The Vicissitudes of Bessie Fairfax | Page 3

least tincture of
modern accomplishments. Still, the doctor's wife did not forget that her
dear drudge and helpful right hand was a waif of old gentry, whose
restoration the chapter of accidents might bring about any day. Nor did
she suffer Bessie to forget it, though Bessie was mighty indifferent, and
cared as little for her gentle kindred as they cared for her. And if these
gentle kindred had increased and multiplied according to the common
lot, Bessie would probably never have been remembered by them to
any purpose; she might have married as Mr. Carnegie's daughter, and
have led an obscure, happy life, without vicissitude to the end of it, and
have died leaving no story to tell.
But many things had happened at Abbotsmead since the love-match of
Geoffry Fairfax and Elizabeth Bulmer. When Geoffry married, his
brothers were both single men. The elder, Frederick, took to himself
soon after a wife of rank and fortune; but there was no living issue of
the marriage; and the lady, after a few years of eccentricity, went
abroad for her health--that is, her husband was obliged to place her
under restraint. Her malady was pronounced incurable, though her life

might be prolonged. The second son, Laurence, had distinguished
himself at Oxford, and had become a knight-errant of the Society of
Antiquaries. His father said he would traverse a continent to look at one
old stone. He was hardly persuaded to relinquish his liberty and choose
a wife, when the failure of heirs to Frederick disconcerted the squire's
expectations, and, with the proverbial ill-luck of learned men, he chose
badly. His wife, from a silly, pretty shrew, matured into a most bitter
scold; and a blessed man was he, when, after three years of tribulation,
her temper and a strong fever carried her off. His Xantippe left no child.
Mr. Fairfax urged the obligations of ancient blood, old estate, and a
second marriage; but Laurence had suffered conjugal felicity enough,
and would no more of it. It was now that the squire first bethought
himself seriously of his son Geoffry's daughter. He proposed to bring
her home to Abbotsmead, and to marry her in due time to some poor
young gentleman of good family, who would take her name, and give
the house of Fairfax a new lease, as had been done thrice before in its
long descent, by means of an heiress. The poor young man who might
be so obliging was even named. Frederick and Laurence gave consent
to whatever promised to mitigate their father's disappointment in
themselves, and the business was put into the hands of their man of law,
John Short of Norminster, than whom no man in that venerable city
was more respected for sagacity and integrity.
If Mr. Fairfax had listened to John Short in times past, he would not
have needed his help now. John Short had urged the propriety of
recalling Bessie from Beechhurst when her father died; but no good
grandmother or wise aunt survived at Kirkham to insist upon it, and the
thing was not done. The man of law did not, however, revert to what
was past remedy, but gave his mind to considering how his client might
be extricated from his existing dilemma with least pain and offence. Mr.
Fairfax had a legal right to the custody of his young kinswoman, but he
had not the conscience to plead his legal right against the long-allowed
use and custom of her friends. If they were reluctant to let her go, and
she were reluctant to come, what then? John Short confessed that Mr.
Carnegie and Bessie herself might give them trouble if they were so
disposed; but he had a reasonable expectation that they would view the
matter through the medium of common sense.

Thus much by way of prelude to the story of Bessie Fairfax's
Vicissitudes, which date from this momentous era of her life.
CHAPTER II.
_THE LAWYER'S LETTER._
"The postman! Run, Jack, and bring the letter."
The letter, said Mr. Carnegie; for the correspondence between the
doctor's house and the world outside it was limited. Jack jumped off his
chair at the breakfast-table and rushed to do his father's bidding.
"For mother!" cried he, returning at the speed of a small whirlwind, the
epistle held aloft. Down he clapped it on the table by her plate,
mounted into his chair again, and resumed the interrupted business of
the hour.
Mrs. Carnegie glanced aside at the letter, read the post-mark, and
reflected aloud: "Norminster--who can be writing to us from
Norminster? Some of Bessie's people?"
"The shortest way would be to open the letter and see. Hand it over to
me," said the doctor.
Bessie pricked her ears; but Mr. Carnegie read the letter to himself,
while his wife was