THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY

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

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"I could not think, but I see it was so," said Colonel Keith,
gravely. "As I am obliged to understand these things, she must have
greatly exceeded her means, and have used much cleverness and
ingenuity in keeping the tradesmen quiet, and preventing all from
coming to light."

"How miserable! I can't fancy living in such a predicament."

"I am much afraid," added the Colonel, looking over the papers, "that
it explains the marriage--and then Keith did not allow her as much as
she expected."

"Oh, Colonel Keith, don't!" cried Rachel; "it is just the one thing
where I could not bear to believe Alick. She was so dear and
beautiful, and spoke so rightly."

"To believe Alick!" repeated the Colonel, as Rachel's voice broke
down.

"I thought--I ought not to have thought--he was hard upon her--but he
knew better," said Rachel, "of course he did not know of all this
dreadful business!"

"Assuredly not," said the Colonel, "that is self-evident, but as you
say, I am afraid he did know his poor sister's character better than
we did, when he came to warn me against the marriage."

"Did he? Oh how much it must have cost him."

"I am afraid I did not make it cost him less. I thought he judged
her harshly, and that his illness had made him magnify trifles, but
though our interference would have been perfectly useless, he was
quite right in his warning. Now that, poor thing, she is no longer
here to enchant us with her witcheries, I see that my brother greatly
suffered from being kept away from home, and detained in this place,
and that she left him far more alone than she ought to have done."

"Yes, Alick thought so, but she had such good reasons, I am sure she
believed them herself."

"If she had not believed them, she could not have had such perfect
sincerity of manner," said the Colonel; "she must have persuaded at
least one half of herself that she was acting for every one's good
except her own."

"And Mr. Clare, whom Alick always thought she neglected, never felt
it. Alick says he was too unselfish to claim attention."

"I never doubted her for one moment till I came home, on that unhappy
day, and found how ill Keith was. I did think then, that considering
how much she had seen of Alick while the splinters were working out,
she ought to have known better than to talk of sciatica; but she made
me quite believe in her extreme anxiety, and that she was only going
out because it was necessary for her to take care of you on your
first appearance. How bright she looked, and how little I thought I
should never see her again!"

"Oh, she meant what she said! She always was kind to me! Most
kind!" repeated Rachel; "so considerate about all the dreadful
spring--not one word did she say to vex me about the past! I am sure
she did go out on that day as much to shelter me as for anything
else. I can't bear to think all this--here in this pretty room that
she had such pleasure in; where she made me so welcome, after all my
disagreeableness and foolishness."

The Colonel could almost have said, "Better such foolishness than
such wisdom, such repulsion than such attraction." He was much
struck by Rachel's distress, and the absence of all female spite and
triumph, made him understand Ermine's defence of her as really large-
minded and generous.

"It is a very sad moment to be undeceived," he said; "one would
rather have one's faults come to light in one's life than
afterwards."

They were simple words, so simple that the terrible truth with which
they were connected, did not come upon Rachel at the first moment;
but as if to veil her agitation, she drew towards her a book, an
ivory-bound Prayer-book, full of illuminations, of Bessie's own
doing, and her eye fell upon the awful verse, "So long as thou doest
well unto thyself, men will speak good of thee." It was almost more
than Rachel could bear, sitting in the midst of the hoards, for which
poor Bessie had sold herself. She rose up, with a sob of oppressive
grief, and broke out, "Oh! at least it is a comfort that Alick was
really the kindest and rightest! Only too right! but you can settle
all this without him," she added imploringly; "need he know of this?
I can't bear that he should."

"Nor I," said Colonel Keith, "it was the reason that I am glad you
are here alone."

"Oh, thank you! No one need ever know," added Rachel.

"I fear my brother must see the accounts, as they have to be paid,
but that need not be immediately."

"Is there anything else that is dreadful?" said Rachel, looking at
the remaining papers, as if they were a nest of adders. "I don't
like to take them home now, if they will grieve Alick."

"You need not be afraid of that packet," said the Colonel; "I see his
father's handwriting. They look like his letters from India."

