Little Lord Fauntleroy

by Burnett, Frances Hodgson;

  But no one knew quite how much it had been warmed, and how day by day the old man found himself caring more and more for the child, who was the only creature that had ever trusted him. He found himself looking forward to the time when Cedric would be a young man, strong and beautiful, with life all before him, but having still that kind heart and the power to make friends everywhere; and the Earl wondered what the lad would do, and how he would use his gifts. Often as he watched the little fellow lying upon the hearth, conning some big book, the light shining on the bright young head, his old eyes would gleam and his cheek would flush.

  “The boy can do anything,” he would say to himself, “anything!”

  He never spoke to anyone else of his feeling for Cedric; when he spoke of him to others it was always with the same grim smile. But Fauntleroy soon knew that his grandfather loved him and always liked him to be near—near to his chair if they were in the library, opposite to him at table or by his side when he rode or drove or took his evening walk on the broad terrace.

  “Do you remember,” Cedric said once, looking up from his book as he lay on the rug, “do you remember what I said to you that first night about our being good companions? I don’t think any people could be better friends than we are, do you?”

  “We are pretty good companions, I should say,” replied his lordship. “Come here.”

  Fauntleroy scrambled up and went to him.

  “Is there anything you want?” the Earl asked. “Anything you have not?”

  The little fellow’s brown eyes fixed themselves on his grandfather with a rather wistful look.

  “Only one thing,” he answered.

  “What is that?” inquired the Earl.

  Fauntleroy was silent a second. He had not thought matters over to himself so long for nothing.

  “What is it?” my lord repeated.

  Fauntleroy answered.

  “It is Dearest,” he said.

  The old Earl winced a little.

  “But you see her almost every day,” he said. “Is not that enough?”

  “I used to see her all the time,” said Fauntleroy. “She used to kiss me when I went to sleep at night, and in the morning she was always there, and we could tell each other things without waiting.”

  The old eyes and the young ones looked into each other through a moment of silence. Then the Earl knitted his brows.

  “Do you never forget about your mother?” he said.

  “No,” answered Fauntleroy, “never; and she never forgets about me. I shouldn’t forget about you you know, if I didn’t live with you. I should think about you all the more.”

  “Upon my word,” said the Earl, after looking at him a moment longer, “I believe you would!”

  The jealous pang that came when the boy spoke so of his mother seemed even stronger than it had been before—it was stronger because of this old man’s increasing affection for the boy.

  But it was not long before he had other pangs, so much harder to face that he almost forgot, for the time, he had ever hated his son’s wife at all. And in a strange and startling way it happened. One evening, just before the Earl’s Court cottages were completed, there was a grand dinner party at Dorincourt. There had not been such a party at the Castle for a long time. A few days before it took place, Sir Harry Lorridaile and Lady Lorridaile, who was the Earl’s only sister, actually came for a visit—a thing which caused the greatest excitement in the village and set Mrs. Dibble’s shop-bell tinkling madly again, because it was well known that Lady Lorridaile had only been to Dorincourt once since her marriage, thirty-five years before. She was a handsome old lady with white curls and dimpled, peachy cheeks, and she was as good as gold, but she had never approved of her brother any more than did the rest of the world, and having a strong will of her own and not being at all afraid to speak her mind frankly, she had, after several lively quarrels with his lordship, seen very little of him since her young days.

