Frank Fairlegh

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CHAPTER XXXIV -- THE RIDDLE BAFFLES ME!

"Your riddle is hard to read."
--_Tennyson_.

'"Are you content?
I am what you behold.
And that's a mystery."
_The Two Foscari_.

THE post next morning brought a letter from Mr. Vernor to say that,
as he found the business on which he was engaged must necessitate his
crossing to Boulogne, he feared there was no chance of his being able
to return under a week, but that, if it should be inconvenient for Mrs.
Coleman to keep Miss Saville so long at Elm Lodge, he should wish her
to go back to Barstone, where, if she was in any difficulty, she could
easily apply to her late hostess for advice and assistance. On being
brought clearly (though I fear the word is scarcely applicable to the
good lady's state of mind at any time) to understand the position
of affairs, Mrs. Coleman would by no means hear of Miss Saville's
departure; but, on the contrary, made her promise to prolong her stay
till her guardian should return, which, as Freddy observed, involved the
remarkable coincidence that if Mr. Vernor should be drowned in crossing
the British Channel, she (his mother) _would have put her foot in it_.
The same post brought Freddy a summons from his father, desiring him,
the moment he returned from Bury with the papers, to proceed to town
immediately. There was nothing left for him, therefore, but to deposit
himself upon the roof of the next coach, blue bag in hand, which he
accordingly did, after having spent the intervening time in reviling
~265~~ all lawyers, clients, deeds, settlements, in fact, every
individual thing connected with the profession, excepting fees.

"Clara and I are going for a long walk, Mr. Fairlegh, and we shall be
glad of your escort, if you have no objection to accompany us, and it is
not too far for you," said Mrs. Coleman (who evidently considered me in
the last stage of a decline), trotting into the breakfast-room where
I was lounging, book in hand, over the fire, wondering what possible
pretext I could invent for joining the ladies.

"I shall be only too happy," answered I, "and I think I can contrive to
walk as far as you can, Mrs. Coleman." "Oh! I don't know that," was the
reply, "I am a capital walker, I assure you. I remember a young man,
quite as young as you, and a good deal stouter, who could not walk
nearly as far as I can; to be sure," she added as she left the room, "he
had a wooden leg, poor fellow!"

I soon received a summons to start with the ladies, whom I found
awaiting my arrival on the terrace walk at the back of the house,
comfortably wrapped up in shawls and furs, for, although a bright sun
was shining, the day was cold and frosty.

"You must allow me to carry that for you," said I, laying violent hands
on a large basket, between which and a muff Mrs. Coleman was in vain
attempting to effect an amicable arrangement.

"Oh, dear! I'm sure you'll never be able to carry it--it's so dreadfully
heavy," was the reply.

"_Nous verrons_," answered I, swinging it on my forefinger, in order to
demonstrate its lightness.

"Take care--you mustn't do so!" exclaimed Mrs. Coleman in a tone of
extreme alarm; "you'll upset all my beautiful senna tea, and it will get
amongst the slices of Christmas plum-pudding, and the flannel that I'm
going to take for poor Mrs. Muddles's children to eat; do you know Mrs.
Muddles, Clara, my dear?"

Miss Saville replied in the negative, and Mrs. Coleman continued:--

"Ah! poor thing! she's a very hard-working, respectable, excellent young
woman; she has been married three years, and has got six children--no!
let me see--it's six years, and three children--that's it--though I can
never remember whether it's most pigs or children she has--four pigs,
did I say?--but it doesn't much signify, for the youngest is a boy and
will soon be fat enough to kill--the pig I mean, and they're all very
dirty, and have never ~266~~ been taught to read, because she takes in
washing, and has put a great deal too much starch in my night-cap this
week--only her husband drinks--so I mustn't say much about it, poor
thing, for we all have our failings, you know."

