Colonel Lenny left his valise in the hall, where, when he rose, it was
very visible, a dusty object upon the soft carpet. Lady Markham looked
at it with alarm. Did it mean that he intended to stay? Was she to be
punished for having received one unsuitable visitor by being forced to
be rude to another? She led the way into the drawing-room in great
perplexity and trouble. As for Brown and Charles, they both went and
looked at the valise with curiosity as a natural phenomenon.
“Is all the beggars coming on visits?” said the footman; “I ain’t agoing
to wait on another, not if my wages was doubled.”
“Hold your tongue,” said Brown; “you’ll do what I tell you if you want
to go from here with a character. So mind your business, and keep your
silly remarks to yourself.”
But when Charles disappeared muttering, Brown turned over the dusty,
humble portmanteau with his foot, with serious disgust. “My lady hasn’t
the heart to say no to nobody,” he said to himself. He felt perfectly
convinced that this miserable representation of a gentleman’s luggage
would sooner or later have to be carried up stairs.
The stranger followed Lady Markham into the drawing-room, at which he
gazed with wonder and admiration. “This is something like a house,” he
said. “Little we thought when I used to know Will Markham that he would
ever come to this honour and glory. It was in the year--bless me, not
any year you can recollect--forty years ago if it is a day. His brothers
were living, and he was nearly as poor as the rest of us. I married
Katey. He must have spoken of the Gavestons, though he might not mention
his old friend Lenny. Ah, well, maybe no--to be sure I am not taking
everything into consideration. Did your father ever tell you, my boys,
of the West Indies, and the insurrection, and all the stirring times we
had there?”
Harry and Roland looked at each other with eyes brightening, yet
confused. Papa was not a man who told stories of anything,--and Lady
Markham interposed. “I think you must be making a mistake,” she said. “I
am sure Sir William has never been in the West Indies. You must be
thinking of some one else of the same name.”
The old soldier looked at her with bewildered surprise. “A mistake!” he
said. “_I_ make a mistake about Will Markham? I have known all about
him, and the name of his place, his family, and all his belongings for
the last forty years! Why, I--I am his----” Then he paused and looked at
Lady Markham, and added slowly, “One of his very oldest friends, be the
other who he may.”
“I beg your pardon,” she said, concealing her embarrassment over the
tea-table.
Colonel Lenny was not particularly fond of tea: he would have liked, he
thought, something else instead of it, something that foamed and
sparkled; yet the tea was better than nothing. He gave her his pardon
very easily, not dwelling upon the offence.
“Ah,” he said, “I can tell you stories that will make your hair stand
on end. When those niggers broke out, it was not preaching that would do
much. That was in the old time, you know, when land meant something in
the islands, before emancipation. Did you ever hear about the
emancipation? I’ll tell you a story about the times before that. We had
to get the women and children stowed away--the devils would have thought
no more of cutting them to pieces--we were after them in the woods night
and day sometimes. Once your father was with us--he was not in the
service, as we were, but he was very plucky though he was always
small--he joined as a volunteer.”
“Where was that? and when was that?” cried the boys; and the girls too
drew near, much attracted by the promise of a story. Colonel Lenny waved
his long brown hand to them, and went on--
“I’ll tell you all about that presently; but I must ask you to let me
know, my dear lady, when Markham is expected home. I’ve got business to
talk over--business that is more his than mine. He’ll know all about it
as soon as he hears my name. It is a long time since we met--and perhaps
the notion would never have struck me to seek him out but for--things
that have happened. It is more his business than mine.”
“I am not sure whether he will return to-morrow or next day--next day at
the latest,” said Lady Markham, faltering.
She could not make up her mind what to do. On the occasion of her former
mistake, Paul in person had been present to answer for his friend, but
there was no one to guarantee this second stranger--this new claimant on
her hospitality. If he should be an impostor! but he did not look like
an impostor; or, if it should be a mistake after all, and his Will
Markham quite a different man? Will Markham! it seemed incredible to
Lady Markham that any one should ever have addressed her husband with so
much familiarity. These, and a hundred other thoughts, ran through her
mind as she poured out the tea.