  She had heard a great deal of him that was not pleasant through the years in which they had been separated. She had heard about his neglect of his wife, and of the poor lady’s death; and of his indifference to his children; and of the two weak, vicious, unprepossessing elder boys who had been no credit to him or to anyone else. Those two elder sons, Bevis and Maurice, she had never seen; but once there had come to Lorridaile Park a tall, stalwart, beautiful young fellow about eighteen years old who had told her that he was her nephew Cedric Errol, and that he had come to see her because he was passing near the place and wished to look at his Aunt Constantia, of whom he had heard his mother speak. Lady Lorridaile’s kind heart had warmed through and through at the sight of the young man, and she had made him stay with her a week, and petted him and made much of him and admired him immensely. He was so sweet-tempered, light-hearted, spirited a lad, that when he went away she had hoped to see him often again; but she never did, because the Earl had been in a bad humor when he went back to Dorincourt, and had forbidden him ever to go to Lorridaile Park again. But Lady Lorridaile had always remembered him tenderly, and though she feared he had made a rash marriage in America, she had been very angry when she heard how he had been cast off by his father and that no one really knew where or how he lived. At last there came a rumor of his death, and then Bevis had been thrown from his horse and killed, and Maurice had died in Rome of the fever; and soon after came the story of the American child who was to be found and brought home as Lord Fauntleroy.

  “Probably to be ruined as the others were,” she said to her husband, “unless his mother is good enough and has a will of her own to help her to take care of him.”

  But when she heard that Cedric’s mother had been parted from him she was almost too indignant for words.

  “It is disgraceful, Harry!” she said. “Fancy a child of that age being taken from his mother, and made the companion of a man like my brother! He will either be brutal to the boy or indulge him until he is a little monster. If I thought it would do any good to write—”

  “It wouldn’t, Constantia,” said Sir Harry.

  “I know it wouldn’t,” she answered. “I know his lordship the Earl of Dorincourt too well;—but it is outrageous.”

  Not only the poor people and farmers heard about little Lord Fauntleroy; others knew of him. He was talked about so much and there were so many stories of him—of his beauty, his sweet temper, his popularity, and his growing influence over the Earl his grandfather—that rumors of him reached the gentry at their country places and he was heard of in more than one county of England. People talked about him at the dinner tables, ladies pitied his young mother, and wondered if the boy were as handsome as he was said to be, and men who knew the Earl and his habits laughed heartily at the stories of the little fellow’s belief in his lordship’s amiability. Sir Thomas Asshe of Asshaine Hall, being in Erlesboro one day, met the Earl and his grandson riding together, and stopped to shake hands with my lord and congratulate him on his change of looks and on his recovery from the gout. “And, d’ye know,” he said, when he spoke of the incident afterwards, “the old man looked as proud as a turkey-cock; and upon my word I don’t wonder, for a handsomer, finer lad than his grandson I never saw! As straight as a dart, and sat his pony like a young trooper!”

  And so by degrees Lady Lorridaile, too, heard of the child; she heard about Higgins, and the lame boy, and the cottages at Earl’s Court, and a score of other things—and she began to wish to see the little fellow. And just as she was wondering how it might be brought about, to her utter astonishments she received a letter from her brother inviting her to come with her husband to Dorincourt.

  “It seems incredible!” she exclaimed. “I have heard it said that the child has worked miracles, and I begin to believe it. They say my brother adores the boy and can scarcely endure to have him out of sight. And he is so proud of him! Actually I believe he wants to show him to us.” And she accepted the invitation at once.

  When she reached Dorincourt Castle with Sir Harry, it was late in t
he afternoon, and she went to her room at once before seeing her brother. Having dressed for dinner she entered the drawing-room. The Earl was there standing near the fire and looking very tall and imposing; and at his side stood a little boy in black velvet, and a large Vandyke collar of rich lace—a little fellow whose round bright face was so handsome, and who turned upon her such beautiful, candid brown eyes, that she almost uttered an exclamation of pleasure and surprise at the sight.

  As she shook hands with the Earl, she called him by the name she had not used since her girlhood.

  “What, Molyneux,” she said, “is this the child?”

  “Yes, Constantia,” answered the Earl, “this is the boy. Fauntleroy, this is your grand-aunt, Lady Constantia Lorridaile.”

  “How do you do, grand-aunt?” said Fauntleroy.

  Lady Lorridaile put her hand on his shoulder, and after looking down into his upraised face a few seconds, kissed him warmly.

  “I am your Aunt Constantia,” she said, “and I loved your poor papa, and you are very like him.”

