A DISH OF GOSSIP.
THE evening was too lovely to spend in the house, so Mrs. Grahame and
Hildegarde went from the tea-table out on the verandah, where some low,
comfortable straw chairs were already placed. It was June, and the air
was full of the scent of roses, though there were none in sight. There
was no moon, but it was hardly missed, so brilliant were the stars,
flashing their golden light down through the elm-branches.
They sat for some time, enjoying the quiet beauty of the night. Then--"I
think we shall be happy here, dear!" said Hildegarde softly. "It feels
like home already."
"I am glad to hear you say that!" replied her mother. "Surely the place
itself is charming. I hope, too, that you may find some pleasant
companions, of your own age. Yes, I can see you shake your head, even in
the dark; and of course we shall be together constantly, my darling; but
I still hope you will find some girl friend, since dear Rose (Rose was
Hildegarde's bosom friend) cannot be with us this summer. Now tell me,
did you find Mrs. Lankton here when you arrived? We don't seem to have
come down to details yet."
Hildegarde began to laugh.
"I should think we did find her!" she said. "Your coming put it all out
of my head, you see. Well, when auntie and I drove up, there was this
funny little old dame standing in the doorway, looking so like Mrs.
Gummidge that I wanted to ask her on the spot if Mr. Peggotty was at
home. She began shaking her head and sighing, before we could get out
of the wagon. 'Ah, dear me!' she said. 'Dear me! and this is the young
lady, I suppose. Ah! yes, indeed! And the housekeeper, I suppose. Well,
well! I'm proper glad to see you. Ah, dear, dear!' All this was said in
a tone of the deepest dejection, and she kept on shaking her head and
sighing. Auntie spoke up pretty smartly, 'I'm de cook!' she said. 'If
you'll take dis basket, ma'am, we'll do de lamintations ourselves!' Mrs.
Lankton didn't hear the last part of the remark, but she took the
basket, and auntie and I jumped out. 'I suppose you are Mrs. Lankton,
the care-taker,' I said, as cheerfully as I could. 'Ah, yes, dear!' she
said, mournfully. 'I'm Mrs. Lankton, the widow Lankton, housekeeper to
Mr. Aytoun as was, and care-taker since his dee-cease. I've took care,
Miss Grahame, my dear. There ain't no one could keep things more car'ful
nor I have. If I've had trouble, it hasn't made me no less car'ful. Ah,
dear me! it's a sorrowful world. Perhaps you'd like to come in.' This
seemed to be a new idea to her, though we had been standing with our
hands full of bundles, only waiting for her to move. She led the way
into the hall. 'This is the hall!' she said sadly; and then she stood
shaking her head like a melancholy mandarin. 'I s'pose 'tis!' said
auntie, who was quite furious by this time, and saw no fun in it at all.
'And I s'pose dis is a door, and I'll go t'rough it.' And off she
flounced through the door at the back of the hall, where she found the
kitchen for herself, as we could tell by the rattling of pans which
followed. 'She's got a temper, ain't she?' said Mrs. Lankton sadly.
'Most coloured people has. There! I had one myself, before 'twas took
out of me by trouble. Not that I've got any coloured blood in me, for my
father was Nova Scoshy and my mother State of New York. Shall I take
you through the house, dear?'"
"Poor Mrs. Lankton!" said Mrs. Grahame, laughing. "She is the very
spirit of melancholy. I believe she has really had a good deal of
trouble. Well, dear?"
"Well," resumed Hildegarde, "I really could not have her spoil all the
fun of going over the house for me; though of course she was great fun
herself in a way. So I thanked her, and said I would not give her the
trouble, and said I supposed she lived near, and we should often call on
her when we wanted extra help. 'So do, dear!' she said, 'so do! I live
right handy by, in a brown cottage with a green door, the only brown
cottage, _and_ the only green door, so you can't mistake me. You've got
beautiful neighbours, too,' she added, still in the depths of
melancholy. 'Beautiful neighbours! Mis' Loftus lives in the stone house
over yonder. Ah, dear me! She and her darter, they don't never set foot
to the ground, one year's eend to the other.' 'Dear me!' I said. 'Are
they both such invalids?' 'No, dear!' said she, sighing as if she wished
they were. 'Carriage folks; great carriage folks. Then there's Colonel
Ferrers lives in the brick house across the way. Beautiful man, but set
in his ways. Never speaks to a soul, one year's eend to the other, in
the way o' talk, that is. Ah! dear me, yes!'"
"It sounds like Alice in Wonderland!" exclaimed Mrs. Grahame. "In that
direction lives a Hatter, and in that direction lives a March Hare.
Visit either you like! they're both mad."
"Oh, Mammina, it is exactly like it!" cried Hildegarde, clapping her
hands. "You clever Mammina! I wonder if Colonel Ferrers has long ears,
and if his roof is thatched with fur."
