_IN MINSTER COURT_.
Mr. Fairfax did not withdraw his consent to Elizabeth's staying in
Norminster with her uncle Laurence, and on Monday afternoon she and Mrs.
Betts were transferred from Brentwood to Minster Court. On the first
evening Mr. John Short dined there, but no one else. He made Miss
Fairfax happy by talking of the Forest, which he had revisited more than
once since the famous first occasion. After dinner the two gentlemen
remained together a long while, and Bessie amused herself alone in the
study. She cast many a look towards the toy-cupboard, and was strongly
tempted to peep, but did not; and in the morning her virtue had its
reward. It was a little after eleven o'clock when Burrage threw open the
door of the study where she was sitting with her uncle and announced
"The dear children, sir," in a matter-of-fact tone, as if they were
daily visitors.
Bessie's back was to the door. She blushed and turned round with
brightened eyes, and there, behold! was that sweet little boy in a blue
poplin tunic, and a second little boy, a year smaller, in a white
embroidered frock and scarlet sash! The voice of the incompetent Sally
was heard in final exhortation, "Now, mind you be good, Master Justus!"
and Master Justus ran straight to the philosopher and saluted him
imperatively as "Dada!" which honorable title the other little boy
echoed in an imperfect lisp, with an eager desire to be taken up and
kissed. The desire was abundantly gratified, and then Mr. Laurence
Fairfax said, "This is Laury," and offered him to Bessie for a
repetition of the ceremonial.
Bessie could not have told why, but her eyes filled as she took him into
her lap and took off his pretty hat to see his shining curly locks.
Master Justus was already at the cupboard dragging out the toys, and her
uncle stood and looked down at her with a pleased, benevolent face. "Of
course they are my cousins?" said Bessie simply, and quite as simply he
said "Yes."
This was all the interrogatory. But games ensued in which Bessie was
brought to her knees and a seat on the carpet, and had the beautiful
propriety of her hair as sadly disarranged as in her gypsy childhood
amongst the rough Carnegie boys. Mrs. Betts put it tidy again before
luncheon, after the children were gone. Mrs. Betts had fathomed the
whole mystery, and would have been sympathetic about it had not her
young lady manifested an invincible gayety. Bessie hardly knew herself
for joy. She wanted very much to hear the romantic story that must
belong to those bonny children, but she felt that she must wait her
uncle's time to tell it. Happily for her peace, the story was not long
delayed: she learnt it that evening.
This was the scene in Mr. Laurence Fairfax's study. He was seated at
ease in his great leathern chair, and perched on his knee, with one arm
round his neck and a ripe pomegranate cheek pressed against his ear, was
that winsome little lady in blue who was to be known henceforward as the
philosopher's wife: if she had not been so exquisitely pretty it would
have seemed a liberty to take with so much learning. Opposite to them,
and grim as a monumental effigy, sat Miss Jocund, and Bessie Fairfax,
with an amazed and amused countenance, listened and looked on. The
philosopher and his wife were laughing: they loved one another, they had
two dear little boys; what could the world give them or take away in
comparison with such joys? Their secret, long suspected in various
quarters, had transpired publicly since yesterday, and Lady Angleby had
that morning appealed haughtily to Miss Jocund in her own shop to know
how it had all happened.
Miss Jocund now reported what she had answered: "I reckon, your
ladyship, that Dan Cupid is no more open in his tactics than ever he
was. All I have to tell is, that one evening, some six years ago, my
niece Rosy, who was a timid little thing, went for a walk by the river
with a school-fellow, and a hulking, rude boy gave them a fright. Mr.
Laurence Fairfax, by good luck, was in the way and brought them home,
and said to me that Rosy was much too pretty to be allowed to wander out
unprotected. When they met after he had a kind nod and a word for her,
and I've no doubt she had a shy blush for him. A philosopher is but a
man, and liable to fall in love, and that is what he did: he fell in
love with Rosy and married her. It suited all parties to keep it a
secret at first; but a secret is like a birth--when its time is full
forth it must come. Two little boys with Fairfax writ large on their
faces are bad to hide. Therefore it suits all parties now to declare the
marriage. And that is the whole story, an' it please your ladyship."
"I warrant it did not please her ladyship at all," said Mr. Laurence
Fairfax, laughing at the recital.
"No. She turned and went away in a rage; then came back to expound her
views with respect to Rosy's origin. I begged to inform her that from
time immemorial king's jesters had been of the Jocund family--an office
to the full as dignified as the office of public barber. And a barber
her ladyship's great-grandfather was, and shaved His Majesty's lieges
for a penny. Mr. Cecil Burleigh waited for her outside, and to him
immediately she of course repeated the tale. How does it come to be a
concern of his, I should be glad to know?" Nobody volunteered to gratify
her curiosity, but Mr. Laurence Fairfax could have done so, no doubt.
