"Yes, but I hope you remember, too, that you would not take it, and, pretending to have the asthma, said you preferred the north chamber, with the storm and the cold and the rats. Oh, Grey, honestly I did not want you here one bit. I thought you would be in the way but I am so glad now, for if you had not come I might never have been your wife,"
and Bessie nestled closer to the arm which was her rightful resting-place, and which encircled her fondly, as Grey replied a little teasingly:
"No, not my wife perhaps, but you might have been Neil"s, eh?"
"No, Grey, if I had not met you, I could not have married Neil. I once thought I loved him, it is true, but I know now I did not. We were so unlike we could never have been happy. But I like him very much and am sorry for him, if he really cared for me. I wonder what he will say when he hears I am married and am here in Wales. He did not even know I was engaged. I think you ought to write and tell him, and perhaps invite him here for the holidays. Do you think he would care to come?"
"No, Bessie. Neither would I care to have him," Grey replied. "I would rather spend the first Christmas alone with you in the place where I first saw you; but I am willing to write to Neil, and when we go to London I will find him of course, and you shall see him."
"Thank you, Grey," Bessie said, just as Dorothy came in with a letter for her mistress, who took it in her hand and bending to the firelight recognized Neil"s hand-writing, while her cheeks flushed as she saw her new name, Mrs. Grey Jerrold, and thought that Neil was the first to address her thus.
Breaking the seal, she read as follows:
"LONDON, December ----, 18--.
"My Dear Cousin: You may think it strange that I have not written before this and congratulated you upon your marriage. But I did not know of it until a week ago, when I came home from the Continent, summoned by the news that my mother was very ill. Then I found a telegram from my Aunt Betsey, which said, "Bessie was married yesterday to Grey Jerrold and sails to-day for Liverpool." I was not greatly surprised, and I am glad that it is Grey, I know he is worthy of you and I hope you will both be happy, even if I am wretched and forlorn, for I am more so than I ever was in my life before. Mother is dead and we have just returned from burying her at the old home in Middles.e.x. She died of typhoid-pneumonia the day after my return. I did not send for you to attend her funeral, for fear it would seem like an insult, she had taken such a stand against you during her life. But she changed very much in that respect, and a few hours before she died she talked of you, and said she withdrew all her opposition, and that, if I loved you still and you loved me she hoped we would marry and be happy. I did not tell her of the telegram, and so she did not know that you were already married. But, strangest of all, she advised me to go to America, and if I could find anything to do, which would not compromise me as a gentleman, to do it. Think of that, Bessie. My mother advising me to work, after all her training to the contrary. But she knew there was no other way. It is work or starve with me now. A few weeks before mother"s death she lost nearly everything which she had in her own right, and which would have naturally come to me, so that most of her income died with her. Neither Trevellian House, nor the one in the country, is ours any longer, and father must go into lodgings when the new heir takes possession. This, at his age, is very hard, and I am sorry for him. If we only had the house in Middles.e.x it would not be so bad, for he likes the country and would be happy there. What he will do here alone in London I am sure I don"t know, for I am going out to India on a salary of three hundred pounds a year; small enough for a chap of my habits, but better than nothing.
"I"d like awfully to see you once more before I go, and if you come to London I hope you will let me call upon you. Don"t think I am breaking my heart because you belong to Grey. I am not that kind, and it would do no good. But I loved you as I can never love any one again, and there is always a thought of you in my mind, and I see your face as it looked at me that day in Liverpool, when I acted the part of a cowardly knave.
"I would kick myself for that if I could. You were too good for me, Bessie, and I should have been a drag upon your life always. But Heaven knows how much I miss you, and how at times, when the thought comes over me that you are lost to me forever, and that another man is enjoying the sweetness I once thought would be mine, I half wish I were dead and out of the way of everything. Then I put that feeling aside as unworthy of me, and say to myself that I am glad you are happy, and that Grey is the n.o.blest and best fellow in the world, and the one of all others who ought to have you for his wife.
I shall never marry; that is settled. First, there is no woman in the world I can ever look at after loving you; and, second, I am too poor, and always shall be.
"And now I suppose you are thinking of Blanche, and wondering where she is. She and mother had a jolly row, of which I fancy I was the cause. Blanche told mother that all either she or I cared for was to get her ten thousand a year, and by Jove, I believe she was right, but I did not suppose she had sense enough to know it; trust a fool sometimes to see through a stone wall.
