by Joan Aiken
“Ah, you do indeed understand!” cried Matt Dixon. “You have the marrow of it.”
“But what can we do? Is it wrong to feel so? It seems like a betrayal —”
“It cannot be that. The love is still there —”
“But why should we feel this? Our forefathers were content to remain in one spot, they built their houses and tilled their ground —”
“Not all of them,” again put in Mrs Campbell, lifting her eyes from the report. “Or Christopher Columbus would never have discovered America. Some stay at home, others sally out. And there is no history book that says Columbus was not homesick — But I perceive that the others, ahead of us, are stopping. They appear to have encountered some acquaintances.”
As the chaise rolled on — Matt, absorbed in conversation, had allowed his horse to lapse to a dawdle — Mrs Campbell exclaimed, “Why, bless my soul, it is Robert and Charlotte! I did not know that my sister Selsea proposed coming to Weymouth! How very singular of her not to inform us that she had such a scheme in mind.”
The other two carriages had halted at the head of the lake, where a wide, sandy space permitted foot passengers, if they so wished, to walk down to the shallow brink of the water. The carriages were drawn up under spreading oak trees beside another one, and there, to be sure, were Rachel’s cousins.
“Aunt Cecelia! Uncle James! Cousin Rachel! We inquired at the hotel and heard you had gone this way, so hoped, if we made a little speed, coming the other way, to meet you hereabouts! Is not this an agreeable surprise? Was not this a charming plan? We were staying, you know, with Lord Fortuneswell at Abbotsbale, and so we persuaded Mamma to come on here, just for a frolic. For it was very slow at Abbotsbale, was it not, Rob?”
“Lord, yes! Slower than a stopped clock! Old Fortune proses and dozes, and the bath water is only luke warm, and all the billiard cues are warped. And we knew that you were here, for Ma had had a letter from Grandmother.”
“So are you not delighted to see us?’ chirped Charlotte.
“That’s of course!” replied Colonel Campbell in rather a dry tone. And Rachel, coming up to Jane, whispered in her ear, “What a misfortune! Now all our c-comfort will be quite c-cut up!”
Mrs Campbell’s sister Lady Selsea bore a very close resemblance to her mother in looks and dress; her habits of fashion and society were the antithesis of her sister’s. Of her children Charlotte, the elder, some four years older than Rachel, was a remarkably silly girl with small blue eyes, a profusion of light curly hair, and an artless effusiveness of manner that would always, in some circles, be called charm; it concealed, quite often, more than a touch of malice. She never troubled to make friends among her own sex, reserving all her attention for gentlemen. Her brother Robert, two years younger, was already in a way to becoming a finished coxcomb; he thought of little but dress, food, and play, and his complexion bore witness to his excesses.
“Let us hope that they find Weymouth dull and don’t stay long!” Jane whispered back softly. She could see that the Dixon brothers and Frank Churchill did not look with any particular kindness on Robert Selsea, though they greeted him civilly; his sister, full of laughter, smiles, and chat, was welcomed with more amiability. She knew Frank Churchill by sight, but she had never met the Dixons before, and Jane could see that she was greatly struck by both of them, especially with Matt; she began at once to engage him in fluent conversation, asking many questions about the neighbourhood: pleasant walks? pleasant rides? which were the most picturesque viewpoints? which inns provided meals at midday?
Now a young gentleman who had hitherto stood at a distance sauntered up and was introduced as Robert Selsea’s most particular friend, Tom Gillender; he, Jane thought, looked even more of a dandy than his companion, for he wore primrose-coloured pantaloons and a most elaborate stock, inspected the world through a glass, which he continually raised to his eye with an air of ineffable fatigue, and made a habit of always taking snuff before committing himself to any opinion. He had already been staying at Weymouth for several days, he informed them, and indeed Jane recollected seeing him at leisure upon the Esplanade, casting a disparaging eye over the females in their seaside muslins.
“’Pon my soul, Mrs Campbell, ma’am, I see you share my opinion of Weymouth and all its tedious surroundings — slow, hideously, abominably slow! I wish I, like you, had thought to bring a gazette or a journal to beguile away the time, ’pon my soul I do!” — as Mrs Campbell, reluctantly abandoning her pile of reading-matter, joined the group of young people.
