THE life of Lucy Trevor, at this period, was divided between two worlds, very dissimilar in constitution. The odd household over which her father’s will and pleasure was paramount, though exercised through the medium of Mrs. Ford, and in which so many out-of-the-way subjects were continually being discussed, all with some personal reference to the old man and his experiences and crotchety principles of action, occupied one part of her time and thoughts: but the rest of her belonged to another sphere—to the orderly circle of studies and amusements of which the central figure was Mrs. Stone, and the scene the White House, a large irregular low building on the edge of the common, which was within sight of Mr. Trevor’s windows in the Terrace, and had appeared, through all the mist and fog of those wintery days, with a kind of halo round its whiteness like that of a rainy and melancholy old moon, tumbled from its high place to the low levels of a damp and flat country. Mrs. Stone’s was known far and wide as the best school for a hundred miles round, the best as far as education was concerned, and also the most exclusive and aristocratic. Lucy Trevor was the only girl in Farafield who was received as a day-pupil. Efforts had been made by people of the highest local standing to procure the admission of other girls of well-known families in the town, but in vain. And why Mrs. Stone had taken Lucy, who was nobody, who was only old John Trevor’s daughter, was a mystery to her best friends. She had offended a great many of the townspeople, but she had flattered the local aristocracy, the county people, by her exclusiveness; and she offended both by the sudden relaxation of her rule on behalf of Lucy. The rector’s daughter would have been a thousand times more eligible, or even Emmy Rushton, whose mother had knocked at those jealous doors in vain for years together; and why should she have taken Lucy Trevor, old John’s daughter, who was nobody, who had not the faintest pretension to gentility? Lady Langton drove in, as a kind of lofty deputation and representative of the other parents who had daughters at Mrs. Stone’s school, to remonstrate with her, and procure the expulsion of the intruder; but Mrs. Stone was equal to the occasion. She did not hesitate to say to the countess, “Your ladyship is at liberty to remove Lady Maud whenever you please. I dispense with the three months’ notice.”
It was this speech which established Mrs. Stone’s position far more than her excellence in professional ways. A woman who dared to look a countess in the face, and make such a suggestion, was too wonderful a person to be contemplated save with respect and awe. Lady Langton herself withdrew, abashed and confounded, protesting that to take Maud a way was the last idea in her mind. And Mrs. Stone’s empire was thus established. The incident made a great impression on the county generally; and it nearly threw into a nervous fever the other mistress, conjointly with Mrs. Stone, of the White House, her sister Miss Southwood, called, as a matter of course, Southernwood by the girls, who stood by aghast, and heard her say, “I dispense with the three months’ notice:” and expected nothing less than that the sky should fall, and the walls crumble in round them. Miss Southwood liked to think afterward that it was her own deprecating glances, her look of horror and dismay, and, above all, the cup of exquisite tea which she offered Lady Langton as she waited for her carriage, which put everything straight; but all her civilities would never have established that moral ascendency which her sister’s uncompromising defiance secured.
Miss Southwood was the elder of the two. She was forty-five or thereabouts, and she was old-fashioned. Whether it was by calculation, to make a claim of originality for herself, such as it was, or simply because she thought that style becoming to her, nobody knew; but she dressed in the fashions which had been current in her youth, and never changed. She wore her hair in a knot fastened by a high comb behind, and with little ringlets drooping on either cheek; and amid the long and sweeping garments of the present era, wore a full plain skirt which did not touch the ground, and gigot sleeves. In this dress she went about the house softly and briskly, without the whistling and rustling of people in long trains. She was a very mild person in comparison with her high-spirited and despotic sister; but yet was gifted with a gentle obstinacy, and seldom permitted any argument to beguile her from her own way. She had, nominally, the same power in the house as Mrs. Stone, and it was partly her money which was put in peril by her sister’s audacity; but the elder had always been faithful to the younger, and though she might grumble, never failed to make common cause with her, even in her most heroic measures. As for Lucy Trevor, though she shook her head, she submitted, feeling that to suffer on behalf of an heiress was a pain from which the worst sting was taken out; for it was not to be supposed that a girl so rich could allow her school-mistress to come to harm on her account. Mrs. Stone was far more imposing in appearance. She was full five years younger, and she was not old-fashioned. She was tall, with a commanding figure, and her dresses were handsome as herself, made by an artiste in