[Illustration: page266 An Unexpected Reverie]

With suchlike rambling discourse did worthy Mrs. Coleman beguile the
way, until at length, after a walk of some two miles and a half, we
arrived at the cottage of that much-enduring laundress, the highly
respectable Mrs. Muddles, where, in due form, we were introduced to the
mixed race of children and pigs, between which heads clearer than that
of Mrs. Coleman might have been at a loss to distinguish; for if the
pigs did not exactly resemble children, the children most assuredly
looked like pigs. Here we seemed likely to remain for some time, as
there was much business to be transacted by the two matrons. First, Mrs.
Coleman's basket was unpacked, during which process that lady delivered
a long harangue, setting forth the rival merits of plum-pudding and
black draught, and ingeniously establishing a connexion between them,
which has rendered the former nearly as distasteful to me as the latter
ever since. Thence glancing slightly at the overstarched night-cap,
and delicately referring to the anti-teetotal propensities of the
laundress's sposo, she contrived so thoroughly to confuse and interlace
the various topics of her discourse, as to render it an open question,
whether the male Muddles had not got tipsy on black draught, in
consequence of the plum-pudding having overstarched the night-cap;
moreover, she distinctly called the latter article "poor fellow!" twice.
In reply to this, Mrs. Muddles, the skin of whose hands was crimped
up into patterns like sea-weed, from the amphibious nature of her
employment, and whose general appearance was, from the same cause, moist
and spongy, expressed much gratitude for the contents of the basket,
made a pathetic apology to the night-cap, tried to ignore the imbibing
propensity of her better half; but, when pressed home upon the point,
declared that when he was not engaged in the Circe-like operation of
"making a beast of hisself," he was one of the most virtuousest of men;
and finally wound up by a minute medical detail of Johnny's chilblain,
accompanied by a slight retrospective sketch of Mary Anne's departed
hooping-cough. How much longer the conversation might have continued,
it is impossible to say, for it was evident that neither of the speakers
had by any means exhausted her budget, had not Johnny, the unfortunate
proprietor of the chilblain above alluded to, seen fit to precipitate
himself, head-foremost, into a washing-tub ~267~~ of nearly scalding
water, whence his mamma, with great presence of mind and much
professional dexterity, extricated him, wrung him out, and set him on
the mangle to dry, where he remained sobbing, from a vague sense of humid
misery, till a more convenient season.

This little incident reminding Mrs. Coleman that the boiled beef,
preparing for our luncheon and the servants' dinner, would inevitably be
overdone, induced her to take a hurried farewell of Mrs. Muddles, though
she paused at the threshold to offer a parting suggestion as to the
advisability, moral and physical, of dividing the wretched Johnny's
share of plum-pudding between his brothers and sisters, and
administering a double portion of black draught by way of compensation,
an arrangement which elicited from that much-wronged child a howl of
mingled horror and defiance.

We had proceeded about a mile on our return, when Mrs. Coleman, who was
a step or two in advance, trod on a slide some boys had made, and would
have fallen had I not thrown my arm round her just in time to prevent
it.

"My dear madam," exclaimed I, "you were as nearly as possible down; I
hope you have not hurt yourself."

"No, my dear--I mean--Mr. Fairlegh; no! I hope I have not, except my
ankle. I gave that a twist somehow, and it hurts me dreadfully; but I
daresay I shall be able to go on in a minute."