“Do you attend the Assembly tonight, Cousin Rachel?” inquired Charlotte, turning momentarily from her conversation with Matt; and, upon Rachel’s glancing doubtfully at Jane, cried out in affected horror, “Come! Come! Do not tell me that you had no plan to go? Why, the Assemblies at Weymouth are the only occasion for visiting the place. La! I declare, my dear cousin, you are turning into a regular bluestocking, and it is high time Robert and I came by to give you a reminder that there are other things in this world besides ink and paper. Amn’t I right, dear Aunt Cecey?”
Mrs Campbell, who had once been heard to say that her niece reminded her of a buzzing gnat, had already turned away and was talking to Sam and Mrs Dixon — but the Colonel, whose manners in company were always kindly and correct, said to Charlotte,
“And so you will be attending the Assembly, I collect, miss, in all your finery?” adopting the slightly bantering air that he customarily used when engaging foolish young ladies.
“That’s of course, Uncle James! And Robert and Mr Gillender will be escorting me; so I hope we shall have the pleasure of seeing you there, Rachel —” her eye passed entirely over Jane — “and — of course — you other gentlemen as well?” with a sparkling look at the Dixons. “An assembly cannot have too many gentlemen, can it, Rachel?” And she smiled very winningly at Frank Churchill, adding, “I have not yet had the pleasure of being introduced to this gentleman — though I have seen you, I believe, at the Harrogate Assemblies? — but I am sure he agrees with me, do not you, sir?”
“Why, my dear, this is young Frank Churchill, an old friend and neighbour of ours in London,” explained the Colonel, at the same time as Frank most readily replied,
“Why, yes, indeed, ma’am, I am entirely of your way of thinking. Dancing, for me, is one of the first pleasures, and if somebody else will provide the music, I will engage to continue dancing until daylight, and that without the slightest fatigue! I could just as well dance for a week as for half an hour. The inventor of the cotillion, the polonaise, the gigue, the strathspey, deserves, in my opinion, to be ranked far above such minds as those who have merely hit upon gunpowder, or the arch, or the wheel.”
“Frank, Frank, you are a frivolous fellow,” cried the Colonel, shaking his head at Frank, but kindly enough, while Charlotte clapped her hands, exclaiming, “Famous! Famous! I can see that you will certainly attend tonight’s Assembly, Mr Churchill, and I hereby guarantee to equal your prowess in dancing every single dance.”
Politeness, of course, now constrained Mr Churchill to engage Miss Selsea for any two dances that she chose to designate, and Mr Gillender, languidly approaching Jane, solicited the honour of her hand for the first two dances.
“For, ’pon my soul, I won’t, like our friend here, guarantee to remain in the place for more than an hour or two. But one owes it to the society of the town, don’t you agree, ma’am, to show oneself at the commencement? Public duty and so forth.”
“I am sure the citizenry of Weymouth must feel very much obliged to you,” drily commented Mrs Campbell.
“I thank you sir,” answered Jane, who was not at all favourably impressed by Mr Gillender, “but I think it quite improbable that we shall be attending the Assembly,” for she had received a signal from Rachel, a very decided shake of the head.
But Colonel Campbell exclaimed, “Come, Rachel, do not disappoint your cousins. Let us have a little less of this conventual attitude. Your grandmother will most certainly wi
sh you to go. And I daresay Jane will not object — will you, Jane, hey?”
“That is entirely as Rachel chooses,” replied Jane. “For myself I have no strong feelings one way or the other.” Which was not entirely true, since her great feeling for music extended into a lively enjoyment of dancing. But she certainly had no wish to enforce upon Rachel what might, for the latter, prove to be an evening of penitential suffering and boredom.
“Ah, have a heart, let you, the two of you!” exclaimed Matt Dixon. “Surely you would not wish to deprive me of the pleasure of dancing with each of ye in turn? For as long as the evening lasts? and Miss Selsea, too, of course!” With a warm smile at that lady. “And, though Sam cannot dance, poor fellow, I know he will take prime pleasure in watching you.”
