The Honorable Miss: A Story of an Old-Fashioned Town

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  CIVIL WAR AT NORTHBURY.

  It is often very difficult to trace Rumor to his foundation. Hisbeginning is sometimes as small as a particle of sand; the first dawningof his existence as impalpable as the air.

  From these small beginnings, however, rumor arises, strong as a giant,cruel as death. Perhaps no foe has more injured mankind than idle rumor.

  He was abroad now in the little town of Northbury, and no one quite knewthe exact place of his birth. A good many people traced his existence toHunt, the baker, who sold many loaves of bread, and many sweet and tastycakes by reason of his love of gossip--some people laid it to MissPeters' door, some to Mrs. Gorman Stanley's, some again to Mrs.Morris's; but soon, in the excitement which the Giant Rumor caused,people had no time to talk of the place of his birth--he was there, hewas among them, and he was the only subject now discussed.

  A great many afternoon teas, and small social gatherings were givenduring the next few days in his honor. As to the Bells' house it becamequite notorious. People paused as they passed the windows, and even thepaving stones round the time-worn steps were fraught with interest.

  At the club the men talked of nothing but the story which was abroad.They took the opportunity to make bets and wagers. Their tongues werenot so cruel as those of the women, but still their tongues did wag, andthere was more than one wife in the town who felt the effect of BeatriceMeadowsweet's engagement for many a long day, because the father of thefamily had jeopardized a considerable sum in a wager on the probableissue of events.

  When Rumor in his full magnitude gets abroad he never spares the young,the beautiful, the innocent. Beatrice was loved by every one atNorthbury, but the inhabitants of this good, old-fashioned little townwould have been immaculate had they not said evil things of her now.

  Sides were taken on the occasion, and the people of the town dividedthemselves pretty equally, and in an incredibly short time started afierce sort of civil war. The "Beatricites," and the "Hartites," theywere called, and the war of tongues between them became so fierce thatlong before Saturday night one party would not speak to another.

  Mrs. Bell was at the head of the Hartites, and Mrs. Butler was thegeneral of the Beatrice army.

  Mrs. Bell spoke in the following terms of the girl who had hitherto beeneverybody's favorite:

  "Ah, she's a deep one, is Beatrice Meadowsweet. You never know whatthose quiet ones are till they are tried. I spoke to her, I warned her,but she wouldn't listen. 'Beatrice,' I said, that young man cares nomore for you than he does for the blackberries on the hedges. Beatrice,that young man's affections are given elsewhere.' Heed me, would she?No, not she. But follow him she would, follow him from place to place,out on the water in her boat, and at the Hector's garden party until itwas disgraceful to see. It's my firm belief she popped the questionherself, and we all know what followed. Poor Captain Bertram gave in fora time, thinking of her fortune, which is none so great, if rumors arecorrect, but love her, no, not he. Why, over and over and over he hassaid as much to my child, Matty. Matty was stiff to him, I'll say that;he was an audacious flirt, and he tried hard to bring Matty into ascrape too, but would she encourage him? No, though she was persecutedby his attentions, and now what's the result? Matty is honorably engagedto a man who is a Bayard for knightliness, and that poor Beatrice isjilted. Was she in hysterics in my house? Well, it isn't for me to say.Did she go down on her knees to Captain Bertram, and wring his hand, andkiss it and beg of him not to forsake her, with the tears streaming likerain down her cheeks, and implore of him to give up his true love, whowas in a dead faint before their two eyes, and to be true to her who hadgiven her heart to him, neighbor, did these things happen in this veryhouse? You ask me that question, neighbor, and I say, answer it I won't,for I'm a woman, and I have known that unfortunate, misguided girl andher poor mother for years. Yes, neighbor, I cast a veil over what Imight say."

  This was the sort of gossip spread by Mrs. Bell, who further praised upMiss Hart, saying much about her beauty and her charms, and giving sucha ravishing account of Bertram's love for her, and her adoration forhim, that the neighbors who were on this side of the civil war crownedJosephine Hart as their chosen queen on the spot.

  Mrs. Butler, who led the van of the "Beatricites," was less voluble thanMrs. Bell, but her words were weighted with a very deadly shaft ofpoison. After Mrs. Butler had extolled Beatrice as a perfect model ofall womanly graces and virtue, she proceeded, with keen relish, to takeJosephine Hart to pieces. When she began to dissect Miss Hart sheinvariably sent her innocent sister, Maria, out of the room. It isunnecessary to repeat what passed behind the doors which were so cruellyclosed on eager and curious Miss Peters, but it is not too much to saythat poor Josephine had not a rag of character left to her when the goodwoman's tongue ceased to wag.

