The Honorable Miss: A Story of an Old-Fashioned Town, L. T. Meade [unputdownable books .txt] 📗
- Author: L. T. Meade
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This was therefore just the most fitting season for Captain Bertram to come back to Northbury, on wooing intent. More than one girl in the place rejoiced at his arrival, and Mrs. Bertram so far relaxed her rigid hold over Catherine and Mabel as to allow them to partake, in company with their brother and Beatrice Meadowsweet, of a certain portion of the general merry-making.
Northbury was a remarkably light-hearted little place, but it never had entered into quite so gay a season as this memorable August when Captain Bertram came to woo.
It somehow got into the air that this gay young officer had taken his leave for the express purpose of getting himself a wife. Nobody quite knew how the little gossiping whisper arose, but arise it did, and great was the commotion put into the atmosphere, and severe the flutterings it caused to arise in more than one gentle girl heart.
Catherine and Mabel Bertram were in the highest possible spirits during this same month of August. Their mother seemed well once more, well, and gay, and happy. The hard rule of economy, always a depressing r�gime, had also for the time disappeared. The meals were almost plentiful, the girls had new dresses, and as they went out a little it was essential for them in their turn to entertain.
Mrs. Bertram went to some small expense to complete the tennis courts, and she even endured the sight of the Bells and Jenkinses as they struggled with the intricacies of the popular game.
She herself took refuge in Mr. Ingram's society. He applauded her efforts at being sociable, and told her frankly that he was glad she was changing her mind with regard to the Northbury folk.
"Any society is better than none," he said. "And they really are such good creatures. Not of course in the matter of finish and outward manner to compare with the people you are accustomed to, Mrs. Bertram, but—"
"Ah, I know," interrupted Mrs. Bertram in a gay voice. "Rough diamonds you would call them. But you are mistaken, my dear friend; there is, I assure you, not a diamond in this motley herd, unless I except Miss Beatrice."
"I never class Beatrice with the other Northbury people," replied Mr. Ingram; "there is something about her which enables her to take a stand of her own. I think if she had been born in any rank, she would have kept her individuality. She is uncommon, so for that matter is Miss Catherine."
The two girls were standing together as Mr. Ingram spoke. They were resting after a spirited game, and they made a pretty picture as they stood under the shelter of the old oak tree. Both were in white, and both wore large drooping hats. These hats cast picturesque shadows on their young faces.
Mrs. Bertram looked at them with a queer half-jealous pang. Beatrice was the child of a lowly tradesman, Catherine the daughter of a man of family and some pretension; and yet Mrs. Bertram had to own that in any society this tall, upright, frank, young Beatrice could hold her own, that even Catherine whose dark face was patrician, who bore the refinement of race in every point, could scarcely outshine this country girl.
"It is marvellous," said Mrs. Bertram after a pause; "Beatrice is one of nature's ladies. There are a few such, they come now and then, and no circumstances can spoil them. To think of that girl's mother!"
"One of the dearest old ladies of my acquaintance," replied Mr. Ingram. "Beatrice owes a great deal of her nobleness of heart and singleness of purpose to her mother. Mrs. Bertram, I have never heard that woman say an unkind word. I have heard calumny of her, but never from her. Then, of course, Meadowsweet was quite a gentleman."
"My dear friend! A draper a gentleman?"
"I grant the anomaly is not common," said the Rector. "But in Meadowsweet's case I make a correct statement. He was a perfect gentleman after the type of some of those who are mentioned in the Sacred Writings. He was honest, courteous, self-forgetful. His manners were delightful, because his object ever was to put the person he was speaking to completely at his ease. He had the natural advantage of a refined appearance, and his accent was pure, and not marred by any provincialisms. He could not help speaking in the best English because he was a scholar, and he spent all his leisure studying the classics. Therefore, although he kept a draper's shop, he was a gentleman. By the way, Mrs. Bertram, do you know anything of the young girl who has been staying at your lodge? You—you are tired, my dear lady?"
"A little. I will sit on this bench. There is room for you too, Rector. Sit near me, what about the girl at my lodge?"
"She is no longer at your lodge. She has left. Do you happen to know anything about her?"
"Nothing."
"Ah, that seems a pity. She is the sort of young creature to excite one's sympathy. I called to see her a week ago, and she talked prettily to me and looked sorrowful. Her name, she says, is Hart."
"Really? I—I confess I am not interested."
"But you ought to be, my dear friend, you ought to be. The girl seems alone and defenceless. She is reserved with regard to her history, won't make confidences, although I begged of her to confide in me, and assured her that I, in my position, would receive what she chose to tell under the seal of secrecy. Her eyes filled with tears, poor little soul, but her lips were dumb."
"Oh, she has nothing to confide."
"Do you think so? I can't agree with you. Although my lot has been cast in this remote out-of-the-world town, I have had my experiences, Mrs. Bertram, and I never yet saw a face like Miss Hart's which did not conceal a history."
"May I ask you, Mr. Ingram, if you ever before saw a face like Miss Hart's?"
"Well, no, now that you put it to me, I don't think that I ever have. It is beautiful."