Meantime, Colonel Lenny made great friends with the children. He began
to tell them the most exciting stories. He was not ill at ease as Spears
had been, but sat luxuriously thrown back into a luxurious chair, his
long limbs stretched out, his long brown hands giving animation to his
narrative. Lady Markham managed to escape while this was going on, and
got _Burke_ down from the bookshelves in the hall, and anxiously looked
up its various lists. There was no Sir William Markham except her
husband, no William Markham at all among the county gentry. When Brown,
become suspicious by his past experiences, came into the hall at the
sound of her foot, she put back the book again guiltily.
The old butler came forward with an expression of concern and trouble on
his countenance. “What does your ladyship intend,” he asked, solemnly,
“that I should do with this?” touching with his foot as he spoke the
dusty valise--the old soldier’s luggage, which lay very humbly as if
ashamed of itself half under the big chair.
Lady Markham could have laughed and she could have cried. “I don’t know
what to do, Brown,” she said.
Brown was very much tempted to give his mistress the benefit of his
advice. He forbore, however, exercising a wise discretion, for Lady
Markham, though very gracious, was proud; but he was not self-denying
enough to divest himself of a general air of anxiety--the air of one who
could say a great deal if he would--shaking his head slightly, and
looking at the offending article which seemed to try to withdraw itself
out of notice under the shadow of the chair. He could have said a great
deal if he had dared. He would have bidden his mistress beware who she
took into her house, Sir William wasn’t best pleased before, and if it
happens again---- Perhaps Lady Markham read something of this in Brown’s
eyes; and she did not like the butler’s advice, which was more or less
disapproval, as all effective advice is. The result was however that
before dinner the poor little valise was carried up, to the great scorn
of the domestics, to a bedroom, and that Colonel Lenny, after keeping
the children suspended on his lips all the evening, withdrew early,
leaving the mother and daughter to an anxious consultation over him.
Alice, too, had consulted a book, but it was an _Army List_ that was the
subject of her studies. She came to her mother triumphantly with this
volume open in her hand.
“Here he is, mamma. John St. John Lenny, 50th West India Regiment. I am
so glad I have found it. He is delightful. There never could be any
doubt about such a thorough old soldier.”
“You thought Mr. Spears interesting, Alice,” said Lady Markham, feebly.
“Mamma! and so did you. He was very interesting. I have his lily that he
drew for me, and it is beautiful. But he was not a gentleman. He did not
know how to sit on his chair, nor how to stand, nor what to say to you
or even me. He called me Miss Alice, and you my lady. But Colonel Lenny
is entirely different. He is just the same as everybody else, only more
amusing than most people. Did you hear the story he was telling
about----?”
“Oh, my dear, I was a great deal too anxious to be able to attend to any
story. What if he should turn out some agitator too? what if he were a
spy to see what kind of life we lead, or an impostor, or some one who
has made a mistake, and takes your papa for some other Markham? If I
have taken in some one else whom I ought not to have taken in, I think I
shall die of shame.”
“How can he be an impostor, when he is here in the _Army List_?”
“Let me see it,” Lady Markham said. She read out the name word by word,
and her mind was a little relieved. “I suppose there cannot be any
mistake since he is here,” she said, with a sigh of relief. But, as a
matter of fact, Lady Markham sat up in her dressing-gown half the night,
afraid of she knew not what, and listening anxiously to all the vague
mystical noises that arise in a sleeping house in the middle of the
night. She did not know what it was of which she was afraid. How could
he be an impostor when his name was in the _Army List_, and when he had
that kind brown face? But then, on the other hand, a man from the West
Indies, who called her husband Will Markham, was an incredible person.
She sat up till the blue summer daylight came silently in at all the
windows, putting her suspicious candles to shame, when she, too, became
ashamed of herself for her suspicions, and crept very quietly to bed.
Sir William did not come next day, but Colonel Lenny stayed on, and as
it is always the _premier pas que coûte_, Lady Markham’s doubts were
lulled to rest, and she neither frowned nor watched the second night.
And on the third Sir William came. It was Alice who went to meet him at
the station, in a pretty little pony carriage which he had given her.
