CHAPTER II.
Mrs Fraser was the widow of Major Fraser, and quite came under the description of being ‘fat, fair, and forty.’ Her late husband had been the lifelong associate of Colonel Redgrave; so, when the widow announced her intention of quitting India for England, there to take up her permanent abode, her sole companion being her only child, a girl of some nineteen years, the colonel decided to accompany her. The gossips in the cantonments had quite decided that after a decent interval Mrs Fraser would become the wife of Colonel Redgrave; but all such speculations were put an end to by his sudden death. The Frasers were now staying at Oswald Villa, the elder Miss Redgrave, as the reader has just seen, having formed a plan of uniting her brother in marriage to the handsome widow. Blanche Fraser was a miniature copy of her mother. The same dazzlingly fair complexion, the same laughing blue eyes, the same luxuriant light hair; and, if the truth must be told, the same love of admiration and flirting, distinguished alike both mother and daughter. There was only one alloy to the happiness of the widow—the dreadful conviction that youth was slowly but surely deserting her. The fact might perhaps have been concealed somewhat, but for the visible presence of a marriageable daughter. So, with many a sigh, the widow yielded to the inevitable, and determined to choose a partner in life while a certain portion of youth and good looks still remained to her. At the present moment, her choice had fallen on the handsome companion of her walk to Luccombe Chine. Mr Frank Lockwood had been the lawyer of the Redgrave family ever since his father had vacated that position by death. He was now about three-and-thirty, was agreeable and good-looking. As it was now the vacation, the lawyer was staying at Oswald Villa, in response to the pressing invitation of Miss Redgrave. The widow had acted on the principle of making hay while the sun shines, and had exerted all her fascinations on the man of law; but in vain. Mr Lockwood was very gallant, but the heart of Mrs Fraser whispered that hitherto her efforts had been void of success. Still, perseverance, as we all know, achieves wonders, and so the widow resolved to adopt as her motto—Perseverando vinces, and hope for the best. Blanche, as we have said, tripped into the room, exclaiming as she did so, ‘O Mr Redgrave, you have lost such a treat! I did so miss you; you were the one thing needful to complete our enjoyment during our delightful walk.’
Septimus gazed keenly at the fair speaker; she was certainly very pretty, and decidedly clever, and palpably partial to his society. He might do worse than pass the remainder of his days with such a delightful companion. To be sure, there was a certain disparity in years; but every one knows that women age faster than men, and there were innumerable instances in public life of similar disproportions as to age. He would certainly treasure up the advice of his sister as to the choice of a wife. So it was with more than his customary urbanity that Septimus replied: ‘An old man such as I am would have been but a poor acquisition, Miss Fraser.’
Blanche peered with an expression of mock gravity into the gray eyes of Septimus. ‘An old man! Have you never heard of the old saying?—A man is as old as he feels, a woman as old as she looks. How old do you feel, Mr Redgrave?’
‘I feel almost a boy, Miss Fraser, when in your society; I feel a centenarian when I am ill in my solitary rooms in London.’
‘Then the deduction from that observation,’ replied Blanche, ‘is, that to enjoy perpetual youth, you should be perpetually in my society.’
‘A charming prescription, Miss Fraser; I wish it were a possible one.’
Mrs Fraser and Mr Lockwood here entered the room. ‘Take care, Mr Redgrave,’ said the widow; ‘you will find Blanche a sad flirt. I have only just been warning Mr Lockwood against her.’
This was a double shot, intended equally for Blanche and Mr Lockwood, who had, in the widow’s opinion, been somewhat too attentive to Blanche recently.
Penelope here intervened. ‘My brother is hankering after the fleshpots of Egypt, Mrs Fraser; in other words, is longing for “the sweet shady side of Pall Mall.” Can you not persuade him to remain?’
‘Let me try my influence,’ interposed Blanche coquettishly. ‘You will remain, will you not, dear Mr Redgrave?’
Septimus felt a thrill pass through his frame as Miss Fraser took hold of one of his hands and looked up in his face with a beseeching look, while Mr Lockwood threw himself with an air of vexation into an armchair and made an attempt to read yesterday’s Times.
‘You must promise, Mr Redgrave,’ said Blanche.
‘I promise to obey you in all things,’ said Septimus, as, with an air of old-world gallantry, he raised her fingers to his lips.
From that hour, one thought and one only occupied the mind of Mr Redgrave: Should he adopt the advice of Penelope, and make Miss Fraser an offer of his hand and heart? It was a tremendous step for one who had passed the greater part of his life in studying how best he could minister to his own selfish comfort and happiness. But on the morning of the second day after the scene we have just described, Septimus determined to put his fortune to the test. He chanced to find the fair Blanche alone sitting under the jessamine-covered veranda, engaged in reading a novel. Attired in white, with a blue sash round her slender waist, her light brown hair falling in careless profusion on her well-turned shoulders, Miss Fraser presented a bewitching spectacle. As Septimus approached, Blanche shot a captivating glance from beneath her long dark lashes, and with a graceful movement, invited Septimus to seat himself beside her on the bench.
‘I hope you are not in the crisis of your tale, Miss Fraser?’
‘No; I am in the second volume only, which is always flat and uninteresting and skippable.’
‘I am glad to hear it, for I am anxious to have a little serious chat with you.’
Blanche placed her hands together in the form of supplication. ‘Oh, please, don’t, Mr Redgrave! I have just had a lecture of half an hour’s duration from mamma, and that was serious enough, in all conscience. Why will our parents and guardians expect us to have the wisdom of Solomon and the virtues of Dorcas before we are out of our teens!’
