CHAPTER XIX
A BEAUTIFUL BIRTHDAY
Miser Farebrother did not keep his promise of taking tea with Phœbe and her friends – he had matter more serious to occupy him – but to some extent he made atonement for it. He sent for Phœbe, and told her that he did not feel equal to the excitement, but that, before the evening was over, he would welcome Mr. and Mrs. Lethbridge and her cousins to Parksides. This, to Phœbe, was almost as good as the keeping of his promise; he spoke in a feeble voice, as though he was ill, and his unexpected kindness and consideration touched her. She put her hand timidly upon his shoulder, moved thereto by sweet pity for his condition, and he did not repulse her; she was even bold enough to lower her face to his and kiss him more than once, and he bore it contentedly. A new feeling stirred her heart, new hopes were born within her. That this unexpected change in her father's bearing toward her should take place on her birthday was a happy omen, and she was deeply grateful for it. From this time forth her home life would bring her joy instead of sorrow. She went from her father's room with a light step, ready to burst forth into song.
The feeble voice in which Miser Farebrother had spoken to Phœbe was assumed; his weakness was assumed; all the time she was with him he was watching her keenly and warily. He had never thought of her but as a child; the idea of her marrying had never entered his head; but now that it was presented to him he seized upon it and turned it about to the light. The only friends his daughter had were the Lethbridges; they had a son, who doubtless would be only too ready to snap at such a bait as Phœbe. For her sake? – because he loved her? – not at all. Because her father was supposed to be rich; because of the money he would calculate upon getting with her. And thereafter there would ever and eternally be but one cry – money, money, money! All their arts, all their endeavours, their only object, would be to bleed his money-bags bare. "No, no, Mr. Lethbridge," thought Miser Farebrother, "not a penny shall ever pass from my pockets to yours." But the danger might not present itself through the Lethbridges. Phœbe might fall in love with a spendthrift or a cunning rogue. That would be as bad – worse, perhaps. Despite his aversion to the Lethbridges, his experience of them had taught him that they were proud, and that in the event of Phœbe marrying into their family there would be a chance of respite for him after a time, a chance that they would make up their minds to submit to poverty, and trouble him no more. With a spendthrift it would be different. There would be no peace for him; the appeals for money would be incessant; he would be torn to pieces with worry. Then came the cunning rogue on to the scene, in the shape which was most objectionable to Miser Farebrother, in that of a scheming lawyer. There was more to fear from that than from any other aspect of the subject. Miser Farebrother knew the power of the law when he invoked it on his side – which he never did without being prepared with stamped deeds and witnessed signatures – but he knew also the power of the law if, in certain cases which he could call to mind, it were invoked against him. Plaintiff and defendant were different things, had different chances. He himself never prosecuted without weighing the minutest chance, without being absolutely certain that he was standing on sure legal ground. He had submitted to losses rather than run a risk. There was one instance in which a disreputable, out-at-elbows, dissipated lawyer had defied him to his teeth – had unblushingly defrauded him by threatening exposure. Miser Farebrother, knowing that certain transactions in which he was principal would not bear the light, had submitted to be robbed rather than be dragged into the witness-box and cross-examined. Such inquiries often commence tamely, but there is no saying where they lead to; a man's smallest peccadilloes are shamelessly dragged forth, his very soul is turned inside out. Then there are judges who, the moment a money-lending case comes before them, set to work on the debtor's side to defraud the creditor. Miser Farebrother, therefore, was wise in his generation in the tactics he pursued. Some low-minded scheming limb of the law might pay court to Phœbe, with but one end in view. The thought of it sent a shiver through his nerves.
His reflections were not agreeable, but he had a large amount of common-sense, and he knew they might be serviceable. He was not displeased with Mrs. Pamflett for suggesting them. She was a useful woman; truly, as he had said, he would not have known what to do without her. She had made the same admission on her side; that was honest of her. There were conditions of life which a sensible man must accept and make the best of, and his was one. Not being able to purchase a new set of bones and nerves, he felt that to a great extent he was at the mercy of Mrs. Pamflett and Jeremiah. As difficult to replace the loss of Jeremiah in his London office as to replace the loss of Mrs. Pamflett in his house at Parksides. It was a wretched state of things, but it must be borne, and as much profit as possible made out of it. "Phœbe had only herself to blame," he thought, with monstrous mental distortion. "If she had been a boy instead of a girl, it would all have been different."
