Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I

by Meredith Allady

  His indecision and confusion began to show clearly on his face, and his gaze, when turned on Miss Parry, often held almost a hint of reproach; and occasionally his gaze would turn from her to his brother, with a look of puzzlement, as if silently asking, why this one, who did all things well, and made every path smooth for him, should have unaccountably failed to make Julia Parry fall in love with him as well, and offer him her hand, without ever being solicited for it.

  Ann was not without a slight hope that Mr. Lenox might, in some fashion, be able to save her friend from this last grief, perhaps by presenting to Sir Warrington the inadvisability of pursuing his suit to its logical conclusion. But as the baronet’s restlessness grew, she became convinced that somewhere in his head a resolution was forming, like Mr. Roche’s infamous rat, and that it would not be long before Julia had the distress of turning down his proposals, and dealing with his misery and bewilderment, in addition to everything else.

  So it was that the intelligence, delivered to Ann on the stair, that Sir Warrington was come to call, alone, and wishing to speak to Miss Parry on a matter of most particular importance, at once pitched her into a swift but furious battle within herself, in which her recent resolution to forswear all interference in Julia’s affairs struggled against an almost contemporaneous conviction that Julia was to be protected, at all costs, from any circumstances that might occasion her further sorrow. Those acquainted with Ann, could never have suffered a moment’s doubt concerning the outcome of this conflict, and the servant had scarcely left off speaking, before Ann was assuring him that she knew precisely where to find Miss Parry, and would herself tell Julia of her caller. She waited until he had returned downstairs, and then hurried to the drawing-room, explaining to her conscience that she really had every intention of doing just what she had said---after she had spoken with Sir Warrington herself, and, if possible, persuaded him not to speak to Miss Parry on any subject of particular importance.

  **

  Chapter XLIX

  The baronet greeted Ann’s entrance with a look suitably disappointed for a hopeful lover, and anxiously inquired, if Miss Parry was not at home, then?

  Ann hesitated, and without answering his question, seated herself with the request that he follow her example, as she had something she wished to say to him. He obeyed, looking as if he found such a statement, coming from Miss Northcott, a highly alarming prospect. And indeed, she had not often voluntarily sought his company or his conversation.

  She had come with no very exact notion, of how to say all that she felt must be said; but one thing she was tolerably sure of, and that was, that the words she chose to employ, must be very plain ones. Any attempt she might make at subtleties and implications, however easily penetrated by his brother, would be dark as a well-bottom to the baronet. Therefore, without giving herself time to repent of her decision, she began at once, and directly:

  “Sir Warrington, I think I must know why you have come to see Miss Parry today. And you shall see her, in a few minutes, if you still wish it. But I hope you will permit me to say one thing to you first. I know you are very fond of Miss Parry, just as I am, and that neither of us would wish her to be made unhappy by anything we had done.” Here she paused, but as he was nodding at her in vigorous agreement, she continued, and more confidently: “Unfortunately, it is easy to make people unhappy, without in the least meaning to do so. Sometimes we imagine, that because a thing will make us happy, it must make someone else happy as well. But it is not always so. For instance, if a friend of yours--shall we say, Miss Denbigh?--took a violent fancy to that watch you are wearing, she might think, that because it would please her to own it, that it must also please you to give it to her. But I know it was a gift from your brother on the occasion of your last birthday, and so it is likely that you really would not be at all happy to give it away, and indeed, would probably refuse to do so. I see that you would. And that is perfectly understandable. However, at the same time, you probably could not help but feel very badly about it, because you were forced to refuse Miss Denbigh something that she wanted very much.”

  He gave this statement a goodly amount of thought, and then, smiling broadly as the solution occurred to him, announced that he would buy Miss Denbigh another watch.

  Ann refused to be discomfited, and replied patiently, “Yes, but suppose she was only to be satisfied with that particular watch. Then, if the only way to make her happy was to give her your own watch, and you really could not do that, then you would be made sad at having to disappoint her, would you not?”

  Sir Warrington took such a long time considering this, that Ann almost despaired; but at last he admitted that this assessment was correct, though he naturally took the illustration no further, and sat looking at her with an expectant air.

