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Lovers' PerjuriesClick here for Description & Excerpt A NOTE ABOUT PRICES: I discovered, after publishing Lovers' Perjuries, that the retail prices being charged for my book by sellers outside the U.S. are much higher than the U.S. retail price. I have no control over the setting of these higher prices (nor do I receive any of the added profits) — but I have now created a budget-priced International edition which is available only from Lulu. The text is the same as the higher-priced book (a few typos have been corrected); the page count is a little lower because the pages are slightly larger. The two covers are slightly different, as is the color and weight of the paper used (details below). I hope this edition will be more affordable for my international readers. Of course, U.S. readers are welcome to buy the lower-priced Lulu edition as well! *Softcover; 363 pages, 6" x 9", Perfect-bound
ISBN: 978-0-6151-5005-5
**International Edition
(same text, no ISBN; printed by Lulu): |
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An Excerpt from Lovers' Perjuries Jane Fairfax was born out of the short-lived union of a worthy if impoverished Lieutenant of the infantry, and a beautiful young lady of good family and no fortune. The couple enjoyed but a brief interval of conjugal bliss before the valiant officer met his end on the battlefield; the grieving widow followed him from this world within a twelvemonth. Thus at the tender age of three was Jane Fairfax made a helpless orphan, and left to the guardianship of her grandmother, Mrs. Bates, of Highbury. To the detriment of the child’s future career as a heroine, Mrs. Bates was neither a termagant nor a tippler; nor did Miss Bates, the old woman’s spinster daughter, ever beat her niece, or lock her up in a cupboard. Though their pecuniary resources were narrow, and their intellectual resources scarcely less so, Jane’s grandmother and aunt were thoroughly cheerful and good-natured; and from both ladies, it must be owned, the child received only such gratifications as constant affection and a meagre income could furnish. With these awful impediments in her path, little Jane soon bid fair to achieve no more distinguished a character than what a pleasing person, good understanding, and warm-hearted, well-meaning relations could engender. She was growing to be, in other words, a sweet, pretty, unexceptionable, and unexceptional girl. An early change of circumstance, however, opened new prospects. A Colonel Campbell, under whom Jane’s father had served in Spain, and whose life the young officer had once taken considerable pains to save, retired from the army; and upon returning home, he sought to repay his obligation to the Lieutenant by taking some notice of his unhappy orphan. The Colonel was married and had one child, a daughter very near Jane in age. He invited Jane to his London home for a visit of some length; and so well and so quickly did little Miss Fairfax recommend herself to the Colonel and all his family, that in short order they discovered her society to be indispensable to their happiness. Before she was nine years old, she was already Colonel Campbell’s pet, Mrs. Campbell’s darling, and Miss Campbell’s bosom friend. Good Mrs. Bates was therefore approached with a proposition: if she would allow her granddaughter to make a home with the Campbells, the Colonel would undertake to be wholly responsible for her education and maintenance. Mrs. Bates, though far from acute, could not but recognise the advantages to her ward of such an arrangement. She willingly committed Jane into the custody of Colonel and Mrs. Campbell, only reserving to herself a little private sorrow for the loss of her dear girl. As the years passed, Jane’s connection with the Campbells afforded her little of real benefit; nothing, indeed, beyond superior instruction, improved understanding, broader experience, and more well-informed companions than she would otherwise have been able to claim. It would have been more profitable by far, had Colonel Campbell been possessed of a desolated castle in the Pyrenees, or a lunatic wife hid in the attic; but alas! he had neither. Moreover, Colonel and Mrs. Campbell were people of solid judgement and sound principles. They permitted the two girls to read, for diversion, only those novels which might impart to their youthful minds some uplifting moral lessons. As a result, both Miss Campbell and Miss Fairfax grew to womanhood as little given to indulge in sentimental fancies as it was possible for any two young ladies to be. Where they might have spent many delightful hours weeping over Mrs. Radcliffe’s Mysteries of Udolpho, for example, they instead applied themselves to the study of music and drawing (subjects, it must be granted, not in themselves despicable; for by such accomplishments many a heroine has evinced a deep and estimable sensibility). And where they might have passed a pleasant week sighing over The Miraculous Nuptials, they instead memorised extracts from Sherlock’s Sermons. Very indifferent heroines, both—it cannot be denied. In spite of this deficiency, Helen Campbell had recently shown some promise of fulfilling a heroine’s destiny, by