There was no mistaking the meaning of Mrs. Pamflett's references to her son. Well, Phœbe might do worse; and if, as Mrs. Pamflett had said, he could so bind Jeremiah to him as to make him an absolute slave to his interests, such a marriage might be altogether the best thing that could happen. It would be an additional protection to Miser Farebrother's money-bags. "I will bind him tight," thought the miser – "tight! Clever lad, Jeremiah; but I shall be a match for him."
Not a thought of his daughter's happiness; she would have to do as he ordered. Thus, in the secrecy of Miser Farebrother's room, the web was forming in which Phœbe was to be entangled and her happiness wrecked.
Outside this room everything was bright. Phœbe had told Aunt and Uncle Leth of her father's goodness, and they, simple-minded and guileless as herself, rejoiced with her. "Upon my word," said Uncle Leth, "it almost makes my dream true." Phœbe moved about, singing, smiling, laughing to herself now and then, and scattering flowers of gladness all around her. "I never saw our dear Phœbe so bright," said Aunt Leth. "Our visit to Parksides is a most beautiful surprise, quite different from what I expected."
It was not the only surprise; there was another, even more subtly sweet to Phœbe. This was the appearance of Fred Cornwall, who, finding no bell at the gates by which he could announce his arrival, walked boldly through, and suddenly presented himself. They were all outside the house, awaiting Mrs. Pamflett's summons to tea.
"Why," exclaimed the arch-conspirator Fanny, calling astonishment into her features, "if there isn't Mr. Cornwall coming up the walk! Who would have thought it? and how ever did he find us out?"
Phœbe turned toward the young man, blushing, and with a palpitating heart.
"I hope you will pardon the liberty I have taken," said he; "but as it is your birthday I thought I might venture."
"How did you know?" asked Phœbe, her hand in his.
"A little bird told me," was his reply. "How do you do, Aunt Leth? How do you do, Miss Fanny?"
He exchanged pleasant words of greeting with his friends and looked very handsome, and by no means ill at ease, though an uninvited guest. Well dressed, well mannered, a gentleman every inch of him.
At the door of the house, unseen by anyone of the happy group, Mrs. Pamflett appeared. She saw the meeting, and noted Phœbe's blushing face. She partly closed the door, and, retreating a step, stood there, watching and debating within herself.
Fred Cornwall held in his hand a bunch of flowers, very choice specimens, loosely tied, and arranged with charming grace. Not in the shape of a regulation bouquet, but infinitely more beautiful in their apparently careless form. He offered them to Phœbe, and she accepted them. Mrs. Pamflett set her thin white lips close.
Then the young gentleman presented, as birthday gifts, the presents he had bought for Phœbe on his Continental trip, accompanying them with heart-felt wishes. Phœbe, trembling, thrilling, was in the seventh heaven of joy.
When, however, she recovered her self-possession, she felt herself in a difficulty. Would her father be angry? Aunt Leth, seeing the light shadow on her face, moved aside with her.
"You are thinking of your father, Phœbe?" she said.
"Yes, aunt."
"You would like Mr. Cornwall to stop to tea?" Enlightened by Fanny's confession in the early part of the day, she regarded Mr. Cornwall and her niece as lovers, and her sympathies were already enlisted on their side.
"Yes, aunt," replied Phœbe. "But it is a little awkward, is it not? What shall I do?"
"Go and ask your father," said Aunt Leth. "Say that Mr. Cornwall is a friend of ours, and that you have often met him at our house. Go at once; Mr. Cornwall need not know; I will keep him engaged while you are away."
Phœbe nodded, and started for the house. Mrs. Pamflett, seeing her coming, beat a retreat, not desiring to meet the young girl just at that moment.