To which Rachel, with a slight stammer, replied, “V-Very well, if P-Papa wishes it, we will go! Th-thank you, Matt! I shall be very happy to dance with you.”
Mrs Campbell was now heard declaring that they must return home, or the girls would never have sufficient time to rest themselves before the evening’s gaieties, and the party reassembled itself into carriages. Robert and Charlotte drove off smartly (she lavishing smiles on Matt Dixon to the last) accompanied by Mr Gillender on horseback; this time Frank Churchill drove Jane and Mrs Campbell, while Matt had charge of Mrs Consett and Rachel.
Jane had not, hitherto, engaged in much conversation with Frank Churchill. She frequently felt a little sorry for him, though she would have been hard put to it to give any reason for this. He was a very good-looking young man — height, air, address, all were unexceptionable. His countenance was full of spirit and liveliness, yet the lively manner adorned what appeared to be a basis of excellent sense. There was a well-bred ease in his manner, and a friendly readiness to converse upon any subject. All this stood high in his favour. So why, Jane asked herself now yet again, why did she continually have this feeling that, with all these advantages, he was somehow to be pitied?
As they drove along the shores of the lake, and he chatted with great fluency and animation about swans — castles — sea-bathing — music — books — poetry — folk-tales and superstition — whatever came to his mind or his ready tongue — Jane tried once more to analyse her feeling about him.
Was it because somehow he seemed always to be standing on the outskirts of their group, a little wistfully hoping to be invited to join the central core of it, but aware that he had, as yet, no place there? He is like, Jane thought, a smiling, friendly, handsome dog, with wagging tail; always ingratiating, always on best behaviour. — I suppose he had learned to be like that, poor fellow, because his tartar of an aunt is so exigent and unpredictable.
For Jane was well acquainted, of course, with Frank’s history: how his mother, from a wealthy and ancient clan, the Churchills, had married to disoblige them, had married impecunious young Captain Weston from Highbury; and upon the poor young mother’s early death after a three-years’ marriage — a death hastened, some said, by the hostility of her own family — the Churchills had proposed to Captain Weston that they should adopt the child, whose name was accordingly changed to Churchill.
His story is not unlike my own, thought Jane; except that his will have a happier conclusion, for he is truly the Churchill heir, by blood as well as by adoption, and will in time inherit a fortune, besides having a fond, indulgent father always ready to receive him at Highbury, should the Churchills consent to such a visit (so far, she gathered, they had not); but, on the other hand, I am far luckier than Frank Churchill, for I love and am loved by the Campbells, whereas with the best will in the world I cannot discern any signs of attachment between Frank and the Churchills. They have bestowed wealth and comfort on him, but no true affection; I believe he has, all his life, been starved of honest feeling; that is it! And I am sure that is why he stands waiting so wistfully, so eagerly on the outskirts of our group. It is because he longs for what he can see we all feel for one another. And he has learned always to be on his best behaviour in order not to fall foul of the bad-tempered aunt. Poor fellow! Yes, he is really to be pitied; my instinct was right, and in future I will endeavour to show more friendship, more genuine, sincere friendship towards him.
“There is a famous wishing-well at Upwey — we must certainly make an exploration to that spot,” Frank was saying. “Do you believe in wishing-wells, Miss Fairfax?”
“I have never been so fortunate as to come across one, Mr Churchill,” she told him. “But I am not, I believe, superstitious in general. I have not so far in my life had sufficient good fortune to place much credence in the magical granting of wishes.”
Mrs Campbell, immersed in her documents, was here heard to give an assenting grunt.
But is that really true? Jane asked herself, while Frank, turning to her a most animated countenance, exclaimed, “You, Miss Fairfax? Not had good fortune? But you seem to me the heiress to the best fortune in the world!”
“I, Mr Churchill? An orphan, destined to make my living by teaching?”
“Oh, never mind that!” he cried. “I mean, yes, of course I know that you are an orphan, with no father or mother, which, to be sure, is exceedingly sad, but you have the happiness to reside with a family who love you dearly — any simpleton can see — and then, you know, a myriad chances may affect your future; for who in the world can ever venture to prophesy what may befall them? Look at you and look at myself, Miss Fairfax; our fortunes are alike in this, that we were both suddenly displaced from the course allotted to us and set elsewhere; we are a kind of companions in unexpected circumstances, are we not?”
