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

‘But I don’t live on the least that Heaven may give,’ said Phœbe, in such wonder that Honor smiled at the justice of her simile, without impressing it upon Phœbe, only asking—

‘Is the French journey fixed upon, Phœbe?’

‘Yes; they start this day fortnight.’

‘They—not you?’

‘No; there would be no room for me,’ with a small sigh.

‘How can that be?  Who is going?  Papa, mamma, two sisters!’

‘Mervyn,’ added Phœbe, ‘the courier, and the two maids.’

‘Two maids!  Impossible!’

‘It is always uncomfortable if mamma and my sisters have only one between them,’ said Phœbe, in her tone of perfect acquiescence and conviction; and as her friend could not restrain a gesture of indignation, she added eagerly—‘But, indeed, it is not only for that reason, but Miss Fennimore says I am not formed enough to profit by foreign travel.’

‘She wants you to finish Smith’s Wealth of Nations, eh?’

‘It might be a pity to go away and lose so much of her teaching,’ said Phœbe, with persevering contentment.  ‘I dare say they will go abroad again, and perhaps I shall never have so much time for learning.  But, Miss Charlecote, is Lucilla coming home for the Horticultural Show?’

‘I am afraid not, my dear.  I think I shall go to London to see about her, among other things.  The Charterises seem to have quite taken possession of her, ever since she went to be her cousin Caroline’s bridesmaid, and I must try to put in my claim.’

‘Ah!  Robin so much wished to have seen her,’ sighed Phœbe.  ‘He says he cannot settle to anything.’

‘Without seeing her?’ said Honor, amused, though not without pain.

‘Yes,’ said Phœbe; ‘he has thought so much about Lucilla.’

‘And he tells you?’

‘Yes,’ in a voice expressing of course; while the frank, clear eyes turned full on Miss Charlecote with such honest seriousness, that she thought Phœbe’s charm as a confidante might be this absence of romantic consciousness; and she knew of old that when Robert wanted her opinion or counsel, he spared his own embarrassment by seeking it through his favourite sister.  Miss Charlecote’s influence had done as much for Robert as he had done for Phœbe, and Phœbe had become his medium of communication with her in all matters of near and delicate interest.  She was not surprised when the maiden proceeded—‘Papa wants Robin to attend to the office while he is away.’

‘Indeed!  Does Robin like it?’

‘He would not mind it for a time; but papa wants him, besides, to take to the business in earnest.  You know, my great-uncle, Robert Mervyn, left Robert all his fortune, quite in his own hands; and papa says that if he were to put that into the distillery it would do the business great good, and that Robert would be one of the richest men in England in ten years’ time.’

‘But that would be a complete change in his views,’ exclaimed Honor, unable to conceal her disapproval and consternation.

‘Just so,’ answered Phœbe; ‘and that is the reason why he wants to see Lucy.  She always declared that she could not bear people in business, and we always thought of him as likely to be a clergyman; but, on the other hand, she has become used to London society, and it is only by his joining in the distillery that he could give her what she is accustomed to, and that is the reason he is anxious to see her.’

‘So Lucy is to decide his fate,’ said Honora.  ‘I am almost sorry to hear it.  Surely, he has never spoken to her.’

‘He never does speak,’ said Phœbe, with the calm gravity of simplicity which was like a halo of dignity.  ‘There is no need of speaking.  Lucilla knows how he feels as well as she knows that she breathes the air.’

And regards it as little, perhaps, thought Honor, sadly.  ‘Poor Robin!’ she said; ‘I suppose he had better get his mind settled; but indeed it is a fearful responsibility for my poor foolish Lucy—’ and but for the fear of grieving Phœbe, she would have added, that such a purpose as that of entering Holy Orders ought not to have been made dependent upon the fancy of a girl.  Possibly her expression betrayed her sentiments, for Phœbe answered—‘There can be no doubt that Lucy will set him at rest.  I am certain that she would be shocked at the notion that her tastes were making him doubt whether to be a clergyman.’

‘I hope so!  I trust so!’ said Honora, almost mournfully.  ‘It may be very good for her, as I believe it is for every woman of any soundness, to be taught that her follies tell upon man’s greater aims and purposes.  It may be wholesome for her and a check, but—’

Phœbe wondered that her friend paused and looked so sad.