falling in love. It was, however, an unprosperous affair. Her beloved, Mr. Edward Dixon, was neither a gamester, a drunkard, nor a seducer. He was not even a poet given to interesting fits of melancholia. He was only a respectable and amiable gentleman, with an unencumbered estate in Ireland, and a comfortable competence of two thousand pounds per annum. Miss Campbell’s parents, on being solicited for their approval of the match, did not compel their daughter to marry an elderly and debauched earl instead; nor did they spirit her away, under cover of darkness, to be shut up in a French convent; but rather, having already formed a high estimation of Mr. Dixon’s character over a several months’ intimacy, gave their consent to the engagement without making the smallest difficulty as to jointures or settlements—thereby extinguishing all of Miss Campbell’s pretensions to the elevated status of heroine. But a heroine we must have; so the task of attaining to such heights falls to Miss Fairfax. And a daunting task it is, in light of her guardians’ unconscionable kindness and generosity; for in every particular save one, and in defiance of all established custom, the Campbells persist in treating their ward almost as a child of their own. That single point of deviation, however, is a material one. The Colonel’s fortune (about twelve thousand pounds) can secure an adequate portion only to his daughter, and not to her friend. Fittingly, it is on that precise point of disparity that all Jane Fairfax’s chance of future glory rests. By it, she is marked out for a heroine’s portion of suffering, degradation, and self-immolation. In effect, she is destined to become—a governess. Some of my readers, comfortably seated on well-padded sofas, enjoying the warmth of well-fed hearthfires, and sipping cups of well-sweetened tea, may at this moment be formulating in their heads a little witticism or two on the subject of governesses—doubting, perhaps, that their duties can be quite so arduous, or their positions so demeaning, as I have presumed to represent. I can only suppose such readers have never been obliged to expend their energies in the care, control, and instruction of other people’s children—perhaps not even their own; and I can assure them the exertion required to discharge such duties creditably is so great, as to render the profession exceedingly disagreeable to those whom fortune has denied any other respectable means of subsistence. But as our story begins, the time of Jane’s servitude is not yet arrived. The Campbells have postponed the business again and again. More than once have they declared her too young, her health too delicate. With the forbearance of a true heroine, Jane submits to their present judgement; but she is firmly resolved to begin her new life upon entering her majority, and to this resolution the Campbells reluctantly consent. In the meantime, however, they claim the privilege of doing all that lies within their power, to fortify her for the rigours of her destiny.
It was Colonel Campbell’s habit, during the summer months, to remove with his family from London, and make a visit of some length in a quieter corner of the kingdom. This year the seaside village of Weymouth had been chosen, ostensibly to try what sea-bathing might do for the Colonel, who was growing a little deaf; but also in hope of his ward deriving some benefit from the bracing sea air—for Jane, since childhood, had exhibited a recurring weakness of the lungs which, though far from dangerous, was now and then a matter of some little apprehension to her friends. On arriving at Weymouth, the family took up residence in a small but well-appointed row-house. The house was admirably situated within a short walk to the sea, yet sufficiently removed from its influence to lessen the adverse effects of the strong maritime winds, against which Mr. Wingfield, their London apothecary, had cautioned them. The Colonel felt some misgivings in taking the place, lest his wife and daughter should find it altogether too cramped for comfort. But Mrs. Campbell, aware there was nothing more eligible to be had on short notice, made light of any possible inconveniences, saying she was sure they should be out of doors so much as to make any little crowding a matter of indifference; and Miss Campbell declared it was all part of the fun of being from home to be squeezed together into as small a space as possible. Mr. Dixon, having neither obligation to compel nor inclination to endure a separation from Miss Campbell, elected to join the family on their holiday, and installed himself in lodgings at a nearby hotel. On the very morning after their coming to Weymouth, the three ladies walked out early to the strand, each to take a turn at braving the swelling breakers in one of the many bathing machines standing at the water’s edge. By the end of their first week in Dorset, the entire party had already tasted all the sweets which a seaside holiday can offer. They strolled daily along the Esplanade; had visited both the assembly and concert rooms; and determined which among the various shops and coffee houses would be accorded the honour of their patronage. Harvey’s Library was an establishment particularly favoured by