‘FOR SELF ALONE.’
‘I would cut off my own head if it had nothing
in it than wit; and tear out my own heart if
it had no better disposition than to love only
myself.’--_Pope_.
Mrs Barrington returned home as cross as she could be. In the first
place, the absence of the warm weather and the moonlit balcony, which
would certainly have brought Mr Wilson to the point, had considerably
put her out; and then, as if to add fuel to the flame, Lady Wilson
had insisted upon sending her husband, Sir Thomas, to see her down to
her carriage on coming away, whilst she kept her son Henry dancing
attendance on some old women upstairs. And thus Mrs Barrington had
missed saying the last few tender words to him, which would have
kept the flame alight in his youthful breast until they met again.
And, instead of having made an appointment, he would probably come
blundering in to-morrow, just at the wrong moment, and catch her
_tête-à-tête_ with that child, Fenella, who was the last person in
the world she wished him to see. Altogether, it was enough to provoke
a saint, and Mrs Barrington, not having reached that climax of
perfection, was very much provoked indeed. As she commenced to undress,
and scattered her jewellery and her false curls and her flowers to
every side of her, Eliza Bennett saw that she was in for a very hot
discussion. And as soon as Mrs Barrington was in her dressing-gown, and
the servant began to brush her hair, it commenced.
‘Bennett!’ she ejaculated, without further preface, ‘I never thought
you could be such a fool.’
‘Indeed--indeed, ma’am, as I told you before, it is not my fault.’
‘Where is that child? What have you done with her?’
‘She is asleep, ma’am--in the little bed in my room.’
‘You are sure that she is asleep, that she won’t hear us talking and
come down in the middle and interrupt our conversation, or overhear it?’
‘Quite sure, ma’am--she’s been fast asleep ever since nine o’clock.
I’ve been up several times, but she never stirred. She’s just worn out,
and no mistake.’
‘I daresay she is, and the sounder she sleeps the better. Look here,
Bennett, we’ve never had any secrets from each other, and I must speak
plainly to you. Fenella’s coming home just now will be my ruin.’
‘I was afraid you might think so, ma’am, but I hope it won’t turn out
as bad as that.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish! What should you know about it? I tell you it
will. I have always spoken of her to the Wilsons as a very little
girl--naturally--and I believe if Lady Wilson were to see her looking
such a woman, she would use her as an argument against her son marrying
me. And she isn’t too well disposed towards the idea as it is.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. I always thought her ladyship such a
friend of yours.’
‘Oh, a friend--yes! like most women are to each other--the jealous
cats! A friend so long as I can be of use to her, or make myself
agreeable, but just the reverse directly I interfere with her views for
her idiot of a son. But I mean to marry him, Bennett, for all that,
unless something much better comes in the way.’
‘If you mean to do it, ma’am, you will,’ replied the servant. ‘I should
think there was very few things you couldn’t do if you choose.’
And her mistress’s power over herself was so absolute that Bennett
really believed what she said.
‘Well, I’m not so sure of that,’ said Mrs Barrington, ‘but at any rate
I mean to try. But I shall never succeed if Fenella’s in the way.
Her presence would spoil everything. Very few men would care to find
themselves fathers--ready-made--to a girl like that.
‘And yet she’s a very handsome young lady,’ mused the servant.
‘Oh, it isn’t a question of her looks,’ rejoined her mistress,
fretfully, ‘she’ll be well enough by-and-by, I daresay. I don’t see
(considering she’s my daughter) how she can fail to be, but she’s
so tall and womanly for her age. No one would believe she was only
sixteen. Besides which, Bennett,’ continued Mrs Barrington in a more
confidential voice, ‘I am not sure how Miss Fenella and I would get on
together. Those old nuns do put such queer ideas in girls’ heads; she’s
most likely full of fads about churches and prayers, and the wickedness
of pleasure, and so forth, and I couldn’t stand a walking sermon about
the house. She’d be as bad as a death’s-head and cross-bones to me.’
‘But the reverend mother said that Miss Fenella had no particular
religion, ma’am; that she was neither a Protestant nor a Roman
Catholic, so I don’t suppose she troubles herself much on such matters.’
‘All the better, Bennett; I am sure it never does one any good.
You remember how the poor captain used to fuss and fidget me about
religion, and I’m sure he didn’t die any the happier for it himself.’
Eliza Bennett had her own opinion on this subject, but she did not dare
to express it before Mrs Barrington.
‘But, putting religion on one side,’ continued the lady, ‘I could not
have Fenella with me at present. She is just the sort of girl to think
a little rouge and powder an iniquity, and to tell the first person who
came into the house that I dyed my hair. And there are some things in
this world, you know, Bennett, that we _cannot_ speak about.’
‘Oh, certainly, ma’am--without doubt, and Miss Fenella is, as you say,
very childlike in such matters. She asked me this morning why people
went into a church to get married.’
‘Now just fancy a girl of sixteen being such a fool. And that’s the
sort of person people would expect me to drag over the world with me.
