by Joan Aiken
“No he is not,” agreed Jane, liking Frank the better for his accurate assessment of this relationship. “But he will sometimes listen to me; I hope I can make him see reason.”
Jane’s intention to ask for an interview with the Colonel that evening was forestalled by his sending for her; she found him in the small apartment which he had pre-empted as his study.
“Miss Fairfax, I have a communication to make to you of which you can possibly guess the import.” He seemed half annoyed, half amused. “I hope — I trust — that you will find it neither embarrassing nor distressing.”
“Does it refer to Mr Gillender, sir?”
He nodded.
“I hoped,” Jane said, “that I had given him sufficient discouragement so that he would not be applying to you. He is not at all a sensible young man. I must apologise for your trouble, sir.”
“You will not be bothered by him any more. — But I am sorry about this, Jane,” said the Colonel, and he did look, she now observed, both cast-down and vexed. “The reason why you were annoyed by his foolish attentions in the first place was, I have discovered, because of a rumour, apparently circulating about this town, that I intend to dower you on equal terms with Rachel; that I have the sum of twelve thousand pounds to bestow on you, also, at your marriage. With all my heart I am sorry it cannot be so, my dear. No one is sorrier than I; if I had the money to spare it should freely be given. But — as you know — I have not. And when Mr Gillender heard this news, his change of aspect was laughable to see. He now reckons that he has made a thorough fool of himself, and I should not wonder if he has already left Weymouth, rather than risk seeing you again, or the friends to whom he has probably been boasting of his conquest.”
“I see,” said Jane.
She could not help feeling somewhat stung and mortified, though she had herself wondered if something of the kind lay behind Mr Gillender’s attentions.
“Do not let this disturb you, my dear,” added the Colonel kindly. “There are sure to be other suitors, worthier of you, and if one asks who values you as he should, I hope you will have the good sense to accept him.”
“Of course, sir. That is to say, if I love him.” The Colonel frowned. Jane went on, “And if, and if Rachel is likewise happily settled! I would not be a charge upon you for a day longer than I need; as you know, I have already suggested looking for a situation —”
“No, no; not yet; time enough for that when Rachel has — has established herself,” he said quickly.
“But sir — relative to that, there is something you should know —” and Jane put him in possession of the tale about Mrs Fitzroy’s legacy.
As she had foreseen, the Colonel was out of all reason vexed and disgusted.
“Just like my mother-in-law to have such a tale circulating about her. And not a word of truth in it,” he muttered to himself. “I wonder if the other rumour had also stemmed from her?”
“Fortunately Rachel herself knows nothing of the matter; and — and I think should not know; it would destroy any confidence she has been gaining here,” Jane said with all the force she could command, for she could see that his first impulse was to call the females of his house together and give them a great scold.
“Very well — no, I daresay you are right,” he agreed gloomily. “Perhaps we should quit Weymouth —”
“Oh, sir! When it has done Rachel so much good? And — and we could hardly leave the Dixons just now, when poor Mr Sam is so ill —”
“That devilish Charlotte,” muttered Colonel Campbell. “All our troubles seem to lie at her door. And I heard from Captain Curtis some discreditable tale of Charlotte and her brother involved in bargaining for smuggled French lace —”
Nothing more likely, Jane thought. But if Charlotte managed to land Lord Osbert, her need for smuggled lace would surely be at an end?
The Colonel was continuing to smoulder.
“What is this scheme I hear from Robert — hiring a boat, sailing to Lyme? It sounds a most ill-considered plan,” he pronounced.
Here, Jane could only agree. She assured him that neither she nor Rachel had any interest in such an excursion, nor the least wish to join it; at which the Colonel, lacking the spur of opposition, began to consider that, after all, perhaps there might be no harm in the project, provided some steady-headed older person were on board.
“Mrs Consett tells us that she suffers dreadfully on the water, sir; and Mrs Dixon, naturally, will not leave the bedside of her son; and Lady Selsea is not at all fond of water-parties; but if either yourself or Mrs Campbell —?”