"Hush!" said her mother, laughing. "This will not do. I know Colonel
Ferrers, and he is an excellent man, though a trifle singular. Well,
dear, how did you part with your melancholy dame?"
"She went away then," said Hildegarde. "Oh, no, she didn't. I forgot!
she did insist upon showing me the room where Uncle Aytoun died;
and--oh! mamma, it is almost too bad to tell, and yet it was very funny.
She said he died like a perfect gentleman, and made a beautiful remains.
Then, at last, she said good-night and charged me to send for her if any
of us should be ill in the night. 'Comin' strange in,' she said, 'it's
likely to disagree with some of you, and in spasms or anything suddint,
I'm dretful knowin'.' So she went off at last, and it took me a quarter
of an hour to get auntie into a good temper again."
They laughed heartily at Mrs. Lankton's idea of "the parting word of
cheer"; and then Hildegarde reminded her mother of the "tell" she had
promised her. "I want to know _all_ about the three ladies," she said.
"They seem more real than Dame Lankton, somehow, for they belong here,
and she never could have. So 'come tell me all, my mother, all, all that
ever you know!'"
"It is not so very much, after all," replied Mrs. Grahame, after a
moment's thought. "I came here once with my father, when I was about ten
years old, and stayed two or three days. Miss Hester was already dead;
she was the youngest, the beauty of the family, and she was still young
when she died. Miss Barbara was the eldest, a tall, slender woman, with
a high nose; very kind, but a little stiff and formal. She was the head
of the family, and very religious. It was Saturday, I remember, when we
came, and she gave me some lovely Chinese ivory toys to play with, which
filled the whole horizon for me. But the next morning she took them
away, and gave me Baxter's 'Saint's Rest,' which she said I must read
all the morning, as I had a cold and could not go to church."
"Poor Mammina!" said Hildegarde.
"Not so poor," said her mother, smiling. "Miss Agatha came to the
rescue, and took me up to her room, and let me look in the drawers of a
wonderful old cabinet, full of what your dear father used to call
'picknickles and bucknickles.'"
"Oh! I know; I found the cabinet yesterday!" cried Hildegarde in
delight. "I had not time to look into it, but it was all drawers; a
dark, foreign-looking thing, inlaid with ivory!"
"Yes, that is it," said her mother. "I wonder if the funny things are
still in it? Miss Agatha was an invalid, and her room looked as if she
lived in it a good deal. She told me Bible stories in her soft, feeble
voice, and showed me a very wonderful set of coloured prints
illustrating the Old Testament. I remember distinctly that Joseph's coat
was striped, red, green, yellow, and blue, like a mattress ticking gone
mad, and that the she-bear who came to devour the naughty children was
bright pink."
"Oh! delightful!" cried Hildegarde, laughing. "I must try to find those
prints."
"She told me, too, about her sister Hester," Mrs. Grahame went on; "how
beautiful she was, and how bright and gay and light-hearted. 'She was
the sunshine, my dear, and we are the shadow, Barbara and I,' she said.
I remember the very words. And then she showed me a picture, a miniature
on ivory, of a lovely girl of sixteen, holding a small harp in her arms.
She had large grey eyes, I remember, and long fair curls. Dear me! how
it all comes back to me, after the long, long years. I can almost see
that miniature now. Why--why, Hilda, it had a little look of you; or,
rather, you look like it."
The girl flushed rosy red. "I am glad," she said softly. "And she died
young, you say? Miss Hester, I mean."
"At twenty-two or three," assented her mother. "It was consumption, I
believe. Cousin Wealthy Bond once told me that Hester had some sad love
affair, but I know nothing more about it. I do know, however, that Uncle
Aytoun (he was the only brother, you know, and spent much of his life at
sea), I do know that he was desperately in love with dear Cousin Wealthy
herself."
"Oh!" cried Hildegarde. "Poor old gentleman! She couldn't, of course;
but I am sorry for him."
"He was not old then," said Mrs. Grahame, smiling. "He knew of Cousin
Wealthy's own trouble, but he was very much in love, and hoped he could
make her forget it. One day--Cousin Wealthy told me this years and
years afterward, _a propos_ of my own engagement--one day Captain Aytoun
came to see her, and as it was a beautiful summer day, she took him out
into the garden to see some rare lilies that were just in blossom. He
looked at the lilies, but said little; he was a very silent man.
Presently he pulled out his card-case, and took from it a visiting-card,
on which was engraved his name, 'Robert F. Aytoun.' He wrote something
on the card, and handed it to Cousin Wealthy; and she read, 'Robert F.
Aytoun's heart is yours.'"
"Mammina!" cried Hildegarde. "Can it be true? It is _too_ funny! But
what could she say? Dear Cousin Wealthy!"