How singular, thought Jane, that his thought should thus echo mine of a few minutes back.
And she began to view Frank Churchill with a little more interest; he was not, she admitted to herself, unintelligent; though she would never regard him with the same admiration as, for instance, Mr Knightley. Or Matt Dixon.
There was something brilliantly spontaneous and expansive about Matt: a native intelligence and warmth which owed nothing to artifice or education. Whereas poor Frank Churchill had learned to think twice before he spoke; he had learned the art of pleasing, and, though it came easily to him, as to his father Mr Weston, one cannot, thought Jane, have so much respect and esteem for such a person as for one, like Matt, who speaks his mind straight, with no thought for the effect on the auditor.
“If you were to be granted a wish, Miss Fairfax,” Frank Churchill was continuing eagerly, “as, of course, you will when we visit Upwey and drink the waters of the well — if you had a wish, what would it be?”
On the instant, Frank’s laughing, cajoling face vanished from Jane’s view and she was whirled backwards into the most consuming, the most frequent, the most wholly unrequited longing of her later childhood: that Mr Knightley should appear, mounted on his black horse Brutus, leading the mare Doucette, and say, “Come, Jane, come with me,” and that then, riding at his side over Highbury Common, she should hear him utter the words, already heard a hundred, a thousand times in reverie, in fantasy: “Jane, will you be my wife?”
Vain dream!
Very seriously she turned to Frank Churchill and said, “But, Mr Churchill, you must know better than to ask such a question! All the fairy-tales tell us that if we utter our wish aloud, the bad Fates will intervene to prevent its being granted.”
“I had not given you credit for so much waywardness, dear Miss Fairfax! Just now you would have me understand that you were the most rational of young ladies!”
She looked thoughtfully at her gloved hands.
“Even the most rational among us entertain one private superstition, I believe. Why, Colonel Campbell himself, the most level-headed of men, has a strong distaste for driving an equipage drawn by a black horse with one white sock. You may smile, but so it is!”
“I would not dream of smiling,” he replied (though his features belied his words), “I, too, have the great aversion to such an animal and would never allow one in my stable. But now, Miss Fairfax, as w
e are at the end of our journey —” for the carriages were pulling up outside the Royal Hotel — “may I solicit the honour of your hand for two dances this evening — perhaps the first two country dances?”
Resolved on the immediate implementation of her plan for behaving more friendly to Mr Churchill, Jane at once accepted his offer, and they said a temporary farewell.
Chapter 7
To the annoyance and dismay of Rachel, who had many things she wished to discuss with Jane, and to the politely concealed boredom of Rachel’s mother, Charlotte and Lady Selsea came round to call at York Buildings that very afternoon, and the ladies all sat together for upwards of an hour.
Lady Selsea had much to tell her sister about the company at Lord Fortuneswell’s, the conversation, the excursions, the music, the cards, the violent detestation between Fortuneswell’s wife and his sister, the old-fashioned notions of his mother, the reprehensible habits of his son “— the merest puppy, sister, I can assure you that dear Charlotte very quickly saw through the falsity of his pretensions and flirtatious looks!” — and the tiresome affectations and fine airs of his two daughters. “Just because their grandfather was a duke they seemed to think they had a right to behave towards my poor Charlotte as if she were a stupid nobody!”
“Indeed?” said Mrs Campbell, raising her brows. “I wonder you care to visit a house where, it seems, you can have so little cause for enjoyment.”
“Well, but, sister, it is the most elegant establishment in the south country, and half the ton was there; one would be thought quite singular to stay away from such a party.”
Meanwhile Charlotte, her small blue eyes fastening sharply on every detail of her cousin’s unimpressive toilette, was in a perfect spate of communication with Rachel, who sat listening with a look of mingled distaste and incomprehension on her face.
Both visiting ladies, of course, wholly ignored Jane, who remained silent in a corner, wishing heartily that she might remove herself to another room and practise “Robin Adair” (Matt’s favourite song) on the rented pianoforte which the Colonel’s kindness had procured for the girls.
