dog, who had set up a welcome bark, Bessie
sprang from her father's knee, exclaiming:
"That's Neil; he has come, and I am so glad."
She was out in the hall by this time, waiting expectantly, while Anthony
opened the door admitting Neil, who kissed Bessie twice, and told her
how glad he was to see her again, and how well her stuff dress of dark
claret became her, or would, if she had left off that knot of Scotch
plaid ribbon at the throat, which marred the effect.
Bessie's checks flushed at this criticism upon the ribbon she liked so
much, and had bought for this very occasion, with a view to please her
cousin. He was in very high spirits, it seemed to her, as she listened
to his gay badinage and laughter. But how handsome he was in his new
holiday suit, every item of which was faultless, and of the latest
style. If his mother stinted him in other ways, she surely did not where
his wardrobe was concerned, and he had the reputation of being one of
the best dressed young men in London.
When dinner was over, and he had finished his cigar which he smoked in
the presence of Bessie, she asked him of the American, who was coming
the next evening.
"Oh, yes, Grey Jerrold," Neil said, "and the finest specimen of a Yankee
you ever saw."
"I don't believe I like Yankees," Bessie said curtly, and Neil replied:
"You will like this one; you cannot help it, every body likes him, from
the shabbiest old woman in the railway carriage to the prettiest girl in
Piccadilly. Perhaps it was a liberty I ought not to have taken, inviting
him here without consulting you first, but I wanted you to see him, and
him to see you," and there was a vehemence in Neil's voice and manner
which Bessie could not understand. "He is rich, or will be by and by,"
Neil said. "And the most generous chap I ever saw. He was always helping
us out of scrapes at school. He has a rich aunt in America, who keeps
him well supplied with money, besides what his father gave him when he
came of age."
"What did you say he was doing in Carnarvon?" Bessie asked, and Neil
replied:
"Hunting up some old woman, or young woman, I don't know which, as I
never paid much attention to what he did say about it, I believe,
though, there is some money in the case. I wish it was for me," Neil
said, and then suddenly he sank into a thoughtful, abstracted mood, from
which he did not rouse till the clock struck ten and it was time to say
good-night. "I have not been very good company for the last hour, I have
been worried lately and am not quite myself," he said to Bessie, when
she asked if he were ill and if there was anything she could do for him
or send to his room.
And Neil had been worried and exasperated and wrought upon until he was
half beside himself. His mother had wished him to accompany her and
Blanche to the house of a friend near Edinburgh, and when he refused,
saying he preferred to go to Stoneleigh, there had been a jolly row, as
he expressed it, and his mother had charged him with his preference for
the daughter of that bold adventuress, and had told him decidedly that
if he ever dared to marry her he should never touch a shilling of her
money either during her life-time or after, for once assured of the
marriage she would so arrange her matters that he would be as great a
beggar as Archie McPherson himself.
"A family of paupers!" she said, scornfully. "Your father has nothing to
give you; absolutely nothing, and you can yourself judge, how, with your
tastes and habits, you will like living at Stoneleigh with two meals a
day, as I hear they sometimes do, blacking your own boots and building
your own fires."
Here Neil winced, for he knew very well that he had no fancy for
poverty, even if Bessie shared it with him But he told his mother he
had, and consigned Blanche's ten thousand a year to a place where the
gold might be melted, and said he loved Bessie McPherson better than
anything in life, and should marry her if he pleased in spite of a
hundred mothers. But he knew he should not--knew he could not face the
reality when it came to the point. He was too dependent upon what wealth
would bring him to throw it away for one girl, even if that girl were
Bessie, whom he loved with all the intensity of his selfish
nature--loved so much that for an hour or so after his interview with
his mother, he balanced the two questions, Blanche with ten thousand a
year, or Bessie with nothing. Naturally Blanche turned the scale, and
then to himself, he said:
"I will go to Stoneleigh and live for a few days in Bessie's presence,
and then I will say good-by forever and marry Blanche as mother wishes
me to do. She is not so very bad except for her eyebrows and that horrid
drawl. But Bessie, oh, Bessie, how can I give her up!" and the young
man's heart cried out in pain for the sweet young girl he had loved all
his life, and who, he was sure loved him. To do Neil justice, this was
the bitterest drop in the cup--the knowing that Bessie, too, would
suffer. "She has enough to bear," he said, "without an added drop from
me, I wish she would get in love with some one else and throw me
overboard. I believe I could bear it better. There's Jack he was
awfully sweet on her in London, but he has only been to see her once
since. He is too poor to marry, and there is no one else--yes, by Jove,
there is!" and Neil started to his feet. "There is Grey Jerrold. He is
just the man for Bessie to fall in love with if she could see him, and
I'll bring that about."
