In the first week of August Mrs. Errington returned to Whitford. She had
got over her annoyance at not having been intrusted sooner with the news
of Algernon's engagement to Miss Kilfinane. By dint of telling her
friends so, she had at last persuaded herself that she had been in the
secret all along; and, if she felt any other mortifications and
disappointments connected with her son's marriage, she kept them to
herself. But it is probable that she did not keenly feel any such. She
was not sensitive; and she did believe that, by connecting himself so
nearly with Lord Seely's family, Algernon was advancing his prospects of
success in the world. These sources of comfort, combined with an
excellent digestion, and the perennial gratification of contemplating
her own claims to distinction as contrasted with those of her
neighbours, kept the worthy lady in good spirits, and she returned to
Whitford in a kind of full blow of cheerfulness and importance.
Her reception there, at the outset, was, however, far from being what
she had looked forward to. She had written to Rhoda announcing the day
and hour of her arrival, and requesting that James Maxfield should meet
her at the "Blue Bell" inn, where the coach stopped, with a fly for the
conveyance of herself and her luggage to her old quarters. Mrs.
Errington had not previously written to Rhoda from Westmoreland, but she
had forwarded to her at different times two copies of the _Applethwaite
Advertiser_. In one of these journals a preliminary announcement of
Algernon's marriage had appeared under the heading of "Alliance in High
Life." In the second there was an account of the wedding, and the
breakfast, and the rejoicings in the village of Long Fells, which did
much credit to the imaginative powers of the writer. According to the
_Applethwaite Advertiser_, the ceremony had been imposing, the breakfast
sumptuous, and the village demonstrations enthusiastic.
Mrs. Errington had bought twenty copies of the newspaper for
distribution among her friends; and she pleased herself with thinking
how grateful the Maxfields would be to her for sending them the papers
with the interesting paragraphs marked in red ink. She also looked
forward with much complacency to having Rhoda for a listener to all her
narrations about the wedding and life at Long Fells, and the great
people whom she had met there. Rhoda was such a capital listener! And
then, besides and beyond all that, Mrs. Errington was fond of Rhoda, and
had more motherly warmth of feeling for her than she had as yet attained
to for her new daughter-in-law.
Mrs. Errington's head was stretched out of the coach-window as the
vehicle clattered up the archway of the "Blue Bell" inn. It was about
seven o'clock on a fine August evening, and there was ample light enough
for the traveller to distinguish all the familiar features of the
streets through which she passed. "James will be standing in the
inn-yard ready to receive me," she thought; "and I suppose the fly will
be waiting at the corner by the booking-office. I wonder whether the
driver will be the lame old man or young Simmons?" She was still
debating this question when the coach turned sharply round under the
archway, and stopped in the great rambling yard of the old-fashioned
"Blue Bell" inn.
Mrs. Errington got down unassisted; James Maxfield was not there. She
looked round in bewilderment, standing hot, dusty, and tired in the
yard, where, after a bustling waiter had tripped up to her to ask if she
wanted a room, and tripped away again, no one took any heed of her.
A fly was not to be had in Whitford at a moment's notice. After waiting
for some ten minutes, Mrs. Errington found there was nothing for it but
to walk to her lodgings. She left her luggage in the coach-office to be
called for, and set out carrying a rather heavy hand-bag, and hurrying
through the streets at a pace much quicker than her usual dignified rate
of moving. She wished not to be seen and recognised by any passing
acquaintance under circumstances so unfavourable to an impressive or
triumphant demeanour.
Arrived at Jonathan Maxfield's house, the aspect of things was not much
improved. Betty Grimshaw opened the door, and stared in surprise on
seeing Mrs. Errington. She had not been expected. Mr. Maxfield was over
at Duckwell at his son's farm. James was busy in the store-house. And as
for Rhoda, she was away on a visit to Miss Bodkin at the seaside, and
had been for some weeks. A letter? Oh, if a letter had come for Rhoda,
her father would have sent it on to her. It was a two days' post from
where she was to Whitford. And the newspapers? Betty did not know. She
had not seen them. Her brother-in-law had had them, she supposed. Yes;
she had heard that Mr. Algernon was married, or going to be married. The
servants from Pudcombe Hall had spoken of it when they came into the
shop. Jonathan had not said anything on the subject as far as she knew.
Mrs. Errington knew what Jonathan was. He never was given to much
conversation. And it was Betty's opinion, delivered very frankly, that
Jonathan grew crustier and closer as he got older. But wouldn't Mrs.
Errington like a cup of tea? Betty would have the kettle boiling in a
few minutes.
Mrs. Errington felt rather forlorn, as she entered her old sitting-room
and looked around her. It was trim and neat, indeed, and spotlessly
clean; but it had the chill, repellent look of an uninhabited apartment.
