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Unknown - "The Bible, King James version, Book 40: Matthew"

Nathaniel Hawthorne - "The Old Apple Dealer (From Mosses From An Old Manse)"

Lightheart - "The Gospel of John for Readers"

George Meredith - "Rhoda Fleming, v1"

THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY




No more was said on that occasion, but three days after cards were
going about the county with invitations from Lord Keith to an evening
party, with "Dancing." Lord Keith averred, with the full concurrence
of his brother, that he owed many civilities to the ladies of the
neighbourhood, and it was a good time to return them when he could
gratify the young kinswoman who had showed such generous forbearance
about the regimental ball. It was no unfavourable moment either,
when he had his brother to help him, for the ordering of balls had
been so much a part of Colin's staff duties, that it came quite
naturally to him, especially with Coombe within reach to assist.
There was some question whether the place should be the public rooms
or Gowanbrae, but Bessie's vote decided on the latter, in
consideration of the Colonel's chest. She was rather shocked, while
very grateful, at the consequences of the little conversation on the
hill top, but she threw herself into all the counsels with bright,
ardent pleasure, though carefully refraining from any presumption
that she was queen of the evening.

Lady Temple received an invitation, but never for one moment thought
of going, or even supposed that any one could imagine she could.
Indeed, if she had accepted it, it would have been a decisive
encouragement to her ancient suitor, and Colin saw that he regarded
her refusal, in its broad black edges, as a further clenching of the
reply to his addresses.

Bessie was to be chaperoned by Mrs. Curtis. As to Rachel, she had
resolved against youthful gaieties for this winter and all others,
but she felt that to show any reluctance to accept the Keith
invitation might be a contradiction to her indifference to the
Colonel, and so construed by her mother, Grace, and Bessie. So all
she held out for was, that as she had no money to spend upon
adornments, her blue silk dinner dress, and her birthday wreath,
should and must do duty; and as to her mother's giving her finery,
she was far too impressive and decided for Mrs. Curtis to venture
upon such presumption. She was willing to walk through her part for
an evening, and indeed the county was pretty well accustomed to Miss
Rachel Curtis's ball-room ways, and took them as a matter of course.

Gowanbrae had two drawing-rooms with folding doors between, quite
practicable for dancing, and the further one ending in a
conservatory, that likewise extended along the end of the entrance
hall and dining-room. The small library, where Colonel Keith usually
sat, became the cloak-room, and contained, when Mrs. Curtis and her
daughters arrived, so large a number of bright cashmere cloaklets,
scarlet, white, and blue, that they began to sigh prospectively at
the crowd which, Mrs. Curtis would have encountered with such joyful
valour save for that confidence on the way home from the book club.

They were little prepared for the resources of a practised staff-
officer. Never had a ball even to them looked so well arranged, or
in such thorough style, as a little dexterous arrangement of flowers,
lights, and sofas, and rendered those two rooms. The two hosts
worked extremely well. Lord Keith had shaken off much of his
careless stoop and air of age, and there was something in his old-
world polish and his Scotch accent that gave a sort of romance to the
manner of his reception. His brother, with his fine brow, and
thoughtful eyes, certainly appeared to Rachel rather thrown away as
master of the ceremonies, but whatever he did, he always did in the
quietest and best way, and receptions had been a part of his
vocation, so that he infused a wonderful sense of ease, and supplied
a certain oil of good breeding that made everything move suavely.
Young ladies in white, and mothers in all the colours of the rainbow,
were there in plenty, and, by Bessie's special command, the scene was
enlivened by the Highland uniform, with the graceful tartan scarf
fastened across the shoulder with the Bruce brooch.

Rachel had not been long in the room before she was seized on by
Emily Grey, an enthusiastic young lady of the St. Norbert's
neighbourhood, whom she met seldom, but was supposed to know
intimately.

"And they say you have the hero here--the Victoria Cross man--and
that you know him. You must show him to me, and get me introduced."

"There is no Victoria Cross man here," said Rachel, coldly. "Colonel
Keith did not have one."

"Oh, no, I don't mean Colonel Keith, but Captain Alexander Keith,
quite a young man. Oh, I am sure you remember the story--you were
quite wild about it--of his carrying the lighted shell out of the
hospital tent; and they told me he was always over here, and his
sister staying with Lady Temple."