all. Within its elegant walls, Colonel Campbell could peruse the London newspapers, and study all the significant new political tracts; Mrs. Campbell could read the latest issue of the Review or the Quarterly; and the young people could divert themselves with narratives of history and travel, or leaf through volumes of poetry and novels just published. One day, soon after their arrival in Weymouth, Jane and Miss Campbell walked along the Esplanade with Mr. Dixon, who was speaking to them of the countryside around his home, Baly-craig, in Ireland. Though he had often entertained them in a like manner, it was a subject upon which he spoke so well, and with so much warmth, that they never heard him without interest; and as he talked now of the Wicklow Mountains, with their wild hills, heathered moors and wooded valleys, Miss Campbell felt a prodigious longing to see the beauties of a land which, in a few months time, would become her home. They had previously seen some sketches of the county, taken by Mr. Dixon himself; however, Mr. Dixon had little genius for sketching, and his renderings could convey but a vague idea of the region’s grandeur. Miss Campbell, therefore, now decided they should step into Harvey’s library, in hope of discovering some folio of engravings which might satisfy her curiosity. The irony of seeking the scenic splendour of a far-off land on the ill-lit shelves of a dusty bookseller’s shop, rather than remaining outdoors to enjoy the splendour near at hand, was not lost on Jane. But she was in the habit of submitting herself to Helen’s wishes, which were sometimes whimsical, but never disagreeable; nor would she dream of teasing her friend about a curiosity so very natural and reasonable as that she was now expressing. So she offered no objection, and a few minutes later found herself entering Harvey’s. While the other two were engaged in their search, Jane wandered away to inspect an assortment of poetry books shelved in an adjacent corner. Absorbed in surveying the orderly volumes, she paid little heed to a gentleman who stood nearby, until he gradually made his way almost to her side, apparently intent upon the same titles she was examining herself. Reaching simultaneously for the very same book, they exchanged embarrassed smiles; and "Excuse me," and "I beg your pardon," were politely uttered. The gentleman, in a chivalrous gesture, handed her the book, and with a slight bow and another quite disarming smile, discreetly removed himself to a little distance. Jane could hardly fail to observe that he was a more than tolerably good-looking young man. But she also could not converse with one so wholly unknown to her, and was careful to take no further notice of him. Besides, her attention was soon claimed by her friends. "Dear Jane—do come here and look," Miss Campbell called out. "Ned has found just what we wanted!" "I think, Miss Fairfax, you will find these pictures quite striking," added Mr. Dixon as she hastened to join them. Mr. Dixon held the large volume (Picturesque Views of the Antiquities of Ireland) open, and began pointing out to her some of the features of the scene portrayed in the first plate. It was a ruined abbey, one of many which may be found scattered all about the Irish countryside; but Jane had time only for a brief glance at its gothic towers, before her attention was drawn away again. "I beg your pardon for intruding," an eager voice broke in. "I know I am taking a great liberty, but I could not help overhearing. Is it possible—do I have the honour of addressing Miss Fairfax, of Highbury? Granddaughter of Mrs. Bates, and niece of Miss Bates?" Jane had turned at the initial words and, on doing so, was astonished to see the young man she had encountered a few moments earlier. "Do you know my relations, sir?" she asked. "By report only, I regret to say. But what a blockhead I am—I have not introduced myself! I am Frank Churchill; I believe you know my father, Mr. Weston. Perhaps he has mentioned my name to you?" "Mentioned!" she exclaimed with delight. "You may be sure, sir, that the name of Mr. Frank Churchill is well known in Highbury. By my aunt Hetty’s account, Mr. Weston, whenever he returns from seeing you in London, talks of little else for weeks afterwards; and as everyone in Highbury is so very fond of your father, the entire town looks upon you quite as one of their own—without having so much as laid eyes upon you these twenty years. Indeed, when it becomes known that I have had the good fortune to meet you, I have no doubt I shall be the envy of the whole neighbourhood!" She paused, amazed at her own flow of spirits. Why, an impartial observer might almost accuse her of flirting with Mr. Frank Churchill! Mr. Churchill, however, made no accusations. "I fear, Miss Fairfax," he said with a grin, "that your Highbury acquaintance will more likely hold your present good fortune uncommonly cheap; and with some cause, too, for I have thus far exhibited the most shameful indifference toward Highbury and all its inhabitants—though unwillingly, I assure you," he added. "But then, perhaps it is that very indifference to which I am indebted for my celebrity. I am at present an exotic—a bird from the remotest jungles of the New World. Let