The good lady's hopes, however, were not destined in this instance to be
fulfilled, for, on attempting to proceed, the pain increased to such an
extent, that she was forced, after limping a few steps, to seat herself
on a stone by the wayside, and it became evident that she must have
sprained her ankle severely, and would be utterly unable to walk home.
In this dilemma it was not easy to discover what was the best thing to
do--no vehicle could be procured nearer than Hillingford, from which
place we were at least two miles distant, and I by no means approved of
leaving my companions in their present helpless state during the space
of time which must necessarily elapse ere I could go and return. Mrs.
Coleman, who, although suffering from considerable pain, bore it with
the greatest equanimity and good nature, seeming to think much more
of the inconvenience she was likely to occasion us, than of her own
discomforts, had just hit upon some brilliant but totally impracticable
project, when our ears were gladdened by the sound of wheels, and
in another moment a little pony-chaise, drawn by a ~268~~ fat,
comfortable-looking pony, came in sight, proceeding in the direction of
Hillingford. As soon as the driver, a stout, rosy-faced gentleman, who
proved to be the family apothecary, perceived our party, he pulled
up, and, when he became aware of what had occurred, put an end to our
difficulties by offering Mrs. Coleman the unoccupied seat in his chaise.

"Sorry I can't accommodate you also, Miss Saville," he continued,
raising his hat; "but you see it's rather close packing as it is. If I
were but a little more like the medical practitioner who administered a
sleeping draught to Master Romeo now, we might contrive to carry three."

"I really prefer walking such a cold day as this, thank you, Mr.
Pillaway," answered Miss Saville.

"Mind you take proper care of poor Clara, Mr. Fairlegh," said Mrs.
Coleman, "and don't let her sprain her ankle, or do anything foolish,
and don't you stay out too long yourself and catch cold, or I don't know
what Mrs. Fairlegh will say, and your pretty sister, too--what a
fat pony, Mr. Pillaway; you don't give him much physic, I should
think--good-bye, my dears, good-bye--remember the boiled beef."

As she spoke, the fat pony, admonished by the whip, described a circle
with his tail, frisked with the agility of a playful elephant, and then
set off at a better pace than from his adipose appearance I had deemed
him capable of doing.

"With all her oddity, what an unselfish, kind-hearted, excellent little
person Mrs. Coleman is!" observed I, as the pony-chaise disappeared at
an angle of the road.

"Oh! I think her charming," replied my companion warmly, "she is so very
good-natured."

"She is something beyond that," returned I; "mere good-nature is a
quality I rate very low: a person may be good-natured, yet thoroughly
selfish, for nine times out of ten it is easier and more agreeable to
say 'yes' than 'no'; but there is such an entire forgetfulness of self,
apparent in all Mrs. Coleman's attempts to make those around her happy
and comfortable, that, despite her eccentricities, I am beginning to
conceive quite a respect for the little woman."

"You are a close observer of character it seems, Mr. Fairlegh," remarked
my companion.

"I scarcely see how any thinking person can avoid being so," returned I;
"there is no study that appears to me to possess a more deep and varied
interest."

"You make mistakes, though, sometimes," replied ~269~~ Miss Saville,
glancing quickly at me with her beautiful eyes.

"You refer to my hasty judgment of last night," said I, colouring
slightly. "The mournful words of your song led me to conclude that, in
one instance, high spirits might not be a sure indication of a light
heart; and yet I would fain hope," added I in a half-questioning tone,
"that you merely sought to inculcate a general principle."

"Is not that a very unusual species of heath to find growing in this
country?" was the rejoinder.

"Really, I am no botanist," returned I, rather crossly, for I felt that
I had received a rebuff, and was not at all sure that I might not have
deserved it.

"Nay, but I will have you attend; you did not even look towards the
place where it is growing," replied Miss Saville, with a half-imperious,
half-imploring glance, which it was impossible to resist.

"Is that the plant you mean?" asked I, pointing to a tuft of heath on
the top of a steep bank by the roadside.

On receiving a reply in the affirmative, I continued: "Then I will
render you all the assistance in my power, by enabling you to judge for
yourself ". So saying, I scrambled up the bank at the imminent risk of
my neck; and after bursting the button-holes of my straps, and tearing
my coat in two places with a bramble, I succeeded in gathering the
heath.

Elated by my success, and feeling every nerve braced and invigorated by
the frosty air, I bounded down the slope with such velocity, that, on
reaching the bottom, I was unable to check my speed, and only avoided
running against Miss Saville, by nearly throwing myself down backwards.