"I know Captain Alexander Keith," said Rachel, slowly; "but you must
be mistaken, I am certain I should know if he had a Victoria Cross."

"It is very odd; Charlie told me it was the same," said Miss Grey,
who, like all others, was forced to bend to Rachel's decisive manner.

"Scottish names are very common," said Rachel, and at that moment a
partner came and carried Emily off.

But as Rachel stood still, an odd misgiving seized her, a certain
doubt whether upon the tall lazy figure that was leaning against a
wall nearly opposite to her, talking to another officer, she did not
see something suspiciously bronze and eight-pointed that all did not
wear. There was clearly a medal, though with fewer clasps than some
owned; but what else was there? She thought of the lecture on
heroism she had given to him, and felt hot all over. Behold, he was
skirting the line of chaperons, and making his way towards their
party. The thing grew more visible, and she felt more disconcerted
than ever had been her lot before; but escape there was none, here he
was shaking hands.

"You don't polk?" he said to her. "In fact, you regard all this as a
delusion of weak minds. Then, will you come and have some tea?"

Rachel took his arm, still bewildered, and when standing before him
with the tea-cup in her hand, she interrupted something he was
saying, she knew not what, with, "That is not the Victoria Cross?"

"Then it is, like all the rest, a delusion," he answered, in his
usual impassive manner.

"And gained," she continued, "by saving the lives of all those
officers, the very thing I told you about!"

"You told me that man was killed."

"Then it was not you!"

"Perhaps they picked up the pieces of the wrong one."

"But if you would only tell me how you gained it."

"By the pursuit of conchology."

"Then it was yourself?" again said Rachel, in her confusion.

"If I be I as I suppose I be," he replied, giving her his arm again,
and as they turned towards the conservatory, adding, "Many such
things have happened, and I did not know whether you meant this."

"That was the reason you made so light of it."

"What, because I thought it was somebody else?"

"No, the contrary reason; but I cannot understand why you let me go
on without telling me."

"I never interfere when a story is so perfect in itself."

"But is my story perfect in itself?" said Rachel, "or is it the
contrary?"

"No one knows less of the particulars than I do," he answered. "I
think your version was that it was an hospital tent that the shell
came into. It was not that, but a bungalow, which was supposed to be
out of range. It stood on a bit of a slope, and I thought I should
have been able to kick the shell down before it had time to do
mischief."

"But you picked it up, and took it to the door--I mean, did you?"
said Rachel, who was beginning to discover that she must ask Alick
Keith a direct question, if she wished to get an answer, and she
received a gesture of assent.

"I was very blind," she said, humbly, "and now I have gone and
insisted to poor Emily Grey that you never did any such thing."

"Thank you," he said; "it was the greatest kindness you could do me."

"Ah! your sister said you had the greatest dislike to hero worship."

"A natural sense of humbug," he said. "I don't know why they gave me
this," he added, touching his cross, "unless it was that one of the
party in the bungalow had a turn for glorifying whatever happened to
himself. Plenty of more really gallant things happened every day,
and were never heard of, and I, who absolutely saw next to nothing of
the campaign, have little right to be decorated."

"Ah!" said Rachel, thoughtfully, "I have always wondered whether one
would be happier for having accomplished an act of heroism."

"I do not know," said Alick, thoughtfully; then, as Rachel looked up
with a smile of amazement, "Oh, you mean this; but it was mere self-
preservation. I could hardly even have bolted, for I was laid up
with fever, and was very shaky on my legs."

"I suppose, however," said Rachel, "that the vision of one's life in
entering the army would be to win that sort of distinction, and so
young."

"Win it as some have done," said Alick, "and deserve what is far
better worth than distinction. That may be the dream, but, after
all, it is the discipline and constant duty that make the soldier,
and are far more really valuable than exceptional doings."

"People must always be ready for them, though," said Rachel

"And they are," said Alick, with grave exultation in his tone.

Then, after a pause, she led back the conversation to its personal
character, by saying. "Do you mean that the reception of this cross
was no gratification to you?"

"No, I am not so absurd," he replied, but he added sadly, "That was
damped quite otherwise. The news that I was named for it came almost
in the same breath with that of my father's death, and he had not
heard I was to receive it."

"Ah! I can understand."