"Ugly, you mean."
"No, no, Mrs. Bertram. With all due deference to your superior taste I cannot agree with you. The features are classical, the eyes a little wild and defiant, but capable of much expression. The hair of the admired Rossetti type."
"Oh, spare me, Rector, spare me. I don't mean this low girl's outward appearance. It is that which I feel is within which makes her altogether ugly to me."
"Ah, poor child—women have intuitions, and you may be right. It would of course not be judicious for your daughters to associate with Miss Hart. But you, Mrs. Bertram, you, as a mother, might get at this poor child's past, and counsel her as to her future."
"She has gone away, has she not?" asked Mrs. Bertram.
"I regret to say she has, but she may return. She promised me faithfully to come to church on Sunday, and I called at the lodge on my way up to leave her a little basket of fruit and flowers, and to remind her of her promise. Mrs. Tester said she had left her, but might return again. I hope so, and that I may be the means of helping her, for the poor child's face disturbs me."
"I trust your wish may never be realized," murmured Mrs. Bertram, under her breath. Aloud she said cheerfully, "I must show you my bed of pansies, Rector. They are really quite superb."
CHAPTER XIX. THE RECTOR'S GARDEN PARTY.
A few days after the tennis party at the Manor, at which Bertram had talked a good deal to Beatrice, and in a very marked way snubbed Matty Bell, the Rector gave his customary annual treat. He gave this treat every year, and it was looked upon by high and low alike as the great event of the merry month of August. The treat lasted for two days, the first day being devoted to the schools and the humble parishioners, the second to the lads and lasses, the well-to-do matrons and their spouses, who formed the better portion of his parishioners.
Every soul in the place, however, from the poorest fisherman's child to the wealthy widow, Mrs. Meadowsweet, wag expected to come to the Rectory to be feasted and petted, and made much of, at Mr. Ingram's treat.
With the small scholars and the fishermen and their wives, and all the humbler folk of the place, this story has nothing to do. But it would not be a true chronicle of Northbury if it did not concern itself with the Jenkinses and their love affairs, with Mrs. Gorman Stanley and her furniture, with Mrs. Morris and her bronchitis, with Mrs. Butler and her adorable sister, Miss Peters, and last, but not least, with that young, na�ve, and childish heart which beat in the breast of Matty Bell.
There are the important people in all histories, and such a place in this small chronicle must the Bertrams hold, and the Meadowsweets. But Matty, too, had her niche, and it was permitted to her to pull some not unimportant wires in this puppet show.
It is not too strong a word to say that Matty, Alice and Sophy Bell, received their invitation to play tennis at the Manor with a due sense of jubilation. Matty wore the shot silk which had been partly purchased by the sale of good Mrs. Bell's engagement ring. This silk had been made, at home, but, with the aid of a dressmaker young Susan Pettigrew, who had served her time to the Perrys. Susan had made valuable suggestions, which had been carried into effect, with the result that the shot silk was provided with two bodies—a high one for morning wear, and one cut in a modest, demi-style for evening festivities. The evening body had elbow-sleeves, which were furnished with raffles of coffee-colored lace, and, when put on, it revealed the contour of a rather nice plump little throat, and altogether made Matty Bell look nicer than she had ever looked in anything else before.
The wonderful Miss Pettigrew had also supplied the dress with a train, which could be hooked on with safety hooks and eyes for evening wear, and removed easily when the robe was to act as a tennis or morning costume. Altogether, nothing could have been more complete than this sinning garment, and no heart could have beat more proudly under it than did fair Matty's.
When the captain went suddenly away this little girl and her good mother had both owned to a sense of depression; but his speedy return was soon bruited abroad, and at the same time that little whisper got into the air with regard to the gallant captain, that, like Duncan Gray, he was coming back to woo. It did not require many nods of Mrs. Bell's head to assure all her acquaintances whom she considered the favored young lady. Matty once more blushed consciously, and giggled in an audible manner when the captain's name was mentioned. The invitation to play tennis at the Manor completed the satisfaction of this mother and daughter.
"There's no doubt of it," said Mrs. Bell; "I thought my fine lady would have to come down from her high horse. I expect the captain makes his mother do pretty much what he wishes, and very right, too, very right. He wants to show his little girl to his proud parent, and, whether she likes it or not, she'll have to make much of you, my love. Sophy and Alice, it's more than likely Matty will be asked to dine and spend the evening, at the Manor, and I think we'll just make up the evening body of her silk dress and her train in a bit of brown paper, and you can carry the parcel up between you to the Manor. Then, if it's wanted, it will come in handy, and my girl won't be behind one of them."
"Lor, ma, what are we to do with such a bulky parcel?" objected Sophy, who was not looking her best in a washed-out muslin of two years' date. "What can we do with the parcel when we get to the Manor?"
"Take it up, of course, to the house, child, and give it to the servant, and tell her it's to be kept till called for. She'll understand fast enough; servants always guess when there's a sweetheart in the question. Most likely she'll place the things ready for Matty in one of the bedrooms. I'll put
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