A NEW ERA.
It came to be rather an exciting business to Agnes and Marian making
their report of what had happened at the Willows--for it was difficult
to distract Mamma’s attention from Sir Langham, and Papa was almost
angrily interested in everything which touched upon Lord Winterbourne.
Rachel, of course, was a very prominent figure in their picture; but Mrs
Atheling was still extremely doubtful, and questioned much whether it
was proper to permit such an acquaintance to her daughters. She was very
particular in her inquiries concerning this poor girl--much approved of
Rachel’s consciousness of her own equivocal position--thought it “a very
proper feeling,” and received evidence with some solemnity as to her
“manners” and “principles.” The girls described their friend according
to the best of their ability; but as neither of them had any great
insight into character, we will not pretend to say that their audience
were greatly enlightened,--and extremely doubtful was the mind of Mrs
Atheling. “My dear, I might be very sorry for her, but it would not be
proper for me to forget you in my sympathy for her,” said Mamma, gravely
and with dignity. Like so many tender-hearted mothers, Mrs Atheling took
great credit to herself for an imaginary severity, and made up her mind
that she was proof to the assaults of pity--she who at the bottom was
the most credulous of all, when she came to hear a story of distress.
And Papa, who had been moved at once to forbid their acquaintance with
children of Lord Winterbourne’s, changed his mind, and became very much
interested when he heard of Rachel’s horror of the supposed
relationship. When they came to this part of the story, Mrs Atheling was
scandalised, but Papa was full of pity. He said “Poor child!” softly,
and with emotion; while Charlie pricked his big ear to listen, though no
one was favoured with the sentiments on this subject of the big boy.
“And about the Rector and the old lady who lives at Abingford--papa, why
did you never tell us about these people?” said Marian; “for I am sure
you must know very well who Aunt Bridget’s neighbours were in the Old
Wood Lodge.”
“I know nothing about the Riverses,” said Papa hastily--and Mr Atheling
himself, sober-minded man though he was, grew red with an angry
glow--“there was a time when I hated the name,” he added in an impetuous
and rapid undertone, and then he looked up as though he was perfectly
aware of the restraining look of caution which his wife immediately
turned upon him.
“Such neighbours as are proper for us you will find out when we get
there,” said Mrs Atheling quietly. “Papa has not been at Winterbourne
for twenty years, and we have had too many things to think of since then
to remember people whom we scarcely knew.”
“Then, I suppose, since papa hated the name once, and Rachel hates it
now, they must be a very wicked family,” said Marian; “but I hope the
Rector is not very bad, for Agnes’s sake.”
This little piece of malice called for instant explanation, and Marian
was very peremptorily checked by father and mother. “A girl may say a
foolish thing to other girls,” said Mamma, “and I am afraid this Rachel,
poor thing, must have been very badly brought up; but you ought to know
better than to repeat a piece of nonsense like that.”
“When are we to go, mamma?” said Agnes, coming in to cover the blush,
half of shame and half of displeasure, with which Marian submitted to
this reproof; “it is August now, and soon it will be autumn instead of
summer: we shall be going out of town when all the fashionable people
go--but I would rather it was May.”
“It cannot be May this year,” said Mrs Atheling, involuntarily
brightening; “but papa is to take a holiday--three weeks; my dears, I do
not think I have been so pleased at anything since Bell and Beau.”
Since Bell and Beau! what an era that was! And this, too, was a new
beginning, perhaps more momentous, though not such a sweet and great
revulsion, out of the darkness into the light. Mamma’s manner of dating
her joys cast them all back into thought and quietness; and Agnes’s
heart beat high with a secret and mercenary pleasure, exulting like a
miser over her hundred and fifty pounds. At this moment, and at many
another moment when the young author had clean forgotten _Hope
Hazlewood_, the thought came upon her with positive delight of the
little hoard in Papa’s hands, safely laid up in the office, one whole
hundred pounds’ worth of family good and gladness still; for she had not
the same elevated regard for art as her sister’s American admirer--she
was not, by any means, in her own estimation, or in anybody else’s, a
representative woman; and Agnes, who began already to think rather
meanly of _Hope Hazlewood_, and press on with the impatience of genius
towards a higher excellence, had the greatest satisfaction possible in
the earnings of her gentle craft--was it an ignoble delight?
The next morning the two girls, with prudence and caution, began an
attack upon the Chancellor of the Exchequer touching the best room. At
first Mrs Atheling was entirely horrified at their extravagant ideas.
The best room!--what could be desired that was not already attained in
that most respectable apartment? but the young rebels held their ground.
Mamma put down her work upon her knee, and listened to them quietly. It
was not a good sign--she made no interruption as they spoke of mirrors
and curtains, carpets and ottomans, couches and easy-chairs: she heard
them all to the end with unexampled patience--she only said, “My dears,
when you are done I will tell you what I have to say.”
What she did say was conclusive upon the subject, though it was met by
many remonstrances. “We are going to the Old Wood Lodge,” said Mrs
Atheling, “and I promise you you shall go into Oxford when we are there,
and get some things to make old Aunt Bridget’s parlour look a little
more like yourselves: but even a hundred pounds, though it is quite a
little fortune, will not last for ever--and to furnish _two_ rooms! My
dears, you do not know any better; but, of course, it is quite
ridiculous, and cannot be done.”
Thus ended at present their plan for making a little drawing-room out
of the best room; for Mamma’s judgment, though it was decisive, was
reasonable, and they could make no stand against it. They did all they
could do under the circumstances; for the first time, and with
compunction, they secretly instructed Susan against the long-standing
general order of the head of the house. Strangers were no longer to be
ushered into the sacred stranger’s apartment; but before Susan had any
chance of obeying these schismatical orders, Agnes and Marian themselves
were falling into their old familiarity with the old walls and the
sombre furniture, and were no longer disposed to criticise, especially
as all their minds and all their endeavours were at present set upon the
family holiday--the conjoint household visit to the country--the
glorious prospect of taking possession of the Old Wood Lodge.
In Bellevue, Charlie alone was to be left behind--Charlie, who had not
been long enough in Mr Foggo’s office to ask for a holiday, and who did
not want one very much, if truth must be told; for neither early hours
nor late hours told upon the iron constitution of the big boy. When they
pitied him who must stay behind, the young gentleman said, “Stuff!
Susan, I suppose, can make my coffee as well as any of you,” said
Charlie; but nobody was offended that he limited the advantages of their
society to coffee-making; and even Mrs Atheling, in spite of her
motherly anxieties, left her house and her son with comfortable
confidence. Harm might happen to the house, Susan being in it, who was
by no means so careful as she ought to be of her fire and her candle;
but nobody feared any harm to the heir and hope of the house.