"And you can see how intolerable was the fuss my good relations made
with me just when the loss was fresh on me, and with that of my two
chief friends, among my brother officers, fellows beside whom I was
nobody, and there was my uncle's blindness getting confirmed. Was
not that enough to sicken one with being stuck up for a lion, and
constantly poked up by the showwoman, under pretext of keeping up
one's spirits!"

"And you were--I mean were you--too ill to escape?"

"I was less able to help myself than Miss Williams is. There had
been a general smash of all the locomotive machinery on this side,
and the wretched monster could do nothing but growl at his visitors."

"Should you growl very much if I introduced you to Emily Grey? You
see it is a matter of justice and truth to tell her now, after having
contradicted her so flatly. I will wait to let you get out of the
way first if you like, but I think that would be unkind to her; and
if you ever do dance, I wish you would dance with her."

"With all my heart," he answered.

"Oh, thank you," said Rachel, warmly.

He observed with some amusement Rachel's utter absence of small
dexterities, and of even the effort to avoid the humiliation of a
confession of her error. Miss Grey and a boy partner had wandered
into the conservatory, and were rather dismally trying to seem
occupied with the camellias when Rachel made her way to them, and
though he could not actually hear the words, he knew pretty well what
they were. "Emily, you were right after all, and I was mistaken,"
and then as he drew near, "Miss Grey, Captain Keith wishes to be
introduced to you."

It had been a great shock to Rachel's infallibility, and as she
slowly began working her way in search of her mother, after observing
the felicity of Emily's bright eyes, she fell into a musing on the
advantages of early youth in its indiscriminating powers of
enthusiasm for anything distinguished for anything, and that sense of
self-exaltation in any sort of contact with a person who had been
publicly spoken of. "There is genuine heroism in him," thought
Rachel, "but it is just in what Emily would never appreciate--it is
in the feeling that he could not help doing as he did; the half-
grudging his reward to himself because other deeds have passed
unspoken. I wonder whether his ironical humour would allow him to
see that Mr. Mauleverer is as veritable a hero in yielding hopes of
consideration, prospects, honours, to his sense of truth and
uprightness. If he would only look with an unprejudiced eye, I know
he would be candid."

"Are you looking for Mrs. Curtis?" said Colonel Keith. "I think she
is in the other room."

"Not particularly, thank you," said Rachel, and she was surprised to
find how glad she was to look up freely at him.

"Would it be contrary to your principles or practice to dance with
me?"

"To my practice," she said smilingly, "so let us find my mother. Is
Miss Alison Williams here? I never heard whether it was settled that
she should come," she added, resolved both to show him her knowledge
of his situation, and to let her mother see her at her ease with him.

"No, she was obstinate, though her sister and I did our utmost to
persuade her, and the boys were crazy to make her go."

"I can't understand your wishing it."

"Not as an experience of life? Alison never went to anything in her
girlhood, but devoted herself solely to her sister, and it would be
pleasant to see her begin her youth."

"Not as a mere young lady!" exclaimed Rachel.

"That is happily not possible."

An answer that somewhat puzzled Rachel, whose regard for him was
likely to be a good deal dependent upon his contentment with Alison's
station in life.

"I must say young ladyhood looks to the greatest advantage there,"
Rachel could not help exclaiming, as at that moment Elizabeth Keith
smiled at them, as she floated past, her airy white draperies looped
with scarlet ribbons; her dark hair turned back and fastened by a
snood of the same, an eagle's feather clasped in it by a large
emerald, a memory of her father's last siege--that of Lucknow.

"She is a very pretty creature," said the Colonel, under the sparkle
of her bright eyes.

"I never saw any one make the pursuits of young ladyhood have so much
spirit and meaning," added Rachel. "Here you see she has managed to
make herself sufficiently like other people, yet full of individual
character and meaning."

"That is the theory of dress, I suppose," said the Colonel.

"If one chooses to cultivate it."

"Did you ever see Lady Temple in full dress?"

"No; we were not out when we parted as girls."

"Then you have had a loss. I think it was at our last Melbourne
ball, that when she went to the nursery to wish the children good
night, one of them--Hubert, I believe--told her to wear that dress
when she went to heaven, and dear old Sir Stephen was so delighted
that he went straight upstairs to kiss the boy for it."

"Was that Lady Temple?" said Alick Keith, who having found Miss Grey
engaged many deep, joined them again, and at his words came back a
thrill of Rachel's old fear and doubt as to the possible future.

"Yes," said the Colonel; "I was recollecting the gracious vision she
used to be at all our chief's parties."

