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Frances Kane's Fortune, a fiction by L. T. Meade |
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Chapter 17. The Firs Or Frances? |
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_ CHAPTER XVII. THE FIRS OR FRANCES? It is necessary for some people to go away to be missed. There are certain very quiet people in the world, who make no fuss, who think humbly of themselves, who never on any occasion blow their own trumpets, who under all possible circumstances keep in the background, but who yet have a knack of filling odd corners, of smoothing down sharp angles, of shedding the sunshine of kindness and unselfishness over things generally. There are such people, and they are seldom very much missed until they go away. Then there is a hue and cry. Who did this? Whose duty was the other? Where is such a thing to be found? Will nobody attend to this small but necessary want? The person who never made any talk, but did all the small things, and made all the other people comfortable, is suddenly missed, and in an instant his or her virtues are discovered. This was the case at the Firs when Frances on a certain morning drove away. Watkins missed her--the stable-boy, the house-servant--the cat, the dog--many other domestic pets--and most of all, Squire Kane. He was not neglected, but he had a sense of loneliness which began at the moment he awoke, and never left him till he went to sleep again. He had his meals regularly; he was called in good time in the morning; the new housekeeper lighted his candle and brought it to him at night; his favorite fruit and his favorite flowers were still set before him, and the newspaper he liked best always lay by his plate at breakfast-time. Watkins was really an excellent gardener, and the ribbon border still bloomed and flourished, the birds sung in the trees as of yore, the lawn was smoothly kept. It was early September now, but the old place never looked gayer, sweeter, brighter. Still, somehow or other the squire was dull. His newspaper was there, but there was no one to cut it, no one to read it aloud to him. The flowers were making a wonderful bloom, but there was no special person to talk them over with. He had no one to tell his thoughts to, no one to criticise, no one to praise, and--saddest want of all to a nature like his--not a soul in the world to blame. Really, Frances was very much missed; he could not quite have believed it before she went, for she was such a quiet, grave woman, but there wasn't the least doubt on the subject. She had a way of making a place pleasant and home-like. Although she was so quiet herself, wherever she went the sun shone. It was quite remarkable how she was missed--even the Firs, even the home of his ancestors, was quite dull without her. Frances had been away for five weeks, and the squire was beginning to wonder if he could endure much more of his present monotonous life, when one day, as he was passing up and down in the sunny South Walk, he was startled, and his attention pleasingly diverted by the jangling sweet sound of silver bells. A smart little carriage, drawn by a pair of Arab ponies, and driven by a lady, drew up somewhere in the elm avenue; a girl in white jumped lightly out, and ran toward him. "Good gracious!" he said to himself, "why, it's that dear little Fluff. Well, I am glad to see her." He hobbled down the path as fast as he could, and as Fluff drew near, sung out cheerily: "Now this is a pleasing surprise! But welcome to the Firs, my love--welcome most heartily to the Firs." "Thank you, squire," replied Fluff. "I've come to see you on a most important matter. Shall we go into the house, or may I talk to you here?" "I hope, my dear, that you have come to say that you are going to pay me another visit--I do hope that is your important business. Your little room can be got ready in no time, and your guitar--I hope you've brought your guitar, my dear. It really is a fact, but I haven't had one scrap of entertainment since Frances went away--preposterous, is it not?" "Well, of course I knew you'd miss her," said Fluff in a tranquil voice. "I always told you there was no one in the world like Frances." "Yes, my dear, yes--I will own, yes, undoubtedly, Frances, for all she is so quiet, and not what you would call a young person, is a good deal missed in the place. But you have not answered my query yet, Fluff. Have you come to stay?" "No, I've not come to stay; at least, I think not. Squire, I am glad you appreciate dear Frances at last." "Of course, my love, of course. A good creature--not young, but a good, worthy creature. It is a great affliction to me, being obliged, owing to sad circumstances, to live apart from my daughter. I am vexed that you can not pay me a little visit, Fluff. Whose carriage was that you came in? and what part of the world are you staying in at present?" "That dear little pony-trap belongs to Mrs. Carnegie, of Arden; and her niece, Mrs. Passmore, drove me over. I am staying with Mr. and Mrs. Spens, at Martinstown." "Spens the lawyer?" "Yes, Spens the lawyer. I may stay with him if I like, may I not? I am a great friend of his. He sent me over here to-day to see you on most important business." "My dear Fluff! Really, if Spens has business with me, he might have the goodness to come here himself." "He couldn't--he has a very bad influenza cold; he's in bed with it. That was why I offered to come. Because the business is so very important." "How came he to talk over my affairs with a child like you?" "Well, as