me but once be heard to have been physicked by Mr. Perry, or to have taken a bowl of gruel with Mr. Woodhouse; or, better still, be seen buying a pair of gloves at Ford’s—and doubtless I should soon enjoy all the neglect accorded any other prosaic English sparrow." She laughed. "So Highbury is slighted as a matter of policy. But are you quite sure you have never been there, Mr. Churchill? You seem to know it so well, I should have guessed you had lived there all your life." "I know of Highbury only what my father tells me—which is a great deal indeed. I shall be very discreet, however," (with a mischievous gleam in his eye), "and forbear to repeat the many words of praise he has bestowed upon a certain young lady of his acquaintance. But," said he more seriously, suddenly mindful of Miss Campbell and Mr. Dixon, who were observing their exchange with some interest, "I must apologise. I am keeping you from your friends." Jane performed the necessary introductions with a becoming flush. She then found herself at leisure to study Mr. Churchill, as he turned his attention to Miss Campbell and Mr. Dixon: telling Helen he had had the pleasure of meeting her parents on a few occasions in town; then asking them both how they liked Weymouth, whether they had much acquaintance there, and other questions such as belong to an opening acquaintance. Jane had long been familiar with Frank Churchill’s history. His father, Mr. Weston, was the eldest son of a respectable family. Lively and outgoing by nature, as a young man Mr. Weston had chosen to enter the militia, preferring an active profession to the more sedentary employments in which his brothers were engaged. Captain Weston was a general favourite; and when Miss Churchill, of a great Yorkshire family, fell in love with him, nobody was surprised except her brother and his wife, who had never seen him, and who were full of pride and importance which the connection would offend. Miss Churchill, with ten thousand pounds at her own disposal, declared she would marry whom she pleased; and the Churchills threw her off with due decorum. To Mrs. Weston the marriage was little worth the enmity it engendered. Well might she complain of such a husband, for his faults were grievous indeed: after the vows were taken he proved, quite unaccountably, as good-natured, generous, and affectionate as he had seemed during the period of courtship. Had he but lost all her money at cards, or beat her senseless three times a day, no doubt the lady would have doted upon her husband most tenderly. As it was, she could not content herself with the lot she had chosen. Her ten thousand pounds, wedded to Captain Weston’s modest fortune, were inadequate to her notions of comfort. Even as the couple lived beyond their income, she repented and repined; and, after three years of matrimony, she died of a lingering illness, leaving her bereaved husband with an infant son to provide for, and somewhat diminished means from which to provide. Shortly before her death, however, a tentative reconciliation had taken place between Mrs. Weston and her haughty relations. Her brother, in particular, had been much softened by the idea of the imminent loss of his only sister; and after her death, the childless Mr. and Mrs. Churchill offered to adopt the little boy Frank as his uncle’s heir. Some perseverance was necessary—and more delicacy than was commonly employed by the Churchills—to persuade Mr. Weston to submit to their proposal. But the Churchills were a family accustomed to getting their way, and Mr. Weston a gentleman accustomed to yielding. In the end, Frank was delivered up to Enscombe, the Churchills’ estate in Yorkshire, and Mr. Weston turned his energies to repairing his dwindling fortune. He saw Frank every year in London, and was on each occasion pleased afresh to find him untainted by the detestable Churchill pride. Indeed, Mr. Weston was delighted with the fine young man his son had become. Mr. Frank Churchill, today, was a very gentlemanlike man of three-and-twenty. His face was not, perhaps, modelled on the classical ideal; but its features were assembled into an appealing whole, with lively, laughing eyes, and a thoroughly bewitching smile. His person was very good, being neither too short nor too tall, and neither thin nor stout, but with every part in excellent proportion to the others, and forming all together a figure both manly and elegant. His manners, too, were nearly perfect; for he possessed a natural, well-bred ease which could scarcely fail of pleasing. More importantly, his character, though not without flaw, was infinitely better than the deficiencies of his education might have given anyone reason to expect. He was stopping in Weymouth with his aunt and uncle, who had taken a fashionable house along the Esplanade, with a sweeping view of the sea. They had made the journey to Weymouth so that Mrs. Churchill, who was of a sickly constitution, could try what sea air and salt water might do for her health. "We have not been here two days," he now explained to his three companions, "but how long we shall remain is difficult to say. If my aunt finds sea-bathing of benefit (as I certainly hope she may), we might stay till Michaelmas, or even