Hopes and Fears or, scenes from the life of a spinster

‘From superstition to rationalism.’

‘Yes; overdoing articles of faith and observances, while the mind and conscience are young and tender, brings a dangerous reaction when liberty and independent reflection begin.’

‘But, Owen, I may have overdone observances, yet I did not teach superstitions,’ said Honor.

‘Not consciously,’ said Owen.  ‘You meant to teach me dogmatically only what you absolutely believed yourself.  But you did not know how boundless is a child’s readiness to accept what comes as from a spiritual authority, or you would have drawn the line more strongly between doctrine and opinion, fact and allegory, the true and the edifying.’

‘In effect, I treated you as the Romish Church began by doing to the populace.’

‘Exactly so.  Like the mediæval populace, I took legend for fact; and like the modern populace, doubted of the whole together, instead of sifting.  There is my confession, Honor dear.  I know you are happier for hearing it in full; but remember, my errors are not chargeable upon you.  If I had ever been true towards myself or you, and acted out what I thought I felt, I should have had the personal experience that would have protected the truth when the pretty superstructure began to pass away.’

‘What you have undertaken now is an acting out!’

‘I hope it is.  Therefore it is the first time that I have ever trusted myself to be in earnest.  And after all, Honor, though it is a terrible past to look back on, it is so very pleasant to be coming home, and to realize mercy and pardon, and hopes of doing better, that I can’t feel half the broken-down sorrow that perhaps ought to be mine.  It won’t stay with me, when I have you before me.’

Honor could not be uneasy.  She was far too glad at heart for that.  The repentance was proving itself true by its fruits, and who could be anxious because the gladness of forgiveness overpowered the pain of contrition?

Her inordinate affection had made her blind and credulous where her favourite was concerned, so as to lead to his seeming ruin, yet when the idol throne was overturned, she had learnt to find sufficiency in her Maker, and to do offices of love without excess.  Then after her time of loneliness, the very darling of her heart had been restored, when it was safe for her to have him once more; but so changed that he himself guarded against any recurrence to the old exclusive worship.

CHAPTER XXXIII

But the pine woods waved,And the white streams raved;They told me in my need,That softness and feelingWere not soul-healing;And so it was decreed—That the marvellous flowers of woman’s dutyShould grow on the grave of buried beauty.—Faber

Easter was at hand, and immediately after it Mr. Currie was to return to Canada to superintend the formation of the Grand Ottawa and Superior line.  He and his assistants were hard at work on the specifications, when a heavy tap and tramp came up the stairs, and Owen Sandbrook stood before them, leaning on his crutch, and was greeted with joyful congratulations on being on his legs again.

‘Randolf,’ he said, hastily, ‘Miss Charlecote is waiting in the carriage to speak to you.  Give me your pen.’

‘I shall be back in an instant.’

‘Time will show.  Where are you?—“such sleepers to be—” I see.  Down with you.’

‘Yes; never mind hurrying back,’ said the engineer; ‘we can get this done without you’—and as the door closed—‘and a good deal beside.  I hear you have put it in train.’

‘I have every reason to hope so.  Does he guess?’

‘Not a whit, as far as I can tell.  He has been working hard, and improving himself in his leisure.  He would have made a first-rate engineer.  It is really hard to be robbed of two such assistants one after the other.’

Meanwhile Honor had spent those few moments in trepidation.  She had brought herself to it at last!  The lurking sense of injustice had persuaded her that it was crossing her conscience to withhold the recognition of her heir, so soon as she had received full evidence of his claims and his worthiness.  Though she had the power, she felt that she had not the right to dispose of her property otherwise; and such being the case, it was a duty to make him aware of his prospects, and offer him such a course as should best enable him to take his future place in the county.  Still it was a severe struggle.  Even with her sense of insufficiency, it was hard to resign any part of the power that she had so long exercised; she felt that it was a risk to put her happiness into unknown hands, and perhaps because she had had this young man well-nigh thrust on her, and had heard him so much lauded, she almost felt antagonistic to him as rival of Owen, and could have been glad if any cause for repudiating him would have arisen.  Even the favour that he had met with in Phœbe’s eyes was no recommendation.  She was still sore at Phœbe’s want of confidence in her; she took Mervyn’s view of his presumption, and moreover it was another prize borne off from Owen.  Poor dear Honor, she never made a greater sacrifice to principle than when she sent her William off to Normandy to summon her Edgar Atheling.