  “It makes me glad when I am told I am like him,” answered Fauntleroy, “because it seems as if everyone liked him—just like Dearest, eszackly—Aunt Constantia” (adding the two words after a second’s pause).

  Lady Lorridaile was delighted. She bent and kissed him again, and from that moment they were warm friends.

  “Well, Molyneux,” she said aside to the Earl afterwards, “it could not possibly be better than this!”

  “I think not,” answered his lordship dryly. “He is a fine little fellow. We are great friends. He believes me to be the most charming and sweet-tempered of philanthropists. I will confess to you, Constantia—as you would find it out if I did not—that I am in some slight danger of becoming rather an old fool about him.”

  “What does his mother think of you?” asked Lady Lorridaile, with her usual straightforwardness.

  “I have not asked her,” answered the Earl, slightly scowling.

  “Well,” said Lady Lorridaile, “I will be frank with you at the outset, Molyneux, and tell you I don’t approve of your course, and that it is my intention to call on Mrs. Errol as soon as possible; so if you wish to quarrel with me you had better mention it at once. What I hear of the young creature makes me quite sure that her child owes her everything. We were told even at Lorridaile Park that your poorer tenants adore her already.”

  “They adore him,” said the Earl, nodding towards Fauntleroy. “As to Mrs. Errol, you’ll find her a pretty little woman. I’m rather in debt to her for giving some of her beauty to the boy, and you can go to see her if you like. All I ask is that she will remain at Court Lodge and that you will not ask me to go and see her,” and he scowled a little again.

  “But he doesn’t hate her as much as he used to, that is plain enough to me,” her ladyship said to Sir Harry afterwards. “And he is a changed man in a measure, and, incredible as it may seem, Harry, it is my opinion that he is being made into a human being, through nothing more nor less than his affection for that innocent, affectionate little fellow. Why, the child actually loves him—leans on his chair and against his knees. His own children would as soon have thought of nestling up to a tiger.”

  The very next day she went to call upon Mrs. Errol. When she returned she said to her brother:

  “Molyneux, she is the loveliest little woman I ever saw! She has a voice like a silver bell, and you may thank her for making the boy what he is. She has given him more than her beauty, and you make a great mistake in not persuading her to come and take charge of you. I shall invite her to Lorridaile.”

  “She’ll not leave the boy,” replied the Earl.

  “I must have the boy too,” said Lady Lorridaile, laughing.

  But she knew Fauntleroy would not be given up to her, and each day she saw more clearly how closely those two had grown to each other, and how all the proud, grim old man’s ambition and hope and love centered themselves in the child, and how the warm, innocent nature returned his affection with most perfect trust and faith.

  She knew too that the prime reason for the great dinner party was the Earl’s secret desire to show the world his grandson and heir; and to let people see that the boy who had been so much spoken of and described was even a finer little specimen of boyhood than rumor had made him.

  “Bevis and Maurice were such a bitter humiliation to him,” she said to her husband. “Everyone knew it. He actually hated them. His pride has full sway here.” Perhaps there was not one person who accepted the invitation without feeling some curiosity about little Lord Fauntleroy, and wondering if he would be on view.

  And when the time came he was on view.

  “The lad has good manners,” said the Earl. “He will be in no one’s way. Children are usually idiots or bores—mine were both—but he can actually answer when he’s spoken to, and be silent when he is not. He is never offensive.”