"Well, mother told Blanche that _I_ did not even care for the ten thousand pounds, that I loved you, and had been engaged to you, and that you had discarded me. That was the straw too many, and forthwith, Miss Blanche departed from Trevellian House, bag and baggage, and I hear she is about to marry the eldest son of Lord Haxton, a brainless idiot, not half as good-looking as I am. There is conceit for you! But you know I was always rather vain of my looks, and I do believe that the greatest terror poverty holds for me is the knowing that I must wear seedy hats and threadbare coats, and trousers a year behind. Maybe Grey will sometime send me a box of his cast-off clothes.
"But what nonsense I am writing, and it is time I closed. I hear father in his room, and guess it must be time for his tea, so I will go in and join him. I hope either you, or Grey, or both, will write to me and tell me your plans.
"Forever and ever yours,
"Neil."
"P.S.--I saw Jack Trevellian the other day, and told him you were married. For a minute he was as white as a piece of paper; then he rallied, and asked a great many questions about you. It seems be thought that you died in Rome when you were so sick there, and he says Grey thought so, too. Jack did not know to the contrary until one day last summer, when Flossie Meredith met him in the streets in Paris and told him you were in America. Jack is growing stout, and looks quite the landed proprietor. He keeps a lot of hounds, and has invited me to visit him. But I am done with things of that sort.
Again good-by.
"P.S. No. 2.--I have had my tea with father, and when I told him I had been writing to you, he bade me give you his love, and say, that he should very much like to see you and your husband, and that if you are not coming to London, he will go to Stoneleigh, where he has never been since your grandfather died. This, I take it, is right shabby in him. But father is greatly changed. Between you and me, he was awfully afraid of mother. Poor mother, she meant well, and she was fond of me.
"By the way, Flossie is in London, with her grandmother, stopping at Langham"s, and Jack is there, too, and has asked the old lady to spend some weeks at Trevellian Castle. It is frightfully lonesome there, he says, and he wants Flossie to brighten it up. Can you read between the lines? I think I can. Flossie is bright as a b.u.t.ton.
"Again yours, forever,
"Neil."
Bessie read the letter, and then, pa.s.sing it to her husband, said:
"It is from Neil. Would you like to see it?"
Taking it from her, Grey read it through, and then, leaning back in his chair, watched Bessie, as, with her elbows on her knees, and her face resting on her hands, she sat gazing intently into the fire with a wistful, earnest look which puzzled him a little. Was she thinking of the two men who had loved her so much and one of whom loved her still?
And was she sending a regret after the t.i.tle she had lost? He did not believe so; and, after a moment, he reached out his hand, and laying it caressingly upon her soft, wavy hair, said to her:
"What is it, _pet.i.te_? Are you thinking how you might have been Lady Bessie Trevellian?"
Then she turned her clear, truthful blue eyes upon him and answered:
"No, Grey. I would rather be your wife than the grandest d.u.c.h.ess in the world, but I am thinking of Neil and his father, and how hard it is for them to be so poor. Grey"--and rising from her stool, Bessie seated herself on her husband"s lap, and, winding her arms around his neck, and laying her soft, warm check against his bearded one, said again; "Grey, I want to ask you something--want to do something. Can I?"
"Yes, do what you like. Ask me what you like. What is it, darling?" Grey answered her, and Bessie replied:
"I want to give a thousand pounds of my money to Neil and a thousand to his father. That is not much, I know, but the interest upon it will put Uncle John in better lodgings than he can now afford, and it will help Neil, too. Only think of three hundred pounds a year after all he has been accustomed to spend. What do you think, Grey?"
Grey"s arm tightened its clasp around the girlish figure, and his lips touched Bessie"s white forehead as he said:
"I think you the most generous, unselfish little woman in all the world.
And so I am sure would Neil, if he knew what you proposed; but, Bessie, I do not believe he would like it, or like you to offer it to him. He has more manhood than that. Poverty is hard to bear, but it will not hurt him. On the contrary, having to work for his living will bring out the very best there is in him, and make him a man. He will not starve or even suffer want on three hundred pounds a year; it is more than many a working man has with a large family to support. So do not waste your sympathy on Neil, who can take care of himself; but his father is old, and the change will be hard upon him. Was he not born at Stoneleigh?"
"I think so. Yes," Bessie answered, and Grey continued:
"Neil says he likes the country and laments the loss of Elm Park. Now, this is my suggestion; Anthony and Dorothy ought to have some one with them in their old age. How would you like taking a part of that two thousand pounds you are so anxious to dispose of, and with it repair and fit up this place into a comfortable and pleasant home for Mr.
McPherson, whenever he chooses to stay here? The rest of the two thousand you can invest for his use as long as he lives, and the interest of it will add to his present moderate income. What do you think of my plan?"