She did not imagine that she had it in her to have hated any one so much.

Yet, somehow, when the bright, open face appeared, it had the kindred, familiar air, and the look of eagerness so visibly fell at the sight of her alone in the carriage, that she could not defend herself from a certain amusement and interest, while she graciously desired him to get in, and drive with her round the Park, since she had something to tell him that could not be said in a hurry.  Then as he looked up in inquiry, suspecting, perhaps, that she had heard of his engagement, she rushed at once to the point.

‘I believe you know,’ she said, ‘that I have no nearer relation than yourself?’

‘Not Sandbrook?’ he asked, in surprise.

‘He is on my mother’s side.  I speak of my own family.  When the Holt came to me, it was as a trust for my lifetime to do my best for it, and to find out to whom afterwards it should belong.  I was told that the direct heir was probably in America.  Owen Sandbrook has convinced me that you are that person.’

‘Thank you,’ began young Randolf, somewhat embarrassed; ‘but I hope that this will make little difference to me for many years!’

Did he underrate the Holt, the wretch, or was it civility?  She spoke a little severely.  ‘It is not a considerable property, but it gives a certain position, and it should make a difference to you to know what your prospects are.’

The colour flushed into his cheeks as he said, ‘True!  It may have a considerable effect in my favour.  Thank you for telling me;’ and then paused, as though considering whether to volunteer more, but as yet her manner was not encouraging, but had all the dryness of effort.

‘I have another reason for speaking,’ she continued.  ‘It is due to you to warn you that the estate wants looking after.  I am unequal to the requirements of modern agriculture, and my faithful old bailiff, who was left to me by my dear cousin, is past his work.  Neither the land nor the people are receiving full justice.’

‘Surely Sandbrook could find a trustworthy steward,’ returned the young man.

‘Nay, had you not better, according to his suggestion, come and live on the estate yourself, and undertake the management, with an allowance in proportion to your position as the heir?’

Her heart beat high with the crisis, and she saw his colour deepen from scarlet to crimson as he said, ‘My engagement with Mr. Currie—’

‘Mr. Currie knows the state of things.  Owen Sandbrook has been in communication with him, and he does not expect to take you back with him, unless you prefer the variety and enterprise of your profession to becoming a country gentleman of moderate means.’  She almost hoped that he would, as she named the rental and the proposed allowance, adding, ‘The estate must eventually come to you, but it is for you to consider whether it may not be better worth having if, in the interim, it be under your superintendence.’

He had had time to grow more familiar with the idea, and spoke readily and frankly.  ‘Indeed, Miss Charlecote, I need no inducement.  It is the life I should prefer beyond all others, and I can only hope to do my duty by you, and whatever you may think fit to intrust to me.’  And, almost against her will, the straightforward honesty of his look brought back to her the countenance where she had always sought for help.

‘Then your past misfortunes have not given you a distaste to farming?’

‘They did not come from farming, but speculation.  I was brought up to farm work, and am more at home in it than in anything else, so that I hope I could be useful to you.’

She was silent.  Oh, no; she had not the satisfaction of being displeased.  He was ready enough, but not grasping; and she found herself seeing more of the Charlecote in him, and liking him better than she was ready to grant.

‘Miss Charlecote,’ he said after a few moments’ thought, ‘in the relations you are establishing between us, it is right that you should know the full extent of the benefits you are conferring.’

It was true, then?  Well, it was better than a New World lady, and Honora contrived to look pleasantly expectant.

‘I know it was very presumptuous,’ he said; ‘but I could not help making my feelings known to one who is very dear to you—Miss Fulmort.’

‘Indeed she is,’ said Honor; though maybe poor Phœbe had of late been a shade less dear to her.

‘And with your consent,’ said be, perhaps a little disconcerted by her want of warmth, ‘I hope this kindness of yours may abridge the term of waiting to which we looked forward.’

‘What were you waiting for?’

‘Until such time as I could provide a home to which she could take her sister Maria.  So you see what you have done for us.’

‘Maria!’

‘Yes.  She promised her mother, on her death-bed, that Maria should be her charge, and no one could wish her to lay it aside.’

‘And the family are aware of the attachment?’

