A DAY AT WYNDHAM HALL.
ALDYTH and Hilda were very busy during the next few days. They were
writing their essays on the "Characteristics of Eighteenth Century
Poetry," and whenever they met, they discussed the subject, and
manifested considerable excitement as to the result of their work.
Hilda, indeed, was so absorbed in this new interest that Kitty
laughingly declared that she was lost to the nineteenth century, and
would have been oblivious of every duty she owed to her contemporaries
if she had not looked after her.
"It is well I am a prosaic mortal," Kitty would say as she arranged
flowers, watered the plants in the conservatory, and attended to the
various little details on which the beauty and comfort of a home
depend; "not a room in the house would be fit to be seen if they were
left to Hilda."
And Hilda would smile dreamily, and, with an untroubled conscience,
devote all her time to reading and study. Kitty liked active duties,
she had no intellectual tastes; why should Hilda interfere to prevent
her performing as many such duties as possible?
Aldyth had no sister to relieve her of unwelcome tasks, and Miss
Lorraine, who was so much engaged outside her home, expected her niece
to assist her in domestic matters. Aldyth did not let her interest
in the literature lectures lead her to slight these. Each duty was
conscientiously discharged, but, by rising early and making the most of
every opportunity, she managed to secure time for reading and writing.
Mr. Glynne's second lecture, which described the influence of the
French Revolution on English literature, was even more interesting
than the former one had been. Aldyth's paper was returned to her with
a few words of commendation written on it. Hilda's, too, was marked
"good," but it was criticized as being rather too diffuse, and in some
respects not to the point. Hilda, who had spent hours over her essay,
and flattered herself that it was well done, was disappointed to find
it unequal to Aldyth's.
"Aldyth's is the best essay," said Kitty to Miss Lorraine, as they
met near the door of the hall. She spoke in loud, clear tones, as she
generally did, and her words were heard by Clara Dawtrey, to whom Miss
Lorraine had just been speaking.
"That Miss Aldyth Lorraine should stand first is only what one would
expect," Clara remarked with a simper.
Kitty gave her rather a haughty look of inquiry. But Miss Dawtrey had
turned to greet an acquaintance, and Kitty's look was apparently lost
on her.
"Now what did she mean by that, I wonder?" said Kitty, lowering her
voice.
"I am sure I cannot say," replied Miss Lorraine, rather belying her
words the next moment, however, by remarking, "I hope there will be
no nonsense of that kind. There never was such a place for gossip as
Woodham."
John Glynne no longer felt himself a stranger to people who gathered to
hear him lecture. The society of a small country town is not usually
reluctant to show hospitality to a young man of good family and high
personal credentials, and Woodham was no exception to this rule.
The young tutor sometimes was embarrassed by the number of invitations
he received, and had to use considerable tact in order to avoid
offending any of the many persons who wished for the pleasure of his
acquaintance. His frank, genial manner and good spirits made him
popular in every home. He was not musical in the ordinary sense of the
term; but he could appreciate good music, and so was a welcome addition
to the musical parties for which the little town was famous.
There were two houses in which John Glynne felt perfectly at home,
and an invitation to either was most acceptable to him. These were
Mrs. Bland's and Miss Lorraine's. His lodgings being close by in the
Longbridge Road, it was easy to drop into either. Needless to say, good
Mrs. Bland's heart went out towards the lonely young man, and for the
sake of his absent mother, she showed him many a motherly kindness. And
he enjoyed the life and freedom he found in her home. He was sure that
his sister would like the girls. Aldyth Lorraine, too; Mary could not
help liking her. She was somehow different from any girl he had ever
met before.
John Glynne little suspected that he never ran up the Blands' steps
or stopped in the High Street to speak to the Bland girls or their
friend Aldyth, without a pair of keen, dark eyes noting that he did
so. The eyes were those of the Blands' neighbour, Miss Tabitha Rudkin,
an elderly maiden lady, grand-aunt to Clara Dawtrey. Her house stood
opposite to Mrs. Bland's, just at the bend of the High Street, where a
narrow lane ran into it, and was so built that the windows commanded
two directions. The use which its occupant made of these windows had
led the Bland girls to name the house the "Observatory." Nothing that
happened in the High Street could escape the observation of Miss Rudkin
and her hired companion, Miss Purkiss.