"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed I; "I hope I have not alarmed you by my
abominable awkwardness; but really the bank was so steep, that it was
impossible to stop sooner."

"Nay, it is I who ought to apologise for having led you to undertake
such a dangerous expedition," replied she, taking the heath which I had
gathered, with a smile which quite repaid me for my exertions.

"I do not know what could have possessed me to run down the bank in that
insane manner," returned I; "I suppose it is this fine frosty morning
which makes one feel so light and happy."

"Happy!" repeated my companion incredulously, and in a half-absent
manner, as though she were rather thinking aloud than addressing me.

~270~~ "Yes," replied I, surprised; "why should I not feel so?"

"Is any one happy?" was the rejoinder.

"Very many people, I hope," said I; "you do not doubt it, surely."

"I well might," she answered with a sigh.

"On such a beautiful day as this, with the bright clear sky above us,
and the hoar-frost sparkling like diamonds in the glorious sunshine, how
can one avoid feeling happy?" asked I.

"It is very beautiful," she replied, after gazing around for a moment;
"and yet can you not imagine a state of mind in which this fair scene,
with all its varied charms, may impress one with a feeling of bitterness
rather than of pleasure, by the contrast it affords to the darkness and
weariness of soul within? Place some famine-stricken wretch beneath the
roof of a gilded palace, think you the sight of its magnificence would
give him any sensation of pleasure? Would it not rather, by increasing
the sense of his own misery, add to his agony of spirit?"

"I can conceive such a case possible," replied I; "but you would make us
out to be all famine-stricken wretches at this rate: you cannot surely
imagine that every one is unhappy?"

"There are, no doubt, different degrees of unhappiness," returned Miss
Saville; "yet I can hardly conceive any position in life so free from
cares, as to be pronounced positively happy; but I know my ideas on this
subject are peculiar, and I am by no means desirous of making a convert
of you, Mr. Fairlegh; the world will do that soon enough, I fear," she
added with a sigh.

"I cannot believe it," replied I warmly. "True, at times we must all
feel sorrow; it is one of the conditions of our mortal lot, and we must
bear it with what resignation we may, knowing that, if we but make a
fitting use of it, it is certain to work for our highest good; but if
you would have me look upon this world as a vale of tears, forgetting
all its glorious opportunities for raising our fallen nature to
something so bright and noble, as to be even here but little lower than
the angels, you must pardon me if I never can agree with you."

There was a moment's pause, when my companion resumed.

"You talk of opportunities of doing good, as being likely to increase
our stock of happiness; and, no doubt, you are right; but imagine
a situation, in which you are unable to take advantage of these
opportunities when ~271~~ they arise--in which you are not a free agent,
your will fettered and controlled on every point, so that you are alike
powerless to perform the good that you desire, and to avoid the evil you
both hate and fear--could you be happy in such a situation, think you?"

"You describe a case which is, or ought to be, impossible," replied I;
"when I say ought to be, I mean that in these days, I hope and believe,
it is impossible for any one to be forced to do wrong, unless, from a
natural weakness and facility of disposition, and from a want of moral
courage, their resistance is so feeble, that those who seek to compel
them to evil are induced to redouble their efforts, when a little
firmness and decision clearly shown, and steadily adhered to, would have
produced a very different result."

"Oh that I could think so!" exclaimed Miss Saville ardently: she paused
for a minute, as if in thought, and then resumed in a low mournful
voice, "But you do not know--you cannot tell; besides, it is useless to
struggle against destiny: there are people fated from childhood to grief
and misfortune--alone in this cold world"--she paused, then continued
abruptly, "you have a sister?"

"Yes," replied I; "I have as good a little sister as ever man was
fortunate enough to possess--how glad I should be to introduce her to
you!"

"And you love each other?"

"Indeed we do, truly and sincerely."