‘The brothers are, and have been kinder than I dared to expect.  It was thought better to tell no one else until we could see our way; but you have a right to know now, and I have the more hope that you will find comfort in the arrangement, since I know how warmly and gratefully she feels towards you.  I may tell her?’ he added, with a good deal of affirmation in his question.

‘What would you do if I told you not?’ she asked, thawing for the first time out of her set speeches.

‘I should feel very guilty and uncomfortable in writing.’

‘Then come home with me to-morrow, and let us talk it over,’ she said, acting on a mandate of Owen’s which she had strenuously refused to promise to obey.  ‘You may leave your work in Owen’s hands.  He wants to stay a few days in town, to arrange his plans, and, I do believe, to have the pleasure of independence; but he will come back on Saturday, and we will spend Easter together.’

‘Miss Charlecote,’ said Humfrey, suddenly, ‘I have no right to ask, but I cannot but fear that my having turned up is an injury to Sandbrook.’

‘I can only tell you that he has been exceedingly anxious for the recognition of your rights.’

‘I understand now!’ exclaimed Humfrey, turning towards her quickly; ‘he betrayed it when his mind was astray.  I am thrusting him out of what would have been his!’

‘It cannot be helped,’ began Honor; ‘he never expected—’

‘I can say nothing against it,’ said the young man, with much emotion.  ‘It is too generous to be talked of, and these are not matters of choice, but duty; but is it not possible to make some compensation?’

‘I have done my best to lay up for those children,’ said Honor; ‘but his sister will need her full half, and my City property has other claimants.  I own I should be glad to secure that, after me, he should not be entirely dependent upon health which, I fear, will never be sound again.’

‘I know you would be happier in arranging it yourself, though he has every claim on my gratitude.  Could not the estate be charged with an annuity to him?’

‘Thank you!’ said Honor, warmly.  ‘Such a provision will suit him best.  I see that London is his element; indeed, he is so much incapacitated for a country life that the estate would have been a burthen to him, could he have rightly inherited it.  He is bent on self-maintenance; and all I wish is, that when I am gone, he should have sonething to fall back upon.’

‘I do not think that I can thank you more heartily for any of your benefits than for making me a party to this!’ he warmly said.  ‘But there is no thanking you; I must try to do so by deeds.’

She was forced to allow that her Atheling was winning upon her!

‘Two points I liked,’ she said to Robert, who spent the evening with her, while Owen was dining with Mr. Currie—‘one that he accepted the Holt as a charge, not a gift—the other that he never professed to be marrying for my sake.’

‘Yes, he is as true as Phœbe,’ said Robert.  ‘Both have real power of truth from never deceiving themselves.  They perfectly suit one another.’

‘High praise from you, Robin.  Yet how could you forgive his declaration from so unequal a position?’

‘I thought it part of his consistently honest dealing.  Had she been a mere child, knowing nothing of the world, and subject to parents, it might have been otherwise; but independent and formed as she is, it was but just to avow his sentiments, and give her the choice of waiting.’

‘In spite of the obloquy of a poor man paying court to wealth?’

‘I fancy he was too single-minded for that idea, and that it was not wealth which he courted was proved by his rejection of Mervyn’s offer.  Do you know, I think his refusal will do Mervyn a great deal of good.  He is very restless to find out the remaining objections to his management, and Randolf will have more influence with him than I ever could, while he considers parsons as a peculiar species.’

‘If people would only believe the good of not compromising!’

‘They must often wait a good while to see the good!’

‘But, oh! the fruit is worth waiting for!  Robin,’ she added, after a pause, ‘you have been in correspondence with my boy.’

‘Yes,’ said Robert; ‘and there, indeed, you may be satisfied.  The seed you sowed in the morning is bearing its increase!’

‘I sowed!  Ah, Robert! what I sowed was a false crop, that had almost caused the good seed to be rooted up together with it!’

‘Not altogether, said Robert.  ‘If you made any mistakes that led to a confusion of real and unreal in his mind, still, the real good you did to him is incalculable.’

‘So he tells me, dear boy!  But when I think what he was as a child, and what he has been as a youth, I cannot but charge it on myself.’

