MISS FLINT'S COMPANY MANNERS.
THOUGH Miss Dorothy Flint became the nominal tenant of Lint Hall, and
paid a good rent for it, she rarely made it her home. Being a lady of
an extremely independent turn of mind, and with large means at her own
absolute disposal, she was not the person to trouble herself as to what
people might say about her acts or movements.
"You hardly ever spend a week at a time in your new house," Mrs.
Burford said to her, when she called upon Miss Flint during one of
these brief visits to Lint Hall. "People wonder that you troubled
yourself with the care of a place which seems to afford you so little
pleasure. If you spent half the year in it, now."
"It would give me more trouble and less pleasure," promptly interposed
Miss Flint. "I took the place because—well—because your husband would
not sell it to me. He will be glad enough to ask me to buy it some
day, and I am waiting for that day to come. I shall get it cheaper in
the end. As to trouble, it gives me none. Cartwright and his family
are capital caretakers, and do all for me that I require, when I pay a
business visit to this neighbourhood. You, being an old friend, will
excuse the pinafores," continued Miss Flint, indicating by a wave of
her hand certain articles of furniture from which the holland covers
had not been removed. "I shall receive no one else."
Mrs. Burford assured Miss Flint that she esteemed this absence of
ceremony as a mark of personal kindness to herself, and a proof that
she was regarded as a friend.
"Only, my dear," she added, "I am sure you would be more comfortable
with me during these brief visits. You must feel dreadfully lonely
here."
"Not a bit of it," replied Miss Flint. "It is quite delightful. I feel
like a feminine Robinson Crusoe, as I wander through this big place,
'monarch of all I survey,' and with nobody to say do this, that, or the
other. It is my desert island, my inner world, into which the outer
one, always excepting yourself, my dear, does not poke its nose for
fear of its being snapped off;" and Miss Flint laughed heartily at her
own joke.
"Whilst I am here, however," she said when she had done laughing, "I
get to know everything that has happened since my last visit. I have
Jane Cartwright in; or if she is alone and busy ironing, I go to the
kitchen and sit with my feet on the fender, to hear the last three or
six months' gossip. We both enjoy it. I hardly know which of us gets
most gratification out of our talk, but I almost think I do," added
Miss Flint, in a reflective way. "Jane Cartwright knows that I shall
expect to hear about everything and everybody, and she keeps a sort
of diary for my benefit. I am vastly amused at the queer collection
of facts she stores up in this manner; plenty of rubbish, my dear, of
course, but there are many tit-bits,—oh yes, there are tit-bits."
Miss Flint's look at her visitor was indescribably knowing. She laughed
and nodded her head, somewhat to the derangement of the drapery which
at the moment was doing duty in place of a cap, and consisted of a
large bandana kerchief.
Mrs. Burford looked very uncomfortable, and wondered whether any bird
could have carried to Jane Cartwright, and Jane have repeated to Miss
Flint, some uncomplimentary expressions of her own with regard to the
present misuse of Lint Hall.
I have already said that Mrs. Burford's ambition was to occupy my
former home, and that Miss Flint's taking it on lease had, she
believed, been the cause of her disappointment. The Burfords' house
would have been easy to let. Lint Hall was not everybody's money, and
might have stood empty for years, or until its present owner was driven
to occupy it, as the less of two evils, if only Miss Flint had not gone
out of her way to take a place for which she had no use.
"If she would only live in it and receive her friends there, it
would be a different matter," said Mrs. Burford. "She has such ample
means for keeping up a place of the kind, and might make it quite a
delightful social centre if she chose. But Dorothy Flint never did
choose to act like an ordinary human being, and I firmly believe she
took Lint Hall to prevent our going to it, and to spite me, for I had
told her my mind about it. She is just a dog-in-the-manger—or perhaps
cat would fit her better. There is that old Cartwright keeping up the
gardens and vineries, and selling the produce—flowers, too—for his own
benefit. It is a perfect aggravation to see the things and know, that
not so much as a basket of grapes or a bunch of flowers ever comes our
way. She pays Jane Cartwright a trifle for keeping the house in order,
and the husband pays Miss Flint a mere acknowledgment for the gardens,
and makes all he can out of them. It is a shame!"