Rachel looked into one or two, and her face lighted up. "Oh!" she
exclaimed, "this is enough to make up for all. This is his letter to
tell about Alick's wound. Oh how beautifully he speaks of him," and
Rachel, with no voice to read, handed the thin paper to her
companion, that he might see the full commendation, that had been
wrung from the reserved father's heart by his son's extremity.

"You must be prepared to hear that all is over," wrote the father to
his daughter; "in fact, I doubt whether he can live till morning,
though M'Vicar declares that nothing vital has been touched. Be it
as it may, the boy has been in all respects, even more than I dared
to wish, and the comfort he has been ever since he came out to me has
been unspeakable. We must not grudge him such a soldier's death
after his joyous life. But for you, my poor girl, I could only wish
the same for myself to-morrow. You will, at least, if you lose a
brother's care, have a memory of him, to which to live up. The
thought of such a dead brother will be more to you than many a living
one can ever be to a sister."

Rachel's heart beat high, and her eyes were full of tears of
exultation. And the Colonel was well pleased to compensate for all
the pain he had inflicted by giving her all the details he could
recollect of her husband's short campaign. They had become excellent
friends over their mournful work, and were sorry to have their tete-
a-tete interrupted when a message was brought that his Lordship was
ready, if Mrs. Keith would be so good as to come into his sitting-
room.

She wiped away the tears, and awe-struck and grave, followed the
Colonel; a great contrast to Lord Keith's more frequent lady-visitor,
as she silently received the polished greeting, its peculiar
stateliness of courtesy, enhanced by the feeble state of the
shattered old man, unable to rise from his pillowed chair, and his
face deeply lined by suffering. He would not let her give him any
account of her labours, nor refer any question to him, he only
entreated that everything might be taken away, and that he might hear
nothing about it. He spoke warmly of Alick's kindness and attention,
and showed much solicitude about his indisposition, and at last he
inquired for Rachel's "little charge," hoping he was not clamorous or
obnoxious to her, or to Mr. Clare's household. Her eager description
of his charms provoked a look of interest and a sad smile, followed
by a request, that weather and doctor permitting, she would bring the
child to be seen for a few minutes. The next day there was an
appointment, at which both the Colonel and Alick were wanted, but on
the following one, the carriage should be sent to bring her and the
little one to Timber End.

The effect of this invitation amused Alick. The first thing he heard
in the morning was a decided announcement from Rachel that she must
go up to London to procure equipments for the baby to be presented
in!

"You know I can't go with you to-day."

"Of course, but I must make him fit to be seen. You know he has been
wearing little Una's things all this time, and that will not do out
of the nursery."

"A superior woman ought to know that his Lordship will never find out
what his son has on."

"Then it is all the more reason that I should not let the poor dear
little fellow go about wrapped up in somebody's old shawl!"

"What will you do then--take your maid?"

"Certainly not. I can't have him left."

"Then take him with you?"

"What, Alick, a little unvaccinated baby! Where have you ever lived!
I don't see the least reason why I should not go alone."

"You need not begin beating about the world yet, Rachel. How many
times did you say you had been in London?"

"Three; once with my father when I was a child, once in the time of
the Great Exhibition, and passing through it now with you. But any
one of common sense can manage."

"If you will wait till tive o'clock I will come with you," said
Alick, wearily.

"No, indeed, I had rather not go, than that you should, you are quite
tired out enough at the end of the day."

"Then do not go."

"Alick, why will you have no proper feeling for that poor dear
child!" said Rachel with tears in her eyes.

If he winced he did not show it. "My proper feeling takes the
direction of my wife," he said.

"You don't really mean to forbid me to go," she exclaimed.

"I don't mean it, for I do so, unless you find some one to go with
you."

It was the first real collision that had taken place, but Alick's
quiet, almost languid tone had an absolute determination in it from
the very absence of argument, and Rachel, though extremely annoyed,
felt the uselessness of battling the point. She paused for a few
moments, then said with an effort, "May I take the housekeeper?"

"Yes, certainly," and then he added some advice about taking a
brougham, and thus lightened her heart; so that she presently said
humbly,

"Have I been self-willed and overbearing, Alick?"

He laughed. "Not at all; you have persevered just where you ought.
I dare say this is all more essential than shows on the surface.
And," he added, with a shaken voice, "if you were not myself, Rachel,
you know how I should thank you for caring for my poor Bessie's
child." He was gone almost as he spoke the words, but Rachel still
felt the kiss and the hot tears that had fallen on her face.