The corner cupboard was locked, and its treasure of old china hidden
from view. Algernon's books were gone from the shelf above the piano. A
white cloth was spread over the sofa, and the hearth-rug was turned
upside down, displaying a grey lining, instead of the gay-coloured
scraps of cloth.
She missed Rhoda. She had become accustomed to Algernon's absence from
the familiar room; but Rhoda's absence made a blank in it, that was
depressing. And perhaps Mrs. Errington herself was surprised to find how
dreary the place looked, without the girl's gentle face and modest
figure. She gladly accepted Betty Grimshaw's invitation to take her tea
downstairs in the comfortable, bright kitchen, instead of alone in the
melancholy gentility of her own sitting-room. Betty was as
wooden-faced, and grim, and rigid in her aspect as ever. But she was not
unfriendly towards her old lodger. And, moreover, she was entirely
respectful in her manner, holding it as a fixed article of her faith
that "gentlefolks born" were intended by Providence to be treated with
deference, and desiring to show that she herself had been trained to
becoming behaviour under the roof of a person of quality.
It was little more than nine o'clock when Mrs. Errington rose to go to
bed, being tired with her journey. As she did so, she said, "Mrs.
Grimshaw, will you get James to send a hand-cart for my luggage in good
time to-morrow?"
"Oh, your luggage?" returned Betty. "Well, do you think it is worth
while to send for it, if you're not going to stay?"
Mrs. Errington was so much astonished by this speech, that she sat down
again on the chair she had just quitted. Then, after a minute's pause,
her mind, which did not move very rapidly, arrived at what she supposed
to be the explanation of Betty's words. "Oh, I see," she said; "you took
it for granted that, on my son's marriage, I should leave you and join
him. But it is not so, my good soul. My daughter-in-law has implored me
to live with them, but I have refused. It is better for the young people
to be by themselves; and I prefer my own independence also. No, my good
Mrs. Grimshaw, I shall remain in my old quarters until Mr. Algernon
leaves Whitford for good. And perhaps, even then, I may not give you up
altogether, who knows?"
Betty hesitated for an instant before replying. "Then Jonathan has not
said anything to you about giving up the rooms?"
"Good gracious, no! I have not heard from Mr. Maxfield at all!"
"I suppose he didn't expect you back quite so soon. And--there, I'm sure
I won't take upon myself to speak for him. I shouldn't have got on with
my brother-in-law all these years if I hadn't made it a rule to try for
peace and quietness, and never interfere."
But Mrs. Errington persisting in her demand that Betty should explain
herself more fully, the latter at length confessed that, during the past
two or three weeks, Jonathan Maxfield had declared his intention of
getting rid of his lodger, and of not letting the first floor of his
house again. "Your sitting-room is to be kept as a kind of a
drawing-room for Rhoda, as I understand Jonathan," said she.
A drawing-room for Rhoda! Mrs. Errington could not believe her senses.
"Why, what is Mr. Maxfield thinking of?" she exclaimed.
"Oh, you don't know what a fuss Jonathan has been making lately about
Rhoda! Before you went away, you know, ma'am, as he had begun to spend
a deal of money on her clothes. And since then, more and more; it's been
all his talk as Rhoda was to be a lady. The notion has got stuck fast in
his head, and wild horses wouldn't drag it out."
Mrs. Errington rose very majestically. "I much fear," she said, "I much
fear that I am responsible for this delusion of your brother-in-law. I
have a little spoiled the girl, and taken too much notice of her. I
regret it now. But, really, Rhoda is such a sweet creature that I don't
know that I have been so very much to blame, either. It is true I have
introduced her to my friends, and brought her forward a little beyond
her station; but I little thought a man of Mr. Maxfield's common sense
would have been so utterly led away by kindly-meant patronage."
"Well, I don't know as it's so much that, ma'am," returned Betty, in a
matter-of-fact tone, "as it is that Jonathan has latterly been thinking
a deal about his money. And he knows money will do great things----"
"Money can never confer gentle birth, my good creature!"
"No, for sure, ma'am. That's what I say myself. I know my catechism, and
I was brought up to respect my superiors. But, you see, Jonathan's
heart is greatly set on his riches. He's a well-off man, is my
brother-in-law; more so than many folks think. He's been a close man all
his life. And, for that matter, he's close enough now in some things,
and screws me down in the housekeeping pretty tight. But for Rhoda he
seems to grudge nothing, and wants her to make a show and a splash
almost--if you can fancy such a thing of Jonathan! But there's no saying
how men will turn out; not even the old ones. I'm sure I often and often
thank my stars I've kept single--no offence to you, ma'am."