  Ann stifled a sigh, and began to tread toward her goal with great care. “So in such a case, you would now, both of you, be feeling very unhappy. Does it not strike you that it would have been more sensible--that is, kinder of Miss Denbigh, to think carefully before she requested that you give her your watch, to have realized, that you might not wish to part with it? Would you not have been grateful to her, for not placing you in a position in which you were forced to refuse her?”

  There passed another long, brow-furrowing, meditative moment, before he nodded, with appreciable thoughtfulness, as if the dim, wavering outline of her target was beginning to appear before his mind’s eye.

  “Miss Parry has a kind heart, too,” then said Ann, very deliberately. “It upsets her dreadfully when she cannot give that which is asked of her. Some years ago she was forced to tell a young man she could not marry him, and in consequence she became very ill, and nearly died.”

  Sir Warrington looked properly appalled at this revelation, and Ann, pleased with having at last made an impression on him, felt fully justified in suppressing the rest of the matter, which was, that Julia had been twelve at the time, and the suitor in question a dramatically-inclined youth some two years her senior. Having received his congé, he had flung away from her in a passion, declaring he would drown himself, and to his considerable dismay, would perhaps have succeeded in doing so, from developing a sudden cramp in the middle of the pond into which he had taken himself off to sulk, had Julia not jumped in to save him. Her illness was the result of nearly being drowned herself, by the panicked strength of her rejected suitor; and had Kitty, the faithful, unnoticed shadow, not seen her sister’s difficulty and run at once to Mr. Parry, that first unsuccessful applicant might have had the gratification of taking himself and his lady to a very romantic end. Sadly for the poets, Mr. Parry had rescued his daughter, and even assisted her sodden swain to the edge of the pond, though with a sad lack of ceremony, and a subsequent tongue-lashing that had served effectively to douse whatever portion of the young Leander’s ardor had been left unquenched by the algae.

  However, none of these details were necessary for her present purpose. There could be no question that at last Ann’s meaning had burst upon the baronet, and in his agitation he rose and began pacing the room with such a complete disregard for the furniture, as nearly brought him to ruin. Having escaped it by a hair’s breadth a number of times, to Ann’s relief he suddenly halted, and wilted onto a chair, rather as if all volition had been taken from him, and turned to her with a face so full of misery, that she was almost remorseful--until she remembered, that had she not interfered, it must have been Julia who looked upon it, a Julia who would have been a deal more affected by it, and less deservedly, than she.

  “Shud Oi jist retirn howme, thin?” he asked, with such a simple reliance on her opinion, that she was moved, and replied very gently, “I am sorry, but I think it would be the kindest thing; for both of you.”

  He nodded once again, and the tears which had been sitting in his eyes, fell over, and it was with a noticeable trembling of lip and voice that he asked in bewilderment, “Miss Nourthcutt, how kin she not luv ’im?”

  Miss Nourthcutt, about to embar
k on a soothing speech concerning the different degrees of love, was assailed by the sudden recollection, that Sir Warrington, whatever his deficiencies of speech, was not guilty of that habit of referring to himself in the third person, which, in Ann’s opinion, was excusable only when the speaker was divine. She checked, to ask, with her own share of bewilderment, the antecedent of his pronoun.

  His reply was succinct and unenlightening: “Me brither.”

  “But she does love your brother,” replied Ann, by now too confused to worry about mincing words; hastily adding, “She is fond of you both. I know she hopes you will always be friends.”

  But this palliative hope cheered Sir Warrington as little as it has done countless numbers of rejected lovers throughout the ages. Tears continued to disappear into his neck-cloth as he said sadly, “She was parfect. Oi kin niver find anither. Ther iz ownly Miss Pairy. He tould me we must go howme. Oi’ve made thim bowth onhappy. Id’s all me falt.”

  Ann could not help agreeing, but she had suffered from this sentiment herself too often to hear it unfeelingly, and murmured some unconvincing phrases about the futility of seeking to apportion blame in every situation. But Sir Warrington was not attending, as he soon afterwards proved, by exclaiming, “If ’e had th’ Sorr, do ye thank she wud hav ’im, Miss Nourthcutt?”

  Miss Nourthcutt, her brain sent reeling once again, was silent. Sir Warrington did not wait for her response, but shook his head, and answered himself: “Nah, bud Oi was forgitting. He ’ill not hav anywan that wud not hav ’im bud fer th’ Sorr, at all.”