Mr. Cecil Burleigh had not visited Minster Court that day: was this the
reason? Bessie was not absolutely indifferent to the omission, but she
had other diversions. That night she went up stairs with the young
mother (so young that Elizabeth could not fashion to call her by her
title of kindred) to view the boys in their cots, and saw her so loving
and tender over them that she could not but reflect how dear a companion
she must be to her philosopher after his lost Xantippe. She was such a
sweet and gentle lady that, though he had chosen to marry her privately,
he could have no reluctance in producing her as his wife. He had kept
her to himself unspoilt, had much improved her in their retired life,
and as he had no intention of bringing her into rivalry with finer
ladies, the charm of her adoring simplicity was not likely to be
impaired. He had set his mind on his niece Elizabeth for her friend from
the first moment of their meeting, and except Elizabeth he did not
desire that she should find, at present, any intimate friend of her own
sex. And Elizabeth was perfectly ready to be her friend, and to care
nothing for the change in her own prospects.
"You know that my boys will make all the difference to you?" her uncle
said to her the next day, being a few minutes alone with her.
"Oh yes, I understand, and I shall be the happier in the end. Abbotsmead
will be quite another place when they come over," was her reply.
"There is my father to conciliate before they can come to Abbotsmead. He
is deeply aggrieved, and not without cause. You may help to smooth the
way to comfortable relations again, or at least to prevent a widening
breach. I count on that, because he has permitted you to come here,
though he knows that Rosy and the boys are with me. I should not have
had any right to complain had he denied us your visit."
"But I should have had a right to complain, and I should have
complained," said Bessie. "My grandfather and I are friends now, because
I have plucked up courage to assert my right to respect myself and my
friends who brought me up; otherwise we must have quarrelled soon."
Mr. Laurence Fairfax smiled: "My father can be obstinately unforgiving.
So he was to my brother Geoffry and his wife; so he may be to me, though
we have never had a disagreement."
"I could fancy that he was sometimes sorry for his unkindness to my
father. I shall not submit if he attempt to forbid me your house or the
joy of seeing my little cousins. Oh, his heart must soften to them soon.
I am glad he saw Justus, the darling!"
Bessie Fairfax had evidently no worldly ambition. All her desire was
still only to be loved. Her uncle Laurence admired her unselfishness,
and before she left his house at the week's end he had her confidence
entirely. He did not place too much reliance on her recollections of
Beechhurst as the place where she had centred her affections, for young
affections are prone to weave a fine gossamer glamour about early days
that will not bear the touch of later experience; but he was sure there
had been a blunder in bringing her into Woldshire without giving her a
pause amongst those scenes where her fond imagination dwelt, if only to
sweep it clear of illusions and make room for new actors on the stage of
her life. He said to Mr. Cecil Burleigh, with whom he had an important
conversation during her visit to Minster Court, that he did not believe
she would ever give her mind to settling amongst her north-country
kindred until she had seen again her friends in the Forest, and Mr.
Cecil Burleigh began to agree with him. Miss Burleigh did the same.
It was settled already that the recent disclosure must make no
alteration in the family compact. Mr. Cecil Burleigh interposed a firm
veto when its repeal was hinted at. Every afternoon, one excepted, he
called on Miss Fairfax to report the progress of his canvass,
accompanied by his sister, and Bessie always expressed herself glad in
his promising success. But it was with a cool cheek and candor shining
clear in her blue eyes that she saw them come and saw them go; and both
brother and sister felt this discouraging. The one fault they found in
Miss Fairfax was an absence of enthusiasm for themselves; and Bessie was
so thankful that she had overcome her perverse trick of blushing at
nothing. When she took her final leave of them before quitting Minster
Court, Mr. Cecil Burleigh said that he should probably be over at
Abbotsmead in the course of the ensuing week, and Bessie was glad as
usual, and smiled cordially, and hoped that blue would win--as if he
were thinking only of the election!
He was thinking of it, and perhaps primarily, but his interest in
herself was becoming so much warmer and more personal than it had
promised to be that it would have given him distinct pleasure to
perceive that she was conscious of it.
The report of Mr. Laurence Fairfax's private marriage had spread through
city and country, but Bessie went back to Kirkham without having heard
it discussed except by Mrs. Betts, who was already so deeply initiated
in the family secrets. That sage and experienced woman owned frankly to
her young mistress that in her judgment it was a very good thing, looked
at in the right way.
"A young lady that is a great heiress is more to be pitied than envied:
that is my opinion," said she. "If she is not made a sacrifice of in
marriage, it is a miracle. Men run after her for her money, or she
fancies they do, which comes to the same thing; and perhaps she doesn't
marry at all for suspecting nobody loves her; which is downright
foolish. Jonquil and Macky are in great spirits over what has come out,
and I don't suppose there is one neighbor to Kirkham that won't be
pleased to hear that there's grandsons, even under the rose, to carry on
the old line. Mrs. Laurence is a dear sweet lady, and the children are
handsome little fellows as ever stepped; their father may well be proud
of 'em. He has done a deal better for himself the second time than he
did the first. I dare say it was what he suffered the first time made
him choose so different the second. It is not to be wondered at that the
squire is vext, but he ought to have learnt wisdom now, and it is to be
hoped he will come round by and by. But whether or not, the deed's done,
and he cannot undo it."
Mrs. Betts's summary embodied all the common sense of the case, and left
nothing more to be said.