The Fairchild Family
Page 39
Grandmamma Fairchild
"Will Lucy love me?" said the old lady]
After this very pleasant day at the park, and long before Lucy andEmily had left off talking about it, a note came from Miss Darwell, tosay that they were all going to the sea, for which she was sorry,because she wanted to see them all again.
Lucy answered the note, and said that she and Emily were also very,very sorry; and this they truly were. Several weeks then passed, andnothing particular happened, till a letter came from their grandmamma,saying that her grand-daughter was very ill, and much desired to seeher uncle. "Indeed," added the old lady, "I feel that I shall berequired to give up my Ellen also; but God does all things well."
The letter came at breakfast-time, and Mr. Fairchild resolved to setout as soon as he possibly could get ready. There was a great bustlefor the next hour, and then Mr. Fairchild took leave of his family, andwas driven by John to the town--he was to go on from thence by thecoach.
The children stood to see them off, and then walked back into thehouse. Their mother told them to take their needlework and sit down inthe parlour; and she gave Henry a book to read whilst she was busy inanother part of the house. It was a very hot day, the window was open,and all was still--even the children did not speak for some time; atlast Lucy said:
"I hope poor cousin Ellen will not die. What will grandmamma do if shedies?"
"If she did not live so far off," said Emily, "perhaps we might comforther."
"I never remember seeing her but twice," said Lucy, "and you never sawher, Henry."
They went on talking about their grandmother till Mrs. Fairchild camein and sat down with them, and they still went on with the subject,asking her many questions, especially wherefore their grandmother hadcome so seldom to see them, and why they had not been asked to see her.From one thing to another they went on till they heard a much moreregular account of the history of their family than they had ever heardbefore.
"When I first knew your father's family, my dears," said Mrs.Fairchild, "your grandmother was living in Reading with two sons: theelder brother soon afterwards went to the East Indies, where he marriedand had several children. Your father was intended to have been aclergyman, but before he could be ordained he was attacked with anillness, which finished with such a weakness in the chest, that he knewhe could never read the Service without danger. We had enough to liveon, and we settled here, and here you were all born."
"Yes," said Lucy, "and we love this dear place. We shall never likeanother so well; it would grieve me to leave it."
"We must take things as they come," said Mrs. Fairchild, going on withher history. "Your uncle was abroad several years, and was enabled tomake a very good fortune. Whilst you were a very little baby, Lucy, hereturned to England, and then purchased that place where yourgrandmamma now lives, a place known by the name of The Grove, betweenReading and London, on the banks of the Thames. His wife had diedabroad, and several children also in infancy. He brought with him twolittle girls, of five and six years of age, Emily and Ellen; and theywere lovely little creatures then," said Mrs. Fairchild; "their verypaleness making them only look the more lovely. When I saw that sweetlittle Emily, I resolved, that if ever I had another girl, it should bean Emily.
"My nieces lost their father only one year after they came to England,and then their grandmother settled herself quite down to give all herattention to them; and truly, from the extreme delicacy of theirhealth, they needed all the care that she could give them. From thevery earliest period of their lives they were invariably gentle,humble, and attentive to the comfort of every person who came near tothem."
"Were not they like Miss Darwell?" said Henry, who had dropped hisbook, and was listening with all his attention.
"I think they were, Henry," replied Mrs. Fairchild; "and their outwardcircumstances were much alike--they were, like her, the daughters of arich man, and brought up very tenderly. It was about four years since,"she continued, "that your lovely cousin Emily died of a rapid decline.A little before her death, seeing her sister weeping bitterly, shesaid, 'Do not cry, gentle sister, we shall not be parted long.' Ellennever forgot those words, though it was not till some time afterwardsthat she reminded your grandmamma of them."
"And do you think she will now die, mamma, and go to her Emily?" saidLucy.
"I cannot say," replied Mrs. Fairchild; "but she has certainly beengradually falling off ever since she lost her sister."
Mr. Fairchild wrote every day; his accounts from the first were bad;they became worse and worse as to the hopes respecting the poor younglady, and her grandmother's anxiety. At last a letter came to say thatshe was dead, but had died in great peace.
The children cried very much, but more for their grandmother than fortheir cousin; for they had not a doubt that she was happy. Then, too,Lucy and Emily began to think how they could make up the loss to theold lady, if she would but come and live with them; and then they beganto plan what rooms she could have, and were a little puzzled becausethe house was very small; yet Lucy said she thought it might becontrived.
The next letter from Mr. Fairchild said that he had persuaded hismother to leave The Grove for a few weeks; and that she was to set outthe next day with her maid, whilst he remained to settle everything.
The old lady was expected to come the day after the next, as she wouldsleep on the road; and there was much to be done to get everythingready, and to see after mourning.
Lucy and Emily had many plans for comforting their grandmother; and asthe old lady was used to be wheeled about in a Bath-chair, John wassent to the Park to borrow one which had belonged to Sir CharlesNoble's mother.
The elder Mrs. Fairchild was old, and had long been affected bylameness, which prevented her from walking with ease; and this herdaughter-in-law knew. There was nothing she would not have done to makeher comfortable. Henry cheerfully gave up his room for the maid, andhad a little bed put up for him in the play-room. He had settled thathe was to be his grandmother's horse as soon as he saw the Bath-chair.