The memory of such remarks, made not once or twice, but often, when
Mrs. Burford's indignation outran her discretion, made her feel
anything but comfortable as she sat opposite to Miss Flint in the
morning-room at Lint Hall. She went first hot, then cold, as she
wondered whether they had reached the ears of the shrewd spinster,
whose keen glance made her feel so horribly self-conscious.
"You seem to like the Cartwrights," said Mrs. Burford, hardly knowing
what else to say at the moment.
"Almost better than they like me," was the prompt reply. "They can
scarcely forgive me for being here. Cartwright had been gardener to my
late cousin for several years, and was brought up on the estate; so,
naturally, I am the interloper;" and again the speaker laughed heartily.
"It is very good of you, then, to put a living into the man's hands as
you do, and get nothing back for it. Plenty of men would be glad to pay
a substantial rent for these gardens."
"Believe me, my dear, in the arrangement made with Cartwright, I have
studied my own interest—I always do. The gardens were terribly worn
down, for my cousin had spent no money on them for some time before his
death; for the excellent reason that he had none to spend. If I had let
the gardens in a regular way, the tenant would have been coming with
all sorts of grievances—houses giving way, pipes not acting, woodwork
bare of paint, and expense or trouble without end would have followed.
As it is, Cartwright knows he has nothing to expect.
"'Make the best of the place, if you choose to stay in it, but expect
nothing from me. If it is down, you may get it up again. If painting
be needed, outside work is the landlord's business; the rest must be
yours.'
"That was what I told Cartwright, and he is getting the place up. His
sons work out in the day and help him in the evenings, or when they
have no better job. Jane takes in washing, but does it at the lodge,
where the two sons and a daughter sleep when I am from home, the
other son and parents sleeping here at all times. When I am here, the
daughter is mostly here also, to help her mother. They do fairly well,
for it is their interest to make the best of things. I come and find
the grounds in perfect order and beauty, without paying a penny in
wages. If I hired my gardeners and left them to dispose of the produce,
I should be cheated on all hands, and have to spend I am afraid to say
how much, for a far worse state of things. You see, my dear, you made a
mistake in thinking that Cartwright was getting the better of me."
"It would require a clever person to do that," replied Mrs. Burford.
"Now, do you mean that as a compliment, or are you inclined to be
satirical?" inquired Miss Flint, with a look of candour that was most
irritating. "I shall not be offended in any case. I declare here is
Nelly!" she exclaimed; for my girl-friend had been ordered to call
for her mother in half-an-hour, and Miss Flint at this moment saw her
approaching the Hall door.
Rugged and sarcastic as Miss Flint might be to most, she was always
kind to Nelly, and Mrs. Burford, noticing this, was careful to throw
the girl in her way whenever an opportunity offered. Rose was her
favourite daughter, but Miss Flint's likings were not to be controlled,
and Mrs. Burford rejoiced that one of her children found favour in that
lady's eyes.
She gave Nelly many instructions about pleasing Miss Flint, and bade
her be cautious never to hold, or at any rate express, an opposite
opinion when talking with her.
"You are sadly too outspoken, Nelly," she said, "but do control your
tongue, for your own sake. Remember she has no end of money, which is
growing year by year, for she spends little and gives nothing. What
a blessing it is such people cannot carry their money away with them
when they die! They must leave it to somebody, and Miss Flint has no
relations, so why not you?"
"She has Jack," put in Nelly promptly.
"Do you mean that young Simpson?"
"Of course I do, mother dear. No one else was ever 'Jack' to me. He is
Miss Flint's nearest relation."
"As if third cousins were worth counting. And, Nelly, you must on no
account name him in her presence, or you will lose her favour once and
for all. For the future, you must be good enough to cease the 'Jack'
when you speak of young Simpson."
I am afraid Nelly was in a rebellious frame of mind, for she even said
that she hoped Miss Flint would never do such a wicked thing as to
pass over young Mr. Simpson for her or anybody else. Also, that if she
did leave money to her, she would give every penny of it to him, and
she was certain her father would help her to do it. Besides, Jack was
second, not third cousin.