  After a significant pause, Ann managed to collect herself enough to ask, if she was correct in understanding her visitor to mean, that he was desirous of Miss Parry hav--marrying his brother?

  “Oh, ay,” said Sir Warrington, still speaking with great dejection. And then, as the strangeness of this presented itself even to his intellect, he looked up to ask, wonderingly, “Did ye not be knowin’ that, thin?”

  “No. That is--No. We thought--every one thought--that you wished her to marry--you. It--was understood that you had come to England to find a wife.”

  Sir Warrington, to increase her confusion, appeared rather pleased at this confession. “So Oi did--bud fer Paddy. Bud Oi cud not be afther tellin’ ’im that, cud I? He wud not have cum. Me mither was tellin’ me an’ tellin’ me how id was, that he’d givin up ev’rythan’ fer me, and had no place of ’is own, so that he wud niver marry nor hav’ any childhre, bekase he was too bizy lookin’ afther me own throublesum affeers, an’ that if an’ he ever did marry, id wud be t’ sum dreedful neehburr’s daughther, and he’d be obleeged to listen to th’ Kang’s tongue bayin’ bate to death ev’ry mornin’ fer the rest of ’is loife. Oirish ghurls is very weel, Miss Nourthcutt,” said he, Lady Lenox’s clipped syllables somehow sounding clearly through her son’s brogue, “but raal illigance of moind and parson, is to be fownd ownly wid th’ Inglish.”

  So, here, then, was the truth. For a moment, Ann really could not catch her breath enough to speak. How often, in past weeks, had she assured herself, that if it had been within her power to alter the situation, to make it possible for Mr. Lenox to wed Julia, without diminishing by one iota the happiness or love Sir Warrington felt for either, she would do so; how often had she fretted over her own inability to perform such a reversal, and grumbled over the seeming carelessness of Heaven? Now, however, by some dexterous twitch of the lantern, the thing had been accomplished, the entire scene was transformed, and she could no longer be satisfied with theoretical good-intentions. For an instant, her whole being rose in wicked revolt, pleading for silence; but only, I am gratified to report, for an instant. Then, having recovered her breath, and in a tone amazingly mild, she said, “But Sir Warrington, do you think this deception of yours was altogether wise? If your brother does not know the purpose for which you came to England, how can he know--that you have not designed Julia for yourself? How can he--think of loving her himself, if he believes you will not like it?”

  “How kin he not luv ’er? She is parfect.”

  Ann reminded herself that there was really no evidence of the baronet’s refusing to understand the meaning of plain English, from sheer intent to enrage. Then she said, with great deliberation, and her eyes fixed on his, “Sir Warrington, if he believes you desire to marry Miss Parry, then he would not ask her for himself, because he would not wish to hurt you. And if he does not ask her, then she cannot accept him.”

  This, at last, was sufficiently blunt. She watched comprehension dawn in his widening eyes, and when they had grown quite round with it, he sprang up without another word, and hurled himself at the doorway--and, from the ensuing sounds, down the staircase as well.

  The revelations of the moment seemed to call for furious exertion, for after sitting quite still for perhaps five seconds, or until the noise of his departure faded away, Ann then rose as springingly from her chair as injury would permit, and hastened up to where she knew Julia and Lady Frances to be supervising the packing away of some of the least necessary garments. She burst in upon them, exclaiming, “Julia! It is all a mistake! He had no notion of marrying you himself! He meant you always for his brother!”

  Julia lowered the hat she had been examining, and gazed at her friend, with an expression almost as uncomprehending as the baronet’s; seeing which, Ann grasped her arm, crying, “Do you not see? Sir Warrington has just been here--we have been talking--he thought I was saying he must not speak to you on behalf of his brother---it is for Mr. Lenox that he came to England seeking a wife! He does not know it either--Sir Warrington says he has been unhappy---Julia, Julia, do you not see?--it is Mr. Lenox Sir Warrington wishes you to marry!”

  And Ann saw, at this point, that perception had indeed come to her friend. “Oh,” said she, almost voiceless. “Oh--Ann!”

