Bessy Rane: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

A crafty and worldly-wise woman, like Mrs. North, can change her tactics as readily as the wind changes its quarters. The avowal of Richard, that he was the master of Dallory Hall, so far as holding all power went--had been the greatest blow to her of any she had experienced in all these later years. It signed, as she perceived, the death-warrant of her own power; for she knew that she should never be allowed to rule again with an unjust and iron hand, as it had been her cruel pleasure to do. In all essential things, where it was needful to interfere, she felt that Richard's will and Richard's policy would henceforth outweigh her own.

Madam sat in her dressing-room that night, mentally looking into the future. It was very dim and misty. The sources whence she had drawn her exorbitant supplies were gone; her power was gone. Would it be worth while to remain at the Hall, she questioned, under the altered circumstances. Since the death of James Bohun, and her short sojourn with Sir Nash, an idea had occasionally crossed her mind that it might be desirable to take up her residence with the baronet--if she could only accomplish it. From some cause or other she had formerly not felt at ease when with Sir Nash; but that was wearing off. At any rate, a home in his well-appointed establishment would be far preferable to Dallory if its show and luxury could not be kept up; and all considerations gave way before madam's own selfish interest.

Already madam tasted of deposed power. Ellen Adair was to remain at the Hall, and--as Richard had emphatically enjoined--was to be made welcome. Madam gnashed her teeth as she thought of it. Ellen Adair, whom she so hated and dreaded! She lost herself in a speculation of what Richard might have done had she persisted in her refusal.

But as madam sat there, a doubt slowly loomed into her mind, whether it might not, after all, be the better policy for Ellen Adair to be at the Hall. The dread that Arthur Bohun might possibly renew his wish to marry her, in spite of all that had been said and done, occasionally troubled madam. In fact it had never left her. She could not make a child again of Arthur and keep him at her apron-string: he was free to go where he would; no matter in what spot of the habitable globe Ellen might be located, no earthly power could prevent his going to her if he wished to do so. Why then, surely it was better that the girl should be under her own eye, and in her own immediate presence. Madam laughed a little as she rose from her musings; she could have found it in her heart to thank Richard North for bringing this about.

And so, with the morning, madam was quite prepared to be gracious to Ellen Adair. Madam was one of those accommodating people who are ready, as we are told, to hold a candle to a certain nameless personage, if they think their interest may be served by doing it. Matilda North, who knew nothing whatever of madam's special reasons for disliking Miss Adair--saving that she had heard her mother once scornfully speak of her as a nameless young woman, a nobody--was coldly civil to her on Richard's introduction. But the sweet face, the gentle voice, the refined bearing, won even on her; and when the morning came Matilda felt rather glad that the monotony of the Hall was to be relieved by such an inmate, and asked her all about the death of Mrs. Cumberland.

And thus Ellen Adair became an inmate of Dallory Hall. But Mrs. North had not bargained for a cruel perplexity that was to fall upon her ere the day was over: no less than the return of Captain Bohun.

It has been mentioned that Sir Nash was ailing. In madam's new scheme, undefined though it was at present--that of possibly taking up her residence in his house--she had judged it well to inaugurate it by trying to ingratiate herself into his favour so far as she knew how. She would have liked to make herself necessary to him. Madam had heard a whisper of his going over to certain springs in Germany, and as she knew she should never get taken with him there, though Arthur might, she schemed a little to keep him in England. During the concluding days of her stay, Sir Nash had been overwhelmed with persuasions that he should come down to Dallory Hall, and get up his health there. To hear madam, never had so salubrious a spot been discovered on earth as Dallory; its water was pure, its air a tonic in itself; for rural quiet, for simple delight, it possessed attractions never before realized saving in Arcadia. Sir Nash, in answer to all this, had not given the least hope of trying its virtues; and madam had finally departed believing that Dallory would never see him.

But on the morning after Ellen Adair's arrival, madam, amongst other letters, received one addressed in her son Arthur's handwriting. According to her frequent habit of late--though why she had fallen into it she could not have told--she let her letters lie, unheeded, until very late in the morning. Just before luncheon she opened them; Arthur's the last: she never cared to hear from him. And then madam opened her eyes as well as her letter. She read, that Sir Nash had come to a sudden resolution to accept her hospitality for a short time, and that he and Arthur would be with her that day. At this very moment of reading, they were absolutely on their road to Dallory Hall.

Madam sat staring. Could she prevent it, was her first thought. It was very undesirable that they should come. Ellen Adair was there; and besides, after this new and startling revelation of Richard's, madam was not quite sure that she might continue to crowd the house with guests. But there was no help for it; ransack her fertile brain as she would, there seemed no possible chance of preventing the travellers' arrival. Had she known where a message would reach them, she might have telegraphed that the Hall was on fire, or that fever had broken out in it.

Mrs. North was not the first who has had to make the best of an unlucky combination of circumstances. She gave orders to her servants to prepare for the reception of the guests: and descended to the luncheon-table with a smooth face, saying not a word. Richard was out, or she might have told him: he was so busy over the reopening of those works of his, that he was now only at home night and morning. It happened, however that on this day he had occasion to come home for some deed that lay in his desk.