  Thus the town of Northbury was in a distressing state of uproar duringthe three or four days which preceded Captain Bertram's wedding. Andperhaps the cruellest thing about this fierce civil war was that none ofthe combatants, not even the leaders, knew what was really about to takeplace, nor who was to be married to whom on Tuesday, nor whether therewas to be any wedding at all. The bridal dresses came home, and some ofthe ladies wept when they looked at them. Beatrice still receivedwedding presents, and the bridal robe of ivory-white silk trimmed withquantities of Honiton lace was absolutely sent down from London, allcomplete and ready for Beatrice to wear. Half the ladies in Northburyrushed up to the station when the news was brought to them that the boxhad arrived, and the porter, Payne by name, who carried the box to Mrs.Meadowsweet's, was followed by quite a little mob.

  Thus time went on apace, and Rumor did his work, each lady saying whenshe met another:

  "Well, what's the news? What's the latest? What did you hear last?"

  Each Hartite bowed coldly to each Beatricite, or else cut each otherdead, and, in short, the usual symptoms which accompany civil war madethemselves felt.

  It is a fact frequently noted that when Rumor, with his double-edgedtongue is abroad, the persons most concerned often know nothing of thestorm which is raging around them. In the present instance, two peoplewho were keenly interested in coming events were in this position. Oneof them was Mrs. Meadowsweet, the other, Mrs. Bertram. The time wouldcome when Beatrice would confide in her mother, but that moment had notyet arrived. The old lady wondered why she had so many visitors, and whypeople looked at her in a curious, pitying sort of fashion. Why alsothey invariably spoke of Beatrice as "poor dear," and inquired withtender solicitude for her health.

  "Brides usedn't to be 'poor deared' in my day," the old lady remarkedrather testily to her handmaiden, Jane. "Any one would suppose Beatricewas going to have an illness instead of a wedding from the way folkstalk of her."

  "Eh, well, ma'am," Jane replied.

  Jane's "eh, well, ma'am" was as full of suppressed meaning as a balloonis full of air. She heaved a prodigious sigh as she spoke, for of courseshe had heard the gossip, and had indeed come to blows with a Hartitethat very morning.

  "Eh, dear!" said Jane. "Rumor's a queer thing."

  She did not vouchsafe any more, and Mrs. Meadowsweet was too innocentand indolent and comfortable in her mind to question her.

  The other person who knew nothing was Mrs. Bertram. Of all the people inthe world Mrs. Bertram was perhaps the most interested in that weddingwhich was to take place on Tuesday. The wedding could scarcely mean moreto the bride and bridegroom than it did to her--yet no news of any_contretemps_, of any little hitch in the all-important proceedings,had reached her ears. For the last week she had taken steps to keepCatherine and Mabel apart from all Northbury gossip. The servants at theManor who, of course knew everything did not dare to breathe a syllableof their conjectures. The bravest Hartite and Beatricite would not havedared to intrude their budgets of wild conjecture on Mrs. Bertram'sears. Consequently she lived through these exciting days in comparativecalm. Soon the great tension would be over. Soon her gravest alarmswould be l
ulled to rest, Now and then she wondered that Beatrice was notoftener at the Manor. Now and then she exclaimed with some vexation atMr. Ingram's extraordinary absence from home at such a time.

  The Rector had gone to London, and a stranger took his pulpit on thatall-important Sunday before the wedding.

  Mrs. Bertram wondered a little over these two points, but they did notgreatly disturb her;--Loftus was at home and Loftus looked strangely,wildly happy.

  Mrs. Bertram had been alarmed, and rendered vaguely uneasy by her son'sgloom a few days ago, but there was no shadow resting on the young man'sface now. He laughed, he talked, his eyes wore an exultant expression intheir fire and daring. He caressed his sisters, he hung over hismother's chair, and kissed her.

  "Ah, Loftie," she said once, "you are really and honestly in love. Ihave had my doubts that you did not really appreciate our dear and nobleBeatrice. But your manner the last few days, your spirits, my son, yourall-evident happiness, have abundantly sent these doubts to rest. Youare in love with your future wife, and no wonder!"

  "No wonder," echoed Loftus.

  He had the grace to blush.