In her way Miss Rudkin was a power in the little town, but, alas! it
was a power for evil. She was one of those unhappy spinsters who have
brought a slur upon the character of elderly single women. Of cold,
selfish nature and ill-disciplined mind, without occupation or any
close ties of affection, she had grown more and more unamiable, more
suspicious, more prone to believe the worst of her fellow mortals
with advancing years. Although it was no kindly interest she took in
her neighbours, the interest was intense. No one knew so much as Miss
Rudkin about all that happened or might happen at Woodham. She was the
most arrant gossipmonger in the place, if, indeed, she might not be
described as manufacturer of that commodity. All those who had a relish
for the latest piece of scandal, and could enjoy hearing the character
of a neighbour pulled to pieces, without being particular as to the
accuracy of the statements made, were wont to frequent Miss Rudkin's
house; and many others paid her attention, not because they liked her,
but because they feared her.
It was said that long, long ago, when Miss Tabitha Rudkin was young,
and perhaps good-looking, there had been a talk of her marrying Stephen
Lorraine. No one knew more than that there had been "something between
them"; no one could explain why the marriage had never taken place; but
it was certain that Miss Rudkin had still considerable influence over
old Stephen Lorraine.
Whether he were actuated by a sense of having wronged her in the past,
or whatever the motive, he invariably treated her with great respect.
On no day did he drive down the town without drawing up for a minute at
Miss Rudkin's door to inquire after her health, or leave some little
present of game or fruit. Not seldom he would go in to have a chat with
her, and gather information concerning the townspeople, for he, too,
had an appetite for gossip. It sometimes happened that these visits
produced results exceedingly annoying to Miss Lorraine, who had never
liked the Rudkins.
Aldyth's life had never been more busy or more full of interest than
it was now. It seemed to Miss Lorraine, as she watched her niece with
loving eyes, and marked the fresh animation in her look and bearing,
that Aldyth was daily growing prettier. There is, indeed, no beautifier
of the human face like the glow imparted to it by a noble, spiritual,
and intellectual life. High thoughts leave their impress, and a pure,
unselfish spirit will illumine the homeliest features.
Three lectures had been given, and Aldyth was looking forward with
great interest to the fourth, which was to treat of Wordsworth's work
as a poet. It was Tuesday morning, and having completed her round of
domestic duties, Aldyth sat down to finish the paper she was writing
for Mr. Glynne. She was just fairly launched into her task when she
heard her aunt calling to her from below—
"Come down, Aldyth; Guy is here."
Aldyth laid down her pen with a sigh, and ran to obey the summons.
Guy was chatting with Miss Lorraine in the dining room. His dog-cart
stood outside the house, with a boy holding the somewhat spirited
horse. Since he appeared at the first lecture, Guy had not taken the
trouble to attend another, but he had happened to be at Woodham on each
Thursday evening, and the Blands had found him waiting on the steps of
the Town Hall, apparently for the pleasure of watching the audience
disperse.
"Guy has come to take us to Wyndham for the day," said Miss Lorraine,
as Aldyth entered; "uncle wishes to see us."
Aldyth felt a pang of disappointment. The work in which she was so
interested must be put aside, for Miss Lorraine always regarded her
uncle's wishes as commands, and only absolute necessity would have led
her to decline this invitation. But Aldyth would not allow it to be
seen that she would prefer to remain at home.
"Thank you, Guy," she said brightly; "it is a lovely day for Wyndham. I
suppose you would like us to get ready at once?"
"If you please," said Guy. "You will want your habit, Aldyth. Uncle has
bought a new mare, one that carries a lady beautifully, and you are to
try her paces this afternoon, if you will."
Aldyth's eyes brightened. She was fond of riding, and the prospect of
the new mare was delightful. She ran to get ready, but, even with such
a pleasure in anticipation, she cast a regretful glance at the books
and papers scattered on her writing-table.
In a short time they were on their way to Wyndham. Aldyth sat on the
back seat of the dog-cart, and was content to let the other two do the
talking. For nearly five miles they followed the Longbridge Road, a
dreary road, running on a dead level all the way, with nothing to break
the monotony of flat fields save an occasional cottage, or a windmill
slowly revolving its long arms. But it was a lovely October day. There
was a crisp freshness in the air without its being cold. The sun was
shining on the stubble fields and on the brown mud and gleaming water
of the distant estuary. The hedges were bright with scarlet rose-hips,
an abundance of haws, russet leaves, and here and there rich clusters
of blackberries. Aldyth's eyes were quick to discern beauty wherever it
lurked. She loved the country at all seasons and under all aspects. She
had travelled little, and she often longed to visit the most beautiful
parts of the world; but whilst she waited for the realization of this
desire, she missed none of the beauty which Nature lavishes on every
spot of earth.
As they approached Wyndham, Guy turned his horse sharply from the main
road, and they entered upon a long carriage drive which crossed two
fields. The gates were set open in anticipation of their arrival, and
they drove straight on through a rather gloomy shrubbery till they
emerged in front of a long, low, white house. A lawn stretched to the
right of it, with flower-beds, rather untidily kept, and to the left
lay a round pond with the broad leaves of water-lilies floating on its
surface. At the sound of wheels, several dogs came running from the
back of the house, barking joyously. They knew Aldyth well, and she
called them by their names, and laughed as they made frantic efforts to
spring up at the back of the dog-cart.