But I can’t do it, Bennett, and I won’t. My mind is made up on that
score. I must get rid of her, at all events till I return to London,
and the question is “How?”’
‘I suppose her aunts, the captain’s sisters, wouldn’t have her on a
visit for a bit, ma’am,’ suggested Bennett.
‘Good gracious me, no! I’ve been afraid to tell them the girl was at a
convent; they would have declared I wanted her to be a Roman Catholic.
As if I cared what she was. She might turn Mahommedan to-morrow, if
it pleased her and she didn’t interfere with my plans. But the Miss
Barringtons would be more troublesome than herself. They are a couple
of fussy old maids, who would have the whole story from her in an hour,
and then proclaim it to the world. Oh no, Bennett, whatever happens,
Fenella’s aunts must not hear she has returned to England.’
‘Could you put her in another school, ma’am, for a spell? Perhaps we
might find one by the sea-side, where Miss Fenella’s health would be
looked after, for I’m afraid she’s not over strong.’
‘There again, Bennett! the provoking part of it is, I am so terribly
hard up. I haven’t more than enough money to take me to Mentone,
and there are a dozen things I ought to pay first--your wages, for
instance. I think I owe you for nearly a year.’
‘Oh, don’t give another thought to my wages, dear mistress,’ cried
Eliza Bennett. ‘I can do without them very well, even if I never see
them at all. Think only of yourself, ma’am, and what’s the best thing
to be done with poor Miss Fenella.’
‘You’re a good creature, Eliza,’ replied Mrs Barrington; ‘really you
are; and I don’t know what I should do without you. However, you
sha’n’t lose by it, and of that you may rest assured, only do your best
to help me out of this dilemma. You know I’ve more than one string to
my bow, and if Mr Wilson proves to be no good, I shall turn my thoughts
to Colonel Ellerton. He is not so rich as Mr Wilson will be, but what
he has is his own, and he is not dependent on the caprices of his
mother.’
‘And he need not be ashamed of having Miss Fenella as a daughter,
ma’am,’ interposed Bennett, ‘for he is old enough to be her
grandfather.’
‘I am not sure that a man’s age makes him less particular on such
points,’ said Mrs Barrington, ‘and at any rate I should prefer
even Colonel Ellerton not seeing her whilst matters are unsettled
between us. But there is no chance of that, as he is abroad. See how
conveniently things had arranged themselves for me, Bennett. Colonel
Ellerton has been passing the winter in Mentone, the very place to
which I am going with the Wilsons, so that if one man fails me, I
have only to take up with the other, for the colonel has been my most
devoted admirer for years.’
‘I know that, ma’am, but then who isn’t?’ murmured Eliza Bennett.
‘And then this stupid girl is thrown back upon my hands to spoil it
all. But I cannot allow it. Her interests, as well as my own, demand
that I make some sacrifice in the matter, and however much I might wish
to keep her with me, she must stay behind. I have neither the money
nor the power to take her abroad.’
‘What can we do with her?’ questioned the servant with knitted brows.
‘I have thought of a plan, Bennett! It will entail enormous
inconvenience on me, but some one must suffer in the matter. I must
part with you for awhile, and you must take Fenella to your own home in
the country, until I can have you both back again.’
The first thought that struck Eliza Bennett on this announcement, was
horror at the idea of separating from her mistress.
‘Oh, don’t send me from you, ma’am!’ she exclaimed, as she stood behind
Mrs Barrington’s back with the uplifted brush in her hand; ‘what on
earth would you do without me? Who is to brush your hair and keep it a
nice colour, and to alter your dresses and mend your linen? Who will
wait on you and see you have all your little comforts around you?
You’ll never get on without me, ma’am, who have served you for so many
years, and as for myself,’ continued Bennett, in a faltering voice,
‘why, the last two days have been bad enough, and what I should do
missing you for weeks, I’m sure I can’t tell.’
‘Well, I know it will be hard, Eliza, awfully hard, you don’t suppose
I don’t feel it,’ returned Mrs Barrington; ‘but what on earth are we
to do? They won’t keep the girl at school, and I can’t take her with
me, and I can’t leave her here, and I don’t know a soul to send her
to. Now, with you and your people she will be safe, and I think I have
heard you say you come from some place by the sea.’
‘Yes, ma’am, from Ines-cedwyn in Wales, and my brother’s farm isn’t a
stone’s-throw from the water; but it isn’t a place for a lady to lodge
in, ma’am. They’re only poor folk when all’s said and done, and I doubt
if they have a bedroom that’s fit to put Miss Fenella in.’
‘Nonsense, Bennett! any place will do that contains a bed to lie on.
Do you suppose she has been accustomed to luxury at the convent? Why,
they bring them all up as hardy as can be. The only question is, what
your brother would expect for keeping the child and you, and whether he
would want to have the money down, or consent to wait for it?’
‘Oh, don’t think twice about the money, ma’am! My brother Benjamin is
my only living relation, and he’ll be but too glad to see me in the
old house again for a few weeks. And Miss Fenella’s bit and sup won’t
make them nor break them, and they’ll be willing enough to bide your
own time for the payment. But what I’m thinking of, ma’am, is yourself.