  "Yes, I am in love," he said. "No one was ever more madly in love than Iam." Then after a pause he added: "And I think Beatrice, withoutexception, the noblest and best woman on earth."

  "That is right, my boy. Ah, Loftus, I am glad I could do one thing foryou. I have got you a wife whose price is above rubies."

  Bertram laughed.

  "You have made a feeble joke, mother," he said in some confusion. "Ishould like to know to which you allude--Bee's money or her personalcharms."

  "Both--both--you naughty boy Beatrice is all that could be desired inherself, but in what position should you and I be in the future withouther money?"

  "That is true," he said. And there was compunction in his voice.

  On Monday morning two letters arrived at Northbury from the Rector. Onewas to his housekeeper, the other to Beatrice.

  To his housekeeper, Mrs. Matthews, he said:

  "Go on with all the wedding preparations, and expect me home thisevening at six o'clock."

  His letter to Beatrice was much longer.

  "The time to reproach you, my dear ward, is past," began the Rector."And you must promise never in the future to reproach me. You are animpulsive girl, and I may have done wrong to yield to your entreaties.Your father's face, has, however, over and over flashed before my mentalvision, and the look in his eyes has comforted me. In one sense you area fool, Beatrice; in another, you are thrice blessed. Forgive thislittle preamble. I have arranged matters as you wish. I shall be homethis evening. Come to me in my study at nine o'clock to-night, my dearward, and act in the meantime exactly as your true, brave heartsuggests."

  Beatrice read this letter in her own room. She was quite mortal enoughto shed some tears over it, but when she sat opposite to her mother atbreakfast, her face was quite as jubilant as any young bride's might be,who was so soon to leave home.

  Mrs. Meadowsweet looked at her girl with great pride.

  "You feature your father wonderfully, Bee," she said. "It isn't only theGrecian nose, and the well-cut lips, and the full, straight kind ofglance in your eyes, but it's more. It's my belief that your soulfeatures Meadowsweet; he was ever and always the best of men. Crotchetyfrom uprightness he was, but upright was no word for him."

  "Well, mother, I should like to resemble my father in that particular."

  "Yes, my love, yes. Meadowsweet was always heights above me, and so areyou also, for that matter."

  "That is not true, mother, you must not say it. It pains me."

  Beatrice looked distressed. She went over to her old parent and kissedher. Then she hastily left the room.

  After breakfast Captain Bertram called at the Gray House.

  He and Beatrice had a long interview, then she went to the Bells', andsat with Miss Hart for about half-an-hour.

  After dinner that day Bertram spoke to his mother: "Beatrice wants tocome up and see you. Can you receive her about six o'clock?"

  "At any time, my dear son. But is she not dreadfully busy? Would it notconvenience her more if I went to her, Loftie?"

  "No, mother, she would prefer to come here. She has"--here his faceturned pale--"she has a good deal to say to you--important things tospeak about." His voice trembled. "You will see her alone. You will nothurry her. Beatrice is the best--the best girl in the world."

  Bertram looked very pale when he said this.

  "How strange you look, Loftus!" said his mother. "And your words arevery queer. Is anything the matter? Are you concealing any thing fromme?"

  "Beatrice will tell you," he said. And he hurried out of the room.

  A few minutes before six o'clock Beatrice arrived. Mrs. Bertram hadgiven directions that she was to be sent at once to her private room.Clara had these instructions, and was about to carry them out literallywhen Catherine and Mabel ran into the hall.

  They greeted Beatrice with raptures, and Mabel said in an eager voice:

  "We have not yet seen you in your bridal dress, Bee. You know it was anold promise that we should see you in it the day before the wedding.Don't stay long with mother, Bee. Catherine and I can walk back withyou, and you can try on your dress while we are by."

  "My dress is all right," said Beatrice. "I have tried it; it fits. Idon't want to put it on to-night. I am tired."

  Her face was pale, her expression anxious.

  Mabel hung back and looked disappointed.

  "But you promised," she began.

  "Hush, Mabel," said Catherine. She hid quick intuitions, and she saw ata glance that something was the matter.

  "Bee would not break her promise if she could help it," she said to hersister. "Don't you see that she looks very tired. Bee, shall I take youto mother?"

  "Yes, Catherine," replied Beatrice.

  The two girls walked away together. As they mounted the stairs,Catherine stole another glance at her friend. Then almost timidly sheput her hand through Beatrice's arm.

  "To-morrow, Bee," she said, with a loving hug, "you will be _my_real, real sister."