you'll learn presently, they happen to be my affairs too. He thought, as he couldn't stir out of his bed, and I knew all the particulars, that I had better come over and explain everything to you, as the matter is of such great importance, and as a decision must be arrived at to-day." Fluff spoke with great eagerness. Her eyes were glowing, her cheeks burning, and there wasn't a scrap of her usual fun about her. In spite of himself the squire was impressed. "I can not imagine what you have to say to me," he said; "but perhaps we had better go into the house." "I think we had," said Fluff; "for as what I have got to say will startle you a good deal, you had better sit in your favorite arm-chair, and have some water near you in case you feel faint." As she spoke she took his hand, led him through the French windows into his little parlor, and seated him comfortably in his favorite chair. "Now I'll begin," said Fluff. "You must not interrupt me, although I'm afraid you will be a little startled. You have mortgaged the Firs for six thousand pounds." "My dear Ellen!"--an angry flush rose in the squire's cheeks. "Who has informed you with regard to my private affairs? Frances has done very--" "Frances has had nothing to say to it; I won't go on if you interrupt me. You have mortgaged the Firs for six thousand pounds, to some people of the name of Dawson & Blake, in London. Frances lives at Arden, in order to pay them three hundred pounds a year interest on the mortgage." "Yes, yes; really, Frances--really, Spens--" "Now do stop talking; how can I tell my story if you interrupt every minute? Messrs. Dawson & Blake were very anxious to get back their money, and they wanted to sell the Firs in order to realize it. Mr. Spens had the greatest work in the world to get them to accept Frances's noble offer. He put tremendous pressure to bear, and at last, very unwillingly, they yielded." "Well, well, my dear"--the squire wiped the moisture from his brow--"they have yielded, that is the great thing--that is the end of the story; at least, for the present." "No, it is not the end of the story," said Fluff, looking up angrily into the old man's face. "You were quite satisfied, for it seemed all right to you; you were to stay on quietly here, and have your comforts, and the life you thought so pleasant; and Frances was to give up Philip Arnold, whom she loves, and go away to toil and slave and be miserable. Oh, it was all right for you, but it was bitterly all wrong for Frances!" "My dear little Fluff, my dear Ellen, pray try and compose yourself; I assure you my side of the bargain is dull, very dull. I am alone; I have no companionship. Not a living soul who cares for me is now to be found at the Firs. My side is not all sunshine, Fluff; and I own it--yes, I will own it, Fluff; I miss Frances very much." "I am glad of that; I am very glad. Now I am coming to the second part of my story. A week ago Mr. Spens had a letter from Messrs. Dawson & Blake to say that they had sold their mortgage on the Firs to a stranger--a man who had plenty of money, but who had taken a fancy to the Firs, and who wished to get it cheap." The squire sat upright on his chair. "Mr. Spens wrote at once to the new owner of the mortgage, and asked him if he would take five per cent. interest on his money, and not disturb you while you lived. Mr. Spens received a reply yesterday, and it is because of that I am here now." The squire's face had grown very white; his lips trembled a little. "What was the reply?" he asked. "Really--really, a most extraordinary statement; most queer of Spens not to come to me himself about it. What was the reply, Fluff?" "I told you Mr. Spens was ill and in bed. The stranger's reply was not favorable to your wishes. He wishes for the Firs; he has seen the place, and would like to live there. He says you must sell; or, there is another condition." "What is that? This news is most alarming and disquieting. What is the other condition--the alternative?" Fluff rose, yawned slightly, and half turned her back to the squire. "It is scarcely worth naming," she said, in a light and indifferent voice; "for as Frances loves Philip, of course she would not think of marrying any one else. But it seems that this stranger, when he was poking about the place, had caught sight of Frances, and he thought her very beautiful and very charming. In short, he fell in love with her, and he says if you will let him marry her, that he and she can live here, and you need never stir from the Firs. I mention this," said Fluff; "but of course there's no use in thinking of it, as Frances loves Philip." "But there is a great deal of use in thinking of it, my dear; I don't know what you mean by talking in that silly fashion. A rich man falls in love with my daughter. Really, Frances must be much better-looking than I gave her credit for. This man, who practically now owns the Firs, wishes to release me from all difficulties if I give him Frances. Of course I shall give him Frances. It is an admirable arrangement. Frances would be most handsomely provided for, and I shall no longer be lonely with my daughter and son-in-law residing at the Firs." "But Frances loves Philip!" "Pooh! a boy-and-girl affair. My dear, I never did, and never will, believe in anything between Frances and Arnold. I always said Arnold should be your husband." "I don't want him, thank you." "Frances was always a good girl," continued the squire; "an excellent, good, obedient girl. She refused Philip because I told her to, and now she'll marry this stranger