longer. Then again, if her complaints should worsen, we might be off in a week. Our plans are quite indefinite." "With the threat of a sudden departure hanging over you, Mr. Churchill," said Helen, "I am amazed at your sacrificing even part of an afternoon indoors, when you might be out walking along the strand, gazing at the sea, and contemplating the sublimity of nature." "Yes," said Mr. Dixon, laughing. "Only those of us so fortunate as to be sure our visit will be a long one, may enjoy the privilege of slighting such attractions for an hour or two." "In truth," Mr. Churchill explained, "I stepped in here just for a moment, in hopes of finding something to read in the evening—even a circulating library has its attractions, you know. And excepting the stars," he added with a grin at Jane, "one may see very little of nature’s sublimity after dark." "Your devotion to literature is commendable," said Miss Campbell, understanding him only in part. "Still, you need not sequester yourself with a book every night, I hope. Weymouth is not London, certainly, but even Weymouth has its share of evening entertainments to offer. Tonight, for instance, there will be a ball at the assembly rooms. Might we hope to see you there?" "I cannot answer with any assurance, as I do not know what my aunt’s intentions may be. But I will come if I can, for I own there are few enjoyments more to my liking than dancing—" Here he was checked by the sight of a servant coming towards them in great haste. Excusing himself for a moment, he went off to speak to the man. When he returned, he said with evident disappointment, "I may as well offer my regrets to you now. I fear there is very little chance of my having the happiness of seeing you all this evening. My aunt is taken ill, and I must go to her at once. I am sorry indeed." "No apology is necessary," said Mr. Dixon. "Of course you must be with your aunt if she is unwell. And if you should find her enough improved by this evening—" "It is most unlikely, I’m afraid." "But we may hope for the best," said Helen. "And even if you cannot come tonight, we are certain to meet again sometime or other. Indeed, as my parents are not entirely unknown to you—may I be so bold as to ask you to take a family dinner with us at our house, on any evening you should find yourself at liberty? My mother and father would be pleased to see you, I’m sure." Frank brightened at the invitation, and expressed his gratitude for her kindness very warmly. After accepting their wishes for Mrs. Churchill’s speedy recovery, he took his leave, and departed with the servant. "What an amiable gentleman!" Miss Campbell exclaimed after he had gone. "Did not you think so, Ned?" "He seemed an agreeable fellow," said Mr. Dixon. "Of course," Jane remarked, "we really know little of his character." "But he reads a great deal, apparently," said Miss Campbell, "which suggests a mind not unaccustomed to serious reflection. And you know his father, Jane; is not his father a very respectable person? For as the twig is bent, they say, so is the tree inclined." "Mr. Weston is very respectable indeed; but Mr. Churchill was not raised by him." Briefly, she related Frank Churchill’s history. His being taken from his father at such a young age made him an object of sympathy to Miss Campbell; while Mr. Dixon declared that the acquaintance of such a pleasant, gentlemanlike person, in such a place as Weymouth, must be deemed worth having—unless and until they knew some actual harm of him. The ladies could not disagree; and after Miss Campbell’s stating once more that she hoped they would see him again soon, the subject of Mr. Frank Churchill seemed all but forgotten in the bustle of collecting and paying for the books they had chosen. It was a subject which Jane, however, could not long forget. They left Harvey’s shop and, returning to the Esplanade, seated themselves on a bench overlooking the sea. Gazing quietly on the lovely scene before her, she marvelled anew at the freedom with which she had addressed Mr. Churchill. But he was not really a stranger, she told herself. He was dear Mr. Weston’s son; and she had known him, or at least, known of him, for many years. Miss Jane Fairfax, as has been previously stated, was an exceedingly rational female, very little inclined to divert herself with romantic dreams or idle fancies. But it must be confessed that Mr. Frank Churchill had, for a long time, occupied a special place in her imagination; she regarded him somewhat as a kindred spirit. Like her, he had been orphaned, or nearly so, at a very early age, and raised far from his native home. Though he did have one parent still living, he was, like her, dependent on strangers. So there were points of striking similarity in their past and present, if not in their future circumstances—for Frank Churchill was his uncle’s heir, and would one day be very rich. With material prospects so much more promising than her own, Jane could only hope he had been no less fortunate in the character of his guardians than she was in hers; but she feared it was not so. She had often heard from her aunt Hetty that Mrs. Churchill was a proud, overbearing, disagreeable woman, who ruled Enscombe, and everyone in it, with an iron will.
