Jim of Hellas, or In Durance Vile; The Troubling of Bethesda Pool

While these thoughts were passing through her mind, the Lady of the Inn sat, to all appearance, absorbed in her work, never dropping a stitch, never failing to count with the regularity of a self-respecting clock; and Nan Bradford watched her anxiously over the edge of her cooky.

Part II

"Miss Pool asks the pleasure of your company at a social dance, on Thursday evening, at seven o'clock.

"Yours truly,

"Bethesda Pool."

This was the bomb-shell that fell into every respectable household in the village two days after Nan Bradford's visit. Such a sensation had never been known since old man Pool rode a saw-horse across the common and into meeting the Sunday before he died; and, indeed, that was nothing to be compared to this. Bethesdy Pool! Bethesdy Pool give a party!! Well, what next? everybody wanted to know. Half-an-hour after the notes had been delivered by Iry Goodwin (who carried them round in a basket and handed them out as if they were death warrants), every woman in the village, with two exceptions, was in another house than her own.

"Have you got one?" "Have you?" "Let me see!" "Lemme see if 'tis like mine?" "Yes, they're all the same!" "Well, I do declare! don't you?" "Is the mile-ennion coming, or what, do you s'pose?" "A social dance! Bethesdy Pool, as hasn't set down to a table, nor yet asked a soul to set down to hers these fifteen years, – well of all! but so't is! You can't tell where to have some folks, even though you've had 'em all your life, as you may say!"

The general verdict was that the Pools were all "streaky," and Bethesda the most streakèd of any of them; and that most likely she was going clean out of her mind this time, and there would be an end of it.

However, the unanimity on this point was equalled by the determination of everybody, old and young, rich and poor, to go to the party. In fact, it seemed probable that every house in the village would be deserted on the eventful evening; for not a soul was willing to lose the sight of a party in the old Inn.

Report said, as the day came nearer and nearer, that great preparations were going on. Every woman who had any skill in cookery had offered her services eagerly, hoping to have some share in the great doings; Mrs. Fullby had "presumed likely" that Bethesda would have more'n she could manage with her own two hands, and had assured her that she, Mrs. Fullby, would jis lives's not bring her apurn and eggbeater and put right in on the cake and frostin'! while Miss Virginia Sharpe hinted delicately that there was "a certain twist" in the making of pastry that was considered peculiar to the Sharpe family, and that no festivity would be complete without "Sharpe tarts;" but Miss Bethesda was of the opinion that she and Iry could do what was necessary, and just as much obleeged to them! and in point of fact, not a soul, with the exception of Nan Bradford, who was seen to emerge once from the Inn, looking rather frightened but very happy, was permitted to set foot within the mysterious doors. Mrs. Peake said that she saw Nan coming home, looking as if she had seen a ghost and lost her heart to it; but Mrs. Peake had a poetic way with her, and her remarks were not much heeded in the village.

It was thought more likely that Nan had been poking her nose in where her betters wouldn't ha' thought of poking theirs, and got it taken off for her pains, and served her right! But it happened that Mrs. Peake was right this time.

Thursday evening came! The moon was full, the sleighing perfect; Nature was evidently in league with Miss Bethesda Pool, and meant to do her share in making the party a success. Miss Pool, standing in state at the end of the ballroom, waiting for her guests to arrive, made a pleasant picture in her old-fashioned flowered brocade, one of the self-supporting kind, little beholden to any figure inside it. Her hair was still brown, still pretty, with its crinkles that caught the light, and gave her a wonderful look of youth, well carried out by her bright hazel eyes, and trim figure. In truth, she was not old, Miss Bethesda; her fortieth birthday was only just past, and she was straight as a dart, and strong as a tree; but when one has played old woman for fifteen years, one gets to think the play a reality, and one's neighbours are not slow to adopt the view. On looking in the glass, this evening, Miss Bethesda experienced a slight shock, and a decided impression of good looks. She wondered if Buckstone Bradford would find her much changed; she regretted that she had worn her old "punkin" hood quite so uniformly for the last ten years, and meditated on the attractions of a certain sky-blue "fascinator," which had been lying in her top-drawer ever since Siloama died. Fond of bright colours Siloama always was, and dressy to the day of her death. Anyhow, the brocade was handsome enough to please any one! Miss Bethesda smoothed down the shining folds, examined her white silk mitts carefully, and glanced up at the clock, to see how much longer she had to wait. Nearly seven! Folks would most likely be on time, Miss Bethesda thought, with a grim smile; curiosity could hurry the laziest folks that ever forgot to draw their breath! She reckoned every old podogger in the village would turn out to see Bethesdy Pool make a fool of herself; but let 'em come! There'd be more than one fool to-night, if things went as they should! 'Twas strange, though, that she hadn't heard no word from —