The commotion soon brought out the squire to welcome his guests. He
was a fine old man, wonderfully upright and vigorous for his years. He
wore a shabby velveteen shooting jacket, and on his head a soft black
velvet cap, which he was scarcely ever known to lay aside. The hair
which fell beneath it and almost touched his shoulders was snowy white,
in vivid contrast to his cheek which had a ruddy glow like that of a
winter apple, and testified to a life spent largely in the open air;
his blue eyes were keen and bright; he had a large, handsome nose, a
think-lipped, tightly-closed mouth, and a round, cleanly-shaven chin.
His eyes shone with their kindliest light as he grasped Aldyth's hand
and helped her to spring from the dog-cart, while the others drove
round to the front door.
"So you've come, miss," he said. "Why did you make me send for you? It
seems you have no leisure to visit your poor old uncle nowadays."
"Indeed, uncle, we have talked of coming, but we have been very busy
lately."
"Busy! Pooh! What can you have to be busy about, I should like to know?"
"Well, uncle, you know we are having literature lectures now at
Woodham, and I have to study hard in order to get all the good that I
can from them."
An impatient frown came to the old man's face.
"Lectures! Pshaw! What good can they do you?"
"A great deal, I think, uncle," said Aldyth, cheerfully; "I am learning
many things I did not know before."
"Rubbish. You know enough. Did you not go to a first-class school?"
"Yes, uncle; but whilst I was there, I had little time for studying
poetry."
"What do you want to study poetry for? It will only put ideas into your
head that are better out of it. I never studied poetry or attended
lectures, and I have got on very well without doing so."
It was difficult to reply to this emphatic statement. Aldyth left it
undisputed, and turned to caress one of the dogs.
Miss Lorraine received but a cold greeting from her uncle; but she
expected no other. Their intercourse had never been cordial since
the time when he thought fit to disinherit the brother whom she
passionately loved. Miss Lorraine took her brother's part, and had
tried to make peace for him with her uncle; but she had only received
the not infrequent reward of the peacemaker—her uncle's displeasure had
been extended to her.
His love for Aldyth, and Miss Lorraine's love for both the children
who claimed her affection, had tended to patch up this breach; but
the patching was frail, and Miss Lorraine was ever aware that her
uncle regarded her with coldness and suspicion. But for Aldyth's
sake, she strove to preserve a friendly footing at the Hall, and was
punctiliously attentive to her uncle's wishes.
These visits to the Hall were seldom agreeable to her. She was not
afraid of the old man, but she could not enjoy his society. She
believed that he took a secret pleasure in annoying her. He certainly
had a knack of "rubbing her the wrong way," and sometimes he irritated
her to such an extent that it was all she could do to resist the
temptation to give him "a piece of her mind."
During luncheon the talk was about the mare which Aldyth was presently
to mount. She knew that her uncle had purchased the animal entirely for
her benefit, and she was grateful to him.
"It is very good of you, uncle, to give me so much pleasure," she said.
"Pooh, pooh!" he returned. "One must have a decent horse or two in
one's stables, and as you like riding, you may as well ride her. Brown
Bess is getting a little too old and staid for your ladyship!"
It was the very day for a ride; Aldyth was longing to be in the saddle.
Soon after luncheon the horses were brought round. The new mare was a
beautiful creature, pale-chestnut in hue, with one snowy fore-foot.
Miss Lorraine, who flattered herself she knew something of horses, was
loud in her admiration of her uncle's purchase. Stephen Lorraine said
little in reply; but his face was bright with pleasure as he caught the
look of Aldyth's. He came down the steps and assisted Aldyth to spring
into the saddle.
"It is your right, I know, Guy," he said; "but you let an old man
forestall you for once."
Guy laughed carelessly as he mounted his own steed.
Aldyth was a good rider, and she looked her best on horseback. The dark
blue habit showed to perfection her graceful figure, and set off the
pure paleness of her complexion. Her eyes shone with happiness, and
there was a glad ring her voice as she bade good-bye to the two who
stood on the steps to watch her ride away with Guy. Miss Lorraine felt
less cheerful as she looked forward to spending the afternoon alone
with her uncle.
"She is a dear girl," he remarked as his eyes followed two riding down
the drive; "and she is growing a handsome girl. They make a fine pair.
There will not be a better-matched couple in Essex."
Miss Lorraine turned a startled look upon him.
He met her glance, and arrested it for a moment with his keen old eyes.
