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

‘There was a copy lying on the table in her little parlour, as if she had been writing something out from it.  It is very odd, but it was in that peculiar olive-green morocco that some of the books in your father’s library were bound in.’

‘Not mine, certainly,’ said Lucilla.  ‘Good Honor Charlecote would have run crazy if she thought I had touched a Shelley; a very odd study for Edna.  But as to the olive-green, of course it was bound under the same star as ours.’

‘Cilly, Cilly, now or never! photograph or not?’ screamed Rashe, from behind her three-legged camera.

‘Not!’ was Lucilla’s cavalier answer.  ‘Pack up; have done with it, Rashe.  Pick me up at the school.’

Away she flew headlong, the patient and disconcerted Horatia following her to her room to extract hurried explanations, and worse than no answers as to the sundries to be packed at the last moment, while she hastily put on hat and mantle, and was flying down again, when her brother, with outspread arms, nearly caught her in her spring.  ‘Hollo! what’s up?’

‘Don’t stop me, Owen!  I’m going to walk on with Mr. Prendergast and be picked up.  I must speak to Edna Murrell.’

‘Nonsense!  The carriage will be out in five minutes.’

‘I must go, Owen.  There’s some story of a demon in human shape on the water with her last night, and Mr. Prendergast can’t get a word out of her.’

‘Is that any reason you should go ramping about, prying into people’s affairs?’

‘But, Owen, they will send her away.  They will take away her character.’

‘The—the—the more reason you should have nothing to do with it,’ he exclaimed.  ‘It is no business for you, and I won’t have you meddle in it.’

Such a strong and sudden assumption of fraternal authority took away her breath; and then, in terror lest he should know cause for this detention, she said—

‘Owen! you don’t guess who it was?’

‘How should I?’ he roughly answered.  ‘Some villainous slander, of course, there is, but it is no business of yours to be straking off to make it worse.’

‘I should not make it worse.’

‘Women always make things worse.  Are you satisfied now?’ as the carriage was seen coming round.

‘That is only to be packed.’

‘Packed with folly, yes!  Look here!  11.20, and the train at 12.5!’

‘I will miss the train, go up later, and sleep in London.’

‘Stuff and nonsense!  Who is going to take you?  Not I.’

In Lucilla’s desperation in the cause of her favourite Edna, she went through a rapid self-debate.  Honor would gladly wait for her for such a cause; she could sleep at Woolstone-lane, and thence go on to join Horatia in Derbyshire, escorted by a Hiltonbury servant.  But what would that entail?  She would be at their mercy.  Robert would obtain his advantage—it would be all over with her!  Pride arose; Edna’s cause sank.  How many destinies were fixed in the few seconds while she stood with one foot forward, spinning her black hat by the elastic band!

‘Too late, Mr. Prendergast; I cannot go,’ she said, as she saw him waiting for her at the door.  ‘Don’t be angry with me, and don’t let the womankind prejudice you against poor Edna.  You forgive me!  It is really too late.’

‘Forgive you?’ smiled Mr. Prendergast, pressing her caressing hand in his great, lank grasp; ‘what for?’

‘Oh, because it is too late; and I can’t help it.  But don’t be hard with her.  Good-bye.’

Too late!  Why did Lucilla repeat those words so often?  Was it a relief to that irreflective nature to believe the die irrevocably cast, and the responsibility of decision over?  Or why did she ask forgiveness of the only one whom she was not offending, but because there was a sense of need of pardon where she would not stoop to ask it.

Miss Charlecote and the Fulmorts, Rashe and Cilly, were to be transported to London by the same train, leaving Owen behind to help Charles Charteris entertain some guests still remaining, Honora promising him to wait in town until Lucilla should absolutely have started for Ireland, when she would supply him with the means of pursuit.

Lucilla’s delay and change of mind made the final departure so late that it was needful to drive excessively fast, and the train was barely caught in time.  The party were obliged to separate, and Robert took Phœbe into a different carriage from that where the other three found places.