Mrs. Errington went to bed in a bewildered frame of mind. Tired as she
was, the news she had heard kept her awake for some time. Leave her
lodgings! Leave old Max's house, which had been her home for so many
years! It was incredible. And, indeed, before long she had made up her
mind to resist old Max's intention of turning her out. "I shall give him
a good talking to, to-morrow," she said to herself. "Stupid old man! He
really must not be allowed to make himself so absurd." And then Mrs.
Errington fell asleep.
But the next day old Max did not return to be talked to; nor the day
after that. James Maxfield went over to Duckwell, and came back bringing
a formal notice to Mrs. Errington to quit the lodgings, signed by his
father.
"What does this mean, James?" asked Mrs. Errington, with much emphasis,
and wide-open eyes. James did not know what it meant. He did not
apparently much care, either. He had never been on very friendly terms
with the Erringtons (having, indeed, come but seldom in contact with
them during all the time they had lived under the same roof with him),
and had, perhaps, been a little jealous in his sullen, silent way, of
their petting of Rhoda. At all events, on the present occasion, he was
not communicative nor very civil. He had performed his father's behests,
and he knew nothing more. His father was not coming back home just yet.
And James volunteered the opinion that he didn't mean to come back until
Mrs. Errington should be gone.
All this was strange and disagreeable. But Mrs. Errington was not of an
irritable or anxious temperament. And her self-complacency was of too
solid a kind to be much affected even by ruder rubs than any which could
be given by James Maxfield's uncouth bluntness. "I shall take no notice
whatever of this," she said, with serene dignity. "When your father
comes back, I shall talk to him. Meanwhile, I have a great many
important things to do."
The good lady did in truth begin at once to busy herself in seeking a
house for Algernon, and getting it furnished. There was but a month to
make all arrangements in, and all Mrs. Errington's friends who could by
any possibility be pressed into the service were required to assist
her. The Docketts; Rose and Violet McDougall; Mrs. Smith, the surgeon's
wife; and even Miss Chubb, were sent hither and thither, asked to write
notes, to make inquiries, to have interviews with landlords, and to take
as much trouble, and make as much fuss as possible, in the task of
getting ready an abode for Mr. and the Honourable Mrs. Algernon
Errington.
A house was found without much difficulty. It was a small isolated
cottage on the outskirts of the town, with a garden behind it which ran
down to the meadows bordering the Whit; and was the very house,
belonging to Barker the chemist, of which Mrs. Errington had written to
her friend Mrs. Bodkin.
It was really a very humble dwelling. But the rent of it was quite as
large as Algernon would be able to afford. Mrs. Errington said, "I
prefer a small place for them. If they took a more pretentious house,
they would be expected to entertain. And you know, my dear sir," (or
"madam," as the case might be) "that there is a great mixture in
Whitford society; and that would not suit my daughter-in-law, of course.
You perceive that, don't you?" And then the person so addressed might
flatter him or herself with the idea of belonging to the unmixed portion
of society.
Indeed, this terrible accusation of being "mixed" was one which Mrs.
Errington was rather fond of bringing against the social gatherings in
Whitford. And she had once been greatly offended, and a good deal
puzzled, by Mr. Diamond's asking her what objection there could be to
that; and challenging her to point out any good thing on earth, from a
bowl of punch upwards, which was not "mixed!" But however this might be,
no one believed at all that the mixture in Whitford society was the real
reason for young Errington's inhabiting so small a house. They knew
perfectly well that if Algernon's means had been larger, his house would
have been larger also.
And yet, Mrs. Errington's flourish was not without its effect on some
persons. They in their turn repeated her lamentations on the "mixture"
to such of their acquaintances as did not happen to be also her
acquaintances. And as there were very few individuals in Whitford either
so eccentric, or so courageous, as Mr. Diamond, this mysterious mixture
was generally acknowledged, with shrugs and head-shakings, to be a very
great evil indeed.
At the end of about a fortnight, old Max one day reappeared in his own
house, and marched upstairs to Mrs. Errington's sitting-room.
"Well, ma'am," said he, without any preliminary greeting whatsoever, "I
suppose you understood the written notice to quit, that I sent you? But
as my son James informs me that you don't seem to be taking any steps in
consequence of it, I've come to say that you will have to remove out of
my abode on the twenty-seventh of this month, and not a day later. So
you can act according to your judgment in finding another place to dwell
in."
Mrs. Errington was inspecting the contents of a packing-case which had
been sent from London by Lady Seely. It contained, as her ladyship said,
"some odds and ends that would be useful to the young couple." The only
article of any value in the whole collection was a porcelain vase, which
had long stood in obscurity on a side-table in Lord Seely's study, and
would not be missed thence. Lady Seely, at all events, would not miss
it, as she seldom entered the room; and therefore she had generously
added it to the odds and ends!
