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

Bertha scarcely answered, but made an imperious sign to be drawn to the west wing, and as Phœbe succeeded in turning Augusta’s attention to the hothouses Mervyn beckoned to Robert, rather injudiciously, for his patient was still tremulous from the first greeting.  Her face had still the strangely old appearance, her complexion was nearly white, her hair thin and scanty, the almost imperceptible cast of the eye which had formerly only served to give character to her arch expression, had increased to a decided blemish; and her figure which had shot up to woman’s height, seemed to bend like a reed as Mervyn supported her to the sofa in the school-room.  With nervous fright she retained his hand, speaking with such long, helpless hesitation that Robert caught only the words ‘Juliana—never—’

‘Never, never,’ answered Mervyn; ‘don’t fear!  We’ll prevent that, Robert; tell her that she shall not fall into Juliana’s hands—no, nor do anything against her will.’

Only after repeated assurances from both brothers that Augusta should not carry her off in her present state, did she rest tranquilly on the sofa, while Mervyn after waiting on her assiduously, with touching tenderness, as if constantly imploring her to be pleased, applied himself to playing with the dog, watching her face for some vestige of interest, and with so much gratification at the slightest sign of amusement as to show how melancholy must have been the state compared with which this was improvement.

After slowly attaining her present amount of convalescence, she had there stopped short, without progress in strength or spirits, and alarms constantly varying for her head, spine, and lungs, as if the slightest accidental cause might fix permanent disease in either quarter; and to those who daily watched her, and knew the miserable effects produced by the merest trifles, it was terrible to think that her destination was in the hands of a comparative stranger, urged on by the dull Augusta and the acid Juliana.  Mervyn needed no severer penalty for having forfeited his right to protect his sisters; attached to them and devoted to Bertha as the anxieties of the spring had rendered him.  The sight of Bertha had so far modified Lady Bannerman’s scheme, that she proposed herself to conduct the three to Brighton, and there remain till the London season, when the two younger could be disposed of in some boarding-school, and Phœbe conducted to Albury-street.  Mr. Crabbe did not appear averse to this offer, and there was a correctness about it which rendered it appalling to those who had not Phœbe’s quiet trust that no part of it would be allowed to happen unless it were good for them.  And she found her eldest brother so much subdued and less vituperative, that she thought him quite obliged by her experienced counsel on his housekeeping and cookery, breaking up his present establishment and letting the house for a year, during which she promised him all facilities for meeting a young widow, the wealth of whose stockbroking husband would be exactly what his business and estate required, and would pay off all his debts.

Phœbe saw indications on Mervyn’s countenance which made it no surprise that he was in such a condition in the morning that only copious loss of blood and the most absolute rest to the last moment enabled him to go to W– for the trial.  Miss Charlecote had undertaken the care of Bertha, that Miss Fennimore might take charge of Maria, who was exceedingly eager to see her brother and sister give evidence.

There is no need to dwell on the proceedings.  It was to Phœbe on a larger scale what she had previously gone through.  She was too much occupied with the act before God and her neighbour to be self-conscious, or to think of the multitudes eagerly watching her young simple face, or listening to her grave clear tones.  A dim perception crossed Lady Bannerman’s mind that there really might be something in little Phœbe when she found the sheriff’s wife, the grande dame of the hunting field, actually shedding tears of emotion.

As soon as Mervyn’s own evidence had been given he had been obliged to go to the inn and lie down; and Phœbe wished to join him there and go home at once.  Both Robert and Sir John Raymond were waiting for her at the door of the witness-box, and the latter begged to introduce the sheriff, who pressed her to let him take her back into court to Lady Bannerman, his wife wished so much to see her there and at luncheon.  And when Phœbe declared that she must return to her brother, she was told that it had been settled that she was to come with Sir Nicholas and Lady Bannerman to dine and sleep at the sheriff’s next day, after the assize was over, to meet the judges.

Phœbe was almost desperate in her refusals, and was so little believed after all, that she charged Robert—when the sheriff had taken leave—to assure Augusta of the impossibility of her accepting the invitation.  Sir John smiled, saying, ‘Lady Caroline scarcely deserved her,’ and added, ‘Here is another who wishes to shake hands with you, and this time I promise that you shall not be persecuted—my brother.’

He was a thin, spare man, who might have been taken for the elder brother, with a gentle, dreamy expression and soft, tender voice, such as she could not imagine being able to cope with pupils.  He asked after her brother’s health, and she offered to ascertain whether Mervyn felt well enough to see him, but he thanked her, saying it was better not.

‘It could not have been his doing,’ thought Phœbe, as she went up-stairs.  ‘How strong-minded Cecily must be!  I wonder whether she would have done Bertha good.’