"Father," said Phœbe, "I am in a difficulty. I hope you will not mind."
"Not at all," said Miser Farebrother. She had never heard him speak in a voice so kind and gentle.
"A friend of Aunt Leth's has just arrived, and has brought me these." She showed him the flowers and the presents, and he pretended to take interest in them. "He has been on the Continent, father; and he purchased presents for all of us."
"Very generous, very generous," said Miser Farebrother. "Did you invite him here?"
"No, father; I would not have dared without asking your consent. I can't make out how he found his way here, and how he knew it was my birthday. I did not tell him."
"Perhaps your aunt did."
"I think not, father."
"What is your difficulty, Phœbe?"
"I should like to ask him to stop to tea, if you have no objection."
"You may ask him," said Miser Farebrother. He had a direct motive in giving his consent so readily. The nature of his late reflections had inspired an interest in all Phœbe's acquaintances, and he wished to see this friend of her aunt's.
"Oh, father, how can I thank you?"
"By obeying me, Phœbe."
"Yes, father; I will."
"I hope you will keep your word. What is the name of this new friend?"
"Not new, father – old."
"New to me. What is his name?"
"Mr. Cornwall. He is a gentleman, father."
"Young?"
"Yes, father."
"What is he besides being a gentleman?"
"He is a barrister."
"A lawyer? Ah! A clever one?"
"They say so, father."
"Ah! Is he a great friend of your aunt's?"
"A very great friend, father. They think the world of him."
He nodded, and dismissed her, and then gave himself up again to contemplation of the incident in connection with what had preceded it. He, as well as Mrs. Pamflett, had noted his daughter's blushes, her eagerness, her excitement of delight, and he placed his own construction upon her manner. It seemed to him as if he had been drawn into some game which it was vitally necessary he should win. It was strange how things appeared to fit in with one another! He had been thinking of lawyers, and here was one in his house, an unmistakable intruder, with flowers and presents for Phœbe, the daughter of rich Miser Farebrother. A clever lawyer too, and a great friend of the Lethbridges, whom he hated from the bottom of his heart. Bold schemers they, and a bold ally this Mr. Cornwall, to presume to come, uninvited, to his house, regarding him, its owner, as a person of no importance, whose wishes it was unnecessary to consult! What had passed between this unwelcome guest and Phœbe? How far had they gone? and what was being hidden from him? He did not doubt now that the presence of the Lethbridges in Parksides on his daughter's birthday was part of a cunning plot, in which their lawyer friend was a principal actor. "They are all in a league against me," he thought; "but I shall be equal with them. If Phœbe disobeys me, she must take the consequences. I will wring a promise from her to-night before I go to bed."
"Mr. Cornwall," said Phœbe, when she rejoined her friends in the open, "will you stop and have a cup of tea with us."
"Would it be possible," he said, turning with smiles to Fanny, "for me to refuse?"
"How should I know?" said Fanny, tossing her head.
"It will be a great pleasure to me," said Fred Cornwall to Phœbe. "I almost feared that I should be looked upon as an intruder."
"Of course you did," said Fanny, making a face at him behind her cousin's back; "that is why you came."
"We can all go back to London together," said Aunt Leth.
"Yes," said Fanny, "and you can make love to me in the train."
"You must not mind her, Mr. Cornwall," said Aunt Leth; "her high spirits sometimes run away with her."
"I wish some nice young gentleman would," whispered Fanny to Phœbe. "Why doesn't a fairy godmother take me in hand?"
"Aunt," said Phœbe, aside, to Mrs. Lethbridge, "I think I was never quite so happy as I am to-day. You have no idea how kind papa has been to me."
Aunt Leth pressed Phœbe's arm affectionately, and at that moment Mrs. Pamflett appeared and said that tea was ready. She had delayed it till the last minute in the hope that Jeremiah would arrive, and she was vexed and disappointed at his absence. Outwardly, however, she was all graciousness, and she took especial pains to put on her most amiable manners.
"No girl ever had a more beautiful birthday," thought Phœbe, as they all trooped into the house.