The children had not known much of their cousins; they had been attheir grandmother's only once since they could remember, for the verybad health of their cousins had prevented their going with their fatherwhen he went to see his mother; they could not therefore feel for theircousins as if they had known them well, but they thought very much oftheir grandmother's loss.
Mrs. Fairchild had settled that the old lady was to have the use oftheir little drawing-room, and no one but herself was to go to her inthat room unless she wished it; and she told the children they mustexpect her to be very sad indeed till after the funeral, and that theymust be very quiet, and not come in her sight unless she desired it.
She was not expected until the evening of the third day after they hadheard she was coming; and then Henry went up to the top of the roundhill to watch for the carriage, and to be the first to give notice ofit.
It was not far from six o'clock when he first saw it coming down thehill towards the village, and he was not sure of it for some time; hethen ran in, and went up with Lucy and Emily to their window to waittill it came.
After a while they heard the sound of it; then they saw John go to thegate and set it open; then they drew back a little, not to be seen, andcame forward when the carriage stopped, but they did not see the oldlady get out. Mrs. Fairchild was below to receive her, and to lead herinto the house: but they saw the maid busy in seeing the things takenout of the carriage, and they heard her giving her orders. This maidwas not the same who had for years waited on the old lady, but one whohad taken the place whilst the old waiting-maid stayed behind to takecare of the house. This new maid called herself Miss Tilney: hermistress called her Jane, but no one else took that liberty. She wasdressed as smartly as she could be in deep mourning; and she gaveorders in such a sharp tone that the children could hear every word shesaid.
She called Betty "young woman," and bade her carry up some of theparcels to her lady's room. She asked John his name; and told thep
ostboy he was not worth his salt.
"Well," said Henry, "there will be no need for my making a noise todisturb grandmamma; that woman would make enough for us all."
"That woman!" cried Emily; "don't speak so loud, she will hear you."
In a few minutes the boxes were all removed, and the carriage drivenaway; and then the children heard the maid's voice talking to Betty inthe next room, which was the only spare room in the house. They heardher say, "Well, to be sure, but our rooms at The Grove are so large,that one is not used to such bandboxes as these."
"I am sure," said Henry, "the room is good enough for her:" and he wasgoing to say more, when his sisters stopped him, and begged him not tolisten. "I don't listen," he answered; "I hear without listening."
They were interrupted by Mrs. Fairchild, who came to tell them thattheir grandmother had asked for them. Mrs. Fairchild walked first, andopened the drawing-room door; there they saw their grandmother. She wasa neat little old lady in black, exactly such as they fancied Mrs.Howard had been. She was seated, and looked very pale. At the sight ofthem she became paler than before; she held out her hands to them, andthey all three rushed into her arms.
"My children, my precious children!" said the old lady, kissing one andanother as they pressed forward.
"We will be your own grandchildren," said Lucy; "we will comfort youand read to you, and do everything for you. Do not be unhappy, deargrandmamma, we will all be your own children."
The old lady was scarcely able to speak, but she murmured to herself:
"Yes, my God is good, I am not left without comfort."
"Stand back, my dears," said Mrs. Fairchild, "and let your grandmammalook at you quietly--you overpower her."
They drew back. The old lady wiped away a tear or two which dimmed hersight, and then, with a gentle smile, she looked first at Lucy.
"She has the oval face and gentle look so dear to me," said the oldlady; "this is Lucy. Will Lucy love me?"
The little girl, being thus called upon, fell again on grandmamma'sneck, and quite sobbed with feeling; she soon, however, recoveredherself, and pointing to her sister:
"This is Emily, grandmamma," she said.
"Another Emily!" replied the old lady, "I am rich indeed!" and, fixingher eyes on the younger little girl, "I could almost think I had mychild again. Daughter," she added, speaking to Mrs. Fairchild, "do myeyes deceive me? Is there not a likeness? But your little girls aresuch exactly as I fondly wished them to be. And this is Henry, ouryoungest one;" and she took his hand in hers, and said, "Did you expectto see grandmamma looking so very old, my little man?"
"No, ma'am," replied Henry, "not quite so old;" and the little boy madea bow, thinking how very civil he ought to be to his own father'smother.
"He does not mean to be rude, ma'am," said Lucy.
"I see it, my dear," replied the old lady, smiling. "Do not, I prayyou, say anything to destroy his honesty--the world will soon enoughteach him to use deception."
Henry did not understand all this, but fearing, perhaps, to lose hisplace as grandmamma's horse, he took the occasion to ask if he mightnot be her horse.
"What is it, my child?" said the old lady.
"May I be your horse, ma'am?" he said.
"My horse?" repeated the old lady, looking for an explanation fromLucy; and when she had got it, she made him quite happy by assuring himthat no horse could please her better.
She did not drink tea that evening with the family, and went very earlyto bed; but having seen them all that evening, she was ready to meetthem more calmly in the morning, and quite prepared to rejoice in theblessing of having such grandchildren to make up her losses.