‘Whose voice was that?’ exclaimed Mervyn, at his door above.

‘Sir John Raymond and his brother.’

‘Are they coming in?’

‘No; they thought it might disturb you.’

Phœbe was glad that these answers fell to the share of the unconscious Robert.  Mervyn sat down, and did not revert to the Raymonds through all the homeward journey.  Indeed, he seemed unequal to speaking at all, went to his room immediately, and did not appear again when the others came home, bringing tidings that the verdict was guilty, and the sentence penal servitude.  Lady Bannerman had further made a positive engagement with the sheriff’s lady, and was at first incredulous, then highly displeased, at Phœbe’s refusal to be included in it.  She was sure it was only that Phœbe was bent on her own way, and thought she should get it when left at home with her guardian and her brothers.

Poor Phœbe, she did not so much as know what her own way was!  She had never so much wished for her wise guardian, but in the meantime the only wisdom she could see was to wait patiently, and embrace whatever proposal would seem best for the others, though with little hope that any would not entail pain and separation from those who could spare her as ill as she could spare them.

Dr. Martyn was to come over in the course of the ensuing day to examine Bertha, and give her guardian his opinion of her state.  There was little danger of its being favourable to violent changes, for Augusta made a descent on the school-room after dinner, and the morbid agitation thus occasioned obliged Miss Fennimore to sit up with the patient till one o’clock.  In the morning the languor was extreme, and the cough so frequent that the fear for the lungs was in the ascendant.

But Augusta, knowing of all this, believed her visit to have been most important, and immediately after breakfast summoned Robert to a conference, that he might be convinced that there must be no delay in taking measures for breaking up the present system.

‘We must hear what Dr. Martyn says.’

‘I never thought anything of Dr. Martyn since he advised me to leave off wine at supper.  As Juliana says, a physician can always be taken in by an artful woman, and he is playing into her hands.’

‘Into whose?’ said Robert, unable to suppose it could be Phœbe’s.

‘Come, Robert, you ought not to let yourself be so blinded.  I am sure it is more for your interest than my own, but I see you are as simple as ever.  Juliana said any one could hoodwink you by talking of altar-cloths and Anglo-Saxons.’

‘Anglo-Catholics, possibly.’

‘Well, it is all the same!  It is those nonsensical distinctions, rather than your own interests; but when you are cut out, and depend upon it, she will lose no time in his state of health—’

‘Of whom or what are you talking?’

‘I never thought well of her, pretending to drink nothing but water; and with that short, dry way, that I call impertinence; but I never thought she could be so lost till last night!  Why, when I thought I would just go and see how the child was—there, after calling himself too ill to come in to dinner, there sat Mervyn, actually drinking tea.  I promise you they looked disconcerted!’

‘Well they might be!  Bertha suffered half the night from that sudden visit.’

‘And you believe that, Robert!  Well! it is a convenient blind!  But if you won’t, we shall do our best to shame them, and if she dares it, we shall never visit her!  That’s all!’

Her drift here becoming revealed to Robert, his uncontrollable smile caused Augusta to swell with resentment.  ‘Aye! nothing on earth will make you own yourself mistaken, or take the advice of your elders, though you might have had enough of upholding Phœbe’s wilfulness.’

‘Well, what do you want me to do?’

‘To join us all in seeing that Miss Fennimore leaves the house before us.  Then I will take the girls to Brighton, and you and the Actons might keep watch over him, and if he should persist in his infatuation—why, in the state of his head, it would almost come to a commission of lunacy.  Juliana said so!’

‘I have no doubt of it,’ said Robert, gravely.  ‘I am obliged to you both, Augusta.  As you observe, I am the party chiefly concerned, therefore I have a right to request that you will leave me to defend my interests as I shall see best, and that you will confide your surmise to no one else.’

Robert was not easily gainsaid when he spoke in that tone, and besides, Augusta really was uncertain whether he did not seriously adopt her advice; but though silenced towards him, she did not abstain from lamenting herself to Miss Charlecote, who had come by particular request to consult with Dr. Martyn, and enforce his opinion on Mr. Crabbe.  Honora settled the question by a laugh, and an assurance that Mervyn had views in another direction; but Augusta knew of so many abortive schemes for him, and believed him to be the object of so many reports, that she treated this with disdain, and much amused Honora by her matronly superiority and London patronage.

Dr. Martyn came to luncheon, and she endeavoured to extort from him that indulgence hurt Bertha, and that Mervyn needed variety.  Failing in this, she remembered his anti-supper advice, and privately warned Mr. Crabbe against him.

