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

‘I don’t imagine she is far removed from one;’ then, as Phœbe’s horror made her look like Maria, he added—‘don’t mean that she was not bred a Christian, but the Oriental mind never distinctly embraces tenets contrary to its constitution.’

‘Miss Charlecote, is he talking in earnest?’

‘I hope not,’ Honora said, a little severely, ‘for he would be giving a grievous account of the poor lady’s faith—’

‘Faith! no, my dear, she has not reflection enough for faith.  All that enters into the Eastern female mind is a little observance.’

‘And you are not going to lead Phœbe to believe that you think it indifferent whether those observances be Christian or Pagan?’ said Honora, earnestly.

There was a little pause, and then Owen rather hesitatingly said—‘It is a hard thing to pronounce that three-fifths of one’s fellow-creatures are on the high road to Erebus, especially when ethnologically we find that certain aspects of doctrine never have approved themselves to certain races, and that climate is stronger than creed.  Am I not talking Fennimorically, Phœbe?’

‘Much more Fennimorically than I wish her to hear, or you to speak,’ said Honora; ‘you talk as if there were no such thing as truth.’

‘Ah! now comes the question of subjective and objective, and I was as innocent as possible of any intention of plunging into such a sea, or bringing those furrows into your forehead, dear Honor!  See what it is to talk to you and Miss Fennimore’s pupil.  All things, human and divine, have arisen out of my simple endeavour to show you that you must come to Castle Blanch, the planners of the feast having so ordained, and it being good for all parties, due from the fairy godmother to the third princess, and seriously giving Cilly another chance of returning within the bounds of discretion.’

Honora thought as much.  She hoped that Robert would by that time have assumed his right to plead with Lucilla, and that in such a case she should be a welcome refuge, and Phœbe still more indispensable; so her lips opened in a yielding smile, and Phœbe thanked her rapturously, vague hopes of Robert’s bliss adding zest to the anticipation of the lifting of the curtain which hid the world of brightness.

‘There’s still time,’ said Owen, with his hand on the check-string; ‘which do you patronize?  Redmayne or—’

‘Nonsense,’ smiled Honor, ‘we can’t waste our escort upon women’s work.’

‘Ladies never want a gentleman more than when their taste is to be directed.’

‘He is afraid to trust us, Phœbe.’

‘Conscience has spoken,’ said Owen; ‘she knows how she would go and disguise herself in an old dowager’s gown to try to look like sixty!’

‘As for silk gowns—’

‘I positively forbid it,’ he cried, cutting her short; ‘it is five years old!’

‘A reason why I should not have another too grand to wear out.’

‘And you never ought to have had it.  Phœbe, it was bought when Lucy was seventeen, on purpose to look as if she was of a fit age for a wall-flower, and so well has the poor thing done its duty, that Lucy hears herself designated as the pretty girl who belongs to the violet and white!  If she had known that was coming after her, I won’t answer for the consequence.’

‘If it does annoy Lucy—we do not so often go out together—don’t, Owen, I never said it was to be now, I am bent on Landseer.’

‘But I said so,’ returned Owen, ‘for Miss Charlecote regards the distressed dressmakers—four dresses—think of the fingers that must ache over them.’

‘Well, he does what he pleases,’ sighed Honor; ‘there’s no help for it, you see, Phœbe.  Shall you dislike looking on?’  For she doubted whether Phœbe had been provided with means for her equipment, and might not require delay and correspondence but the frank answer was, ‘Thank you, I shall be glad of the opportunity.  Papa told me I might fit myself out in case of need.’

‘And suppose we are too late for the Exhibition.’

‘I never bought a dress before,’ quoth Phœbe.

Owen laughed.  ‘That’s right, Phœbe!  Be strong-minded and original enough to own that some decorations surpass “Raffaelles, Correggios, and stuff”—’

‘No,’ said Phœbe, simply, and with no affectation of scorn, ‘they only interest me more at this moment.’

Honor smiled to Owen her love for the honesty that never spoke for effect, nor took what it believed it ought to feel, for what it really felt.  Withal, Owen gained his purpose, and conducted the two ladies into one of the great shops of ladies apparel.

Phœbe followed Miss Charlecote with eyes of lively anticipation.  Miss Fennimore had taught her to be real when she could not be philosophical, and scruples as to the ‘vain pomp and glory of the world’ had not presented themselves; she only found herself admitted to privileges hitherto so jealously withheld as to endow them with a factitious value, and in a scene of real beauty.  The textures, patterns, and tints were, as Owen observed, such as approved themselves to the æsthetic sense, the miniature embroidery of the brocades was absolute art, and no contemptible taste was displayed in the apparently fortuitous yet really elaborate groupings of rich and delicate hues, fine folds, or ponderous draperies.

‘Far from it,’ said Honor; ‘the only doubt is whether such be a worthy application of æsthetics.  Were they not given us for better uses?’

‘To diffuse the widest amount of happiness?’

