Part 129 (1/2)

”Mr. Cheesacre,” said Charlie sobbing, ”how dare you do that?--and where all the world could see you?”

”It was only Mrs. Greenow,” said Cheesacre.

”And what will she think of me?”

”Lord bless you--she won't think anything about it.”

”But I do;--I think a great deal about it. I don't know what to do, I don't;--I don't.” Whereupon Charlie got up from her seat under the trees and began to move away slowly. Cheesacre thought about it for a moment or two. Should he follow her or should he not? He knew that he had better not follow her. He knew that she was bait with a very visible hook. He knew that he was a big fish for whom these two women were angling. But after all, perhaps it wouldn't do him much harm to be caught. So he got up and followed her. I don't suppose she meant to take the way towards the woods,--towards the little path leading to the old summer-house up in the trees. She was too much beside herself to know where she was going, no doubt. But that was the path she did take, and before long she and Cheesacre were in the summerhouse together. ”Don't, Sam, don't! Somebody really will be coming. Well, then, there. Now I won't do it again.” 'Twas thus she spoke when the last kiss was given on this occasion;--unless there may have been one or two later in the evening, to which it is not necessary more especially to allude here. But on the occasion of that last kiss in the summer-house Miss Fairstairs was perfectly justified by circ.u.mstances, for she was then the promised bride of Mr.

Cheesacre.

But how was he to get down again among his friends? That consideration troubled Mr. Cheesacre as he rose from his happy seat after that last embrace. He had promised Charlie, and perhaps he would keep his promise, but it might be as well not to make it all too public at once. But Charlie wasn't going to be thrown over;--not if she knew it, as she said to herself. She returned therefore triumphantly among them all,--blus.h.i.+ng indeed, and with her eyes turned away, and her hand now remained upon her lover's arm;--but still so close to him that there could be no mistake. ”Goodness, gracious, Charlie! where have you and Mr. Cheesacre been?” said Mrs.

Greenow. ”We got up into the woods and lost ourselves,” said Charlie.

”Oh, indeed,” said Mrs. Greenow.

It would be too long to tell now, in these last pages of our story, how Cheesacre strove to escape, and with what skill Mrs. Greenow kept him to his bargain. I hope that Charlie Fairstairs was duly grateful.

Before that evening was over, under the comfortable influence of a gla.s.s of hot brandy-and-water,--the widow had, I think, herself mixed the second gla.s.s for Mr. Cheesacre, before the influence became sufficiently comfortable,--he was forced to own that he had made himself the happy possessor of Charlie Fairstairs' heart and hand.

”And you are a lucky man,” said the widow with enthusiasm; ”and I congratulate you with all my heart. Don't let there be any delay now, because a good thing can't be done too soon.” And indeed, before that night was over, Mrs. Greenow had the pair together in her own presence, and then fixed the day. ”A fellow ought to be allowed to turn himself,” Cheesacre said to her, pleading for himself in a whisper. But no; Mrs. Greenow would give him no such mercy. She knew to what a man turning himself might probably lead. She was a woman who was quite in earnest when she went to work, and I hope that Miss Fairstairs was grateful. Then, in that presence, was in truth the last kiss given on that eventful evening. ”Come, Charlie, be good-natured to him. He's as good as your own now,” said the widow.

And Charlie was good-natured. ”It's to be as soon as ever we come back from our trip,” said Mrs. Greenow to Kate, the next day, ”and I'm lending her money to get all her things at once. He shall come to the scratch, though I go all the way to Norfolk by myself and fetch him by his ears. He shall come, as sure as my name's Greenow,--or Bellfield, as it will be then, you know.”

”And I shouldn't wonder if she did have to go to Norfolk,” said Kate to her cousin. That event, however, cannot be absolutely concluded in these pages. I can only say that, when I think of Mrs. Greenow's force of character and warmth of friends.h.i.+p, I feel that Miss Fairstairs'

prospects stand on good ground.