When Miss Flint saw the girl from the window, she did not wait for her
to ring at the Hall door. The window opened to the ground and on to a
terrace, so she unfastened it and called—
"Come this way, Nelly, or you may wait outside for some time; Jane
Cartwright is slow in her movements, and her daughter is at the lodge
to-day."
Nelly obeyed, and shook hands with Miss Flint, disregarding a
telegraphic movement from her mother which suggested a more
affectionate greeting.
"That is right, Nelly," said Miss Flint, who had noticed the signal
with much amusement. "Give your kisses as your heart prompts you to
bestow them, though Dorothy Flint may be left out in the cold. How are
you, child? You look like a perfect bunch of roses."
"Very well indeed, thank you," replied Nelly. "I hope you have not been
suffering from pain in your face."
"You were going to say toothache, were you not? You very properly
corrected the expression. Thanks for the inquiry; I have no pain in
my face. This handkerchief, which you have mistaken for a defence
against cold, is only doing duty as a head-dress for want of a better.
I put it on out of respect to your mother, in place of exhibiting my
unadorned grey hair, and because, however old friends we may be, I like
to observe the proprieties. The kerchief lay close to my hand on the
table, whilst my cap was, and is, hanging on the mirror in my bedroom."
"I was going to say toothache," responded Nelly, resolutely ignoring
all remarks subsequent to Miss Flint's first question, "but I remember
that you told me you hoped never to suffer from that again, seeing you
had no natural teeth left."
"True, my dear. I admired the nice distinction you made. I hate shams,
and though I have not a tooth left out of those nature at first
provided, I deceive nobody. I did not shut myself up and see no one
for a month after I had lost the last of them and was waiting for the
substitutes. When a lady called upon me and said her little girl was
not very good-tempered because she was getting her eye-teeth, I said
I could sympathise with the child, for I was getting mine and felt
ill-tempered also. And now, child, you may fetch my cap if you like,
and I will wear it in honour of your call. It is not well to set an
example of untidiness to the rising generation."
"Nelly is going with me on a shopping expedition," said Mrs. Burford.
"I told her to call for me, so pray do not change on her account."
"No, she is going to stay with me whilst you go shopping. You know
that, out of the kindness of your heart, and in compassion to my
loneliness, you planned to leave her. Get the cap, Nelly. You shall
stay. Take off your things whilst you are upstairs, to save another
journey, and spend five minutes about it, so that your mother and I may
take an affectionate farewell of each other without being overseen by
your matter-of-fact eyes."
The girl did as she was told, and disappeared. Mrs. Burford turned very
red, but she laughed, and agreed to leave Nelly with Miss Flint, as
indeed she intended from the first to do, if possible.
But she was annoyed that Miss Flint had read her through and through,
and that she was being made game of by the keen-sighted spinster. She
thought it better to make a favour of allowing the girl to stay, and
added, "Indeed I have a great deal of shopping to do, and little time
to do it in. Nelly is going away to school in Germany for a couple of
years, and many preparations have to be made."
"Whew!" Miss Flint gave a sound from her pursed-up lips that was an
extremely near approach to a whistle, and would have been called one
had a boy made it. "Is not this a sudden plan?" she asked. "Mr. Burford
said nothing about it when I was talking with him only yesterday."
"I do not suppose he would bring in his family affairs when he was
engaged with your business, my dear Miss Flint. Besides, the mere
sending of a child to school is such an every-day matter in these
travelling times, that I dare say my husband did not think of it."
"An every-day matter! Why, you have never sent one away before."
"Certainly not. But somebody or other is always sending a child to the
Continent for educational advantages which do not lie within reach of
home. In that sense, it is an every-day occurrence."
"If I were a mother, which, taking all things into account, I am glad
I am not, the thought of parting with my girl would seem no every-day
matter. It would haunt me night and day. And if I know anything of
Randal Burford, it is haunting him. I understand now why the man was so
silent and absent in his manner yesterday. Tell me, now, does he want
the child to go? Is it your idea or his?"
"My husband has only to be convinced that a thing is for his daughter's
good and he will consent, though it may cost him some self-denial. It
was I who first thought of sending Nelly to Germany, for finishing
lessons in languages and music. The local teachers do not satisfy one."
