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

‘Granma.’

‘Grandmamma knows nothing about it.’

‘Shan’t I, then?’

‘Never!  Listen, Owen.  This is Miss Charlecote’s house as long as she lives—I trust till long after you are a man.  It will be Mr. Randolf’s afterwards, and neither you nor I have anything to do with it.’

The two great black eyes looked up in inquiring, disappointed intelligence.  Then he said, in a satisfied tone—

‘We ain’t beggars—we don’t carry rabbit-skins and lucifers!’

‘We do nothing so useful or profitable,’ sighed poor Owen, striving to pull himself up by the table, but desisting on finding that it was more likely to overbalance than to be a support.  ‘My poor boy, you will have to work for me!’ and he sadly stroked down the light hair.

‘Shall I?’ said the little fellow.  ‘May I have some white mice?  I’ll bring you all the halfpence, pa!’

‘Bring me a footstool, first of all.  There—at this rate I shall be able to hop about on one leg, and be a more taking spectacle,’ said Owen, as, dragging himself up by the force of hand and arm, he resettled himself on his couch, as much pleased as amazed at his first personal act of locomotion after seven months, and at the discovery of recovered strength in the sound limbs.  Although, with the reserve of convalescence, he kept his exploit secret, his spirits visibly rose; and whenever he was left alone, or only with his little boy, he repeated his experiments, launching himself from one piece of furniture to another; and in spite of the continued deadness of the left side, feeling life, vigour, and hope returning on him.

His morbid shyness of his child had given way to genuine affection, and Owen soon found that he liked to be left to the society of Flibbertigibbet, or as he called him for short, Giblets, exacting in return the title of father, instead of the terrible ‘pa.’  Little Owen thought this a preparation for the itinerant white-mouse exhibition, which he was permitted to believe was only delayed till the daily gymnastic exertions should have resulted in the use of crutches, and till he could safely pronounce the names of the future mice, Hannibal and Annabella, and other traps for aspirates!  Nay, his father was going to set up an exhibition of his own, as it appeared; for after a vast amount of meditation, he begged for pen and paper, ruler and compasses, drew, wrote, and figured, and finally took to cardboard and penknife, begging the aid of Miss Charlecote, greatly to the distress of the little boy, who had thought the whole affair private and confidential, and looked forward to a secret departure early in the morning, with crutches, mice, and model.

Miss Charlecote did her best with needle and gum, but could not understand; and between her fears of trying Owen’s patience and letting him overstrain his brain, was so much distressed that he gave it up; but it preyed on him, till one day Phœbe came in, and he could not help explaining it to her, and claiming her assistance, as he saw her ready comprehension.  For two afternoons she came and worked under him; and between card, wire, gum, and watch-spring, such a beauteous little model locomotive engine and train were produced, that Owen archly assured her that ‘she would be a fortune in herself to a rising engineer,’ and Honor was struck by the sudden crimson evoked by the compliment.

Little Owen thought their fortune made, and was rather disappointed at the delay, when his father, confirming his idea that their livelihood might depend on the model, insisted that it should be carried out in brass and wood, and caused his chair to be frequently wheeled down to the blacksmith’s and carpenter’s, whose comprehension so much more resembled their lady’s than that of Miss Fulmort, and who made such intolerable blunders, that he bestowed on them more vituperation than, in their opinion, ‘he had any call to;’ and looked in a passion of despair at the numb, nerveless fingers, once his dexterous servants.

Still his spirits were immensely improved, since resolution, hope, and independence had returned.  His mental faculties had recovered their force, and with the removal of the disease, the healthfulness and elasticity of his twenty-five years were beginning to compensate for the lost powers of his limbs.  As he accomplished more, he grew more enterprising and less disinclined to show off his recovered powers.  He first alarmed, then delighted Honor; begged for crutches, and made such good use of them, that Dr. Martin held out fair hopes of progress, though advising a course of rubbing and sea-air at Brighton.

Perhaps Honor had never been happier than during these weeks of improvement, with her boy so completely her own, and more than she had ever known him; his dejection lessening, his health returning, his playfulness brilliant, his filial fondness most engaging.  She did not know the fixed resolution that actuated him, and revived the entire man!  She did not know what was kept in reserve till confidence in his efficiency should dispose her to listen favourably.  Meantime the present was so delightful to her that she trembled and watched lest she should be relapsing into the old idolatry.  The test would be whether she would put Owen above or below a clear duty.

The audit of farm-accounts before going to Brighton was as unsatisfactory as the last.  Though not beyond her own powers of unravelling, they made it clear that Brooks was superannuated.  It was piteous to see the old man seated in the study, racking his brains to recollect the transaction with Farmer Hodnet about seed-wheat and working oxen; to explain for what the three extra labourers had been put on, and to discover his own meaning in charging twice over for the repairs of Joe Littledale’s cottage; angered and overset by his mistress’s gentle cross-examination, and enraged into absolute disrespect when that old object of dislike, Mr. Sandbrook, looked over the books, and muttered suggestions under his moustache.

‘Poor old man!’ both exclaimed, as he left the room, and Honor sighed deeply over this failure of the last of the supports left her by Humfrey.  ‘I must pension him off,’ she said.  ‘I hope it will not hurt his feelings much!’ and then she turned away to her old-fashioned bureau, and applied herself to her entries in her farming-books, while Owen sat in his chair, dreamily caressing his beard, and revolving the proposition that had long been in his mind.

At last the tall, red book was shut, the pen wiped, the bureau locked, and Honor came back to her place by the table, and resumed her needlework.  Still there was silence, till she began: ‘This settles it!  I have been thinking about it ever since you have been so much better.  Owen, what should you think of managing the property for me?’

