by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER II.
MRS. BERTRAM'S WILL.
And Mrs. Bertram did not care in the least what anybody thought of her.She was in no sense of the word a sham. She was well-born,well-educated, respectably married, and fairly well-off. The people inNorthbury considered her rich. She always spoke of herself as poor. Inreality she was neither rich nor poor. She had an income of somethinglike twelve hundred a year, and on that she lived comfortably, educatedher children well, and certainly managed to present a nice appearancewherever she went.
There never was a woman more full of common sense than Mrs. Bertram. Shehad quite an appalling amount of this virtue; no one ever heard her saya silly thing; each step she took in life was a wise one, carefullyconsidered, carefully planned out. She had been a widow now for sisyears. Her husband had nearly come into the family estate, but notquite. He was the second son, and his eldest brother had died when hisheir was a month old. This heir had cut out Mrs. Bertram's husband fromthe family place, with its riches and honors. He himself had died soonafter, and had left his widow with three children and twelve hundred ayear.
The children were a son and two daughters. The son's name was Loftus,the girls were called Catherine and Mabel. Loftus was handsome inperson, and very every-day in mind. He was good-natured, but notremarkable for any peculiar strength of character. His mother hadmanaged to send him to Rugby and Sandhurst, and he had passed into thearmy with tolerable credit. He was very fond of his mother, devotedlyfond of her, but since he entered the army he certainly contrived tocost her a good deal.
She spoke to him on the subject, believed as much as she chose of hisearnest promises to amend, took her own counsel and no one else's, gaveup her neat little house in Kensington, and came to live at Northbury.
Catherine and Mabel did not like this change, but as their mother neverdreamt of consulting them, they had to keep their grumbles tothemselves.
Mrs. Bertram considered she had taken a wise step, and she told thegirls so frankly. Their house in Kensington was small and expensive. Inthe country they had secured a delightful old Manor--Rosendale Manor wasits pretty name--for a small rent.
Mrs. Bertram found herself comparatively rich in the country, and shecheered the girls by telling them that if they would study economicalhabits, and try to do with very little dress for the present, she wouldsave some money year by year, so that by the time Catherine was twentythey might have the advantage of a couple of seasons in town.
"Catherine will look very young at twenty," remarked the mother."By that time I shall have saved quite a fair sum out of my income.Catherine looked younger at twenty than Mabel at eighteen. They can bothcome out together, and have their chances like other girls."
Catherine did not want to wait for the dear delights of society untilshe had reached so mature an age. But there was no murmuring against hermother's decree, and as she was a healthy-minded, handsome, good-humoredgirl, she soon accommodated herself to the ways and manners of countryfolk, and was happy enough.
"I shall live on five hundred a year at Rosen dale Manor," determinedMrs. Bertram. "And I have made up my mind that Loftie shall not cost memore than three. Thus I shall save four hundred a year. Catherine isonly seventeen now. By the time she is twenty I shall have a trifle overand above my income to fall back upon. Twelve hundred pounds is abagatelle with most people, but I feel I shall effect wonders with it.Catherine and Mabel will be out of the common, very out of the common.Unique people have an advantage over those who resemble the herd.Catherine and Mabel are to be strongly individual. In any room they areto be noticeable. Little hermits, now, some day they shall shine. Theyare both clever, just clever enough for my purpose. Catherine might withadvantage be a shade less beautiful, but Mabel will, I am convinced,fulfil all my expectations. Then, if only Loftie," but here Mrs. Bertramsighed. She was returning from her visit to Mrs. Meadowsweet, walkingslowly down the long avenue which led to the Manor. This avenue was keptin no order; its edges were not neatly cut, and weeds appeared here andthere through its scantily gravelled roadway. The grass parterre roundthe house, however, was smooth as velvet, and interspersed with gayflower-beds. It looked like a little agreeable oasis in the middle of awoodland, for the avenue was shaded by forest trees, and the houseitself had a background of two or three acres of an old wood.
Mrs. Bertram was tired, and walked slowly. She did not consider herselfa proud woman, but in this she was mistaken. Every line of her uprightfigure, each glance of her full, dark eyes, each word that dropped fromher lips spoke of pride both of birth and position. She often said toherself, "I am thankful that I don't belong to the common folk; it wouldgrate on my nerves to witness their vulgarities,--their bad taste wouldtorture me; their want of refinement would act upon my nature like ablister. But I am not proud, I uphold my dignity, I respect myself andmy family, but with sinful, unholy pride I have no part."