Here her meditations were interrupted; for the door at the end of the ballroom flew open and revealed a tall young man, wrapped to his eyes in fur, who rushed forward and took her hand, and tried to say something, and failed egregiously.

"Will Newell!" cried Miss Bethesda, "do you mean to tell me this is you? For gracious sake, what do you want? Didn't you get my note?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did," cried the big fellow, drawing the sleeve of his fur coat across his eyes. "I've done as you said; but I couldn't go farther without thanking you, not if 'twas ever so! Miss Bethesda, I – I'd do anything in the world for you, I believe. You don't know what a time we've had, – Nan and me. We – I – well, I'm not one to talk, never was! but I would do anything for you, now, I would!"

"Dance the Virginia Reel with me, then," said Miss Bethesda, smiling grimly at her joke. "Or else, if you don't want to do that, take yourself out of this as quick as you can, Will Newell, and get ready! Hark! There's the bell this minute. You've fixed it all right with Nan?"

"All right!" panted Will. "I've got the team hid away where you said, in the old cow-shed. Now I'll go and fix me; and maybe we will have the reel, Miss Pool, if you'll have it early enough on the programme. I won't promise to wait for you, though, more'n the first half of the evening."

He ran out, his eyes shining with joy; and Miss Bethesda folded her white mitts again, and waited calmly for the first guests.

The clock struck seven, and Miss Bethesda glanced up again. It was a wonderful clock, this of the old Inn. More than a hundred years it had hung there, having been brought over from England by Gran'ther Pool, before he lost his money and took to keeping the Inn. Its dial and frame were gayly painted with dancing figures, with garlands of flowers, from which peeped laughing faces of loves and fairies. The great weights that hung against the wall were curious, too, – dolphin-shaped, like the door-latches, and shining with remnants of gilding. And now, following closely on the seventh stroke, came notes of music, faint, rustling notes, the very spirit of sound; a waltz, sweet and delicate as the tiny faces that peeped from the painted garlands on its dial, faltered forth from the old clock: "Tra-la-la, lira-la, la-la! – " and between the notes of the swinging measure the wheels creaked and groaned, and the wires wheezed, and the weights lamented as they slid up and down. "Just like any other old fool," thought Miss Bethesda, "doing things she has no business to!" and for a moment she felt as old as the clock, and repented her of her purpose.

But the guests were here! They had been gathering for some time in the cloak-room, and now one couple had been bold enough to make the first break, and the narrow staircase was crowded with maids and matrons, sons and fathers, all in their best. Every eye glistened with eager curiosity, every mouth was open to whisper in the next ear at anything singular that should meet the eye when they came into their hostess's presence; but lo and behold! there stood Bethesda Pool, looking as if she had a party every week of her life, and had nothing in the world to do but stand there and look fine.

Very stately was the courtesy with which Miss Bethesda greeted her guests. She was pleased to see them; hoped they would enjoy themselves, and make themselves as much to home as if they was to home! This was generally the extent of her conversation with any one group of eager neighbours, before turning to welcome the next. But presently the colour deepened a little in her still fresh cheek, and her eyes grew brighter; for, coming up the ballroom, she saw the stalwart form of Buckstone Bradford, with pretty Nan beside him, looking like roses and milk in her white dress. "Knew he'd come!" Miss Bethesda said to herself; and immediately discovered, by the flutter at her heart, that she had not known, but only hoped it.