"I think it the very best that could be adopted, and I shall write to Neil to-night, so it will go in the first mail to-morrow," Bessie said, and before she slept she wrote a long letter to Neil, telling him first of the fortune which had come to her so unexpectedly, but not explaining how it had come.
She was simply the sole heiress of a certain Joel Rogers, who left shares in the quarries and mines, and these she was now possessed of, and felt herself a rich woman.
"Quite an heiress, it seems to me," she wrote, "although the sum is really not so very large, but it is more than I ever dreamed of having, and as money burns in my fingers, I am dying to be rid of some of it, and this is a plan which Grey and I have talked over together, and which I hope will meet your approval and that of your father."
Then, as briefly as possible she made her offer, which she begged him to persuade his father to accept.
"It will make me very happy," she wrote, "to know that his old age is made more comfortable by me. I should be glad to give you a part of my little fortune, but Grey says you would not like it, and perhaps he is right. I am glad that you are going to do something; I think you will be happier if occupied with business, and I wish you to be happy, as I am sure you will be some day, and always remember that you have two sincere friends, Grey and your Cousin Bessie."
She was going to add "Jerrold" to the Bessie, but refrained from doing so, thinking to herself that she would not be the first to flaunt her new name in Neil"s face. Grey, however, had no such scruples. Looking over Bessie"s shoulder, as she finished her letter, he saw her start to make the "J," and when she changed her mind, and put down her pen, he took it up and himself wrote the "Jerrold" with a flourish, saying, as he did so:
"Don"t be afraid to show your colors, _pet.i.te_. I think "Bessie Jerrold"
the sweetest name in all the world."
"So do I; but I doubt if Neil holds the same opinion," Bessie answered, with a laugh, as she leaned her head upon her husband"s bosom, while he kissed her lips and forehead, and said the fond, foolish things which no loving wife, however old she may be, is ever tired of hearing--fond, foolish words, which, if oftener spoken, would keep alive the love in hearts which should never grow cold to each other.
It was three days before an answer came to Bessie"s letter, and in that time she developed a most astonishing talent for architecture, or rather for devising and planning how to repair and improve a house. At least twenty sheets of paper were wasted with the plans she drew of what she meant to do. There were to be bow-windows here, and balconies there, and porticoes in another place; chimneys were to be moved as readily and easily as if they had been pieces of furniture; part.i.tions thrown down, doors taken away, and portieres subst.i.tuted. All the solid, old-fashioned furniture was to be discarded, and light, airy articles to take its place, like the willow work and bra.s.s bedsteads then on their way to Hardy Manor as a gift from Mrs. Browne. Indeed, it was not until Grey told Bessie that she was outdoing the Yankees in her desire for change, and asked if she were copying Mrs. Rossiter-Browne, that she stopped to rest, and concluded to wait for a letter from Neil before she commenced the work of knocking down and hauling out, as Dorothy expressed it.
At last the letter came, not from Neil, but from his father, who, after thanking Bessie most cordially for her generous offer, which he was glad to accept, wrote as follows:
"I hope you will not be disappointed because I answer your letter in place of Neil, who said he could not possibly do it. He is greatly changed, and does not seem like himself at all. After reading your letter and pa.s.sing it to me, he sat for a long time staring blankly at nothing, with a look on his face which I could not understand, and when I asked him what was the matter, he put his head upon the table and cried as young men never cry except they are greatly moved, and I cried, too; though why I cannot tell, unless it was for all the trouble which has come upon us at once, the loss of my wife, the loss of our home, and the fact that Neil must now, from necessity, do something to earn his bread. But I do not think he minds that as much as one might suppose, and when I began to cry he stopped at once and tried to comfort me, and said our lot was not a hard one by any means, when compared with what many had to endure; that it was a good thing to have to bestir himself; that he had been a lazy, conceited, selfish puppy long enough, and that if it were possible he meant to be a man. And then he spoke of you as his good angel, and said you were the truest, purest, and sweetest woman in all the world, and that neither of us could ever repay you and your husband for your generosity to us. I am sure I cannot, nor can I tell you how happy I shall be at Stoneleigh. I am afraid you will have a steady inc.u.mbent, for once there, I do not believe I shall care to leave it. I have seen all of the world I wish to, and the quiet and peace of Stoneleigh will be very grateful to me. I think, however, that for the winter I shall remain in London, where I hope to see you and Mr. Jerrold, whose father and mother I met years ago at Penrhyn Park. I do not yet know when Neil will start for India; probably within a few weeks, and then I shall be very lonely. That G.o.d may bless you, my dear Bessie, and give you all the happiness you deserve, is the prayer of your affectionate uncle,
"JOHN MCPHERSON."
CHAPTER XVII.