Mrs. Greenow's own marriage was completed with perfect success. She took Captain Bellfield for better or for worse, with a thorough determination to make the best of his worst, and to put him on his legs, if any such putting might be possible. He, at any rate, had been in luck. If any possible stroke of fortune could do him good, he had found that stroke. He had found a wife who could forgive all his past offences,--and also, if necessary, some future offences; who had money enough for all his wants, and kindness enough to gratify them, and who had, moreover,--which for the Captain was the most important,--strength enough to keep from him the power of ruining them both. Reader, let us wish a happy married life to Captain and Mrs. Bellfield!

The day after the ceremony Alice Vavasor and Kate Vavasor started for Matching Priory.

CHAPTER LXXIX.

Diamonds Are Diamonds.

Kate and Alice, as they drew near to their journey's end, were both a little flurried, and I cannot but own that there was cause for nervousness. Kate Vavasor was to meet Mr. Grey for the first time. Mr.

Grey was now staying at Matching and was to remain there until a week of his marriage. He was then to return to Cambridges.h.i.+re for a day or two, and after that was to become a guest at the rector's house at Matching the evening before the ceremony. ”Why not let him come here at once?” Lady Glencora had said to her husband. ”It is such nonsense, you know.” But Mr. Palliser would not hear of it. Mr.

Palliser, though a Radical in public life, would not for worlds transgress the social laws of his ancestors; and so the matter was settled. Kate on this very day of her arrival at Matching would thus see Mr. Grey for the first time, and she could not but feel that she had been the means of doing Mr. Grey much injury. She had moreover something,--not much indeed, but still something,--of that feeling which made the Pallisers terrible to the imagination, because of their rank and wealth. She was a little afraid of the Pallisers, but of Mr. Grey she was very much afraid. And Alice also was not at her ease. She would fain have prevented so very quick a marriage had she not felt that now,--after all the trouble that she had caused,--there was nothing left for her but to do as others wished. When a day had been named she had hardly dared to demur, and had allowed Lady Glencora to settle everything as she had wished. But it was not only the suddenness of her marriage which dismayed her. Its nature and attributes were terrible to her. Both Lady Midlothian and the Marchioness of Auld Reekie were coming. When this was told to her by letter she had no means of escape. ”Lady Macleod is right in nearly all that she says,” Lady Glencora had written to her. ”At any rate, you needn't be such a fool as to run away from your cousins, simply because they have handles to their names. You must take the thing as it comes.” Lady Glencora, moreover, had settled for her the list of bridesmaids. Alice had made a pet.i.tion that she might be allowed to go through the ceremony with only one,--with none but Kate to back her. But she ought to have known that when she consented to be married at Matching,--and indeed she had had very little power of resisting that proposition,--all such questions would be decided for her. Two daughters therefore of Lady Midlothian were to act, Lady Jane and Lady Mary, and the one daughter of the Marchioness, who was also a Lady Jane, and there were to be two Miss Howards down from London,--girls who were known both to Alice and to Lady Glencora, and who were in some distant way connected with them both. A great attempt was made to induce the two Miss Pallisers to join the bevy, but they had frankly pleaded their age. ”No woman should stand up as a bridesmaid,” said the strong-minded Sophy, ”who doesn't mean to get married if she can. Now I don't mean to get married, and I won't put myself among the young people.” Lady Glencora was therefore obliged to submit to do the work with only six. But she swore that they should be very smart. She was to give all the dresses, and Mr.

Palliser was to give a brooch and an armlet to each. ”She is the only person in the world I want to pet, except yourself,” Lady Glencora had said to her husband, and he had answered by giving her _carte blanche_ as regards expense.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Alice and her bridesmaids.]

All this was very terrible to Kate, who had not much feminine taste for finery. Of the dress she had heard,--of the dress which was waiting at Matching to be made up after her arrival,--though as yet she knew nothing of the trinkets. There are many girls who could submit themselves at a moment to the kindness of such a woman as Lady Glencora. Perhaps most girls would do so, for of all such women in the world, Lady Glencora was the least inclined to patronize or to be condescending in her kindnesses. But Kate Vavasor was one to whom such submission would not come easily.

”I wish I was out of this boat,” she said to Alice in the train.

”So that I might be s.h.i.+pwrecked alone!”

”No; there can be no s.h.i.+pwreck to you. When the day of action comes you will be taken away, up to heaven, upon the clouds. But what are they to do with me?”

”You'll find that Glencora will not desert you. You can't conceive what taste she has.”