Mr. Clare readily consented to spare his housekeeper, but the
housekeeper was untoward, she was "busied in her housewife skep," and
would not stir. Alick was gone to Timber End, and Rachel was just
talking of getting the schoolmaster's wife as an escort, when Mr.
Clare said--

"Pray are you above accepting my services?"

"You! Oh, uncle; thank you, but--"

"What were your orders? Anybody with you, was it not? I flatter
myself that I have some body, at least."

"If Alick will not think I ought not!"

"The boy will not presume to object to what I do with you."

"I do wish it very much," said candid Rachel.

"Of course you do, my dear. Alick is not cured of a young man's
notion that babies are a sort of puppies. He is quite right not to
let you run about London by yourself, but he will be quite satisfied
if you find eyes and I find discretion."

"But is it not very troublesome to you?"

"It is a capital lark!" said Mr. Clare, with a zest that only the
slang word could imply, removing all Rachel's scruples, and in effect
Mr. Clare did enjoy the spice of adventure in a most amusing way. He
knew perfectly well how to manage, laid out the plan of operations,
gave orders to the driver, went into all the shops, and was an
effective assistant in the choice of material and even of embroidery.
His touch and ear seemed to do more for him than many men's eyes do
for them; he heard odd scraps of conversation and retailed them with
so much character; he had such pleasant colloquies with all in whose
way he fell, and so thoroughly enjoyed the flow and babble of the
full stream of life, that Rachel marvelled that the seclusion of his
parsonage was bearable to him. He took her to lunch with an old
friend, a lady who had devoted herself to the care of poor girls to
be trained as servants, and Rachel had the first real sight of one of
the many great and good works set on foot by personal and direct
labour.

"If I had been sensible, I might have come to something like this!"
she said.

"Do you wish to undo these last three months?"

"No; I am not fit to be anything but an ordinary married woman, with
an Alick to take care of me; but I am glad some people can be what I
meant to be."

"And you need not regret not being useful now," said Mr. Clare.
"Where should any of us be without you?"

It had not occurred to Rachel, but she was certainly of far more
positive use in the world at the present moment than ever she had
bean in her most assuming maiden days.

Little Alexander was arrayed in all that could enhance his baby
dignity, and Rachel was more than ever resolved to assert his
superiority over "great frightful fine children," resenting
vehemently an innocent observation from Alick, that the small
features and white skin promised sandiness of hair. Perhaps Alick
delighted in saying such things for the sake of proving the "very
womanhood" of his Clever Woman. Rachel hung back, afraid of the
presentation, and would have sent her maid into the room with the
child if Colonel Keith had not taken her in himself. Even yet she
was not dexterous in handling the baby, her hands were both occupied,
and her attention absorbed, and she could not speak, she felt it so
mournful to show this frail motherless creature to a father more like
its grandfather, and already almost on the verge of the grave. She
came up to Lord Keith, and held the child to him in silence. He
said, "Thank you," and kissed not only the little one, but her own
brow, and she kept the tears back with difficulty.

Colonel Keith gave her a chair and footstool, and she sat with the
baby on her lap, while very few words were spoken. It was the
Colonel who asked her to take off the hood that hid the head and
brow, and who chiefly hazarded opinions as to likeness and colour of
eyes. Lord Keith looked earnestly and sadly, but hardly made any
observation, except that it looked healthier than he had been led to
expect. He was sure it owed much to Mrs. Keith's great care and
kindness.

Rachel feared he would not be able to part with his little son, and
began to mention the arrangements she had contemplated in case he
wished to keep the child at Timber End. On this, Lord Keith asked
with some anxiety, if its presence were inconvenient to Mr. Clare;
and being assured of the contrary, said, "Then while you are so kind
as to watch over him, I much prefer that things should remain in
their present state, than to bring him to a house like this. You do
not object?"

"Oh, no; I am so glad. I was only dreading the losing him. I
thought Mrs. Menteith wished for him when he is old enough to
travel."

"Colin!" said Lord Keith, looking up sharply, "will nothing make the
Menteiths understand that I would rather put out the child to nurse
in a Highland hut than in that Babel of a nursery of theirs?"