Truth to tell, Mr. Bradford had had a dozen minds about coming to Bethesda Pool's party. He had never forgiven her for her treatment of him twenty years before; his heart was of firm and tenacious fibre, and retained the impression of affections and of injuries more than many a softer organ. He considered Bethesda still the finest-looking woman in the neighbourhood, and would have snorted with contempt if anyone had told him that his daughter Nan, with her pink-and-white prettiness, was fairer than ever his old sweetheart had been. But admiring was not forgiving, and nothing would have brought Buckstone out to-night save the dread of "goings-on" on the part of his girl and that good-for-nothing Newell fellow.

There was something in the air, – Buckstone did not know what it was, – something that made him uneasy. Nan had been so meek the last time he scolded her, never once standing up for her favourite, as she was wont to do; she had been so affectionate, and, – well, she was always a good girl when she wasn't making a fool of herself about a noodle; but there was more than usual, her father thought. He didn't dare to let her go alone to the party; there was the plain truth of it; he was afraid, he knew not of what. So he had had his hair cut, and had taken out and brushed his wedding coat, not without angry and defiant thoughts of her who should have stood up with him when he wore it; and, briefly, here he was, standing before Bethesda Pool, grim and forbidding, but still a fine-looking man, his hostess thought, and towering head and shoulders above everyone else in the room.

"Good evening, Mr. Bradford! pleased to see you!"

"Your servant, Miss Pool!" and it was over, and the mist began to clear from Miss Bethesda's eyes, as she turned aside to ask the fiddler if he was ready. The fiddler was ready, of course. He had been tuning his fiddle for the last fifteen minutes, and his fingers were itching to begin. Was he not a pupil of old Jacques de Arthenay, the famous fiddler of the last generation? And had he not been shelved for the past ten years, just because folks were fools enough to prefer an organ and a cornet to the only instrument ordained of Heaven to make people dance! So with right good-will he mounted the stool in the corner, and struck up the "Lady of the Lake."

How many years it was since that hall had rung to the sound of a fiddle! Probably no one present knew; but many, and especially the older ones, or those who were cast in a sentimental mould, felt that there was something ghostly in this first dance. People were a little timid, perhaps; and their hostess, standing silent and stately in her stiff brocade, was not the one to set them at their ease. It seemed to Miss Selina Leaf as if, when the dancers took their places in the two long lines, she heard the rustle of many gowns that were not seen in the room; as if old, forgotten perfumes were wafted through the air, and soft, subdued voices whispered courtly greetings at her side. She was "littery," Miss Selina, and had written many "sweet things" for the county weekly.

But the "Lady of the Lake" is a robust and inspiring dance, and soon banished all shadowy or sentimental thoughts from the minds of the dancers. "Down the middle!" "Sashy to partners!" "Turn the same!" "Eight hands round!"

Soon eyes were sparkling and cheeks glowing like flame, and the young feet went flying up and down the long, low room, as young feet will fly when the fiddle sounds and the blood courses freely through the veins.

Miss Bethesda Pool looked on with bright eyes, her foot (she had the prettiest foot in the room, and knew it) tapping in time to the music. She had refused several invitations to dance, without a word, simply a sniff of denial; but it was good to see a dance again.

Will Newell was there, dancing with his cousin, the pasty-faced girl, who would have money when her grandfather died: dancing dutifully, as if the cousin were the only girl in the room, and not so much as glancing toward where Nan Bradford, more rosy than ever, was footing it lightly as a fairy, opposite young Jacob Flynt.

Jacob was her father's choice for her, as everybody knew; and it was no wonder that Buckstone Bradford looked cheerful and contented as he leaned against the wall with folded arms, watching the dancers.