It may seem strange that one so utterly selfish as Neil McPherson should
have devised this plan to help him in his dilemma, but this in fact was
only another phase of his selfishness. He knew it was impossible for him
to marry Bessie, and felt that it was also impossible to give her up
without other aid than his own feeble will. If she could prefer some one
else to himself, it would be a help, however much his self-love might be
wounded, and if another than himself must taste the sweetness he so
coveted he would far rather that other should be Grey Jerrold, an
American, even though he bore the rose away to foreign soil, than to
have one of his own countrymen flaunting his happiness in his face,
Bessie and Grey were suited to each other, he thought, and he would
bring them together; so, when he heard from Grey of his intended trip to
Carnarvon, he suggested that he defer it until the holidays and spend a
day or two at Stoneleigh. Then he wrote to Bessie that he was as good as
engaged to Blanche, and that she would probably fall in love with Grey,
who was sure to do so with her. This done, he began to anticipate the
visit, which he said to himself was to be his last, and from which he
meant to get all the happiness possible, he would kiss Bessie as often
as he liked; he would hold her hands in his, the dear little hands which
had worked so hard, but, which nevertheless, were so soft and pretty; he
would look into the innocent blue eyes and see them kindle and droop
beneath his gaze, and then there should be one long, never to be
forgotten walk by themselves across the suspension bridge, through the
straggling old town, and along the road by the river toward Beaumaris,
and he would tell her everything, all his love for her and its utter
hopelessness because they were both so poor, and he would say good-by
forever, and bid her marry Grey Jerrold, and so remove temptation from
him and make it easier for him to be true to Blanche.
It was much easier for Neil to form this plan than to be satisfied with
it, and during the few days which elapsed before he started for
Stoneleigh he was cross and irritable and even rude at times both to his
mother and Blanche, the latter of whom finally treated him with a cold
indifference which made him fear a little for the ten thousand.
"What if she should take the bits in her teeth and throw me overboard?"
he thought, and at the very last, he changed his tactics and devoted
himself to the heiress with an assiduity which left her little doubt of
his intentions. Still, to her he did not speak, though to his mother he
said, half irritably, as if it were something wrung from him against his
will:
"Don't trouble yourself. I intend to marry Blanche in my own good time;
but I will not be hurried, and am going to Stoneleigh first."
And he went to Stoneleigh and tried all the way there to think of Bessie
as she looked in the park, in the old faded gown with the disfiguring
puffs; tried to make himself believe that she had no manner, no style,
and would not pass for a great lady among people city bred; that she was
better suited to some quiet home such as Grey Jerrold might give her,
were he happy enough to win her. Neil had no doubt that Grey would try
to win her when once he had seen her, and he began at last to feel sorry
that he had invited his friend to Stoneleigh, and to have doubts as to
his ability to give Bessie up even to him. He was sure of it when he
reached Stoneleigh and saw her with the brightness on her face and the
sparkle in her eye as she welcomed him. She might not be as elegant or
as stylish as Blanche, who had lived in the city all her life, but she
was inexpressibly sweet and womanly, and there was in every movement a
grace and quiet dignity which stamped her as a lady. And Neil recognized
it as he never had before, and fought the battle over again all through
the silent night, and was still fighting it in the morning when he went
down to breakfast and looked at Bessie as she poured his coffee, in her
gray dress and pretty white muslin apron, with the daintily frilled
pockets, and just the corner of a blue-bordered handkerchief showing in
one of them. Neil liked the dress and the effect of the blue
handkerchief but he did not like the apron, it made her look so like a
housemaid, and he told her so when breakfast was over and they stood a
moment alone by the fire.
Reddening a little, Bessie answered him, laughingly; "Yes, you told me
once before that you did not like my apron, and I know it would be out
of place on your mother or Blanche, but it suits me, for you see I _am_
housemaid here, and clear my own table and wash my own silver and china.
Dorothy is old and has the rheumatism in her feet, and I must help; so,
Mr. Aristocrat, if you do not wish to see me degrade myself, just go and
take a walk, and when you come back the obnoxious apron shall be laid
aside and we will practice that song you brought me."
Neil did not go out and walk, but staid in the dining-room and smoked
his cigar, and looked at Bessie as she cleared away the breakfast dishes
and washed the silver and china, with her sleeves drawn half-way to her
elbows, showing her round, white arms.
"Yes, she is just suited to America, where, I believe, the women all
wear aprons and wash their own dishes," Neil thought, as he watched her
with a strange feeling in his heart of pain and happiness; happiness
that for a few days at least she was his to look at, to love, to caress;
pain that the days were so few and so short when he must leave her.