“Well, we shall see; we shall see.”
For another week, no pleasure parties could be under consideration by any friends of the Dixons; Sam continued terribly unwell and none of those to whom he was dear would have wished to take part in such schemes. But at last he was pronounced out of danger, and if some hectic symptoms, which had established themselves on the departure of the fever, imbued his physician with deeper misgivings as to the final outcome, these were not immediately communicated to the mother and brother.
“He is sitting up; he is able to eat a little gruel, Rachel,” Mrs Dixon said with tears in her eyes. “Oh, I am the happiest woman in Dorset, I do believe! Of course Matt must go with you on a water-party — nothing could do him more good! He has been so wonderful — such a patient nurse to his brother. No woman could have done as much. He certainly deserves a little pleasure and cheerful company, if ever anyone did. But Rachel, my dear girl, I am come down to ask a favour —” Rachel and Jane and Mrs Campbell had called in Trinity Road, and Mrs Dixon had briefly left the sickroom to receive them — “Sam has been thinking of you, has been speaking of you so continually during the course of his illness. The name Rachel, Rachel, has been for ever on his lips! Would you do him — and me — the great kindness of stepping upstairs for a moment and greeting him? It would mean so much! And the physician assures me there is no risk of infection.”
“Of course, ma’am — I shall be only too happy! Dear Sam! I do not believe he can have thought of me more than we have all been thinking of him, wondering how he did, and wishing him well.”
She went away with Mrs Dixon, was absent not many minutes, and returned with her eyes full of tears.
“Oh, Jane! Oh, Mamma!” she burst out, once safely away from the house. “He is so thin and wasted! Hands like claws! And he is so white! Oh, when I think of Charlotte, I could wish her at the bottom of the sea.”
Mrs Campbell sighed, but refrained from pointing out that Charlotte’s thoughtless and selfish behaviour had, almost certainly, only hastened processes which would have taken place sooner or later even without her intervention.
“My dear, you must take comfort in the fact that your visit was such a pleasure to Sam. Mrs Dixon told me it positively brought colour into his cheeks. I think you should go again, since it does him so much good.”
“Oh, I shall! Every day, if his mother allows it!”
Colonel Campbell was not so complaisant about these visits. “What is the use?” he said privily to his wife. “The physician tells Curtis the poor fellow is sinking slowly. It can only be a severe blow to Rachel, and overset her shockingly, when he does go off.”
“James! How can you be so callous? So fond as Rachel is of those two boys.”
Lady Selsea shook her head over the business when talking with her mother.
“Sitting by a young man’s sick-bed! A very queer kind of proceeding! Thank heaven Charlotte was not given to such unladylike behaviour.”
But Mrs Fitzroy did not, here, see eye to eye with her elder daughter.
“Your Charlotte, my dear Sophy, had best mind her ways if she wishes to be sure of Wincham. They are a starched, strait-laced lot, those Winchams and Pomfrets; let them get wind of any dealings in run goods — or Robert’s gaming — and that fellow may sheer off yet, mark my words.”
“Oh, nonsense, Mamma, why, he lives in her pocket; he was walking with her all yesterday and ask
ed her to dance three times at the Assembly.”
“I hope she did not accept?” With a flash of the older lady’s eye.
“Dear me, no! Charlotte knows better than that,” replied Lady Selsea calmly.
Colonel Campbell finally gave the water-party his sanction, and even declared his intention of joining it himself “to make certain the young people behaved sensibly and did not get up to any foolish pranks.” Whether or not the Colonel’s nephew and his friends were grateful for this thought they, at all events, displayed proper obligation, were flattered because the Colonel gave their scheme the favour of his presence, knew that his experience would ensure the success of the excursion, and hardly believed they could have managed without him.
Matt, though still reluctant to leave his brother for so long as a whole day, was firmly ordered off by his mother to refresh his own constitution by sea air and cheerful company.