‘Then think what he is, and will be, I trust, as a man,’ said Robert.  ‘Even at the worst, the higher, purer standard that had been impressed on him saved him from lower depths; and when “he came to himself,” it was not as if he had neither known his Father’s house nor the way to it.  Oh, Miss Charlecote! you must not come to me to assure you that your training of him was in vain!  I, who am always feeling the difference between trying to pull him and poor Mervyn upwards!  There may be more excuse for Mervyn, but Owen knows where he is going, and springs towards it; while Mervyn wonders at himself at every stage, and always fancies the next some delusion of my strait-laced imagination.’

‘Ah! once I spurned, and afterwards grieved over, the saying that very religious little boys either die or belie their promise.’

‘There is some truth in it,’ said Robert.  ‘Precocious piety is so beautiful that it is apt to be fostered so as to make it insensibly imitative and unreal, or depend upon some individual personal influence; and there is a certain reaction at one stage of growth against what has been overworked.’

‘Then what could you do with such a child as my Owen if it were all to come over again?  His aspirations were often so beautiful that I could not but reverence them greatly; and I cannot now believe that they were prompted by aught but innocence and baptismal grace!’

‘Looking back,’ said Robert, ‘I believe they were genuine, and came from his heart.  No; such a devotional turn should be treated with deep reverence and tenderness; but the expression had better be almost repressed, and the test of conduct enforced, though without loading the conscience with details not of general application, and sometimes impracticable under other circumstances.’

‘It is the practicalness of dear Owen’s reformation that makes it so thoroughly satisfactory,’ said Honora; ‘though I must say that I dread the experiment.  You will look after him, for this week, Robert; I fear he is overdoing himself in his delight at moving about and working again.’

‘I will see how he gets on.  It will be a good essay for the future.’

‘I cannot think how he is ever to bear living with Mrs. Murrell.’

‘She is a good deal broken and subdued, and is more easily repressed than one imagines at her first onset.  Besides, she is very proud, and rather afraid, of him, and will not molest him much.  Indeed, it is a good arrangement for him; he ought to have care above that of the average landlady.’

‘Will he get it?’

‘I trust so.  She has the ways of a respectable servant; and her religious principle is real, though we do not much admire its manifestation.  She will be honest and careful of his wants, and look after his child, and nurse him tenderly if he require it!’

‘As if any one but myself would do that!  But it is right, and he will be all the better and happier for accepting his duty to her while she lives, if he can bear it.’

‘As he says, it is his only expiation.’

‘Well! I should not wonder if you saw more of me here than hitherto.  A born Cockney like me gets inclined to the haunts of men as she grows old, and if your sisters and Charlecote Raymond suffice for the parish, I shall be glad to be out of sight of the improvements he will make.’

‘Not without your consent?’

‘I shall have to consent in my conscience to what I hate in my heart.’

‘I am not the man to argue you away from here,’ said Robert, eagerly.  ‘If you would take up the Young Women’s Association, it would be the only thing to make up for the loss of Miss Fennimore.  Then the St. Wulstan’s Asylum wants a lady visitor.’

‘My father’s foundation, whence his successor ousted me, in a general sweep of troublesome ladies,’ said Honor.  ‘How sore I was, and how things come round.’

‘We’ll find work for you,’ cried Robert, highly exhilarated.  ‘I should like to make out that we can’t do without you.’

‘Why, Robin, you of all men taking to compliments!’

‘It is out of self-interest.  Nothing makes so much difference to me as having this house inhabited.’

‘Indeed,’ she said, highly gratified; ‘I thought you wanted nothing but St. Matthew’s.’

‘Nay,’ said Robert, as a bright colour came over his usually set and impassive countenance.  ‘You do not want me to say what you have always been to me, and how better things have been fostered by your presence, ever since the day you let me out of Hiltonbury Church.  I have often since thought it was no vain imagination that you were a good spirit sent to my rescue by Mr. Charlecote.’

‘Poor Robin,’ said Honor, her lip quivering; ‘it was less what I gave than what you gathered up.  I barely tolerated you.’

‘Which served me right,’ said Robert, ‘and made me respect you.  There are so few to blame me now that I need you all the more.  I can hardly cede to Owen the privilege of being your only son.’