And then there arose before him, as in a vision, a picture of a quiet
home amid green hedge-rows and sunny lanes, not a home such as Blanche's
would be, with gorgeous surroundings and liveried servants everywhere,
but such a home as makes a man better for living in it; a home where the
housewifely Bessie was the presiding goddess, flitting about just as she
was doing now, putting away the silver and china, brushing up the
hearth, moving a chair here and another there, watering her pots of
flowers in the conservatory, tea-roses and carnations and heliotrope and
lilies all in bloom and filling the room with sweet perfume as if it
were the summer-time, instead of chill December with its biting blasts
sweeping against the windows.
"There!" Bessie said, at last, removing her apron, pulling down her
sleeves, and smoothing her bright wavy hair, "I have dismissed the
housemaid, and now I am ready to sing for you, or play chess, or do
whatever you like."
But Neil was in no mood for singing or playing chess, or even talking
much, and his fit of abstraction lasted all day, or until late in the
afternoon, when Bessie began to speak of getting herself in readiness
for Grey, who was to come in the evening train from Carnarvon. Then Neil
roused, and as if he had nerved himself for the sacrifice, manifested a
great deal of interest with regard to Bessie's personal appearance.
"I want you to get yourself up stunningly," he said, "so as to make a
good first appearance. I have told Grey so much about you that he must
not be disappointed."
"Ridiculous! I shall wear just what I wore yesterday, bow and all, for I
like it," Bessie said, with a little defiant toss of her head.
She, too, had been thinking while Neil sat so silent and moody by the
fire, and had decided that he had greatly changed for the worse since
she had seen him last--that he was hard to please, moody, exacting, and
quite too much given to criticising her and her dress.
"As if it is any of his business what I wear," she thought, and she took
a kind of exultant satisfaction in fastening on the knot of ribbon he
had condemned and which really was very becoming to her plain, dark
dress.
"I suppose, Mr. Grey Jerrold, I must waste a clean collar and a pair of
cuffs on you, though that will be so much more for me to iron next
week," she said, as she stood before the mirror in her room, which was
to be given to the coming guest, "I hope, sir, you will appreciate all I
am doing for you, for I assure you it is no small matter to turn out
from my comfortable quarters into that barn of a room where the wind
blows a hurricane and the rats scurry over the floor. Ugh! how I dread
it, and _you_, too!" she continued, shaking her head at the imaginary
Grey, who stood before her mind's eye, black-eyed, black-whiskered,
black-faced, and a very giant in proportions, as she fancied all
Americans to be.
Her toilet completed, she removed from the room everything which she
thought would betray the fact that it was her apartment, and carried
them with a shiver to the chamber facing the north, where the rats
scurried over the floor at night, and the wind blew a hurricane.
"There! I am ready for your Pythias! Do you think I shall pass muster?"
she said to Neil, as she entered the dining-room where he was sitting.
It would indeed have been a very censorious, fault-finding man who could
have seen aught amiss in the beautiful young girl, plain as her dress
might be, and for answer to her question, Neil stood up and kissed her,
saying as he did so:
"He will think you perfect, though I don't like the ribbon, I don't like
any color about you except your hair and eyes. I wish you would take it
off."
"Mr. Jerrold may think differently. I am dressed for him, and as I like
it I mean to wear it," Bessie answered, curtly, but with a bright smile,
as she looked into Neil's face.
"Oh, well; _chacun a son gout_," he said, consulting his watch, and
adding: "It is time I was starting for the station; the train is due in
fifteen minutes."
When he was gone Bessie began to feel a little nervous with regard to
the stranger coming among them. Hitherto she had thought only of the
extra expense and the trouble he would give old Dorothy, whose feet and
ankles were badly swollen and paining her so much.
"I may have to cook and serve the Christmas dinner myself," she said,
"and I don't mind the work; only I do not want this American from
Boston, where the women are so full of brains, to think me a mere
dishwasher and chimney-sweep. I wonder if he is half as nice as Neil
says he is, and if I shall like him. Of course I sha'n't, but I shall
treat him well for Neil's sake, and be so glad when he has gone."
Then she proceeded to lay the table for supper, as they usually dined in
the middle of the day. Dorothy's feet were more active then, and Archie
preferred an early dinner. Everything was in readiness at last; the
bread and the butter and the jam, with cold chicken and ham, and the
kettle singing on the hearth; the curtains drawn and the bright fire
making shadows on the wall and falling upon the young girl, who, as her
ear caught the sound of footsteps without, ran to the window, and
parting the heavy curtains, looked out into the darkness so that the
first glimpse Grey Jerrold had of her was of her fair, eager face framed
in waves of golden brown hair, and pressed against the window pane in
the vain effort to see the dreaded American.