"And you are a man, one of the lords of the creation," she continued,
with a slight degree of sarcasm in her tone. "Well, Mr. Fairlegh, I can
believe that you may be happy sometimes."

"And what ami to conjecture about you?" inquired I, fixing my eyes upon
her expressive features.

"What you please," returned she, turning away with a very becoming
blush--"or rather," she added, "do not waste your time in forming any
conjectures whatever on such an uninteresting subject."

"I am more easily interested than you imagine," replied I, with a smile;
"besides, you know I am fond of studying character."

"The riddle is not worth reading," answered Miss Saville.

"Nevertheless, I shall not be contented till I have found it out; I
shall guess it before long, depend upon it," returned I.

An incredulous shake of the head was her only reply, and we continued
conversing on indifferent subjects till we reached Elm Lodge.~272~~

CHAPTER XXXV -- A MYSTERIOUS LETTER

"Good company's a chess-board--there are kings,
Queens, bishops, knights, rooks, pawns.
The world's a game."
_Byron_.

"My soul hath felt a secret weight,
A warning of approaching fate."
_Rokeby_.

"Oh! lady, weep no more; lest I give cause
To be suspected of more tenderness
Than doth become a man."
_Shakspeare_.

THE next few days passed like a happy dream. Our little party remained
the same, no tidings being heard of any of the absentees, save a note
from Freddy, saying how much he was annoyed at being detained in town,
and begging me to await his return at Elm Lodge, or he would never
forgive me. Mrs. Coleman's sprain, though not very severe, was yet
sufficient to confine her to her own room till after breakfast, and to
a sofa in the boudoir during the rest of the day; and, as a necessary
consequence, Miss Saville and I were chiefly dependent on each other for
society and amusement. We walked together, read Italian (Petrarch
too, of all the authors we could have chosen, to beguile us with his
picturesque and glowing love conceits), played chess, and, in short,
tried in turn the usual expedients for killing time in a country-house,
and found them all very "pretty pastimes" indeed. As the young lady's
shyness wore off, and by degrees she allowed the various excellent
qualities of her head and heart to appear, I recalled Lucy Markham's
assertion, that "she was as good and amiable as she was pretty," and
acknowledged that she had only done her justice. Still, although her
manner was generally lively and animated, and at times even gay, I could
perceive that her mind was not at ease; and whenever she was silent,
and her features were in repose, they were marked by an expression of
hopeless dejection which it grieved me to behold. If at such moments
she perceived any one was observing her, she would rouse herself with
a sudden start, and join in the conversation with a degree of wild
vehemence and strange, unnatural gaiety, which to me had in it something
shocking. Latterly, however, as we became better acquainted, and felt
more at ease in ~273~~ each other's society, these wild bursts of
spirits grew less frequent, or altogether disappeared, and she would
meet my glance with a calm melancholy smile, which seemed to say, "I am
not afraid to trust you with the knowledge that I am unhappy--you will
not betray me". Yet, though she seemed to find pleasure in discussing
subjects which afforded opportunity for expressing the morbid and
desponding views she held of life, she never allowed the conversation to
take a personal turn, always skilfully avoiding the possibility of her
words being applied to her own case: any attempt to do so invariably
rendering her silent, or eliciting from her some gay piquant remark,
which served her purpose still better.