Colin smiled and said, "Isabel does not easily accept an answer she
dislikes."

"But remember, both of you," continued Lord Keith, "that happen what
may, this poor child is not to be in her charge. I've seen enough of
her children left alone in perambulators in the sun. You will be in
Edinburgh?" he added, turning to Rachel.

"Yes, when Alick's leave ends."

"I shall return thither when this matter is over, I know I shall be
better at home in Scotland, and if I winter in Edinburgh, may be we
could make some arrangement for his being still under your eye."

Rachel went home more elevated than she had been for months past.

CHAPTER XIXX.

AT LAST.

"I bid thee hail, not as in former days,
Not as my chosen only, but my bride,
My very bride, coming to make my house
A glorious temple." A. H. HALLAM.

"Timber End,
Littleworthy,
September 10th.

"Dear Miss Williams,--I must begin by entreating your forgiveness for
addressing you in a manner for which perhaps you may be unprepared;
but I trust you have always been aware, that any objections that I
may have offered to my brother Colin's attachment to yourself have
never been personal, or owing to anything but an unfortunate
complication of circumstances. These difficulties are, as no doubt
he will explain to you, in great measure removed by the present
condition of my family, which will enable me to make such settlements
as I could wish in the ease of one so nearly connected with me; so
that I am enabled to entreat of you at length to reward the
persevering constancy so well deserved. I have a further, and a
personal cause for wishing that the event should not be deferred, as
regard for my feelings might have led you to propose. You are aware
of the present state of my health, and that it has become expedient
to make immediate arrangements for the future guardianship of my
little boy. His uncles are of course his natural guardians, and I
have unbounded confidence in both; but Alexander Keith's profession
renders it probable that he may not always be at hand, and I am
therefore desirous of being able to nominate yourself, together with
my brother, among the personal guardians. Indeed, I understand from
Alexander Keith, that such was the express wish of his sister. I
mention this as an additional motive to induce you to consent. For
my own part, even without so stringent a cause, all that I have ever
seen or known of yourself would inspire me with the desire that you
should take a mother's place towards my son. But you must be aware
that such an appointment could only be made when you are already one
of the family, and this it is that leads me to entreat you to
overlook any appearance of precipitancy on my brother's part, and
return a favourable reply to the request, which with my complete
sanction, he is about to address to you.

"Yes, Ermine Williams, forgive all that is past, and feel for an old,
it may be, a dying man, and for a motherless infant. There is much
to forget, but I trust to your overcoming any scruples, and giving me
all the comfort in your power, in thinking of the poor child who has
come into the world under such melancholy circumstances.

"Yours most truly,
"Keith of Gowanbrae"

"Poor Keith, he has given me his letter open, his real anxiety has
been too much at last for his dignity; and now, my Ermine, what do
you say to his entreaty? The state of the case is this. How soon
this abscess may be ready for the operation is still uncertain, the
surgeons think it will be in about three weeks, and in this interval
he wishes to complete all his arrangements. In plain English, his
strongest desire is to secure the poor little boy from falling into
Menteith's hands. Now, mine is a precarious life, and Alick and
Rachel may of course be at the ends of the earth, so the point is
that you shall be 'one of the family,' before the will is signed.
Alick's leave has been extended to the 1st of October, no more is
possible, and he undertakes to nurse poor Keith for a fortnight from
to-morrow, if you will consent to fulfil this same request within
that time. After the 1st, I should have to leave you, but as soon as
Keith is well enough to bear the journey, he wishes to return to
Edinburgh, where he would be kindly attended to by Alick and Rachel
all the winter. There, Ermine, your victory is come, your consent
has been entreated at last by my brother, not for my sake, but as a
personal favour to himself, because there is no woman in the world of
whom he thinks so highly. For myself I say little. I grieve that
you should be thus hurried and fluttered, and if Ailie thinks it
would harm you, she must telegraph back to me not to come down, and
I will try to teach myself patience by preaching it to Keith, but
otherwise you will see me by four o'clock to-morrow. Every time I
hear Rachel's name, I think it ought to have been yours, and surely
in this fourteenth year, lesser objections may give way. But
persuasions are out of the question, you must be entirely led by your
own feeling. If I could have seen you in July, this should not have
come so suddenly at last. "Yours, more than ever, decide as you may,

"Colin A Keith.