"Vision, you call her, who lived in the house with her? What do you
think she was to us--poor wretches--coming up from barracks where
Mrs. O'Shaughnessy was our cynosure? There was not one of us to whom
she was not Queen of the East, and more, with that innocent, soft,
helpless dignity of hers!"

"And Sir Stephen for the first of her vassals," said the Colonel.

"What a change it has been!" said Alick.

"Yes; but a change that has shown her to have been unspoilable.
We were just agreeing on the ball-room perfections of her and your
sister in their several lines."

"Very different lines," said Alick, smiling.

"I can't judge of Fanny's," said Rachel, "but your sister is almost
enough to make one believe there can be some soul in young lady
life."

"I did not bring Bessie here to convert you," was the somewhat
perplexing answer.

"Nor has she," said Rachel, "except so far as I see that she can
follow ordinary girls' pursuits without being frivolous in them."
Alick bowed at the compliment.

"And she has been a sunbeam," added Rachel, "we shall all feel graver
and cloudier without her."

"Yes," said Colonel Keith, "and I am glad Mr. Clare has such a
sunbeam for his parsonage. What a blessing she will be there!" he
added, as he watched Bessie's graceful way of explaining to his
brother some little matter in behalf of the shy mother of a shy girl.
Thinking he might be wanted, Colonel Keith went forward to assist,
and Rachel continued, "I do envy that power of saying the right thing
to everybody!"

"Don't--it is the greatest snare," was his answer, much amazing her,
for she had her mind full of the two direct personal blunders she had
made towards him.

"It prevents many difficulties and embarrassments."

"Very desirable things."

"Yes; for those that like to laugh, but not for those that are
laughed at," said Rachel.

"More so; the worst of all misfortunes is to wriggle too smoothly
through life."

This was to Rachel the most remarkable part of the evening; as to the
rest, it was like all other balls, a weariness: Grace enjoying
herself and her universal popularity, always either talking or
dancing, and her mother comfortable and dutiful among other mothers;
the brilliant figure and ready grace of Bessie Keith being the one
vision that perpetually flitted in her dreams, and the one ever-
recurring recollection that Captain Keith, the veritable hero of the
shell, had been lectured by her on his own deed! In effect Rachel
had never felt so beaten down and ashamed of herself; so doubtful of
her own most positive convictions, and yet not utterly dissatisfied,
and the worst of it was that Emily Grey was after all carried off
without dancing with the hero; and Rachel felt as if her own
opinionativeness had defrauded the poor girl.

Other balls sent her home in a state of weariness, disgust, and
contempt towards every one, but this one had resulted in displeasure
with herself, yet in much interest and excitement; and, oh, passing
strange! through that same frivolous military society.

Indeed the military society was soon in better odour with her than
the clerical. She had been making strenuous efforts to get to St.
Herbert's, with Mr. Mitchell, for some time past, but the road was in
a state of being repaired, and the coachman was determined against
taking his horses there. As to going by train, that was equally
impossible, since he would still less have driven her to the station,
finally, Rachel took the resolute stop of borrowing Fanny's pony
carriage, and driving herself and the clergyman to the station, where
she was met by Mrs. Morris, the mother of one of the girls, to whom
she had promised such a visit, as it had been agreed that it would be
wisest not to unsettle the scholars by Christmas holidays.

The F. U. E. E. was in perfect order; the little girls sat upon a
bench with their copies before them, Mrs. Rawlins in the whitest of
caps presided over them, and Mr. Mauleverer was very urbane,
conducting the visitors over the house himself, and expatiating on
his views of cleanliness, ventilation, refinement, and equality of
cultivation, while Mrs. Rawlins remained to entertain Mrs. Morris.
Nothing could be more practical and satisfactory; some admirable
drawings of the children's were exhibited, and their conduct was said
to be excellent; except, Mr. Mauleverer remarked unwillingly, that
there was a tendency about little Mary to fancy herself injured, and
he feared that she was not always truthful; but these were childish
faults, that he hoped would pass away with further refinement, and
removal from the lower influences of her home.