And how were my feelings getting on all this time? Was I falling in love
with this wayward, incomprehensible, but deeply interesting girl, into
whose constant society circumstances had, as it were, forced me? Reader,
this was a question which I most carefully abstained from asking myself.
I knew that I was exceedingly happy; and, as I wished to continue so,
I steadily forbore to analyse the ingredients of this happiness too
closely, perhaps from a secret consciousness, that, were I to do so,
I might discover certain awkward truths, which would prove it to be my
duty to tear myself away from the scene of fascination ere it was too
late. So I told myself that I was bound by my promise to Coleman to
remain at Elm Lodge till my mother and sister should return home, or,
at all events, till he himself came back: this being the case, I was
compelled by all the rules of good-breeding to be civil and attentive to
Miss Saville (yes, civil and attentive--I repeated the words over two or
three times; they were nice, quiet, cool sort of words, and suited the
view I was anxious to take of the case particularly well). Besides,
I might be of some use to her, poor girl, by combating her strange,
melancholy, half-fatalist opinions; at all events, it was my duty to
try, decidedly my duty (I said that also several times); and, as to my
feeling such a deep interest about her, and thinking of her continually,
why there was nothing else to think about at Elm Lodge--so that was
easily accounted for. All this, and a good deal more of the same nature,
did I tell myself; and, if I did not implicitly believe it, I was
much too polite to think of giving myself the lie, and so I continued
walking, talking, reading Petrarch, and playing chess with Miss Saville
all day, and dreaming of her all night, and being very happy indeed.

~274~~ Oh! it's a dangerous game, by the way, that game of chess, with
its gallant young knights, clever fellows, up to all sorts of deep
moves, who are perpetually laying siege to queens, keeping them in
check, threatening them with the bishop, and, with his assistance,
mating at last; and much too nearly does it resemble the game of life
to be played safely with a pair of bright eyes talking to you from the
other side of the board, and two coral lips--mute, indeed, but in their
very silence discoursing such "sweet music" to your heart, that the
silly thing, dancing with delight, seems as if it meant to leap out of
your breast; and it is not mere seeming either--for hearts have been
altogether lost in this way before now. Oh! it's a dangerous game, that
game of chess. But to return to my tale.

About a week after the expedition to Mrs. Muddles's had taken place,
Freddy and his father returned, just in time for dinner. As I was
dressing for that meal Coleman came into my room, anxious to learn "how
the young lady had conducted herself" during his absence; whether I had
taken any unfair advantage, or acted honourably, and with a due regard
to his interest, with sundry other jocose queries, all of which appeared
to me exceedingly impertinent, and particularly disagreeable, and
inspired me with a strong inclination to take him by the shoulders and
march him out of the room; instead, however, of doing so, I endeavoured
to look amiable, and answer his inquiries in the same light tone in
which they were made, and I so far succeeded as to render the amount
of information he obtained exceedingly minute. The dinner passed off
heavily; Miss Saville was unusually silent, and all Freddy's
sallies failed to draw her out. Mr. Coleman was very pompous, and so
distressingly polite, that everything like sociability was out of the
question. When the ladies left us, matters did not improve; Freddy,
finding the atmosphere ungenial to jokes, devoted himself to cracking
walnuts by original methods which invariably failed, and attempting to
torture into impossible shapes oranges which, when finished, were much
too sour for any one to eat; while his father, after having solemnly,
and at separate intervals, begged me to partake of every article of the
dessert twice over, commenced an harangue, in which he set forth the
extreme caution and reserve he considered it right and advisable for
young gentlemen to exercise in their intercourse with young ladies,
towards whom he declared they should maintain a staid deportment
of dignified ~275~~ courtesy, tempered by distant but respectful
attentions. This, repeated with variations, lasted us till the tea
was announced, and we returned to the drawing-room. Here Freddy made a
desperate and final struggle to remove the wet blanket which appeared to
have extinguished the life and spirit of the party, but in vain; it
had evidently set in for a dull evening, and the clouds were not to be
dispelled by any efforts of his;--nothing, therefore, remained for
him but to tease the cat, and worry and confuse his mother, to which
occupations he applied himself with a degree of diligence worthy a
better object. During a fearful commotion consequent upon the discovery
of the cat's nose in the cream-jug, into the commission of which
delinquency Freddy had contrived to inveigle that amiable quadruped by
a series of treacherous caresses, I could not help remarking to Miss
Saville (next to whom I happened to be seated) the contrast between this
evening and those which we had lately spent together.