A MEETING.
This state of things continued for nearly a fortnight after the arrival
of Lord Winterbourne and his party at the Hall. They saw Mrs Edgerley
passing through the village, and in church; but she either did not see
them, or did not think it necessary to take any notice of the girls.
Knowing better now the early connection between their own family and
Lord Winterbourne’s, they were almost glad of this--almost; yet
certainly it would have been pleasanter to decline _her_ friendly
advances, than to find her, their former patroness, quietly dropping
acquaintance with _them_.
The grassy terraced road which led from Winterbourne village to the
highway, and which was fenced on one side by the low wall which
surrounded the stables and outhouses of the Rector, and by the hedge and
paling of the Old Wood Lodge, but on the other side was free and open to
the fields, which sloped down from it to the low willow-dropped banks of
one of those pale rivers, was not a road adapted either for vehicles or
horses. The Rivers family, however, holding themselves monarchs of all
they surveyed, stood upon no punctilio in respect to the pathway of the
villagers, and the family temper, alike in this one particular, brought
about a collision important enough to all parties concerned, and
especially to the Athelings; for one of those days, when a riding-party
from the Hall cantered along the path with a breezy waving and commotion
of veils and feathers and riding-habits, and a pleasant murmur of sound,
voices a little louder than usual under cover of the September gale
mixed only with the jingle of the harness--for the horses’ hoofs struck
no sound but that of a dull tread from the turf of the way--it pleased
Miss Anastasia, at the very hour and moment of their approach, to drive
her two grey ponies to the door of the Old Wood Lodge. Of course, it was
the simplest “accident” in the world, this unpremeditated “chance”
meeting. There was no intention nor foresight whatever in the matter.
When she saw them coming, Miss Anastasia “growled” under her breath, and
marvelled indignantly how they could dream of coming in such a body over
the grassed road of the villagers, cutting it to pieces with their
horses’ hoofs. She never paused to consider how the wheels of her own
substantial vehicle ploughed the road; and for her part, the leader of
the fair equestrians brightened with an instant hope of amusement. “Here
is cousin Anastasia, the most learned old lady in Banburyshire.
Delightful! Now, my love, you shall see the lion of the county,” cried
Mrs Edgerley to one of her young companions, not thinking nor caring
whether her voice reached her kinswoman or not. Lord Winterbourne, who
was with his daughter, drew back to the rear of the group instinctively.
Whatever was said of Lord Winterbourne, his worst enemy could not say
that he was brave to meet the comments of those whom he had harmed or
wronged.
Miss Anastasia stepped from her carriage in the most deliberate manner
possible, nodded to Marian and Agnes, who were in the garden--and to
whose defence, seeing so many strangers, hastily appeared their
mother--and stood patting and talking to her ponies, in her brown cloth
pelisse and tippet, and with that oddest of comfortable bonnets upon her
head.
“Cousin Anastasia, I vow! You dear creature, where have you been all
these ages? Would any one believe it? Ah, how delightful to live always
in the country; what a penalty we pay for town and its pleasures! Could
any one suppose that my charming cousin was actually older than me?”
And the fashionable beauty, though she did begin to be faded, threw up
her delicate hands with their prettiest gesture, as she pointed to the
stately old lady before her, in her antique dress, and with unconcealed
furrows in her face. Once, perhaps, not even that beautiful complexion
of Mrs Edgerley was sweeter than that of Anastasia Rivers; but her
beauty had gone from her long ago--a thing which she cared not to
retain. She looked up with her kind imperious face, upon which were
undeniable marks of years and age. She perceived with a most evident and
undisguised contempt the titter with which this comparison was greeted.
“Go on your way, Louisa,” said Miss Rivers; “you were pretty once,
whatever people say of you now. Don’t be a fool, child; and I advise you
not to meddle with me.”
“Delightful! is she not charming?” cried the fine lady, appealing to her
companion; “so fresh, and natural, and eccentric--such an acquisition in
the Hall! Anastasia, dear, do forget your old quarrel. It was not poor
papa’s fault that you were born a woman, though I cannot help confessing
it was a great mistake, _certainly_; but, only for once, you who are
such a dear, kind, benevolent creature, come to see _me_.”
“Go on, Louisa, I advise you,” said the Honourable Anastasia with
extreme self-control. “Poor child, I have no quarrel with you, at all
events. You did not choose your father--there, pass on. I leave the
Hall to those who choose it; the Old Wood Lodge has more attraction for
me.”
“And I protest,” cried Mrs Edgerley, “it is my sweet young friend, the
author of ----: my dearest child, what _is_ the name of your book? I have
_such_ a memory. Quite the sweetest story of the season; and I am dying
to hear of another. Are you writing again? Oh, pray say you are. I
should be heartbroken to think of waiting very long for it. You must
come to the Hall. There are some people coming who are dying to know
you, and I positively cannot be disappointed: no one ever disobeys _me_!
Come here and let me kiss, you pretty creature. Is she not the sweetest
little beauty in the world? and her sister has so much genius; it is
quite delightful! So you know my cousin Anastasia; isn’t she charming?
Now, good morning, coz.--good morning, dear--and be sure you come to the
Hall.”
Miss Anastasia stood aside, watching grimly this unexpected
demonstration of friendship, and keenly criticising Agnes, who coloured
high with youthful dignity and resentment, and Marian, who drew back
abashed, with a painful blush, and a grieved and anxious consciousness
that Louis, unseen but seeing, was a spectator of this salutation, and
somehow would be quite as like to resent Mrs Edgerley’s careless
compliment to herself, “as if I had been his sister.” With a steady
observation the old lady kept her eyes upon her young acquaintances till
the horsemen and horsewomen of Mrs Edgerley’s train had passed. Then she
drew herself up to the utmost pitch of her extreme height, and, without
raising her eyes, made a profound curtsy to the last of the train--he on
his part lifted his hat, and bent to his saddle-bow. This was how Lord
Winterbourne and his brother’s daughter recognised each other. Perhaps
the wandering eyes in his bloodless face glanced a moment, shifting and
uncertain as they were, upon the remarkable figure of Miss Rivers, but
they certainly paused to take in, with one fixed yet comprehensive
glance, the mother and the daughters, the children playing in the
garden--the open door of the house--even it was possible he saw Louis,
though Louis had been behind, at the end of the little green, out of
sight, trying to train a wild honeysuckle round an extempore bower. Lord
Winterbourne scarcely paused, and did not offer the slightest apology
for his stare, but they felt, all of them, that he had marked the house,
and laid them under the visionary curse of his evil eye. When he had
passed, Miss Rivers put them in before her, with an imperative gesture.
“Let me know what’s brewing,” said the Honourable Anastasia, as she
reposed herself on the little new sofa in the old parlour. “There’s
mischief in his eye.”