‘That is one purpose.’

‘And a fair woman well dressed is the sight most delightful to the greatest number of beholders.’

Honor made a playful face of utter repudiation of the maxim, but meeting him on his own ground emphasized ‘Fair and well dressed—that is, appropriately.’

‘That is what brings me here, said Owen, turning round, as the changeful silks, already asked for, were laid on the counter before them.

It was an amusing shopping.  The gentleman’s object was to direct the taste of both ladies, but his success was not the same.  Honora’s first affections fell upon a handsome black, enlivened by beautiful blue flowers in the flounces; but her tyrant scouted it as a ‘dingy dowager,’ and overruled her into choosing a delicate lavender, insisting that if it were less durable, so much the better for her friends, and domineering over the black lace accompaniments with a solemn tenderness that made her warn him in a whisper that people were taking her for his ancient bride, thus making him some degrees more drolly attentive; settling her head-gear with the lady of the shop, without reference to her.  After all, it was very charming to be so affectionately made a fool of, and it was better for her children as well as due to the house of Charlecote that she should not be a dowdy country cousin.

Meantime, Phœbe stood by amused, admiring, assisting, but not at all bewildered.  Miss Fennimore had impressed the maxim; ‘Always know what you mean to do, and do it.’  She had never chosen a dress before, but that did not hinder her from having a mind and knowing it; she had a reply for each silk that Owen suggested, and the moment her turn came, she desired to see a green glacé.  In vain he exclaimed, and drew his favourites in front of her, in vain appealed to Miss Charlecote and the shopman; she laughed him off, took but a moment to reject each proffered green which did not please her, and in as brief a space had recognized the true delicate pale tint of ocean.  It was one that few complexions could have borne, but their connoisseur, with one glance from it to her fresh cheek, owned her right, though much depended on the garniture, and he again brought forward his beloved lilac, insinuating that he should regard her selection of it as a personal attention.  No; she laughed, and said she had made up her mind and would not change; and while he was presiding over Honora’s black lace, she was beforehand with him, and her bill was being made out for her white muslin worked mantle, white bonnet with a tuft of lady grass, white evening dress, and wreath of lilies of the valley.

‘Green and white, forsaken quite,’ was the best revenge that occurred to him, and Miss Charlecote declared herself ashamed that the old lady’s dress had caused so much more fuss than the young lady’s.

It was of course too late for the Exhibition, so they applied themselves to further shopping, until Owen had come to the farthest point whence he could conveniently walk back to dine with his cousins, and go with them to the opera, and he expended some vituperation upon Ratia for an invitation which had prevented Phœbe from being asked to join the party.

Phœbe was happy enough without it, and though not morbidly bashful, felt that at present it was more comfortable to be under Miss Charlecote’s wing than that of Lucilla, and that the quiet evening was more composing than fresh scenes of novelty.

The Woolstone-lane world was truly very different from that of which she had had a glimpse, and quite as new to her.  Mr. Parsons, after his partial survey, was considering of possibilities, or more truly of endeavours at impossibilities, a mission to that dreadful population, means of discovering their sick, of reclaiming their children, of causing the true Light to shine in that frightful gross darkness that covered the people.  She had never heard anything yet discussed save on the principle of self-pleasing or self-aggrandizement; here, self-spending was the axiom on which all the problems were worked.

After dinner, Mr. Parsons retired into the study, and while his wife and Miss Charlecote sat down for a friendly gossip over the marriages of the two daughters, Phœbe welcomed an unrestrained tête-à-tête with her brother.  They were one on either seat of the old oriel window, she, with her work on her lap, full of pleasant things to tell him, but pausing as she looked up, and saw his eyes far far away, as he knelt on the cushion, his elbows on the sill of the open lattice, one hand supporting his chin, the other slowly erecting his hair into the likeness of the fretful porcupine.  He had heard of, but barely assented to, the morrow’s dinner, or the fête at Castle Blanch; he had not even asked her how Lucilla looked; and after waiting for some time, she said, as a feeler—‘You go with us to-morrow?’

‘I suppose I must.’

‘Lucy said so much in her pretty way about catching the robin, that I am sure she was vexed at your not having called.’

No answer: his eyes had not come home.

Presently he mumbled something so much distorted by the compression of his chin, and by his face being out of window, that his sister could not make it out.  In answer to her sound of inquiry, he took down one hand, removed the other from his temple, and emitting a modicum more voice from between his teeth, said, ‘It is plain—it can’t be—’

‘What can’t be?  Not—Lucy?’ gasped Phœbe.

‘I can’t take shares in the business.’

Her look of relief moved him to explain, and drawing himself in, he sat down on his own window-seat, stretching a leg across, and resting one foot upon that where she was placed, so as to form a sort of barrier, shutting themselves into a sense of privacy.

‘I can’t do it,’ he repeated, ‘not if my bread depended on it.’

‘What is the matter?’

‘I have looked into the books, I have gone over it with Rawlins.’