  Beatrice stopped, turned round, and looked at Catherine.

  "Kitty, I can't deceive you. I--love you, but I am not going to bewhat--what you suppose."

  "Then there is something wrong!" exclaimed Catherine. "I feared it frommy mother's face when I saw her an hour ago. Now I am sure. Bee, are yougoing to fail us at the last moment? Oh, Beatrice, you have made him sonice, and we have all been so happy, and mother has said more than onceto me, 'Beatrice Meadowsweet has saved us,' and now, just at the verylast, just at the very end, are you going to be a coward--a deserter?"

  "No," said Beatrice. "I won't desert you. I won't fail you. It is givento me to save your brother Loftus, to really save him. Don't befrightened, Kitty. I have a hard task to go through. I have to say somethings to your mother which will try her. Yes, I know they will try hermuch, but I am doing right, and you must help me, and be brave. Yes, youmust be brave because you know I am doing right."

  "I will trust you, Beatrice," said Catherine. Her dark eyes shone, overthe pallor of her face there came a glow. She opened the door of hermother's room.

  "Here is Beatrice, mother. And may I--may I--stay too?"

  "No, Kate, you are unreasonable. What a long time you have keptBeatrice. She has been in the house for ten minutes. I heard you twogossiping in the corridor. Girls are unreasonable, and they don'tunderstand that the impatience of the old is the worst impatience ofall. Go, Kate."

  Catherine's eyes sought her friend's. They seemed to say mutely:

  "Be good to her, Beatrice, she is my mother."

  Then she closed the door behind the two.

  People who have secrets, who find themselves hemmed into corners, wholive perpetually over graves of the dead past, are seldom quite freefrom fear. Mrs. Bertram had gone through tortures during the last coupleof hours. When she was alone with Beatrice she seized her hands, anddrew her down to sit on
the sofa by her side. Her eyes asked a thousandquestions, while her lips made use of some conventional commonplace.

  Beatrice was after all an unsophisticated country girl. She had neverbeen trained in _finesse_; painful things had not come to her inthe past of her life, either to conceal or avoid. Now a terrible taskwas laid upon her, and she went straight to the point.

  Mrs. Bertram said: "You look tired, my dear future daughter."

  Beatrice made no reply to this. She did not answer Mrs. Bertram's lips,but responding to the hunger in her eyes, said:

  "I have got something to tell you."

  Then Mrs. Bertram dropped her mask.

  "I feared something was wrong. I guessed it from Loftie's manner. Go on,speak. Tell me the worst."

  "I'm afraid I must give you pain."

  "What does a chit like you know of pain? Go on, break your evil tidings.Nay, I will break them for you. There is to be no wedding tomorrow."

  "You are wrong. There is."

  "Thank God. Then I don't care for anything else. You are a true girl,Beatrice, you have truth in your eyes. Thank God, you are faithful. Myson will have won a faithful wife."

  "I trust he will--I think he will. But--"

  "You need not be over modest, child. I know you. I see into your soul.We women of the world, we deep schemers, we who have dallied with theblackness of lies, can see farther than another into the deep, pure wellof truth. I don't flatter you, Beatrice, but I know you are true."

  "I am true, true to your son, and to you. But Mrs. Bertram, don'tinterrupt me. In being true, I must give you pain."

  Again Mrs. Bertram's dark brows drew together until they almost met. Herheart beat fast.

  "I am not very strong," she said, in a sort of suffocating voice. "Youare concealing something; tell it to me at once."

  "I will. Can you manage not to speak for a moment or two?"

  "Go on, child. Can I manage? What have I not managed in the course of mydark life? Go on. Whatever you tell me will be a pin-prick, and I havehad swords in my heart."

  "I am sorry," began Beatrice.

  "Don't--do you suppose I care for a girl's sorrow! The sorrow of anuncomprehending child? Speak."

  "I have found out," said Beatrice, in a slow voice, "just through anaccident, although I believe God was at the bottom of it, somethingwhich has saved me from committing a great wrong, which has saved yourson from becoming an absolute scoundrel, which has saved us both from alife of misery."

  "What have you found out, Beatrice?"

  Mrs. Bertram's face was perfectly white; her words came out in a lowwhisper.

  "Beatrice, what have you discovered?"

  "That Captain Bertram loves another, that another girl loves him, hasalmost been brought to death's door because she loves him so well."

  "Pooh, child, is that all? How you frightened me."