“I shall do excellently well, with Mrs Campbell, and I do not know how many kind neighbours to sit with me. The dear girls will be so happy to have you on the ship — and here has Mr Robert Selsea been besieging the house daily and asking for you —”
Matt pulled a wry face at the latter information, but went off willingly enough, only bidding his mother send a messenger on horseback to Lyme if she had any anxiety and wished for his return; the hazards of wind and tide made it quite possible that the land journey would be quicker than the sea passage.
Rachel, who had at no time manifested any interest in the water-party, declared, when it came to the day, that she did not wish to go; she had a premonition that one of her nose-bleeds might come on, she felt uneasy, not at all the thing, would prefer to remain quietly at home and sit a while with Sam. No arguments could make her change her mind.
Jane, at this most eagerly declared that she would remain behind and keep Rachel company; she had never been greatly inclined for the trip and her only pleasure in going would have been if Rachel were there; otherwise she had rather not.
“No, dear Jenny, you must go — do, to please me!” said Rachel. “Matt and Frank will be so disappointed if you do not go, and so will Papa! I believe that he has been looking forward to the party and would be sorry to miss it.”
So, with great reluctance, Jane allowed herself to be persuaded.
The trip, in fact, fulfilled all her worst expectations, and she could only rejoice for Rachel’s sake that the latter had escaped it.
“It was the most miserable day that I have passed in years,” she said, laughing and groaning, when safely back at home in the room she shared with Rachel. “Oh, how delicious this lemonade tastes! The sun was abominably hot — there was only one tiny area of shade in the boat, where, of course, Charlotte sat herself down with her parasol, along with Lady Decima Wincham —”
“What is she like, Lady Decima?”
“Very stupid, has not three words to say for herself; needless to say, none of those was addressed to me. No wind blew at all throughout the whole morning, so the boat dawdled beside the same patch of shore, I believe for four hours; and, then, the boat was so very small; at least on the Thessaly, coming from the West Indies, we had fair accommodation and a place on deck to sit down; but in this tiny craft there was no deck, nothing but coils of rope and great barrels that smelt of fish; Charlotte got a great spot of tar on her skirt and made such a commotion; and then, by the time we reached Lyme, it was too late to go ashore, your father insisted we must turn back directly, and of course your cousins were highly displeased at that; so, on the voyage home, everybody was cross, except for Matt and Frank Churchill that is, who behaved beautifully; we all three sang glees and amused ourselves while Charlotte and her friends grumbled and complained.”
“And what is this that Papa told me — about Matt having saved your life?” Rachel demanded with eager interest.
Jane laughed and blushed. “Oh, it was nothing! Nothing really! Your father exaggerates. On the way home — the wind had got up by then and the ship was moving quite fast through the waves — Charlotte suddenly gave a loud scream, declaring that water was gushing through a vent-hole and ruining her gown — so she asked me to move quickly and make room for her — I, not realising that the boom was about to swing over — and the ship at that moment giving a great lurch to one side — I suppose I must have slipped —”
“Oh, if I had been there!” cried Rachel. “Though I should have been petrified to see you so nearly swept overboard as Papa says you were —”
“Nonsense! You would doubtless have done just what Matt did, which was to leap forward and grab the folds of my habit — my old blue one, luckily, stitched so strongly by dear Aunt Hetty that it will last till Judgment Day! It was by no stretch of the imagination a romantic rescue. Lady Decima is probably reporting to her mamma the Duchess at this very moment on the shocking lack of lace on my petticoats!”
But Rachel could not see the incident with such levity. “Thank heaven Matt was there!” She gripped Jane’s hand tightly.
“Oh, if he had not been, I daresay Frank Churchill would have done me the same service,” said Jane, a little uneasily.
After tea that evening both Matt Dixon and Frank Churchill came round to York Buildings to inquire after Rachel’s earlier indisposition and whether Jane had suffered any ill-effects from her misadventure. Both young ladies, however, professing themselves quite restored and in good spirits, a walk along the beach was proposed, for the evening that followed such a hot day was remarkably fine, and warm. Colonel and Mrs Campbell were pleased to accompany the girls and their escorts, and the party, pacing slowly back and forth along the Esplanade, was soon joined by several other friends.