Everything was done instinctively by the ladies to disarm any
displeasure papa might feel, and to prepare him to receive this second
visitor with a friendly countenance. If there was anything that moved
Sir William’s heart with a momentary impulse of unreasoning pride and
foolish fondness, it was supposed by his wife to be the sight of his
pretty daughter, with her pretty ponies. These ponies had been named
To-to and Ta-ta before Alice had them--after, it was understood, two
naughty personages in a play--and as the ponies were very naughty the
names were retained. There were no such mischievous and troublesome
individuals about the house, and Alice was very proud of the fact that
it was she with her light hand who managed them best. Sir William was
not fond of wild animals, and yet all the household knew that he liked
to be brought home by his daughter in her little carriage, with the
ponies skimming over the roads as if they were flying. It was the one
piece of dash and daring in which he delighted.
Lady Markham, who was not fond of risking her daughter, came out to the
door to entreat her to take care.
“And you will explain everything?” she said; “how it happened, and how
very uneasy we have been; but my darling, above all, take care of
yourself. Do not let those wicked little things run away with you. Give
George the reins if you feel them too strong for your wrist. And make
him understand, Alice, how nice, how really nice, and kind, and
agreeable he is. George, you must never take your eye off the ponies,
and see that Miss Markham takes care.”
“I hope they know my hand better than George’s,” said Alice, scornfully,
“better than any one else’s. Nobody can interfere between them and me.”
“Pretty creatures! I don’t know which is the prettiest,” said Colonel
Lenny, coming up. He had all the children in a cluster round him. “They
are three beauties; that is all there is to be said. If you were not so
little I could tell you now about a great number of pretty girls in a
family, that were called the pride of Barbadoes. I married one of them,
and my friend Markham--why, my friend Markham knew them very well, my
dear madam,” the Colonel said. It did not seem to be the conclusion
which he intended to give to his description. However, he added, with a
smile, “But as you’re so little I won’t tell you about young ladies.
I’ll tell you about the Oboe men, and the harm they do among the poor
niggers.”
“Oh,” cried Bell and Marie, in one breath, “we should like to hear about
the young ladies best.”
“Bosh!” cried the boys; “what is the good of stories about a pack of
girls? I hate stories that are full of love and all that stupid stuff.”
“Then here goes for the Oboe men,” said the old soldier. He seated
himself under the great portico, in a large Indian bamboo chair that
stood there in summer, and the children perched about him like a flight
of birds.
Lady Markham looked at this group for a moment, with a softening of all
the anxious lines that had got into her face. She was not afraid of her
husband, who had always been so good to her, but she was afraid of
disapproval, and the Spears’ affair was fresh in her mind. But then, in
all the circumstances, that was so different!
She left the pretty group round the door, and went slowly down the
avenue, that she might be the first to meet her husband. Now that the
critical moment arrived, she began for the first time to think what the
business could be which Colonel Lenny was waiting to discuss. “More his
business than mine.” What was it? This question rose in her mind, giving
a little, a very little additional anxiety to her former disquietude.
And then, being anxious anyhow, what wonder that her mind should glide
on to the subject of Paul and what he was doing. That was a subject that
was never long out of her thoughts. Would he come home when the shooting
began? He could not stay up to read for ever. Would his father and he
meet as father and son ought to meet? Would it be possible to reason or
laugh the boy out of his foolish notions, and bring him back to right
views, to the disposition which ought to belong to his father’s son?
This was a wide sea of troubles to be launched upon, all starting from
the tiny rivulet of alarm lest Sir William should dislike the new
visitor. She went slowly down the avenue, under the nickers of sunshine
and shade, under the murmuring of the leaves, catching now and then the
sound of the colonel’s voice in the distance, and the exclamations of
the children. Ah, at their age how simple it all was--no complication of
opposed wills, no unknown friends or influences to contend with! She
sighed, poor lady, with happiness, and with pain. It is easy even for a
mother to dismiss from her thoughts those who are happy; but how can she
forget the one who perhaps is not happy, who is absent, who is among
unknown elements, not good or innocent? Thus Lady Markham’s thoughts,
however occupied with other subjects, came back like the doves to their
windows, always to Paul.