This was by no means the opinion held of her, however, by the Northburyfolk. They had hailed her advent with delight; they had witnessed herarrival with the keenest, most absorbing interest, and, to the horror ofthe good lady herself, had one and all called on her. She was petrifiedwhen this very natural event happened. She had bargained for a life ofretirement for herself and her girls. She had never imagined thatsociety of a distinctly lower strata than that into which she had beenborn would be forced on her. Forced! Whoever yet had forced Mrs. Bertraminto any path she did not care to walk in?
She was taken unawares by the first visitors, and they absolutely hadthe privilege of sitting on her sofas, and responding to a few icyremarks which dropped from her lips.
But the next day she was armed for the combat. The little parlor-maid,in her neat black dress, clean muslin apron, large frilled, picturesquecollar, and high mob-cap, was instructed to say "Not at home" to allcomers. She was a country girl, not from Northbury, but from some stillmore rusticated spot, and she thought she was telling a frightful lie,and blushed and trembled while she uttered it. So apparent was herconfusion that Miss Peters, when she and her sister, Mrs. Butler,appeared on the scene, rolled her eyes at the taller lady and asked herin a pronounced manner if it would not be well to drop a tract on theheinousness of lying in the avenue.
This speech was repeated by Clara to the cook, who told it again to theyoung ladies' maid, who told it to the young ladies, who narrated it totheir mother.
Mrs. Bertram smiled grimly.
"Don't repeat gossip, my dears," she said, Then after a pause sheremarked aloud: "The difficulty will be about returning the calls."
Mabel, the youngest and most subservient of the girls, ventured to askher mother what she intended to do, but Mrs. Bertram was too wise todisclose her plans, that is, if she had made any.
The Rector of Northbury was one of the first to visit the newinhabitants of the Manor. To him Mrs. Bertram opened her doors gladly.He was old, unmarried, and of good family. She was glad there was atleast one gentleman in the place with whom she might occasionallyexchange a word.
About a fortnight after his visit the Rector inclosed some tickets for abazaar to Mrs. Bertram. The tickets were accompanied by a note, in whichhe said that it would gratify the good Northbury folk very much if Mrs.Bertram and the young ladies would honor the bazaar with their presence.
"Every soul in the place will be there," said Mr. Ingram. "This bazaaris a great event to us, and its object is, I think, a worthy one. Webadly want a new organ for our church."
"Eureka!" exclaimed Mrs. Bertram when she had read this note.
"What is the matter, mother?" exclaimed Mabel.
"Only that I have found a way out of my grand difficulty," respondedtheir mother, tossing Mr. Ingram's note and the tickets for the bazaarinto Catherine's lap.
"Are you so delighted to go to this country bazaar, mother?" asked theeldest daughter.
"Delighted! No, it will be a bore."
"Then why did you say Eureka! and look so pleased?"
"Because on that day I shall leave cards on the Northbury folk
--not oneof them will be at home."
"Shabby," muttered Catherine. Her dark cheek flushed, she turned away.
Mabel put out her little foot and pressed it against her sister's. Thepressure signified warning.
"Then you are not going to the bazaar, mother?" she questioned.
"I don't know. I may drop in for a moment or two, quite at the close. Itwould not do to offend Mr. Ingram."
"No," replied Mabel. "He is a dear, _gentlemanly_ old man."
"Don't use that expression, my love. It is my object in life that_all_ your acquaintances in the world of men should be gentlemen.It is unnecessary therefore to specify any one by a term which mustapply to all."
Mrs. Bertram then asked Mabel to reply to Mr. Ingram's note. The replywas a warm acceptance, and Mr. Ingram cheered those of his parishionerswho pined for the acquaintance of the great lady, with the informationthat they would certainly meet her at the bazaar.
Accordingly when the fateful day arrived the town was empty, and theFisherman's Hall (Northbury was a seaport), in which the bazaar was heldwas packed to overflowing. Accordingly Mrs. Bertram in a neat littlebrougham, which she had hired for the occasion, dropped her cards fromhouse to house in peace; accordingly, too, she caught themaids-of-all-work in their undress toilets, and the humble homes lookingtheir least pretentious.
The bazaar was nearly at an end, when at last, accompanied by her twoplainly-dressed, but dainty looking girls, she appeared on the scene.
The Northbury folk had all been watching for her. Those who had beenfortunate enough to enter the sacred precincts of the Manor watched withinterest, mingled with approval. (Her icy style was quite_comme-il-faut_, they said.) Those who had been met by thefrightened handmaid's "not at home" watched with interest, mixed withdisapproval, but all, all waited for Mrs. Bertram with interest.