"Yes," he said, significantly, "I mean it. Of course those two will
marry. You cannot suppose that I contemplate anything else?"
Miss Lorraine grew hot and then cold. She was not exactly surprised. It
was rather the realization of a dread that had long haunted her mind.
"The question is rather—what does Guy contemplate?" she said, quickly.
"Oh, as to that," said her uncle, coolly, "where could he find a more
charming wife than Aldyth would make him? And would it not be the best
thing possible for her?"
Miss Lorraine did not reply. As she followed her uncle across the
wide oaken hall, she said to herself that many women would like to be
the mistress of such a fine old house. What better position could she
desire for Aldyth than that which she would win if she married her
cousin, the heir of Wyndham? And yet there was something repugnant to
her in the idea. Guy did not seem to her to possess the qualities that
could make him a good husband for Aldyth.
They went back into the dining room. It was a large, handsome room; but
its dark oaken furniture, dark hangings, and dark carpet made it appear
gloomy. The whole house, indeed, had the dingy, uncared-for look that
a home generally gets that has no lady as its presiding genius. The
drawing room, a long, narrow room facing the garden, was rarely used.
Old Stephen stirred the fire into a blaze, seated himself in his
armchair, folded his hands before him, and looked deliberately at his
niece.
"You do not like the idea, it seems; but what better thing could there
be for Aldyth?"
"That depends on how she would regard it," said Miss Lorraine, drily.
"She has no fortune," he continued, without heeding his niece's words.
"Her mother has given her up; but if she had not done so, she has
nothing to leave her daughter."
"Aldyth will not be penniless," said her aunt, quietly. "All that I
have to leave will be hers when I am no more."
Stephen Lorraine made no comment on this statement. Evidently he
thought the £300 a year Miss Lorraine had inherited from her father a
poor thing in comparison with the joint possession of Wyndham and the
fortune he had accumulated.
"It seems to me," said Miss Lorraine, with sudden boldness, "it seems
to me a dangerous thing to make plans of this kind. If the two are
drawn to each other, all well and good; but you cannot be sure that
Aldyth would be Guy's choice, or, supposing it were so, that she could
love him."
"Nonsense!" said the old man sharply. "I tell you she does love him.
She'll be all right if you do not stuff her head with rubbish. What's
all this about the literature lectures? Who's that young fellow they
tell me is constantly at your house?"
Miss Lorraine coloured.
"Oh, Tabitha Rudkin!" she said within herself. "This is your doing."
But she replied calmly—
"I suppose you mean Mr. Glynne, the gentleman who is giving the
lectures. He is not more often at my house than he is at other
people's. He is a young man of good family, well-bred and highly
cultured. I went to school with his mother."
"Whose nonsensical idea was it having these lectures? What good can
they do?"
Miss Lorraine thought it vain to argue that question with her uncle.
"Aldyth enjoys them," she said; "she is very fond of poetry."
"More's the pity," returned the old man. "I don't approve of stuffing a
girl's head with poetry and rubbish! There's Byron, for instance. Now
what good can it do a girl to read Byron, I should like to know?"
Miss Lorraine was silent. She thought it probable that Byron was the
only poet with whose writings her uncle was acquainted; but she did not
dare to hint that he was perhaps hardly competent to judge of the value
of poetry.
"No," he added; "I object to those lectures. They will do her no good.
Tell her so from me; tell her that I wish her to give them up."
"Uncle!" His niece looked blankly at him. She could hardly believe that
he was in earnest.
"I mean it," he said; "I wish her to give them up. Guy does not care
for them; he does not attend them, and I would rather she did not."
"But Aldyth cares very much for them," said her aunt. "You cannot think
what a disappointment it would be to her."
"Nonsense!" he said impatiently. "Aldyth is a good girl; she will do
what I wish. You tell her what I say—do you hear?"
"I hear, certainly," said Miss Lorraine, greatly annoyed, "but I think
you had better speak to her about it yourself."
"You refuse to do so?"
Miss Lorraine hesitated.
"I would rather not," she said; "but if you insist upon it, I will."
"Very well, then; I do insist upon it. Now I shall see whether Aldyth
really cares to please me. There has been talk about her at Woodham
which has displeased me. I wish to put it down."
"Oh, Tabitha Rudkin!" inwardly groaned Miss Lorraine.
Stephen Lorraine said little more to his niece as they sat together.
Presently he took up his newspaper, and nodded a little behind it,
though he would have scouted the idea of sleeping in the afternoon.
She sat knitting diligently, but stealing many a glance the while at
the clock on the mantelpiece. She hated the disagreeable task imposed
on her. What would Aldyth say? At last the long, dull afternoon wore to
its close, and she heard Aldyth's happy voice as she dismounted at the
front door.