because I wish her to. Really, my dear, on the whole, your news is pleasant; only, by the way, you have not told me the name of the man who now holds my mortgage." "He particularly wishes his name to be kept a secret for the present, but he is a nice fellow; I have seen him. I think, if Frances could be got to consent to marry him, he would make her an excellent husband." "My dear, she must consent. Leave my daughter to me; I'll manage her." "Well, the stranger wants an answer to-day." "How am I to manage that? I must write to Frances, or see her. Here she is at this moment, driving down the avenue with Mrs. Carnegie. Well, that is fortunate. Now, Fluff, you will take my part; but, of course, Frances will do what I wish." "You can ask her, squire. I'm going to walk about outside with Mrs. Carnegie." "And you won't take my part?" "I won't take anybody's part. I suppose Frances can make up her own mind." When Miss Kane came into her father's presence her eyes were brighter, and her lips wore a happier expression than the squire had seen on them for many a long day. She stepped lightly, and looked young and fresh. Fluff and Mrs. Carnegie paced up and down in the South Walk. Mrs. Carnegie could walk now, and she was certainly wonderfully improved in appearance. "Beloved little fairy," she whispered to her companion, "this excitement almost overpowers me. It was with the utmost difficulty I could control myself as we drove over. Our sweet Frances looks happy, but I do not think she suspects anything. Dear little one, are you certain, quite certain, that the hero of the hour has really arrived?" "Philip? I have locked him up in the dining-room," said Fluff, "and he is pacing up and down there now like a caged lion. I do hope the squire will be quick, or he'll certainly burst the lock of the door." The two ladies paced the South Walk side by side. "We'll give them half an hour," said Fluff. When this time had expired, she took Mrs. Carnegie's hand, and they both approached the open windows of the squire's parlor. When the squire saw them he rose and confronted them. Angry red spots were on his cheeks; his hands trembled. Frances was seated at the table; she looked very pale, and as the two ladies approached she was wiping some tears silently from her eyes. "Yes, look at her," said the squire, who was almost choking with anger. "She refuses him--she absolutely refuses him! She is satisfied that her poor old father shall end his days in the work-house, rather than unite herself to an amiable and worthy man, who can amply provide for her. Oh, it is preposterous! I have no patience with her; she won't even listen to me. Not a word I say has the smallest effect." "Because, father--" "No, Frances, I won't listen to any of your 'becauses.' But never, never again even profess to care for your father. Don't waste words, my child; for words are empty when they are not followed by deeds." "I must take an answer to Mr. Spens to-day," said Fluff. "Perhaps, if Frances thought a little, she would change her mind." These words seemed to sting Frances, who rose quickly to her feet. "You know why I can not help my father in this particular," she said. "Oh, I think, between you all, you will drive me mad." "Perhaps," said Fluff, suddenly--"perhaps if you saw the gentleman, Frances, you might be able to give a different answer. He really is very nice, and--and--the fact is, he's very impatient. He has arrived--he is in the dining room." "The gentleman who has purchased the mortgage is in the dining-room!" said the squire. He rubbed his hands gleefully. "Excellent! Frances will never be so rude as to refuse a rich man to his face. I look upon him already as our deliverer. I, for my part, shall give him a hearty welcome, and will assure him, if he will only give me time, that I will not leave a stone unturned to overcome my daughter's absurd infatuation. Frances, do you hear me? I desire you to behave politely to the stranger when he comes." "Perhaps I had better go away," said Frances. "No, no, dear Frances; do stay," pleaded Fluff. "I'll go and fetch the gentleman; I know him; he is really very nice." She darted away. Frances turned her back to the window. "You know, father, all I have done for you," she said, her beautiful eyes shining and her slim figure very erect. "I have loved Philip--oh, so deeply, so faithfully!--for ten years. For five of these years I thought he was in his grave; and my heart went there, too, with him. Then he came back, and I was very happy; for I found that he had loved me, and thought of me alone, also, all that long, long time. I was happy then, beyond words, and no woman ever more fervently thanked God. Then--then--you know what happened. I gave Philip up. I consented to let my light, my hope, and my joy die out. I did that for you; but I did not consent to let my love die; and I tell you now, once and for all, that my love will never die; and that, as I so love Philip, I can never, even for your sake, marry any one but Philip!" "Oh, Francie! Francie!" suddenly exclaimed a joyful little voice. "No one in all the world wants you to marry any one else! The stranger isn't a stranger. Say 'Yes' to your father and to Philip at the same time." Frances turned; Arnold stepped in through the open window and put his arm round her. "Now, sir," he said, holding Frances's hand, and turning to the squire, "which am I to have--the Firs or Frances?" Of course everybody present knew the answer, so there is no need to record it here. [THE END] _ |
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