What will you do without me?’
‘I _must_ do without you,’ replied Mrs Barrington, with the air of a
martyr. ‘A mother is constantly called on to give up something or other
for her child, and I must give up you. Perhaps Lady Wilson’s maid will
help me a little, when I tell her the necessity of the case. I shall
say the doctors forbid my taking Fenella abroad, and ordered her into
Wales for change, so I was compelled to leave you to take charge of
her. That will be a plausible story, which no one can find fault with.’
‘Miss Fenella at my brother Benjamin’s at Ines-cedwyn,’ said Bennett,
in an incredulous voice; ‘I can hardly believe it will come true. You
mustn’t deceive yourself, ma’am. We call it a farm, but it’s a poor
place--no better than many a labourer’s cottage--and from what I hear,
my brother hasn’t been doing very well of late years. His wife Martha
is a thrifty body enough, and will do all she can to oblige; but it
will be coarse food and living I’m afraid for the young lady, and she
won’t have a soul to speak to but myself.’
‘Who else should she want?’ demanded her mistress rather snappishly;
‘you’re making a ridiculous fuss over the matter, it strikes me,
Bennett. The child can take down her books if she likes and go on with
her lessons, but I think she had much better spend all her time in the
open air. Don’t forget she goes there for her health, Bennett, and let
her be on the beach all day long. As she wants change, let her have it.
It would add to all my other troubles to have a long doctor’s bill for
her attendance.’
‘If Miss Fenella goes with me to Ines-cedwyn, ma’am, I’ll do all I can
to make her strong; you may depend on that,’ replied Bennett. ‘It’s
a fine bracing place, and so lonely that you can bathe off the beach
without a machine, and the young lady will be able to roam about just
as she pleases. No harm will come to her there.’
‘That’s just what I want for her,’ said Mrs Barrington, with a sigh
of relief. ‘Take her where she’ll grow strong, and no one will see
her. And then when I’ve settled my own matters, I’ll have her home
and introduce her into society. She ought to marry well, by-and-by,
Bennett! and so she will if I marry well myself. But, under present
circumstances, I have no inclination to take her about with me.’
‘And I don’t think she’d care for it if you did, ma’am. Miss Fenella
don’t seem to me like a young lady as would care much for balls and
parties.’
‘Ah! dreamy and romantic, I suppose, like her poor father. The worst
disposition, Bennett, with which a woman can enter the world. It blinds
her to her own interests, and makes her go gaping like a fool, after
some impossibility which she never attains. I thought her voice sounded
rather sentimental, and I hate girls who are always ready to cry. You
must try and knock that out of her when you are down at Ines-cedwyn.
Talk to her sensibly about money, and the impossibility of living in
this world without it, and I daresay you will do her a deal of good.
She ought to have some sense on the subject, since she is my daughter.’
‘I am afraid those nuns have learned her very little that is useful,’
replied Bennett, shaking her head as she remembered the episode of the
morning. ‘Miss Fenella is as much of a child for her age as ever I see!’
‘Well, we mustn’t be too hard upon her,’ said the mother
sweetly--having gained her point she felt uncommonly sweet again;
‘perhaps she inherits that from me too. Poor Captain Barrington always
said I was the greatest child he knew, and Lady Wilson really said
this evening--and you know how cruel women generally are about each
other--that she could not believe I was more than thirty.’
‘You didn’t undeceive her, I hope, ma’am?’
‘Oh no! I didn’t say anything one way or another. I wouldn’t tell a
falsehood, you know, for the world. I only remarked I hoped it would
be a long time before I looked as much--but trouble was a terrible
thing to age women. I really think Lady Wilson likes me, Bennett. She
kissed me twice this evening.’
‘I am sure she does, ma’am--in fact, she must. Who can help it? But
with respect to Miss Fenella. I suppose you’ll break the news of her
going to Ines-cedwyn to her?’
‘I don’t suppose there’ll be anything to break, Bennett. She ought to
be very pleased to go. It’s just the place to suit a young girl. I
shall tell her the doctor has ordered it, and there is no gainsaying
his opinion. And now I think we had better go to bed. It is past three,
I declare; and all the packing must be done to-morrow.’
‘Will Miss Fenella and I start before yourself, ma’am?’
‘I think not. There is no need for me to part with you before I am
absolutely obliged. And now tuck me up like a good woman and leave me
to sleep. I’m as tired as I can be.’
The woman arranged her mistress in bed as carefully as though she had
been an infant; covering her lightly with the laced counterpane, and
drawing the curtains round her head. Then she stooped and kissed the
slender fingers that lay outside the bed-clothes. Mrs Barrington felt
the silent homage, and lifting her hand patted Eliza Bennett’s face
condescendingly.
‘You’re a good creature,’ she murmured sleepily; ‘a very good creature.
I don’t know what I should do without you,’ and the servant’s heart
thrilled as she felt the touch and heard the words, and she crept away
with the glamour of her mistress’s spirit stronger upon her than ever.
[Illustration: Decorative]
[Illustration: Decorative]