His advice threw a new light on the matter.  He thought that in a few weeks’ time, Bertha ought to be taken to Switzerland, and perhaps spend the winter in the south of France.  Travelling gave the best hope of rousing her spirits or bracing her shattered constitution, but the utmost caution against fatigue and excitement would be requisite; she needed to be at once humoured and controlled, and her morbid repugnance to new attendants must be respected till it should wear off of its own accord.

Surely this might be contrived between sister, governess, and German nurse, and if Mr. Fulmort himself would go too, it would be the best thing for his health, which needed exemption from business and excitement.

Here was playing into the governess’s hands!  Mindful of Juliana’s injunctions, Lady Bannerman announced her intention of calling heaven and earth together rather than sanction the impropriety, and set off for her party at the sheriff’s in a mood which made Phœbe tremble lest the attractions of ortolans and Burgundy should instigate the ‘tremendous sacrifice’ of becoming chaperon.

Mervyn thought the doctor’s sentence conclusive as to Miss Fennimore’s plans, but to his consternation it made no change in them, except that she fixed the departure of the family as the moment of parting.  Though her manner towards him had become open and friendly, she was deaf to all that he could urge, declaring that it was her duty to leave his sisters, and that the change, when once made, would be beneficial to Bertha, by removing old associations.  In despair, he came to Miss Charlecote, begging her to try her powers of persuasion for the sake of poor Bertha, now his primary object, whom he treated with spoiling affection.  He was quite powerless to withstand any fancy of Bertha in her present state, and not only helpless without Miss Fennimore, but having become so far used to her that for his own sake he could not endure the notion of a substitute.  ‘Find out the objection,’ he said, ‘that at least I may know whether to punch Augusta’s head.’

Honora gratified him by seeking an interview with the governess, though not clear herself as to the right course, and believing that her advice, had she any to give, would go for very little with the learned governess.  Miss Fennimore was soft and sad, but decided, and begging to be spared useless arguments.  Whether Lady Bannerman had insulted her by hinting her suspicions, Honor could not divine, for she was firmly entrenched within her previous motive, namely, that it would be wrong to remain in a family where first her system, and then her want of vigilance, had produced such results.  And to the representation that for her own sake the present conjuncture was the worst in which she could depart, she replied that it mattered not, since she saw her own deficiencies too plainly ever to undertake again the charge of young ladies, and only intended to find employment as a teacher in a school.

‘Say no more,’ she entreated; ‘and above all do not let Phœbe persuade me,’ and there were tears on either cheek.

‘Indeed, I believe her not having done so is a most unselfish act of deference to your judgment.’

‘I know it for a sign of true affection!  You, who know what she is, can guess what it costs me to leave her above all, now that I am one in faith with her, and could talk to her more openly than I ever dared to do; she whose example first showed me that faith is a living substance!  Yes, Miss Charlecote, I am to be received into the Church at St. Wulstan’s, where I shall be staying, as soon as I have left Beauchamp.’

Overcome with feeling, Honora hastily rose and kissed the governess’s forehead, her tears choking her utterance.  ‘But—but,’ she presently said, ‘that removes all possible doubt.  Does not Robert say so?’

‘He does,’ said Miss Fennimore; ‘but I cannot think so.  After having miserably infused my own temper of rationalism, how could I, as a novice and learner, fitly train that poor child?  Besides, others of the family justly complain of me, and I will not be forced on them.  No, nor let my newly-won blessing be alloyed by bringing me any present advantage.’

‘I honour you—I agree with you,’ said Miss Charlecote, sadly; ‘but it makes me the more sorry for those poor girls.  I do not see what is to be done!  A stranger will be worse than no one to both the invalids; Lieschen has neither head nor nerve; and though I do not believe Phœbe will ever give way, Bertha behaves very ill to her, and the strain of anxiety may be too much for such a mere girl, barely twenty!  She may suffer for it afterwards, if not at the time.’

‘I feel it all,’ sighed Miss Fennimore; ‘but it would not justify me in letting myself be thrust on a family whose confidence in me has been deceived.  Nobody could go with them but you, Miss Charlecote.’

‘Me! how much obliged Mervyn would be,’ laughed Honora.

‘It was a wild wish, such as crosses the mind in moments of perplexity and distress; but no one else could be so welcome to my poor Bertha, nor be the motherly friend they all require.  Forgive me, Miss Charlecote; but I have seen what you made of Phœbe, in spite of me and my system.’

So Honor returned to announce the ill-success of her mission.

‘There!’ said Mervyn; ‘goodness knows what will become of us!  Bertha would go into fits at the sight of any stranger; and such a hideous old catamaran as Juliana will be sure to have in pickle, will be the death of her outright.  I think Miss Charlecote had better take pity on us!’