"I thought so; and you are going to lose two years out of Nelly's life.
If I were her mother, I could not do that," said Miss Flint, in a
musing fashion.
"I do not understand you. How can I lose two years of the girl's life?
She will come to England for the summer holidays, but not in winter, on
account of the distance," replied Mrs. Burford.
"It is only an old maid's fancy," said Miss Flint, "but what else have
I to do but indulge queer fancies? I should have thought that this
particular one would have struck you rather than me, because of your
personal interest in the matter. My notion is, that before boys and
girls are fully grown up, each year of their lives stands by itself,
different from all the past years and all that are to come. There is a
constant change going on, a development, so rapid in comparison with
the alterations that follow the grown-up stage, when there is no very
striking difference to be perceived between one year and another. Part
with your child, as a child; do not see the boy or girl for a year or
two, and the young creature that comes back to you is different in so
many ways from the one that left you. You have for ever lost a phase of
that life, and you can never see it again."
"My dear Miss Flint, I should never have dreamed of your thinking so
deeply on such a subject. Doubtless you are right, but if all children
were to be kept by their parents' sides until they were grown up, I am
afraid it would not be to their advantage, to say nothing of its being
in most cases impossible."
"No doubt there are two sides to the question. There is just the
possibility that in some cases, a girl might be in wiser and better
hands than those of her mother, and that in others, the latter cannot
choose. I only said what I should feel if I were a mother and could
choose. But sometimes, again, mothers distrust their own ability to
bring up their children."
"I never entertained such an idea," said Mrs. Burford quickly.
Miss Flint responded with equal promptness, "I am sure you did not."
But if ever a face added, "More's the pity that you do not doubt your
own wisdom," the expression of hers completed the sentence in this
manner.
"How is the child going, and with whom?" asked Miss Flint, after a
rather uncomfortable pause.
"We think that a friend of ours will be going in a fortnight, and that
Nelly will be able to travel with her and her husband."
"A fortnight! Have you spoken to these people?"
"Not yet, but—"
"Then let them go their ways without Nelly. I am going to Germany in a
fortnight, and I will take her myself," said Miss Flint resolutely.
"But you may not be going in the same direction, or Mr. Burford and I
would be only too glad. Indeed, my dear Miss Flint, it would remove a
load of anxiety from our minds to know that Nelly was under the care
of such an experienced traveller, but we should not like to cause you
inconvenience."
"I am going in the same direction. Consider the weight off your mind,
and depart with a light heart to make your purchases. Nelly wants a
female griffin to guard her on the road; I want a companion on my
journey to Germany. We shall both benefit by my plan, and you will be
happy."
"I thought your friend Miss Watkin and you were going together, as
usual. Did you not say so?" inquired Mrs. Burford.
"We are to meet a month hence, but she is in Germany now. Do not call
her my friend, please. We go about in company because it suits our
convenience, and we quarrel like two cats. We can both bear to rough
it now and then. We are equally indifferent about dress, preferring
comfort and suitability to mere looks. We both hate to have a maid to
look after and pay, so long as we are able to look after ourselves;
and, like John Gilpin, being of 'a frugal mind,' we do not care to
be at the cost of a third person's travelling expenses, when we know
that she would be more trouble than she would be worth. It will be
delightful to chaperon Nelly, to play at mother for a few days, to have
a companion at somebody else's expense, too!"
Miss Flint laughed with such heartiness and evident enjoyment that Mrs.
Burford was infected by her mirth and laughed also. But she was, all
the same, feeling in her mind that she should like to give Miss Flint a
good shaking for her irritating words, which she could not answer and
dared not resent.
All at once Miss Flint ceased laughing, and exclaimed—
"We have kept that child out of the room too long, though perhaps she
is listening outside the door. She was only to be five minutes, and we
have kept her away a full quarter of an hour."
Nelly was not, however, listening. She needed to be called downstairs.
So Miss Flint, having informed Mrs. Burford that she need not take the
trouble to send any one for her daughter, as Jane Cartwright would
escort her home, hustled her guest off the premises as rapidly as
possible.