Frank Churchill had often regretted that his aunt’s habit of commanding his time and attendance prevented his ever visiting his father in Highbury. As we have seen, however, the inhabitants of that village were well known to him by report; and he had often heard, from Mr. Weston’s lips, the name of Jane Fairfax. Though a tolerably sensible man, Mr. Weston was a generous judge of people. He liked almost everyone, and spoke with approbation of all his neighbours. Frank nonetheless supposed there must be at least a few among them not entirely agreeable; and he could not consider his father’s representations with perfect confidence, though his curiosity was piqued by some of them. There was a Miss Taylor, for instance—a middle-aged spinster, of whom Mr. Weston spoke so often, and with such warmth, that Frank had begun to suspect some partiality in that quarter. There was also a Miss Woodhouse whom he praised very highly, and mentioned particularly as a desirable acquaintance for his son. She sounded like a lively girl, full of fun and high spirits, and Frank felt a strong inclination to meet her. But the sound of "Emma Woodhouse" had never held for him a fraction of the poetry contained in that simple name, Jane Fairfax. He could not have fixed upon the exact moment when he first became aware of the peculiar magic in that name; but it had long exemplified to his mind every perfection of womanly grace. Miss Fairfax’s beauty, her gentle goodness, her many accomplishments, he had been hearing of with growing interest for years. He had for some time wished to know this paragon, and on a few occasions he had been so fortunate as to meet her guardians, though unaccompanied by their ward; but he had been unable to further the acquaintance. The Churchills and Campbells did not travel in the same circles. Colonel Campbell’s friendships were mostly those formed during his years in the army, and Mrs. Churchill had a low opinion of military men—did not like them as a class. Men of no birth or breeding, she was wont to complain, were forever being passed off as gentlemen merely by means of a Colonel or Admiral affixed to their names; and she avoided such upstarts whenever possible. Still, Frank hoped he might sometime see Miss Fairfax at the theatre, or the opera, or another public place. But their paths never crossed; and she had remained until now but a dream, a vision to animate his idle moments. This first interview with the real Miss Fairfax had done nothing to dispel the ideal on which his mind had long dwelt. The deep grey eyes, with their dark lashes and brows—the delicate, clear skin—soft, well-modulated voice—graceful carriage—air and address—all were calculated, he felt, to inspire the strongest attachment. Why, he believed he was half in love with her already! Mr. Weston’s accounts had fostered in him but one small apprehension, that he might find her reserved; and reserve was a serious flaw indeed to a young man like Frank Churchill, whose own temper was naturally open and ardent. His father had often used the word ‘elegant’ to describe her. Elegant! What a cold, formal word, for such warm, such womanly beauty. Reserved! She was not in the least reserved; and her unreserve was the sweeter to him, because he imagined it (however fancifully) to spring from a feeling within her—a presentiment, perhaps, not unlike his own—that some mysterious working of fate had predestined them for one another. Such were Frank’s musings as he entered his uncle’s house, where he found Mrs. Churchill reclined on a damask sofa with her eyes closed, apparently asleep. Turning cautiously, he attempted to retreat without making any sound; but a floorboard creaked beneath his feet, and she called out sharply, "Frank! Is it you? Are you come back at last?" "I hope I did not wake you, ma’am." "I was not sleeping; I am too ill to sleep. What can have kept you out all this time? It seems hours since I sent that dawdler off to look for you." "I was only at the bookshop; but I would have returned sooner had I known you wanted me. I’m sorry to find you are feeling no better." "Hmmph. It was that footman’s fault, of course. He took his own time—no doubt stopping to dally with every pink-cheeked shop girl along the way. He is an idle, good-for-nothing fellow, like all of them. I would have sent Dobbs after you, but she was already gone out for me on another errand." "My dear aunt, I am sure he came as quickly as he could," Frank contradicted her gently. "After all, he had no way of knowing where to find me." "And you must remember, Frank, when you go out, to tell me where you are