‘Perhaps I used a wrong word; I wished to speak to you about love.’
‘Oh! how delightful! Have you fallen in love at last, Mr Redgrave?’
Septimus did not like the phrase ‘at last,’ but he continued: ‘Also I wished to speak about matrimony.’
Blanche shook her head gravely. ‘That is a very serious subject.’
‘And yet matrimony is the natural sequence of love.’
‘Alas! yes,’ sighed Blanche.
So far the discussion was not encouraging; but Septimus resolved to persevere. ‘I have fallen in love with a lady who is at present under this roof.’
Blanche clasped her hands in wondering surprise, and gasped forth one word—‘Mamma!’
‘No, Miss Fraser; my affections are settled on her lovely daughter.’
‘Me!’ exclaimed Blanche. ‘Impossible! Oh, Mr Redgrave, you are joking!’
‘I was never more serious in my life, Miss Fraser. Why should you think it impossible that I should have fallen in love with you? I am in the prime of life; I have sufficient means’——
‘O pray, Mr Redgrave, forbear! What you ask is impossible; I am engaged, indeed I am, although mamma does not know it. You won’t tell her, will you, Mr Redgrave? Promise me you will not.’
‘Certainly not; but I must inform my sisters, for it was owing to their encouragement that I have made this proposal. They led me to suppose that you were favourable to my suit.’
‘What a singular delusion! no; I don’t mean that—misapprehension.’
Septimus rose from the seat. ‘Then we resume our former relations, Miss Fraser?’
Blanche rose, and as she made a low courtesy, said: ‘If you please, Mr Redgrave.’
Septimus strode away in a towering rage with his sisters for having inflicted upon him such unnecessary humiliation, and entering the drawing-room, found Penelope and Lavinia calmly engaged in tambour-work. One glance was sufficient to inform the sisters that their brother was not in the best of tempers.
‘Septimus, what has happened?’
‘Everything that is disgusting and unpleasant. I have been fool enough to take your advice. I have proposed to the lady selected by you for my wife two days ago, and have been refused with ridicule and contempt.’
‘Impossible, Septimus!’
‘The lady is already engaged.’
‘Impossible, Septimus!’
‘But I have promised to keep her engagement a secret from her mother.’
‘From her mother! Of whom are you speaking, Septimus?’
‘Why, of Blanche Fraser, to be sure.’
‘Blanche! It was her mother we alluded to as our future sister-in-law!’
Tableau!
By a singular coincidence, Mrs Fraser was closeted with Mr Lockwood in the library of Oswald Villa during the love-scene of Septimus with Blanche. The widow had gone to the library under the pretence of fetching a particular volume, well knowing that she would find the handsome solicitor in that apartment. Mr Lockwood was deeply immersed in Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy, but rose from his seat as Mrs Fraser entered.
‘I did not mean to disturb you, Mr Lockwood; I merely wanted a volume of Tennyson.’
‘Pray, don’t apologise, Mrs Fraser. Your visit is very apropos, for I was very anxious to have a few minutes’ private conversation with you on a matter affecting all my future life.’
The widow gracefully accepted the chair Mr Lockwood placed for her, her cheek flushing, and her pulse throbbing as a small voice whispered: ‘The moment has at length arrived; and Frank is neither made of stone, nor so impervious to my fascinations as I supposed.’
‘It is in your power, my dear Mrs Fraser, to make me the happiest of men.’
A film passed over the eyes of the widow at this sudden statement of the lawyer.
‘With your keen penetration and knowledge of the human heart, you must have long since perceived that I am hopelessly in love, and that the object of my affections is at this moment a resident of Oswald Villa.’
‘I suspected as much; I will not deny it, dear Frank.’
Mr Lockwood took the plump and trembling fingers of the widow in his own and gently pressed them. The widow cordially and instinctively returned the squeeze. ‘May I hope, dear Mrs Fraser?’
‘Dear youth, you may!’ murmured the widow, as her head gently sank on his shoulders.
The countenance of Mr Lockwood expressed some considerable surprise at the phraseology adopted by Mrs Fraser, but he attributed it to the natural emotion of the situation.
‘Then I may tell dear Blanche at once?’ said Frank.
‘Yes; she must know it sooner or later,’ said Mrs Fraser.
‘Blanche already knows of my attachment,’ said Mr Lockwood.
‘Was she not very much surprised, dear Frank?’
‘Well, I cannot say that she was, exactly.’
‘I feared she might think there was too much disparity of age,’ said the widow.
‘Only fourteen years,’ replied Lockwood.
‘No, Frank, you are joking,’ said the widow, playfully tapping his cheek; ‘not more than seven.’
‘Pardon me, Mrs Fraser. I am thirty-three, and Blanche is nineteen.’
The room and its contents spun round before the horrified gaze of the unhappy widow. All was clear to her now. For a few brief happy moments she had been living in a fool’s paradise. The dream was over. But, like a judicious woman of the world, Mrs Fraser collected her agitated thoughts and rapidly executed a change of front.
‘You will make some allowance, Mr Lockwood, for my natural agitation at the idea of losing a beloved daughter. Blanche is a dear good child, and you gained a treasure when you won her young affections. But you must have patience. I cannot afford to lose her yet, she is still so young.’
‘My dear Mrs Fraser, I am the happiest of men,’ replied the enraptured Lockwood, overjoyed at the speedy success of his suit.