town, not by the bungling hands of the trade in Farafield, of rich texture and the most fashionable cut. She was a woman of speculative and theoretical mind, believing strongly in “influence,” and very anxious to exercise it when an opportunity occurred. She had her ideas, as Mr. Trevor had, of what might be made of an heiress; and it seemed to Mrs. Stone that there was no class in the world upon which “influence” might tell more, or be more beneficially exercised. Her ideas on this subject laid her open to various injurious suppositions. Thus, when she took Lady Maud Langton into her bosom, as it were—moved by a brilliant hope of influence to be exercised on society itself by means of a very pretty and popular young woman of fashion—vulgar by-standers accused Mrs. Stone of tuft-hunting, and of paying special honor to the girl who was the daughter of an earl out of mere love of a title, an altogether unworthy representation of her real motive. And her sudden stand on behalf of Lucy took the world by surprise. They could not fathom her meaning; that she should have defied the countess, whom up to this time she had been supposed to worship with a servile adulation, on account of a little bit of a girl of no particular importance, was incomprehensible. It was known in Farafield that Lucy had a fortune, but it was not known how great that fortune was, and after much groping among the motives possible to Mrs. Stone in the circumstances, the country-town gossips had come to the conclusion that she aspired to a marriage with old John Trevor, and an appropriation to herself of all his wealth. This supplied a sufficient reason even for a breach with the countess. To be asked to Langdale, which was the finest thing that could happen to her in connection with Lady Maud, was, though gratifying, not to be compared with the possibility of marrying a rich man in her own person, and becoming one of the chief ladies of Farafield. This was how it was accounted for by that chorus of spectators who call themselves society, and Miss Southwood herself entertained, against her will, the same opinion. This suggestion seemed to make everything clear.
A few days after that on which Mr. Trevor read to Ford the last paragraph which he had added to his will, Lucy tapped at the door of Mrs. Stone’s private parlor with her father’s message. The ladies were seated together in their private sanctuary, resting from their labors. It was a seclusion never invaded by the pupils except on account of some important commission from a parent, or to ask advice, or by order of its sovereigns. Lucy came in with the little old-fashioned courtesy which Mrs. Stone insisted upon, and made her request.
“If you would come to tea to-morrow night. Papa is very sorry, but he bids me say he thinks you know that he can not come to you.”
“How is Mr. Trevor, Lucy?”
Miss Southwood, who was looking at her sister anxiously, thought she asked this question by way of gaining time. Could he have sent for her in order to propose to her, the anxious sister thought. What a very curious way of proceeding! But a rich old man, with one foot in the grave, could not be expected to act like other men.
“He is—just as he always is; very busy, always writing; but he can not go out, and if you would be so kind—”
“Oh, yes, I will be so kind,” said Mrs. Stone, with a smile; “it is not the first time, Lucy. Is he going to complain of you, or to tell me of something he wants for you?”
“I think,” said Lucy, “it is about the will.”
“Dear me!” Miss Southwood cried. “What can you have to do, Maria, with Mr. Trevor’s will?”
Mrs. Stone smiled again.
“He goes on with it, then, as much as ever?” she said.
“Oh, yes, almost more than ever; it gives him a great deal of occupation,” said Lucy, with a grave face. There were some things that she had it in her heart to say on this subject; she looked at the school-mistress anxiously, not knowing if she might trust her, and then was silent, fearing to open her mind to any one on the subject of Jock.
“Poor child! he is putting a great burden upon you at your age; the management of a fortune is too much for a girl; but, Lucy, you will always know where to find advice and help so far as I can give it. You must never hesitate to come to me, whatever happens,” Mrs. Stone said.
“Thank you,” said Lucy, in her tranquil way. She had read something in the school-mistress’s face, she could not have told what, which sealed her lips in respect to Jock.
“Dear me!” cried Miss Southwood again, “you are both very mysterious; I should think nothing was easier than to manage a fortune. It is when one has no fortune that life is difficult to manage,” she said, with a sigh.
“The wonder is,” said Mrs. Stone, calmly ignoring her sister’s interruption, “that your father does not carry out some of his own views, Lucy, instead of leaving everything to you. It would be in your favor if he would take a larger house, and get together an establishment more befitting your prospects; I think I shall suggest this to him. He has always been very civil in listening to my suggestions. A proper establishment, all set in order in his life-time, would be a great matter for you.”
“But, Maria, Maria!” cried Miss Southwood, “think, for Heaven’s sake, what you are doing; think what people will say. That you should suggest such a thing would never do.”