  "Why do you speak in that contemptuous tone. The 'all' means a greatdeal to Captain Bertram, and to me, and to the other girl."

  "Beatrice, you are a baby. What young man of my son's age has not hadhis likings, his flirtations, his heart affairs? If that is all--"

  "It is all, it is enough. Your son has not got over his heart affair."

  "Has he not? I'll speak to him. I'll soon settle that"

  "Nor have I got over it."

  "Beatrice, my dear girl, you really are something of a little goose.Jealous, are you? Beatrice, you ask an impossibility when you expect ayoung man never to have looked with eyes of affection on any one butyourself."

  "I will not marry the man who looks with eyes of affection at another."

  "How you bewilder me, and yet, how childish you are. Must I argue thisquestion with you? Must I show you from my own larger experience howattached Loftus is to you? Dear fellow, his very face shows it."

  "I don't want you to teach me anything from your experience, Mrs.Bertram. Captain Bertram does not love me. I do not love him; he lovesanother. She has given him all her heart, all that she can give. Heshall marry her;--he shall marry her to-morrow."

  Mrs. Bertram rose very slowly.

  "Beatrice," she said. "Your meaning is at last plain to me. _Noblesseoblige_. Ah, yes, that old saying comes true all the world over. Youhave not the advantage of good birth. I thought--for a long time Ithought that you were the exception that proved the rule. You were thelady made by nature's own hand. Your father could be a tradesman--a_draper_--and yet have a lady for his daughter. I thought this,Beatrice; I was deceived. There are no exceptions to that nobility whichonly birth can bestow. You belong to the common herd, the_canaille_. You cannot help yourself. A promise to one like you isnothing. You are tired of Loftus. This is an excuse to get out of abargain of which you have repented."

  "It is not."

  Beatrice looked at Mrs. Bertram with eyes that blazed with anger. Shewalked across the room, and rang the bell. Her ring was imperious. Shestood near the bell-pull until Clara, in some trepidation, obeyed thesummons.

  "Is Captain Bertram downstairs?" asked Beatrice.

  "I'll inquire, Miss Meadowsweet."

  "I think he is. I think you'll find him in the study. Ask him to havethe goodness to come to Mrs. Bertram's room."

  Clara withdrew. Beatrice began slowly to pace up and down the floor.

  "I belong to the _canaille_," she murmured. "And my father--_my_ fatheris taunted because he earned his bread in trade. Mrs. Bertram, I am gladI don't belong to your set."

  Beatrice had never been so angry in all her life before. The anger ofthose who scarcely ever give way to the emotion has something almostfearful about it. Mrs. Bertram was a passionate woman, but she coweredbefore the words and manner of this young girl. She had tauntedBeatrice. The country girl now was taunting her, and she shrank away interror.

  The door was opened, and Loftus Bertram came in. Beatrice went up to himat once.

  "I have prepared the way for you, Loftus," she said. "It is your turnnow to speak. Tell your mother the truth."

  "Yes, my son."

  Mrs. Bertram looked up in his face. Her look was piteous; it disarmedBeatrice; her great anger fled. She went up to the poor woman, and stoodclose to her.

  "Speak, Loftus," she said. "Be quick, be brave, be true. Your mothercannot bear much. Don't keep her in suspense."

  "Go out of the room, Beatrice," said Loftus. "I can tell her bestalone."

  "No, I shall stay. It is right for me to stay. Now speak. Tell yourmother who you really love."

  "Go on, Loftus," said Mrs. Bertram, suddenly. "You love BeatriceMeadowsweet. She angered me, but she is a true and good girl at heart.You love her; she is almost your bride--say that you love her."

  "She is the best girl I ever met, mother."

  "There, Beatrice, does not that content you?" said Mrs. Bertram.

  "Hush," said Beatrice. "Listen. He has more to say. Go on,Loftus--speak, Captain Bertram. Is Josephine not worth any effort ofcourage?"

  "Josephine!" Mrs. Bertram clasped her hands.

  Bertram stepped forward.

  "Mother, I don't love Beatrice as I ought to love my wife. I do loveJosephine Hart, and she is to be my wife to-morrow morning."

  "Josephine Hart!" repeated Mrs. Bertram. She looked round at Beatrice,and a smile played all over her face--a fearful smile.

  "My son says he loves Josephine Hart--Josephine--_and he will marry her_!"

  She gave a laugh, which was worse than any cry, and fell insensible onthe floor.