After this, Rachel was not surprised that poor, ignorant, and always
deplorable Mrs. Morris did not seem in raptures with the state of her
child, but more inclined to lament not having seen more of her, and
not having her at home. That was quite in accordance with peasant
shortsightedness and ingratitude, but it was much more disappointing
that Mr. Mitchell said little or nothing of approbation; asked her a
few questions about her previous knowledge of Mr. Mauleverer and Mrs.
Rawlins, and when she began to talk of arranging for some one or two
of his London orphans, thanked her rather shortly, but said there was
no way of managing it. It was evident that he was quite as
prejudiced as others of his clerical brethren, and the more Rachel
read of current literature, the more she became convinced of their
bondage to views into which they durst not examine, for fear honesty
should compel them to assert their conclusions.

She had hoped better things from the stranger, but she began to be
persuaded that all her former concessions to the principles infused
in her early days were vain entanglements, and that it was merely
weakness and unwillingness to pain her mother that prevented her from
breaking through them.

She could not talk this out with anybody, except now and then an
utterance to the consenting Mr. Mauleverer, but in general she would
have been shocked to put these surging thoughts into words, and
Bessie was her only intimate who would avow that there could be
anything to be found fault with in a clergyman. When alone together,
Bessie would sometimes regretfully, sometimes in a tone of amusement,
go over bits of narrow-minded folly that had struck her in the
clergy, and more especially in her uncle's curate, Mr. Lifford, whose
dryness was, she owned, very repulsive to her.

"He is a good creature," she said, "and most necessary to my uncle,
but how he and I are to get through life together, I cannot tell. It
must soon be tried, though! After my visit at Bath will come my home
at Bishopsworthy!" And then she confided to Rachel all the parish
ways, and took counsel on the means of usefulness that would not
clash with the curate and pain her uncle. She even talked of a
possible orphan for the F. U. E. E., only that unlucky prejudice
against Mr. Mauleverer was sure to stand in the way.

So acceptable had Bessie Keith made herself everywhere, that all
Avonmouth was grieved at her engagement to spend the winter at Bath
with her married cousin, to whom she was imperatively necessary in
the getting up of a musical party.

"And I must go some time or other," she said to Colonel Keith, "so it
had better be when you are all here to make Myrtlewood cheerful, and
I can be of most use to poor Jane! I do think dear Lady Temple is
much more full of life and brightness now!"

Everybody seemed to consider Bessie's departure as their own personal
loss: the boys were in despair for their playfellow, Ermine would
miss those sunny visits; Colonel Keith many a pleasant discussion,
replete with delicate compliments to Ermine, veiled by tact; and Lord
Keith the pretty young clanswoman who had kept up a graceful little
coquetry with him, and even to the last evening, went on walking on
the esplanade with him in the sunset, so as to set his brother free
to avoid the evening chill.

And, above all, Lady Temple regretted the loss of the cheery
companion of her evenings. True, Bessie had lately had a good many
small evening gaieties, but she always came back from them so fresh
and bright, and so full of entertaining description and anecdote,
that Fanny felt as if she had been there herself, and, said Bessie,
"it was much better for her than staying at home with her, and
bringing in no novelty."

"Pray come to me again, dearest! Your stay has been the greatest
treat. It is very kind in you to be so good to me."

"It is you who are good to me, dearest Lady Temple."

"I am afraid I shall hardly get you again. Your poor uncle will
never be able to part with you, so I won't ask you to promise, but
if ever you can--"

"If ever I can! This has been a very happy time, dear Lady Temple,"
a confidence seemed trembling on her lips, but she suppressed it.
"I shall always think of you as the kindest friend a motherless girl
ever had! I will write to you from Bath. Good-bye--"

And there were all the boys in a row, little affectionate Hubert
absolutely tearful, and Conrade holding up a bouquet, on which he had
spent all his money, having persuaded Coombe to ride with him to the
nursery garden at Avoncester to procure it. He looked absolutely shy
and blushing, when Bessie kissed him and promised to dry the leaves
and keep them for ever.




CHAPTER XV.



GO AND BRAY



"Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this!"--
As You Like It


"Alick, I have something to say to you."

Captain Keith did not choose to let his sister travel alone, when he
could help it, and therefore was going to Bath with her, intending to
return to Avoncester by the next down train. He made no secret that
he thought it a great deal of trouble, and had been for some time
asleep, when, at about two stations from Bath, Bessie having shut the
little door in the middle of the carriage, thus addressed him,
"Alick, I have something to say to you, and I suppose I may as well
say it now."

She pressed upon his knee, and with an affected laziness, he drew his
eyes wide open.

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