"They are just of an age to be play-fellows with your boys," she said to the blooming little matron. "How I should rejoice to see them racing about the garden together!"
Bessie was to wish this often and long before her loving desire was gratified. If she had not been preassured that her grandfather did, in fact, know all that was to be known about the children, nothing in his conduct would have betrayed it to her. She told the story in writing to her mother, and received advice of prudence and patience. The days and weeks at Abbotsmead flowed evenly on, and brought no opportunity of asking the favor of a visit from them. Mr. and Mrs. Chiverton drove over to luncheon, and Bessie and her grandfather returned the civility. Sir Edward Lucas came to call and stayed a long time, planning his new town for colliers: Miss Fairfax said a word in praise of steep tiled roofs as more airy than low roofs of slate, and Sir Edward was an easy convert to her opinion. Mr. Cecil Burleigh came twice to spend a few days, and brought a favorable report of his canvass; the second time his sister accompanied him, and they brought the good news that Lady Latimer was at Brentwood, and was coming to Hartwell the following week.
Bessie Fairfax was certainly happier when there was company at Abbotsmead, and she had a preference for Miss Burleigh's company; which might be variously interpreted. Miss Burleigh herself considered Miss Fairfax rather cold, but then Bessie was not expansive unless she loved very fondly and familiarly. One day they fell a-talking of Mr. Laurence Fairfax's wife, and Miss Burleigh suggested a cautious inquiry with a view to obtaining Bessie's real sentiments respecting her. She received the frankest exposition of them, with a bit of information to boot that gave her a theme for reflection.
"I think her a perfect jewel of a wife," said Bessie with genuine kindness. "My uncle Laurence and she are quite devoted to one another. She sings like a little bird, and it is beautiful to see her with those boys. I wish we had them all at Abbotsmead. And she is so pretty—the prettiest lady I ever saw, except, perhaps, one."
"And who was that one?" Miss Burleigh begged to know.
"It was a Miss Julia Gardiner. I saw her first at Fairfield at the wedding of Lady Latimer's niece, and again at Ryde the other day."
"Oh yes! dear Julia was very lovely once, but she has gone off. The Gardiners are very old friends of ours." Miss Burleigh turned aside her face as she spoke. She had not heard before that Miss Fairfax had met her rival and predecessor in Mr. Cecil Burleigh's affections: why had her dear Cecil been so rash as to bring them in contact and give her the opportunity of drawing inferences? That Bessie had drawn her inferences truly was plain, from a soft blush and glance and a certain tone in her voice as she mentioned the name of Miss Julia Gardiner, as if she would deprecate any possible idea that she was taking a liberty. The subject was not pursued. Miss Burleigh wished only to forget it; perhaps Bessie had expected a confidential word, and was abashed at hearing none, for she began to talk with eagerness, rather strained, of Lady Latimer's promised visit to Hartwell.
Lady Latimer's arrival was signalized by an immediate invitation to Mr. Fairfax and his granddaughter to go over and lunch on a fixed day. Bessie was never so impatient as till the day came, and when she mounted Janey to ride to Hartwell she palpitated more joyously than ever she had done yet since her coming into Woldshire. Her grandfather asked her why she was so glad, but she found it difficult to tell him: because my lady had come from the Forest seemed the root of the matter, as far as it could be expressed. The squire looked rather glum, Macky remarked to Mrs. Betts; and if she had been in his shoes wild horses should not have drawn her into company with that proud Lady Latimer. The golden harvest was all gone from the fields, and there was a change of hue upon the woods—yellow and red and russet mingled with their deep green. The signs of decay in the vivid life of Nature could not touch Bessie with melancholy yet—the spring-tides of youth were too strong in her—but Mr. Fairfax, glancing hither and thither over the bare, sunless landscape, said, "The winter will soon be upon us, Elizabeth. You must make the best of the few bright days that are remaining: very few and very swift they seem when they are gone."
Hartwell was as secluded amongst its evergreens and fir trees now as at midsummer, but in the overcast day the house had a dull and unattractive aspect. The maiden sisters sat in the gloomy drawing-room alone to receive their guests, but after the lapse of a few minutes Lady Latimer entered. She was dressed in rich black silk and lace—carefully dressed, but the three years that had passed since Bessie Fairfax last saw her had left their mark. Bessie, her heart swelling, her eyes shining with emotion, moved to meet her, but Lady Latimer only shook hands with sweet ceremoniousness, and she was instantly herself again. The likeness that had struck the maiden sisters did not strike my lady, or, being warned of it, she was on her guard. There was a momentary silence, and then with cold pale face she turned to Mr. Fairfax, congratulated him on having his granddaughter at home, and asked how long she had been at Abbotsmead. Soon appeared Mr. Oliver Smith, anxious to talk election gossip with his neighbor; and for a few minutes Bessie had Lady Latimer to herself, to gaze at and admire, and confusedly to listen to, telling Beechhurst news.
"Mr. and Mrs. Carnegie charged me with innumerable kind words for you—Jack wants you to go home before he goes to sea—Willie and Tom want you to make tails for their kites—Miss Buff will send you a letter soon—Mr. Wiley trusts you have forgiven him his forgetfulness of your message."