  Ann was abruptly snatched from perhaps the most rewarding moment of her life, by the sound of a crash. She turned at once, and beheld the inanimate form of Kitty, who in fainting, had contrived to direct her head into the path of the highly-ornamented fire screen, so that to the limp form, and the appropriately waxen cheek, was added a fairly alarming quantity of blood.

  **

  Chapter L

  One might have thought, that years of reviving Kitty’s apparently lifeless form, would have resulted in her family greeting her fainting spells with rather less agitation, than the family of one who had never before lost consciousness in her life; but it was not so. Each occasion was met with as much anxious care as the last, and her re-animation rejoiced in, as if she had been the daughter of Jairus. Of course, it could not be denied, that even when under the influence of the most common, momentary swoon, Kitty did look most uncommonly dead; and in this instance, the cut on her temple was of no assistance in presenting a reassuring aspect.

  Ann, effacing herself before the bustle of solicitous relations (and hardly less solicitous servants), nevertheless had time to observe, that in her care for her sister, every thought of self had apparently fled from Julia’s mind: the flash of half-incredulous joy which had briefly illumined her features, being completely extinguished by alarm. Again and again Ann reproached herself for failing to mark Kitty’s presence in the room; although she suspected that, in the excitement of her feelings, even then she would have trumpeted forth the news without giving thought to its effect upon anyone but Julia.

  Kitty’s first act, once the initial confusion of recovery was past, was to reach out a feeble hand to her sister, and begin to cry, with the steady, noiseless tears, which everyone knew could continue to flow for hours, drawn from a seemingly inexhaustible source. She spoke no word; none was needed. In her eyes, fixed on her sister, was the look of a person seeing her most cherished possession about to be torn from her clasping arms. It was a moment ripe for the uttering of injudicious promises, and Ann almost covered her ears, that she might not hear her friend pledge away her happiness in the excess of her relief. But almost at once Lady Frances dispersed it, requesting that K
itty be carried to bed, that the housemaid be persuaded to stop sobbing as nobody had yet died, or was likely to, and that one of the footmen be sent for the apothecary.

  Her wishes were carried out with dispatch. Mr. Forbes came, pronounced his approval on everything they would have done in any case, and left, meeting Mr. Parry on the front steps, and terrorizing that gentleman by his grave demeanor and a cryptic reference to fire screens. Unaware that Mr. Parry’s youngest sister had been lost in childhood to the negligence of a nurse and the absence of one of these screens, the apothecary may have been somewhat surprised at the effect of his words. Mr. Parry, arriving in mental disarray at the foot of Kitty’s bed, took in her pale, startled, but unseared features---and only then was able to reflect that she was after all not likely to have sought the proximity of open flames during the second week of July. Sinking into the nearest chair, he wiped his face with the handkerchief handed to him by Lady Frances, and requested a true account of how Kitty came to be lying abed. Ann was deeply impressed by the manner in which Lady Frances answered him, doing so concisely, accurately, and yet without once mentioning either of the Lenox brothers. She must soon have found a private opportunity for doing so, however; or perhaps Julia may have done, for Ann saw Mr. Parry afterward talking quietly with Julia in the hall, in a manner more than ordinarily intent.

  Thus the greater part of the morning, which was to have been filled with a variety of occupations--shopping, calling to take leave of various friends and acquaintances--was instead spent by Lady Frances and Julia in attendance upon an invalid. Ann, too, kept very near the room; not from any notion that she was needed, but from roughly equal parts guilt and impatience. Her talk with Sir Warrington burned in her bosom; for, added to the inevitable interest of such a matter, was the role she herself had played, in discovering and bringing the truth to light; she, who had so often, in the past, misjudged and obscured. She yearned to share it with Julia, whom she felt tolerably sure must be in as much impatience to hear, as she was to inform. True, Julia concealed it well; there was no hint from her manner, that she longed to be elsewhere than she was; she seemed concentrated upon nothing but the improvement and comfort of her sister. But Ann still was confident. It was naturally impossible that any thing could be said on such a subject within the hearing of Kitty; nor did Ann particularly wish to render her account in the presence of a third party, interested and sympathetic as Lady Frances must be. And so Ann hovered restlessly, watching in vain for the room to clear, for Kitty to fall asleep; or for Julia perhaps even to make some excuse and slip away, that she might speak with Ann, before returning to her duties with additional, and perhaps pleasanter, matters to ponder.