‘You are my autumn-singing Robin,’ said Honor, too true to let him think that he could stand beside Owen in her affections, but with intense pleasure at such unwonted warmth from one so stern and reserved; it was as if he was investing her with some of the tenderness that the loss of Lucilla had left vacant, and bestowing on her the confidences to which new relations might render Phœbe less open.  It was no slight preferment to be Robert Fulmort’s motherly friend; and far beyond her as he had soared, she might still be the softening element in his life, as once she had been the ennobling one.  If she had formed Robert, or even given one impulse such as to lead to his becoming what he was, the old maid had not lived in vain.

She was not selfish enough to be grieved at Owen’s ecstasy in emancipation; and trusting to being near enough to watch over him without being in his way, she could enjoy his overflowing spirits, and detect almost a jocund sound in the thump of his crutch across the hall, as he hurried in, elated with hopes of the success of his invention, eager about the Canadian railway, delighted with the society of his congeners, and pouring out on her all sorts of information that she could not understand.  The certainty that her decision was for his happiness ought surely to reconcile her to carrying home his rival in his stead.

Going down by an early train, she resolved, by Robert’s advice, to visit Beauchamp at once, and give Mervyn a distinct explanation of her intentions.  He was tardy in taking them in, then exclaimed—‘Phœbe’s teetotaller!  Well, he is a sharp fellow!  The luck that some men have!’

‘Dear Phœbe,’ cried Cecily, ‘I am so thankful that she is spared a long attachment.  It was telling on her already!’

‘Oh, we should have put a stop to the affair if he had gone out to Canada,’ roundly asserted Mervyn; ‘but of course he knew better—’

‘Not at all—this was quite a surprise.’

Mervyn recollected in time that it was best that Miss Charlecote should so imagine, and reserved for his wife’s private ear his conviction that the young fellow had had this hope in his eye when refusing the partnership.  Such smartness and foresight commanded his respect as a man of the world, though maybe the women would not understand it.  For Phœbe’s interest, he must encourage the lady in her excellent intentions.

‘It is very handsome in you, Miss Charlecote—very handsome—and I am perfectly unprejudiced in assuring you that you have done the very best thing for yourself.  Phœbe is a good girl, and devoted to you already.’

‘Indeed she is,’ said Cecily.  ‘She looks up to you so much!’

Somehow Honor did not want Mrs. Fulmort to assure her of this.

‘And as to the place,’ continued Mervyn, ‘you could not put it into better hands to get your people out of their Old World ways.  A young man like that, used to farming, and with steam and mechanics at his fingers’ ends, will make us all look about us.’

‘Perhaps,’ murmured poor Honor, with quailing heart.

‘John Raymond and I were looking about the Holt the other day,’ said Mervyn, ‘and agreeing how much more could be made of it.  Clear away some of those hedgerows—grub up a bit of copse or two—try chemical manures—drain that terrible old marsh beyond the plantation—and have up a good engine-house where you have those old ramshackle buildings at the Home Farm!  Why, the place will bring in as much again, and you’ve hit on the very man to carry it out.  He shall try all the experiments before I adopt them.’

Honora felt as if she must flee!  If she were to hear any more she should be ready to banish young Randolf to Canada, were he ten times her heir.  Had she lived to hear Humfrey’s new barn, with the verge boards conceded to her taste, called ramshackle?  And she had given her word!

As she left Beauchamp, and looked at her scraggy pine-trees cresting the hill, she felt as though they were her own no longer, and as if she had given them up to an enemy.  She assured herself that nothing could be done without her free-will, and considered of the limitations that must be imposed on this frightful reformer, but her heart grew sick at the conviction that either she would have to yield, or be regarded as a mere incubus and obstruction.

With almost a passionate sense of defence of Humfrey’s trees, and Humfrey’s barns, she undid the gate of the fir plantations—his special favourites.  The bright April sun shed clear gleams athwart the russet boles of the trees, candied by their white gum, the shadows were sharply defined, and darkened by the dense silvered green canopy, relieved by fresh light young shoots, culminating in white powdery clusters, or little soft crimson conelets, all redolent of fresh resinous fragrance.  The wind whispered like the sound of ocean in the summit of the trees, and a nightingale was singing gloriously in the distance.  All recalled Humfrey, and the day, thirty years back, when she had given him such sore pain, in those very woods, grasping the shadow instead of the substance, and taking the sunshine out of his life as well as from her own.  Never had she felt such a pang in thinking of that day, or in the vain imagination of how it might have been!