going—else how will anyone be able to find you if you are needed? Goodness knows I have tried never to let my ill-health interfere with your pleasures, any more than was necessary. But really, in my present state, there is no telling—. Besides, had I known you were going to the library, you might have brought me back something to read. There is little enough I can do to amuse myself in this condition." "If you wish, ma’am, I should be happy to step out again at once, and bring back whatever you like. I am at your disposal." Somewhat mollified, she replied, "Well, not just now. I really am not equal even to reading just now. But do sit by me, Frank, and talk to me. The sound of your voice is restful to me." "I have a volume of Shakespeare in my room. Shall I fetch it and read to you?" "Shakespeare? I don’t think—. Oh, very well. I don’t much care for Shakespeare, you know; but I suppose it makes little difference. Perhaps it may distract my mind a little." He expressed a fervent hope that she would find it so, and hurried off to retrieve the desired book from his bedchamber.
Jane and Helen returned home to find that visitors had called in their absence. A son of the late Major Devere, who for years had been an intimate friend of Colonel Campbell’s, had lately obtained the preferment of St. Alban’s Church in Weymouth, and now resided there along with his sister. Miss Devere had lived with her brother and managed his household ever since the Major’s death some five or six years earlier. Upon being informed of the Campbells’ visit to Weymouth, the Deveres lost no time in paying their respects to their father’s old friend, and were consequently seated in the parlour with the Colonel and his wife when Jane and Helen came back from the bookshop that morning. Stephen Devere was thirty, and handsome. Margaret Devere was two or three years older; and though by custom spinsters ought to be plain, and either foolish or ill-tempered, Miss Devere was even handsomer than her brother, and was, besides, good-humoured and rational. Jane had never seen the lady before, but Mr. Devere she had met once previously: just after taking orders, he had stopped briefly with the Campbells in London before making the journey northward to begin his curacy. He was then a sober young man of three-and-twenty; she a girl of fourteen, and shy of strangers. At that time, she had hardly looked at him at all, and had made but a slight impression on his mind. On this second meeting, however, she looked enough to find him a civil, quiet-spoken gentleman; and he was quite forcibly struck by her beauty. It happens Colonel Campbell had for many years harboured a little private hope that a match might someday be arranged between his daughter and Mr. Devere. Major Devere had been a valued friend, and Colonel Campbell held his son in high esteem. Such a marriage could not be thought of, however, until Stephen, a younger son with his fortune to make, should have some prospect beyond the meagre income of a curacy in a remote part of the country. Moreover, there had been no opportunity for the young people to form any sort of attachment; and before the Colonel’s favourite scheme could come to fruition, Helen had fallen in love with Edward Dixon. With few regrets (for Mr. Dixon was a man of solid merit, and, in a prudential light, by far the better match), the scheme had been given up. Observing Mr. Devere now, as he addressed a remark to Jane Fairfax, the Colonel noted a pleasing congruity between the handsomeness of the one, and the beauty of the other; and a new scheme, perhaps even surpassing the original, began to suggest itself to his mind. He could not but be aware that Jane’s only chance of escaping the life of toil and mortification which lay before her, was to marry. Now, the living of St. Alban’s, he had already learned from Mr. Devere, was a comfortable one; comfortable enough, certainly, for a young man to marry upon. And while the income it provided would perhaps be something less than Miss Campbell With Twelve Thousand Pounds might be considered entitled to, it would be great wealth, indeed, to Miss Fairfax With Nothing. Colonel Campbell, however, had no taste for matchmaking. He was neither so arrogant, nor so foolhardy, as to attempt to control the destiny of his fellow human beings. It was enough to have formed such a plan in his own head, and to know that present circumstances would afford every occasion for the gentleman and lady to come to an understanding—to the mutual happiness, he hoped, of both... © 2007 Joan Ellen Delman
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