‘Oh! Phœbe,’ said Honora, after a moment’s silence, speaking fervently, ‘if you can in any way do so, warn your brother against making an idol!  Let nothing come between him and the direct devotion of will and affection to the Higher Service.  If he decide on the one or the other, let it be from duty, not with respect to anything else.  I do not suppose it is of any use to warn him,’ she added, with the tears in her eyes.  ‘Every one sets the whole soul upon some one object, not the right, and then comes the shipwreck.’

‘Dear Robin!’ said Phœbe.  ‘He is so good!  I am sure he always thinks first of what is right.  But I think I see what you mean.  If he undertake the business, it should be as a matter of obedience to papa, not to keep Lucy in the great world.  And, indeed, I do not think my father does care much, only he would like the additional capital; and Robert is so much more steady than Mervyn, that he would be more useful.  Perhaps it would make him more important at home; no one there has any interest in common with him; and I think that moves him a little; but, after all, those do not seem reasons for not giving himself to God’s service,’ she finished, reverently and considerately.

‘No, indeed!’ cried Miss Charlecote.

‘Then you think he ought not to change his mind?’

‘You have thought so all along,’ smiled Honor.

‘I did not like it,’ said Phœbe, ‘but I did not know if I were right.  I did tell him that I really believed Lucy would think the more highly of him if he settled for himself without reference to her.’

‘You did!  You were a capital little adviser, Phœbe!  A woman worthy to be loved at all had always rather be set second instead of first:—

“I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.”

That is the true spirit, and I am glad you judged Lucy to be capable of it.  Keep your brother up to that, and all may be well!’

‘I believe Robert knows it all the time,’ said Phœbe.  ‘He always is right at the bottom; but his feelings get so much tried that he does not know how to bear it!  I hope Lucy will be kind to him if they meet in London, for he has been so much harassed that he wants some comfort from her.  If she would only be in earnest!’

‘Does he go to London, at all events?’

‘He has promised to attend to the office in Great Whittington-street for a month, by way of experiment.’

‘I’ll tell you what, Phœbe,’ cried Honora, radiantly, ‘you and I will go too!  You shall come with me to Woolstone-lane, and Robin shall be with us every day; and we will try and make this silly Lucy into a rational being.’

‘Oh! Miss Charlecote, thank you—thank you.’  The quiet girl’s face and neck were all one crimson glow of delight.

‘If you can sleep in a little brown cupboard of a room in the very core of the City’s heart.’

‘Delightful!  I have so wished to see that house.  Owen has told me such things about it.  Oh, thank you, Miss Charlecote!’

‘Have you ever seen anything in London?’

‘Never.  We hardly ever go with the rest; and if we do, we only walk in the square.  What a holiday it will be!’

‘We will see everything, and do it justice.  I’ll get an order for the print-room at the British Museum.  I day say Robin never saw it either; and what a treat it will be to take you to the Egyptian Gallery!’ cried Honora, excited into looking at the expedition in the light of a party of pleasure, as she saw happiness beaming in the young face opposite.

They built up their schemes in the open window, pausing to listen to the nightingales, who, having ceased for two hours, apparently for supper, were now in full song, echoing each other in all the woods of Hiltonbury, casting over it a network of sweet melody.  Honora was inclined to regret leaving them in their glory; but Phœbe, with the world before her, was too honest to profess poetry which she did not feel.  Nightingales were all very well in their place, but the first real sight of London was more.

The lamp came in, and Phœbe held out her hands for something to do, and was instantly provided with a child’s frock, while Miss Charlecote read to her one of Fouqué’s shorter tales by way of supplying the element of chivalrous imagination which was wanting in the Beauchamp system of education.

So warm was the evening, that the window remained open, until Ponto erected his crest as a footfall came steadily along, nearer and nearer.  Uplifting one of his pendant lips, he gave a low growl through his blunted teeth, and listened again; but apparently satisfied that the step was familiar, he replaced his head on his crossed paws, and presently Robert Fulmort’s head and the upper part of his person, in correct evening costume, were thrust in at the window, the moonlight making his face look very white, as he said, ‘Come, Phœbe, make haste; it is very late.’

‘Is it?’ cried Phœbe, springing up; ‘I thought I had only been here an hour.’