"How late these fashionable people are," quote Miss Peters. "It'sabsolutely five o'clock. My dear Martha, do sit down and rest yourself.You look fit to drop. I'll keep an eye on the door and tell you the verymoment Mrs. Bertram comes in. Mrs. Gorman Stanley has promised tointroduce us. Mrs. Gorman Stanley was fortunate enough to find Mrs.Bertram in. It was she who told us about the drawing-room at the Manor.Fancy! Mrs. Bertram has only a felt carpet on her drawing-room. Not evena red felt, which looks warm and wears. But a sickly green! Mrs. GormanStanley told me _as a fact_ that the carpet was quite a worn-outshade between a green and a brown; and the curtains--she said the_drawing room_ curtains were only cretonne. You needn't stare atme, Martha. Mrs. Gorman Stanley never makes mistakes. All the same,though she couldn't tell why, she owned that the room had a_distingue_ effect. _En regle_, that was it; she said the roomwas _en regle_."
"Maria, if you could stop talking for a moment and fetch me an ice, I'dbe obliged," answered Mrs. Butler. "Oh!" standing up, "there's Mrs.Gorman Stanley. How do you do, Mrs. Gorman Stanley? Our great ladyhasn't chosen to put in her appearance yet. For my part I don't supposeshe's any better than the rest of us, and so I say to Maria. Well,Maria, what's the matter now?"
"Here's your ice," said Miss Peters; "take it. Don't forget that youpromised to introduce us to Mrs. Bertram, Mrs. Gorman Stanley."
Mrs. Gorman Stanley was the wealthy widow of a retired fish-buyer. Sheliked to condescend; also to show off her wealth. It pleased her toassume an acquaintance with Mrs. Bertram, although she thoroughlydespised that good lady's style of furnishing a house.
"I'll introduce you with pleasure, my dear," she said to Mrs. Butler."Yes, I like Mrs. Bertram very much. Did you say she was out when youcalled? Oh! she was in to me. Yes, I saw the house. I don't think shehad finished furnishing it. The drawing-room looked quite bare. Amade-up sort of look, you understand. Lots of flowers on the tables, andthat nasty, cold, cheap felt under your feet. Not that _I_ mind howa house is furnished." (She did very much. Her one and only object inlife seemed to be to lade her own mansion with ugly and expensiveupholstery.) "Now, what's the matter, Miss Peters? Why, you are all onwires. Where _are_ you off to now?"
"I see the Rector," responded Miss Peters. "I'll run and ask him when heexpects Mrs. Bertram. I'll be back presently with the news."
The little lady tripped away, forcing her slim form through theever-increasing crowd. The rector was walking about with a very favoritesmall parishioner seated on his shoulder.
"Mr. Ingram," piped Miss Peters. "Don't you think Mrs. Bertram mightfavor us with her presence by now? We have all been looking for her.It's past five o'clock, and--"
There was a hush, a pause. At that moment Mrs. Bertram was sailing intothe room. Miss Peters' exalted tones reached her ears. She shuddered,turned pale, and also turned her back on the eager little spinster.
Nobody quite knew how it was managed, but Mrs. Bertram was introduced tovery few of the Northbury folk. They all wanted to know her; they talkedabout her, and came in her way, and stared at her whenever they could.There was an expectant hush when she and the Rector were seenapproaching any special group.
"I do declare it's the Grays she's going to patronize," one jealousmatron said.
But the Grays were passed over just as sedulously as the Joneses and theSmiths. Excitement, again and again on the tenter-hooks, invariably cameto nothing. Even Mrs. Gorman Stanley, who had sat on Mrs. Bertram'ssofa, and condemned her felt carpet was only acknowledged by the mostpassing and stately recognition. Little chance had the poor lady ofeffecting other introductions; she realized for the first time that shewas only a quarter introduced to the great woman herself.
The fact was this: There was not a soul in Northbury, at least there wasnot an acknowledged soul who could combat Mrs. Bertram's will. She hadmade up her mind to talk to no one but Mr. Ingram at the bazaar. Shecarried out her resolve, and that though the Rector had formed suchpleasant visions of making every one cheerful and happy all round, forhe knew the simple weaknesses and desires of his flock, and saw not thesmallest harm in gratifying them. Why should not the Manor and the townbe friendly?
Mrs. Bertram saw a very good reason why they should not. Therefore theRector's dreams came apparently to nothing.