He only answered by a quick interrogative glance.

‘You see,’ she continued, ‘by the help of Brooks, who knew his master’s ways, I have pottered on, to my own wonderment; but Brooks is past work, my downhill-time is coming, high farming has outrun us both, and I know that we are not doing as Humfrey would wish by his inheritance.  Now I believe that nothing could be of greater use to me, the people, or the place, than that you should be in charge.  We could put some deputy under your control, and contrive for your getting about the fields.  I would give you so much a year, so that your boy’s education would be your own doing, and we should be so comfortable.’

Owen leant back, much moved, smiled and said, ‘Thanks, dear Honor; you are much too good to us.’

‘Think about it, and tell me what would be right.  Brooks has £100 a year, but you will be worth much more, for you will develop all the resources, you know.’

‘Best Honor, Sweetest Honey,’ said Owen, hastily, the tears rising to his eyes, ‘I cannot bear to frustrate such kind plans, nor seem more ungrateful than I have been already.  I will not live on you for nothing longer than I can help; but indeed, this must not be.’

‘Not?’

‘No.  There are many reasons against it.  In the first place, I know nothing of farming.’

‘You would soon learn.’

‘And vex your dear old spirit with steam-ploughs and haymaking machines.’

She smiled, as if from him she could endure even steam.

‘Next, such an administration would be highly distasteful here.  My overweening airs as a boy have not been forgotten, and I have always been looked on as an interloper.  Depend on it, poor old Brooks fancies the muddle in his accounts was a suggestion of my malice!  Imagine the feelings of Hiltonbury, when I, his supplanter, begin to tighten the reins.’

‘If it be so, it can be got over,’ said Honor, a little aghast.

‘If it ought to be attempted,’ said Owen; ‘but you have not heard my personal grounds for refusing your kindness.  All your goodness and kind teaching cannot prevent the undesirableness of letting my child grow up here, in a half-and-half position, engendering domineering airs and unreasonable expectations.  You know how, in spite of your care and warnings, it worked on me, though I had more advantages than that poor little man.  Dear Honor, it is not you, but myself that I blame.  You did your utmost to disabuse me, and it is only the belief that my absurd folly is in human nature that makes me thus ungracious.’

‘But,’ said Honora, murmuring, as if in shame, ‘you know you, and therefore your child, must be my especial charge, and always stand first with me.’

‘First in your affection, dearest Honey,’ he said, fondly; ‘I trust I have been in that place these twenty years; I’ll never give that up; but if I get as well as I hope to do, I mean to be no charge on any one.’

‘You cannot return to your profession?’

‘My riding and surveying days are over, but there’s plenty of work in me still; and I see my way to a connection that will find me in enough of writing, calculating, and drawing, to keep myself and Owen, and I expect to make something of my invention too, when I am settled in London.’

‘In London?’

‘Yes; the poor old woman in Whittington-street is breaking—pining for her grandchild, I believe, and losing her lodgers, from not being able to make them comfortable; and without what she had for the child, she cannot keep an effective servant.  I think of going to help her out.’

‘That woman?’

‘Well, I do owe her a duty!  I robbed her of her own child, and it is cruel to deprive her of mine when she has had all the trouble of his babyhood.  Money would not do the thing, even if I had it.  I have brought it on myself, and it is the only atonement in my power; so I mean to occupy two or three of her rooms, work there, and let her have the satisfaction of “doing for me.”  When you are in town, I shall hop into Woolstone-lane.  You will give me holidays here, won’t you?  And whenever you want me, let me be your son?  To that you know I reserve my right,’ and he bent towards her affectionately.

‘It is very right—very noble,’ she was faltering forth.  He turned quickly, the tears, ready to fall, springing quite forth.

‘Honor! you have not been able to say that since I was a child!  Do not spoil it.  If this be right, leave it so.’

‘Only one thing, Owen, are you sufficiently considering your son’s good in taking him there, out of the way of a good education.’

‘A working education is the good one for him,’ said Owen, ‘not the being sent at the cost of others—not even covertly at yours, Sweet Honey—to an expensive school.  He is a working man’s son, and must so feel himself.  I mean to face my own penalties in him, and if I see him in a grade inferior to what was mine by birth, I shall know that though I brought it on him, it is more for his real good and happiness to be a man of the people, than a poor half-acknowledged gentleman.  So much for my Americanisms, Honor!’

‘But the dissent—the cant!’

‘Not so much cant as real piety obtrusively expressed.  Poor old thing!  I have no fear but that little Giblets will go my way! he worships me, and I shall not leave his h’s nor more important matters to her mercy.  He is nearly big enough for the day school Mr. Parsons is setting on foot.  It is a great consideration that the place is in the St. Matthew’s district!’

‘Well, Owen, I cannot but see that it may be your rightest course; I hope you may find yourself equal to it,’ said Honor, struggling with a fresh sense of desertion, though with admiration and esteem returning, such as were well worth the disappointment.

‘If not,’ said Owen, smiling, to hide deeper feelings, ‘I reserve to you the pleasure of maintaining me, nursing me, or what not!  If my carcase be good for nothing, I hereby make it over to you.  And now, Honor, I have not been without thought for you.  I can tell you of a better successor for Brooks.’

‘Well!’ she said, almost crossly.

‘Humfrey Charlecote Randolf,’ said Owen, slowly, giving full effect to the two Christian names.

Honor started, gasped, and snatching at the first that occurred of her objections, exclaimed, ‘But, my dear, he is as much an engineer as yourself.’

‘From necessity, not choice.  He farmed till last August.’