In the ten minutes’ transit by railway, Lucy, always softened by parting, was like another being towards Honor, and talked eagerly of ‘coming home’ for Christmas, sent messages to Hiltonbury friends, and did everything short of retractation to efface the painful impression she had left.

‘Sweetest Honey!’ she whispered, as they moved on after the tickets had been taken, thrusting her pretty head over into Honor’s place.  ‘Nobody’s looking, give me a kiss, and say you don’t bear malice, though your kitten has been in a scratching humour.’

‘Malice! no indeed!’ said Honor, fondly; ‘but, oh! remember, dear child, that frolics may be at too dear a price.’

She longed to say more, but the final stop was made, and their roads diverged.  Honor thought that Lucy looked white and trembling, with an uneasy eye, as though she would have given much to have been going home with her.

Nor was the consoling fancy unfounded.  Lucilla’s nerves were not at their usual pitch, and an undefined sense of loss of a safeguard was coming over her.  Moreover, the desire for a last word to Robert was growing every moment, and he would keep on hunting out those boxes, as if they mattered to anybody.

She turned round on his substitute, and said, ‘I’ve not spoken to Robin all this time.  No wonder his feathers are ruffled.  Make my peace with him, Phœbe dear.’

On the very platform, in that moment of bustle, Phœbe conscientiously and reasonably began, ‘Will you tell me how much you mean by that?’

‘Cilly—King’s-cross—1.15,’ cried Ratia, snatching at her arm.

‘Oh! the slave one is!  Next time we meet, Phœbe, the redbreast will be in a white tie, I shall—’

Hurry and agitation were making her flippant, and Robert was nearer than she deemed.  He was assisting her to her seat, and then held out his hand, but never raised his eyes.  ‘Goodbye, Robin,’ she said; ‘Reason herself shall meet you at the Holt at Christmas.’

‘Good-bye,’ he said, but without a word of augury, and loosed her hand.  Her fingers clung one moment, but he drew his away, called ‘King’s-cross’ to the coachman, and she was whirled off.  Angler as she was, she no longer felt her prey answer her pull.  Had the line snapped?

When Owen next appeared in Woolstone-lane he looked fagged and harassed, but talked of all things in sky, earth, or air, politics, literature, or gossip, took the bottom of the table, and treated the Parsonses as his guests.  Honora, however, felt that something was amiss; perhaps Lucilla engaged to Lord William; and when, after luncheon, he followed her to the cedar room, she began with a desponding ‘Well?’

‘Well, she is off!’

‘Alone with Rashe?’

‘Alone with Rashe.  Why, Sweet Honey, you look gratified!’

‘I had begun to fear some fresh news,’ said Honor, smiling with effort.  ‘I am sure that something is wrong.  You do not look well, my dear.  How flushed you are, and your forehead is so hot!’ as she put her hand on his brow.

‘Oh, nothing!’ he said, caressingly, holding it there.  ‘I’m glad to have got away from the castle; Charlie and his set drink an intolerable lot of wine.  I’ll not be there again in a hurry.’

‘I am glad of that.  I wish you had come away with us.’

‘I wish to heaven I had!’ cried Owen; ‘but it could not be helped!  So now for my wild-goose chase.  Cross to-morrow night; only you were good enough to say you would find ways and means.’

‘There, that is what I intended, including your Midsummer quarter.  Don’t you think it enough?’ as she detected a look of dissatisfaction.

‘You are very good.  It is a tremendous shame; but you see, Honor dear, when one is across the water, one may as well go the whole animal.  If this wise sister of mine does not get into a mess, there is a good deal I could do—plenty of sport.  Little Henniker and some Westminster fellows in the –th are at Kilkenny.’

‘You would like to spend the vacation in Ireland,’ said Honor, with some disappointment.  ‘Well, if you go for my pleasure, it is but fair you should have your own.  Shall I advance your September allowance?’

‘Thank you.  You do spoil one abominably, you concoction of honey and all things sweet.  But the fact is, I’ve got uncommonly hard-up of late; no one would believe how ruinous it is being with the Charterises.  I believe money evaporates in the atmosphere.’