Mrs. Errington looked up, a little flushed with the exertion of stooping
over the packing-case, and confronted Mr. Maxfield. Her round, red
full-moon face contrasted in a lively manner with the old man's grey,
lank, harsh visage. The years, as they passed, did not improve old Max's
appearance. And as soon as she beheld him, Mrs. Errington was convinced
of the justice of Betty Grimshaw's remark, that her brother-in-law
seemed to have grown closer and crustier than ever of late.
"Why, Mr. Maxfield," said the lady, condescendingly, "how do you do? I
have been wanting to see you. Come, sit down, and let us talk matters
over."
Old Max stood in the doorway glaring at her. "I don't know, ma'am, as
there's any matters I want to talk over with you," he returned. "You had
better understand that I mean what I say. You'll find it more convenient
to believe me at once, and to act accordin'."
"Do you mean to say that you intend to turn me out, Mr. Maxfield?"
"I have given you a legal notice to quit, ma'am. You needn't call it
turning you out, unless you like."
He had begun to move away, when Mrs. Errington exclaimed, "But I really
don't comprehend this at all! What will Rhoda think of it?"
Maxfield stopped, hesitatingly, with his hand on the banisters at the
top of the landing. "Rhoda?" said he gruffly. "Oh, Rhoda has nothing to
say to it, one way or t'other."
"But I want to have something to say to her! I assure you it was a great
disappointment to me not to find Rhoda here on my return. I'm very fond
of her; and shall continue to be so, as long as she merits it. It is not
her fault, poor girl, if--other people forget themselves."
Maxfield took his hand off the banisters and turned round. "Since you're
so fond of Rhoda," he said, with a queer expression on his sour old
face, "you'll be glad to know where she is, and the company she's in."
"I know that she is at the seaside with my friends, Mrs. and Miss
Bodkin."
"She is at the seaside with _her_ friends, Mrs. and Miss Bodkin. Miss
Minnie is a real lady, and she understands how to treat Rhoda, and knows
that the Lord has made a lady of Rhoda by natur'."
Mrs. Errington stared in utter astonishment. The suspicion began to form
and strengthen itself in her mind that the old man was positively out of
his senses. If so, his insanity had taken an extremely unpleasant turn
for her.
"I really was not prepared for being turned out of my lodgings after all
these years," she said, reverting to the point that most nearly touched
herself.
"I've not been prepared for a many things as have happened after all
these years. But I'm ready to meet 'em when they come."
"Well, but now, Mr. Maxfield, let us see if we cannot make an
arrangement. If you have any different views about the rent, I----"
"The rent! What do you think your bit of a rent matters to me? I want
the rooms for the use of my daughter, Miss Maxfield, and there's an end
of it."
"Oh, he certainly cannot be in his right senses to address me in this
manner!" thought Mrs. Errington.
Maxfield went on, "I see you've got a box of rubbish there, littering
about the place. I give you warning not to unpack any more here, for out
everything 'll have to go on the twenty-seventh of this month, as sure
as my name's Jonathan Maxfield!"
"Mr. Maxfield! You are certainly forgetting yourself. Rubbish, indeed!
These are a few--a very few--of the valuable wedding presents sent to my
son and daughter by Lady Seely."
Old Max made a grating sound which was intended for a laugh, although
his bushy grey eyebrows were drawn together in a heavy frown the while.
Then he suddenly burst out in a kind of cold fury. "Pooh!" he cried.
"Presents! Valuable presents! You don't deceive anybody by that! Look
here--if the old carpet or any of the furniture in this room would be of
any assistance to you, you can take it! I'll give it to you--a free
gift! The place is going to be done up and new furnished for Miss
Maxfield. Furnished handsome, fit for a young lady of property. Fit for
a young lady that will have a sum o' money on the day she marries--if
I'm pleased with her choice--as 'll make some folks' mouths water. It
won't be reckoned by twenties, nor yet by hundreds, won't Miss
Maxfield's fortin'! You can take the old carpet, and mahogany table, and
the high-backed chairs, and put 'em among your valuable presents.
They're too old-fashioned for Miss Maxfield's drawing-room!" And with a
repetition of the grating laugh, old Max tramped heavily downstairs, and
was heard to bang the door of his own parlour.
Mrs. Errington sat motionless for nearly a quarter of an hour, staring
at the open door. "Mad!" she exclaimed at length, drawing a long breath.
"Quite mad! But I wonder if there is any truth in what he says about
Rhoda's money? Dear me, why she'll be quite a catch!"