‘Not Maria nor the governess. You need not flatter yourself,’ said Juliana; ‘he said he wouldn’t have them at any price; and as to keeping house alone with a man of his character, even you may have sense to see it couldn’t be for a moment.’
‘Did Robert consent to Maria’s going to Hampstead?’ asked Phœbe.
‘Robert—what has he to do with it? He has no voice.’
‘He said something about getting the three boarded with some clergyman’s widow,’ said Augusta; ‘buried in some hole, I suppose, to make them like himself—go to church every day, and eat cold dinners on Sunday.’
‘I should like to see Bertha doing that,’ said Juliana, laughing.
But the agony of helplessness that had oppressed Phœbe was relieved. She saw an outlet, and could form a resolution. Home might have to be given up, but there was a means of fulfilling her mother’s charge, and saving Maria from the private idiot asylum; and for that object Phœbe was ready to embrace perpetual seclusion with the dullest of widows. She found her sisters discussing their favourite subject—Mervyn’s misconduct and extravagance—and she was able to sit apart, working, and thinking of her line of action. Only two days! She must be prompt, and not wait for privacy or for counsel. So when the gentlemen came in, and Mr. Crabbe came towards her, she took him into the window, and asked him if any choice were permitted her as to her residence.
‘Certainly; so nearly of age as you are. But I naturally considered that you would wish to be with Lady Bannerman, with all the advantages of London society.’
‘But she will not receive Maria. I promised that Maria should be my charge. You have not consented to this Hampstead scheme?’
‘Her ladyship is precipitate,’ half whispered the lawyer. ‘I certainly would not, till I had seen the establishment, and judged for myself.’
‘No, nor then,’ said Phœbe. ‘Come to-morrow, and see her. She is no subject for an establishment. And I beg you will let me be with her; I would much prefer being with any lady who would receive us both.’