After half an hour’s strolling Jane found herself, whether by accident or his design she was unable precisely to decide, at some distance from the rest of the party in the company of Matt Dixon, who then, slowing his pace, addressed her in tones of great urgency.
“Miss Fairfax — My dear Miss Fairfax — Jane! Is it really true that you suffered no shock, no harm, in today’s accident?”
“Upon my honour, Mr Dixon, not the least harm in the world — thanks to your prompt action! For the rest of my life I shall have grateful cause to remember your presence of mind — indeed, but for that, there would have been no rest of my life! I am truly sensible of my debt —”
She would have thanked him further, but was deeply alarmed when he interrupted.
“That was nothing — the merest trifle — nothing to what I would wish in future to be able to do for you! Miss Fairfax — Jane — this incident has opened my eyes — I think it cannot have escaped your notice that my feelings for you have lately been increasing to the point where —”
He had gently taken her arm and turned her round so that he might study her countenance in the gathering dusk. But she now interrupted his flow of eager speech by an almost involuntary cry of distress and warning.
“Matt! — Mr Dixon! Oh, pray, pray do not say to me what you may later bitterly regret — pray do not —!” He gazed at her in astonishment.
“Why, what can you mean? How could I ever, possibly regret telling you of my warm love and admiration — my respect and devotion? All I ask is —”
“Do not! Do not!” she repeated urgently. “Consider those words unsaid! I will forget them — no,” she corrected herself, “I cannot, will not, do that, but I will never, never remind you of them —”
“But, Miss Fairfax — my dear Jane — I truly, truly love you! ’Deed and I do!” Under strong emotion the Irish intonation of his voice became more noticeable. I shall remember this moment, Jane thought, for the rest of my days, the way he held me, and the way he spoke.
Involuntarily she closed her eyes for an instant.
“There is nothing in the world I wish more than to make you my —”
“Listen, Matt — Mr Dixon! My dear Mr Dixon! Please listen to me. I have valued your friendship very deeply — so deeply that I — that I must take the privilege a sister might to speak to you wit
h absolute honesty. Before you go on to make any proposition to me. — Is it not true that you owe Mr Robert Selsea a large sum of money?”
“— Why, why yes, that is so,” Matt answered, after a moment. He sounded shaken and discomposed. “But, but Robert has told me that he is not in any hurry — and what is that to the —”
“No; dear Matt; it is to the purpose. I feel so warmly to you —” her voice shook — “that I don’t wish you to — to place yourself in a false position — all to no end! Has, by any chance, a rumour reached you that Colonel Campbell purposed to give me a dowry — to bestow a — a sum of money on me at my marriage?”
A long, painful silence followed her question. She drew a deep breath and went on with all the resolution she could muster. “I think I may be right in guessing that it has? From whence such a rumour issued I do not know — though I may guess; but I am able to tell you that it is absolutely groundless. There is no basis to the tale. Kind, fatherly as the Colonel’s feelings have always been towards me, he has told me himself that it is out of his power to endow me in that way. When I marry, Mr Dixon, I shall not have a single penny to bring to my husband. The Colonel’s fortune must, very properly, go to his own child, and I am glad that it should be so. For I love Rachel like a sister. Now, do you understand me?”
Another long and miserable silence followed. Touching his arm gently, Jane compelled Matt to turn and continue their walk.
“Indeed, dearest Matt, I do feel for you also as a sister,” she resumed, after a short while, “and I am very much moved and, and grateful that you feel these things towards me — that is why I have taken the liberty of speaking to you so. Can you forgive me?”
“Oh, Jane!” She was horribly distressed to discover that he was sobbing. Tears were streaming down his face. Quickly, she drew him down a narrow side street where he paused a moment and leaned his head distractedly against a wall.
“You must think me an utter scoundrel,” he muttered. “A low poltroon of a fellow who goes after women simply for their money.”