"I remember her very words," said Mrs. Grahame. "'Captain Aytoun, it is
not my intention ever to marry; but I esteem your friendship highly, and
I thank you for the honour you offer me. Permit me to call your
attention to this new variety of ranunculus.' But the poor captain
said,--Cousin Wealthy could hardly bring herself to repeat this, for she
thought it very shocking,--'Confound the ranunculus!' and strode out of
the garden and away. And Cousin Wealthy took the card into the house,
and folded it up, and wound pearl-coloured silk on it. It may be in her
work-basket now, for she never destroys anything."
"Oh! that was a most delightful 'tell'!" sighed Hildegarde. "And now go
on about Miss Agatha."
"I fear that is all, dear," said her mother. "I remember singing some
hymns, which pleased the kind cousin. Then Miss Barbara came home from
church; and I rather think her conscience had been pricking her about
the 'Saint's Rest,' for she took me down and gave me some delicious
jelly of rose leaves, which she said was good for a cold. We had
waffles for tea, I remember, and we put cinnamon and sugar on them; I
had never tasted the combination before, so I remember it. It was in a
glass dish shaped like a pineapple. And after tea Miss Barbara tinkled
'Jerusalem, the Golden' on the piano, and we all sang, and I went to bed
at nine o'clock. And that reminds me," said Mrs. Grahame, "that it must
now be ten o'clock or after, and 'time for all good little
constitutional queens to be in bed.'"
"Oh! must we go to bed?" sighed Hildegarde. "It is so very particularly
lovely here. Well, I suppose we should have to go some time. Good-night,
dear stars! good-night, all beautiful things that I know are there,
though I cannot see you!"
Hildegarde helped her mother to lock up the house, and then, after a
parting word and caress, she took her candle and went to the room she
had chosen for her own. It opened out of her mother's dressing-room, so
that by setting the doors ajar, they could talk to each other when so
minded; and it had a dressing-room of its own on the other side, from
which a flight of narrow, corkscrew stairs descended to the ground
floor. These stairs had attracted Hildegarde particularly. It seemed
very pleasant and important to have a staircase of one's own, which no
one else could use. It is true that it was very dark, very crooked and
steep, but that was no matter. The bedroom itself was large and airy; a
little bare, perhaps, but Hildegarde did not mind that. The white paint
was very fresh and clean, and set off the few pieces of dark old
mahogany furniture well,--a fine bureau, with the goddess Aurora
careering in brass across the front of the top drawer; a comfortable
sofa, with cushions of the prettiest pale green chintz, with rosebuds
scattered over it; a round table; a few spider-legged chairs; and a
nondescript piece of furniture, half dressing-table, half chest of
drawers, which was almost as mysteriously promising as the inlaid
cabinet in Miss Agatha's room. The bed was large and solemn-looking,
with carved posts topped by pineapples. The floor was bare, save for a
square of ancient Turkey carpet in the middle. Hildegarde held the
candle above her head, and surveyed her new quarters with satisfaction.
"Nice room!" she said, nodding her head. "The sort of room I have been
thinking of ever since I outgrew flounces, and bows on the chairs. Dear
papa! When I was at the height of the flounce fever, he begged me to
have a frock and trousers made for the grand piano, as he was sure it
must wound my sensibilities to see it so bare. Dear papa! He would like
this room, too. It is a little strange-garrety to-night, but wait till I
get the Penates out to-morrow!"
She nodded again, and then, putting on her wrapper, proceeded to brush
out her long, fair hair. It was beautiful hair; and as it fell in
shining waves from the brush, Hildegarde began to think again of the
dead Hester, who had had fair hair, too, and whom her mother had thought
she resembled a little. She hoped that this might have been Hester's
room. Indeed, she had chosen it partly with this idea, though chiefly
because she wished to be near her mother. It certainly was not Miss
Agatha's room, for that was on the other side of the passage. Her
mother's room had been Miss Barbara's, she was quite sure, for "B" was
embroidered on the faded cover of the dressing-table. Another large room
was too rigid in its aspect to have been anything but a spare room or a
death chamber, and Mr. Aytoun's own room, where he had died like a
gentleman and become a "beautiful remains," was on the ground floor.
Therefore, it was very plain, this must have been Hester's room. Here
she had lived her life, a girl like herself, thought Hildegarde, and had
been gay and light-hearted, the sunshine of the house; and then she had
suffered, and faded away and died. It was with a solemn feeling that the
young girl climbed up into the great bed, and laid her head where that
other fair head had lain. Who could tell what was coming to her, too, in
this room? And could she make sunshine for her mother, who had lost the
great bright light which had warmed and cheered her during so many
years? Then her thoughts turned to that other light which had never
failed this dear mother; and so, with a murmured "My times be in thy
hand!" Hildegarde fell asleep.