"P. S.--I am afraid Rose would hardly answer this purpose equally
well."

Colonel Keith followed his letter at four o'clock, and entering his
own study, found it in a cloud of smoke, in the midst of which he
dimly discerned a long beard and thin visage absorbed in calculation.

"Edward! How is Ermine?"

"Oh?" (inquiringly) "Keith!" (as taken by surprise) "ah! you were to
come home to-day. How are you?"

"How is she? Has she had my letter?"

"What letter? You write every day, I thought."

"The letter of yesterday. Have you heard nothing of it?"

"Not that I know of. Look here, Keith, I told you I was sure the
platinum--"

"Your brain is becoming platinum. I must go," and the chemist
remained with merely a general impression of having been interrupted.

Next the Colonel met Rose, watching at his own gate, and this time
his answer was more explicit.

"Yes, Aunt Ermine said you were coming, and that I might meet you,
but that I must let you come in alone, for she had not seen you so
long, that she wanted you all to herself."

"And how is she; how has she been?"

"She is well now," said Rose, in the grave, grown-up way she always
assumed when speaking of her aunt's health; "but she has been having
a good deal of her nervous headache this summer, and Lady Temple
wanted her to see Mr. Frampton, but Aunt Ailie said it was only
excitement and wear of spirits. Oh, I am glad you have come back!
We have so wearied after you."

Nevertheless Rose duteously loosed the hand to which she had been
clinging till they came to the door; and as Colin Keith opened it,
again he was met by the welcoming glances of the bright eyes. This
time he did not pause till he was close to her, and kneeling on one
knee beside her, he put his arm round her, and held her hands in his.

The first words that passed were, "You had the letters?"

"Colin, Colin, my one prayer has been, 'Make Thy way plain before my
face.'"

"And now it is?"

"The suspicion is gone; the displeasure is gone; the doubts are gone;
and now there is nothing--nothing but the lameness and the poverty;
and if you like the old cinder, Colin, that is your concern;" and she
hid her face, with a sort of sobbing laugh.

"And even the haste; you consent to that?"

"I don't feel it like haste," she said, looking up with a smile, and
then crimsoning.

"And Ailie gives leave, and thinks the hurry will not harm you?"

"Ailie! O Colin, did you think I could tell any one of your letter,
before you had had your answer?"

"Then Edward is not so moonstruck as I thought him! And when shall
it be, dearest? Give me as much time as you can. I must go back
this day fortnight."

"I suppose your expectations are not high in the matter of finery,"
said Ermine, with a certain archness of voice.

"Those eyes are all the finery I ever see."

"Then if you will not be scandalized at my natural Sunday dress, I
don't see why this day week should not do as well as any other time."

"Ermine, you are the only woman I ever met totally free from
nonsense."

"Take care, it is very unfeminine and disagreeable to be devoid of
nonsense."

"Very, and therefore you are talking it now! Ermine, how shall I
thank you? Not only for the sake of the ease of mind to my poor
brother; but in the scenes we are going through, a drop of happiness
is wanted as a stimulant. When I looked at the young couple at
Bishopsworthy, I often felt as if another half-year of suspense was
more than I could bear, and that I must ask you to help me through
with at least a definite hope."

"Ah! you have gone through a great deal I am sure it has been a time
of great trouble."

"Indeed it has. The suffering has become unceasing and often most
severe, and there is grievous depression of spirits; I could not have
left him even for a day, if he had not been so fervently bent on
this."

"Is he feeling his loss more acutely than at first?"

"Not so much that, as for the poor little boy, who is a heavy burthen
on his mind. He has lived in such a state of shrewd distrust that he
has no power of confidence, and his complications for making all the
boy's guardians check one another till we come to a dead lock, and to
make provision for Isabel out of Menteith's reach, are enough to
distract the brain of a man in health."

"Is he fond of the child?"

"It is an oppressive care to him, and he only once has made up his
mind to see it, though it is never off his mind, and it is very
curious how from the first he has been resolved on your taking charge
of it. It is the most real testimony he could give you."

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