The lawn of Llangorren Court, for a time abandoned to the dumb
quadrupeds, that had returned to their tranquil pasturing, is again
enlivened by the presence of the two young ladies; but so transformed,
that they are scarce recognisable as the same late seen upon it. Of
course, it is their dresses that have caused the change; Miss Wynn now
wearing a pea-jacket of navy blue, with anchor buttons, and a straw hat
set coquettishly on her head, its ribbons of azure hue trailing over,
and prettily contrasting with the plaits of her chrome-yellow hair,
gathered in a grand coil behind. But for the flowing skirt below, she
might be mistaken for a young mid, whose cheeks as yet show only the
down--one who would "find sweethearts in every port."
Miss Lees is less nautically attired; having but slipped over her
morning dress a paletot of the ordinary kind, and on her head a plumed
hat of the Neapolitan pattern. For all, a costume becoming; especially
the brigand-like head gear which sets off her finely-chiselled features,
and skin dark as any daughter of the South.
They are about starting towards the boat-dock, when a difficulty
presents itself--not to Gwen, but the companion.
"We have forgotten Joseph!" she exclaims.
Joseph is an ancient retainer of the Wynn family, who, in its domestic
affairs, plays parts of many kinds--among them the _metier_ of boatman.
It is his duty to look after the _Gwendoline_, see that she is snug in
her dock, with oars and steering apparatus in order; go out with her
when his young mistress takes a row on the river, or ferry any one of
the family who has occasion to cross it--the last a need by no means
rare, since for miles above and below there is nothing in the shape of
bridge.
"No, we haven't," rejoins Joseph's mistress, answering the exclamation
of the companion. "I remembered him well enough--too well."
"Why too well?" asks the other, looking a little puzzled.
"Because we don't want him."
"But surely, Gwen, you wouldn't think of our going alone."
"Surely I would, and do. Why not?"
"We've never done so before."
"Is that any reason we shouldn't now?"
"But Miss Linton will be displeased, if not very angry. Besides, as you
know, there may be danger on the river."
For a short while Gwen is silent, as if pondering on what the other has
said. Not on the suggested danger. She is far from being daunted by
that. But Miss Linton is her aunt--as already hinted, her legal
guardian till of age--head of the house, and still holding authority,
though exercising it in the mildest manner. And just on this account it
would not be right to outrage it, nor is Miss Wynn the one to do so.
Instead, she prefers a little subterfuge, which is in her mind as she
makes rejoinder--
"I suppose we must take him along; though it's very vexatious, and for
various reasons."
"What are they? May I know them?"
"You're welcome. For one, I can pull a boat just as well as he, if not
better. And for another, we can't have a word of conversation without
his hearing it--which isn't at all nice, besides being inconvenient. As
I've reason to know, the old curmudgeon is an incorrigible gossip, and
tattles all over the parish, I only wish we'd some one else. What a
pity I haven't a brother, to go with us! _But not to-day_."
The reserving clause, despite its earnestness, is not spoken aloud. In
the aquatic excursion intended, she wants no companion of the male
kind--above all, no brother. Nor will she take Joseph; though she
signifies her consent to it, by desiring the companion to summon him.
As the latter starts off for the stable-yard, where the ferryman is
usually to be found, Gwen says, in soliloquy--
"I'll take old Joe as far as the boat stairs; but not a yard beyond. I
know what will stay him there--steady as a pointer with a partridge six
feet from its nose. By the way, have I got my purse with me?"
She plunges her hand into one of her pea-jacket pockets; and, there
feeling the thing sought for, is satisfied.
By this Miss Lees has got back, bringing with her the versatile Joseph--
a tough old servitor of the respectable family type, who has seen some
sixty summers, more or less.
After a short colloquy, with some questions as to the condition of the
pleasure-boat, its oars, and steering gear, the three proceed in the
direction of the dock.
Arrived at the bottom of the boat stairs, Joseph's mistress, turning to
him, says--
"Joe, old boy, Miss Lees and I are going for a row. But, as the day's
fine, and the water smooth as glass, there's no need for our having you
along with us. So you can stay here till we return."
The venerable retainer is taken aback by the proposal. He has never
listened to the like before; for never before has the pleasure-boat gone
to river without his being aboard. True, it is no business of his;
still, as an ancient upholder of the family, with its honour and safety,
he cannot assent to this strange innovation without entering protest.
He does so, asking:
"But, Miss Gwen; what will your aunt say to it? She mayent like you
young ladies to go rowin' by yourselves? Besides, Miss, ye know there
be some not werry nice people as moat meet ye on the river. 'Deed some
v' the roughest and worst o' blaggarts."
"Nonsense, Joseph! The Wye isn't the Niger, where we might expect the
fate of poor Mungo Park. Why, man, we'll be as safe on it as upon our
own carriage drive, or the little fishpond. As for aunt, she won't say
anything, because she won't know. Shan't, can't, unless you peach on
us. The which, my amiable Joseph, you'll not do--I'm sure you will
not?"
"How'm I to help it, Miss Gwen? When you've goed off, some o' the house
sarvints'll see me here, an', hows'ever I keep my tongue in check--"
"Check it now!" abruptly breaks in the heiress, "and stop palavering,
Joe! The house servants won't see you--not one of them. When we're off
on the river, you'll be lying at anchor in those laurel bushes above.
And to keep you to your anchorage, here's some shining metal."
Saying which, she slips several shillings into his hand, adding, as she
notes the effect,--
"Do you think it sufficiently heavy? If not--but never mind now. In
our absence you can amuse yourself weighing, and counting the coins. I
fancy they'll do."
She is sure of it, knowing the man's weakness to be money, as it now
proves.
Her argument is too powerful for his resistance, and he does not resist.
Despite his solicitude for the welfare of the Wynn family, with his
habitual regard of duty, the ancient servitor, refraining from further
protest, proceeds to undo the knot of the _Gwendoline's_ painter.
Stepping into the boat, the other Gwendoline takes the oars, Miss Lees
seating herself to steer.
"All right! Now, Joe, give us a push off."
Joseph, having let all loose, does as directed; which sends the light
craft clear out of its dock. Then, standing on the bottom step, with an
adroit twirl of the thumb, he spreads the silver pieces over his palm--
so that he may see how many--and, after counting and contemplating with
pleased expression, slips them into his pocket, muttering to himself--
"I dar say it'll be all right. Miss Gwen's a oner to take care o'
herself; an' the old lady neen't a know any thin' about it."
To make his last words good, he mounts briskly back up the boat stairs,
and ensconces himself in the heart of a thick-leaved laurestinus--to the
great discomfort of a pair of missel-thrushes, which have there made
nest, and commenced incubation.
Volume One, Chapter IV.