Mrs. Stone turned round and looked at her with scathing indifference.
“What do people say?” she asked, and went on without waiting for an answer. “You ought to be living as becomes your future position,” she said; “the associations you will form at present, and the habits you are acquiring, can not be good for you. Thank Heaven you are here, my dear child, in a place which, however homely, is intended as a place of training for girls who have to occupy high positions.”
“I don’t think it will matter for me,” said Lucy; “I shall never be a great lady, I shall only be rich. No one will expect so very much from me.”
“They will expect a great deal, and I hope my pupil will do me credit,” said Mrs. Stone; and she rose up and kissed Lucy with a little enthusiasm. “I agree with your father, I think there is a great deal in you, Lucy; but I don’t agree with him as to the best means of bringing it out. He thinks that you should be plunged into life all of a sudden, and a great call made upon you; but I believe in education; we shall soon see who is right.”
“Oh, I hope not,” cried Lucy, “I hope not; for before you can know anything about it papa will have to be—”
“Not if he takes my way, Lucy; he ought to take Holmwood, that pretty house near Sir Thomas Randolph’s, and give you a beginning; and I think he ought to do some of the things in his will which he is talking of leaving upon you; I will speak to him to-morrow night. Yes; you can say I will come; but do not think too much of these serious matters; go and amuse yourself with your companions, my dear.”
“Maria,” said Miss Southwood, when the door closed, “you think yourself a great deal wiser than I am, but you must hear what I have to say. If you go and advise that old man to take Holmwood and set up an establishment, there will be but one thing that anybody can think. If you care anything for the opinion of the world, or for my opinion, for Heaven’s sake don’t do it, don’t do it! a woman in your position has need to be so careful. Of course, it stands to reason that is what everybody will think.”
“What is what everybody—? Your style in conversation is very careless,” said Mrs. Stone, with great indifference. But her counselor would not be put down.
“I will tell you exactly what will be thought,” she said, solemnly. “What is the common talk already? that you mean to marry that old man. Why did you take up the girl, risking your whole connection—you that have always been so exclusive—a girl of no family at all! You must have had a motive—no one ever acts without a motive; and perhaps if he is very rich, and you could be sure of carrying it out— But how do we know that he is really very rich? and most likely you will not be able to carry it out; and at your age to risk your reputation—oh, I don’t mean in any wrong way—but to risk your character for sense and good taste, and all that! Consider for one moment, consider, Maria, what the ‘parents’ would say, what the parents would have a right to say!”
“If you think that I am to be kept in order by a threat of what ‘parents’ will think!” said Mrs. Stone. “Do you suppose I will ever give in to parents? Why, it would be our destruction. But make your mind easy, I don’t mean to marry old Trevor, and he does not mean to ask me. Listen! you don’t know what you are talking about. That girl whom you think nothing of, that girl you are always taunting me about—and she is a very nice girl, as simple as a daisy and as true— Listen, Ellen! she will be the greatest heiress in England one of these days.”
Miss Southwood stood and listened with all her soul, her eyes and her mouth opening wider and wider, her imagination set suddenly on fire, for she had an imagination, and that of a most practical kind. The greatness of Lucy’s fortune had never been so plainly set before her. She was so much taken by surprise that she spoke with a gasp, as if all her breath and energy were thrown into the question.
“And what do you mean to do?”
“I mean to manage her, if I can, for her own good, and for the good of her fellow-creatures,” cried Mrs. Stone, excited too. “Power, that is what I have always wanted. I know I can use it well, and Lucy is a good girl, good to the bottom of her heart. She will want to do good with her money; and money, money is power.”
Miss Southwood listened, but she did not share her sister’s enthusiasm. Her countenance fell into shades of disapproval and impatience. She shook her head.
“You were always so high-flown,” she said. “I never saw anything come of these heiresses. Manage her! you ought to know by this time girls are not such easy things to manage. But there is a much better thing you can do—marry her! and that will be good for her and us.”
Mrs. Stone looked at her sister with a smile which was somewhat supercilious.
“That is, of course, your first idea; and how, if I may ask, would such an expedient be good for us? if I thought of good for us—which is a thing that never entered my thoughts—”
“Because you have no family affection, Maria. I have always said it of you. You think of the girl more than of your own relations. How is it possible,” asked Miss Southwood, severely, “that you could have any hand in the disposal of an heiress and not think of Frank?”