  But he was not allowed to be silent very long. Everyone had something to say to him. The fact was they wished to make him talk. The ladies petted him and asked him questions and the men asked him questions too, and joked with him, as the men on the steamer had done when he crossed the Atlantic. Fauntleroy did not quite understand why they laughed so sometimes when he answered them, but he was so used to seeing people amused when he was quite serious, that he did not mind. He thought the whole evening delightful. The magnificent rooms were so brilliant with lights, there were so many flowers, the gentlemen seemed so gay, and the ladies wore such beautiful, wonderful dresses, and such sparkling ornaments in their hair and on their necks. There was one young lady who, he heard them say, had just come down from London, where she had spent the “season”; and she was so charming that he could not keep his eyes from her. She was a rather tall young lady with a proud little head, and very soft dark hair, and large eyes the color of purple pansies, and the color on her cheeks and lips was like that of a rose. She was dressed in a beautiful white dress, and had pearls around her throat. There was one strange thing about this young lady. So many gentlemen stood near her, and seemed anxious to please her, that Fauntleroy thought she must be something like a princess. He was so much interested in her that without knowing it he drew nearer and nearer to her and at last she turned and spoke to him.

  “Come here, Lord Fauntleroy,” she said, smiling; “and tell me why you look at me so.”

  “I was thinking how beautiful you are,” his young lordship replied.

  Then all the gentlemen laughed outright, and the young lady laughed a little too, and the rose color in her cheeks brightened.

  “Ah, Fauntleroy,” said one of the gentlemen who had laughed most heartily, “make the most of your time! When you are older you will not have the courage to say that.”

  “But nobody could help saying it,” said Fauntleroy sweetly. “Could you help it? Don’t you think she is pretty, too?”

  “We are not allowed to say what we think,” said the gentleman, while the rest laughed more than ever.

  But the beautiful young lady—her name was Miss Vivian Herbert—put out her hand and drew Cedric to her side, looking prettier than before, if possible.

  “Lord Fauntleroy shall say what he thinks,” she said; “and I am much obliged to him. I am sure he thinks what he says.” And she kissed him on his cheek.

  “I think you are prettier than anyone I ever saw,” said Fauntleroy, looking at her with innocent, admiring eyes, “except Dearest. Of course, I couldn’t think anyone quite as pretty as Dearest. I think she is the prettiest person in the world.”

  “I am sure she is,” said Miss Vivian Herbert. And she laughed and kissed his cheek again.

  She kept him by her side a great part of the evening, and the group of which they were the center was very gay. He did not know how it happened, but before long he was telling them all about America, and the Republican rally, and Mr. Hobbs and Dick, and in the end he proudly produced from his pocket Dick’s parting gift—the red silk handkerchief.

  “I put
it in my pocket tonight because it was a party,” he said. “I thought Dick would like me to wear it at a party.”

  And queer as the big, flaming, spotted thing was, there was a serious, affectionate look in his eyes, which prevented his audience from laughing very much.

  “You see I like it,” he said, “because Dick is my friend.”

  But though he was talked to so much, as the Earl had said, he was in no one’s way. He could be quiet and listen when others talked, and so no one found him tiresome. A slight smile crossed more than one face when several times he went and stood near his grandfather’s chair, or sat on a stool close to him, watching him and absorbing every word he uttered with the most charmed interest. Once he stood so near the chair’s arm that his cheek touched the Earl’s shoulder, and his lordship, detecting the general smile, smiled a little himself. He knew what the lookers-on were thinking, and he felt some secret amusement in their seeing what good friends he was to this youngster, who might have been expected to share the popular opinion of him.

  Mr. Havisham had been expected to arrive in the afternoon, but, strange to say, he was late. Such a thing had really never been known to happen before during all the years in which he had been a visitor at Dorincourt Castle. He was so late that the guests were on the point of rising to go in to dinner when he arrived. When he approached his host, the Earl regarded him with amazement. He looked as if he had been hurried or agitated; his dry, keen old face was actually pale.

  “I was detained,” he said, in a low voice to the Earl, “by—an extraordinary event.”

  It was as unlike the methodic old lawyer to be agitated by anything as it was to be late, but it was evident that he had been disturbed. At dinner he ate scarcely anything, and two or three times, when he was spoken to, he started as if his thoughts were far away. At dessert, when Fauntleroy came in, he looked at him more than once, nervously and uneasily. Fauntleroy noted the look and wondered at it. He and Mr. Havisham were on friendly terms, and they usually exchanged smiles.