MISS VANDELEUR OF S. CANICE
DR. ELLIOTT came that evening to see if Honora had returned. He found
the sisters busy making lists and discussing plans.
"We must go off as early as ever we can," Honora declared, "and have a
few hours in Plymouth. Marian can rest, and I must get these things."
"Not so fast, you rash child. Do you think I am going to let Marian
travel all that way with only you? Not that I don't consider you a
host in yourself, Honora, but it would not do. I mean to take her the
whole way myself. Now, don't say a word against it, for on no other
terms shall I let her go. And the rooms you mean to furnish ought to
be ready for her when she gets there. She is not fit for roughing it.
You, Honora, might go and get this servant to meet you in Plymouth. Buy
what you want and go to S. Canice, and when you are settled, I will
bring Marian to Plymouth, and, if you like, you can meet us there. But
I would advise you to stay at home and be ready to receive her."
Both the girls looked quickly at him, Marian with evident relief and
gratitude, Honora half grateful, half startled.
"You are always kind, Dr. Elliott," said Marian. "I was a little
frightened for Honora."
"I will go to-morrow," Honora said, rather low. "The sooner I can be
ready the better. I will telegraph to Stasy to meet me."
"But poor Dr. Musgrave, Honora. Stasy is his servant, you must
remember."
"Oh, Stasy said she would get her brother's daughter Hephzibah—she is
Stasy's favourite niece—to come in her place at once, and that nice fat
man was quite content. He said I was very welcome to her, 'and Hephzy
will do very well.'"
"Don't make fun of my learned 'confrère,'" said the doctor, laughing.
"Have you no reverence about you, you saucy child?"
"I shall never make fun of you," she said, with a bright look of
gratitude.
Honora left Exeter the next day, taking all her own and most of
Marian's belongings, and leaving very little for the latter to do when
the time came for her to leave the lodgings.
And in a week from the day of her departure, she wrote to say that all
was now ready. She added,—
"If you can come at once, we shall have ten delightful days before the
College opens. It is lovely here now."
So in two days more the doctor was ready, and Marian was taken to the
station in his carriage. Here they were joined by a stout woman who was
introduced as "Mrs. Prothero, who is going to Cornwall." And Marian did
not suspect that Mrs. Prothero was the best nurse on the doctor's list.
The journey was most successful as far as Plymouth. Marian lay on a
mattress which Mrs. Prothero was taking with her, and the movement did
not hurt her much.
At Plymouth, Honora ran up to the window and looked anxiously in.
"Oh, you are all right," she said. "And have you room for me?"
"Yes, yes; plenty. Get in, child. Would you like a cup of tea, Marian?"
"Oh no, Dr. Elliott, it will not be very long till we are at home. What
is that in your hand, Honora?"
"A newspaper. I was looking at it in the waiting-room, and I saw a
piece of news which I thought might interest you. It is the 'Plymouth
and Saltash Mercury.' Read this."
Marian looked. Behold, in "Local Items," it was announced that Miss
Vandeleur of S. Canice Castle was about to take up her residence at her
ancestral abode; and the two girls laughed gleefully.
"I little thought," said Honora, "when I heard Stasy desiring our
parcels to be directed to 'Miss Vandeleur, the Castle, S. Canice,' that
this would be the consequence. Stasy talks about you always by your
full title, Marian, except to me. Then you are 'My missy.'"
On they went again, and Marian, though tired, was not in any pain.
But when they left the train at Penbrasil Junction, and got into the
slightly built, narrow carriage of the light railway, there was a
very different story. Her suffering was terrible, and poor Honora was
terrified almost beyond bearing.
Mrs. Prothero whispered, "I have chloroform in my basket, doctor."
And Honora said piteously, "Oh, do try the chloroform, Dr. Elliott. She
will surely die unless you—"
"I dare not give chloroform, child. How much longer have we to go?"
"This is the last stop—about fifteen minutes now."
When S. Canice was reached, Stasy was there waiting. And Marian, being
laid on a large thick railway-rug, was carried by willing hands—the
only difficulty was to prevent too many helping at once—and in a few
minutes was safe in the house she longed for. But she did not know that
she was there, for she was almost unconscious.
Dr. Elliott made them put her to bed as comfortably as they could. He
then gave her a few drops of some soothing medicine, and she was soon
asleep.
"Stasy, get Dr. Elliott and—the lady—where is she?—get them some
dinner. I will sit by Marian."
"Mrs. Prothero's gone," said Dr. Elliott; "she has to get on, you
know—she came to oblige me. Marian will be much better to-morrow, you
poor, frightened child."
"Oh, Miss Honora, is she often like that?" cried Stasy.
"I never saw her so bad before, not even the day I took her to Bath
Street."
"I must have a talk with you before I go, Honora. I will not leave you
till to-morrow. But I think and hope that she will be all right by that
time."
But Honora was far too much alarmed to go to bed.
Stasy reported that she had made the doctor very comfortable in the
bedroom next to the kitchen, and she herself would occupy a "real nice
shake-down" in the kitchen.
But when left to her own devices, Honora brought the easy-chair she had
purchased for Marian's use to the side of the bed, and wrapping herself
in shawls, she sat down to watch. But Marian slept very quietly, and
Honora fell asleep, too, after a time.
It was quite late, nearly nine o'clock, when Marian awoke. At first
she could not imagine where she was, but by degrees she remembered,
and turning her head, looked eagerly round. Close to her, fast asleep,
sitting in a very luxurious easy-chair, was Honora. No doubt that was
the new chair of which she had written that it was just the thing for
Marian. But oh, how oddly familiar other articles of furniture looked!
The table—that used to stand in father's study; those spindle-legged
chairs were in her mother's sitting-room. Here she bethought herself of
looking towards the window, and then she saw the sea, and knew that the
sound to which she had been dreamily listening was the old, old lilt of
the waves so sorely longed for many a time.
"Oh, Honora, wake up and listen! I hear the sea."
"What is the matter?" Honora said, only half awake.
"The sea, child—the grand blue sea, and the waves going up and down
just as I remember them."
"It 'is' lovely," Honora said, now wide awake. "Think of having it
always there, instead of the dirty, noisy street."
"Or even Mrs. Elliott's garden. There is nothing like the sea; it is
good to look at, and music to listen to, and never the same. Look at
the green line in the blue—see the breeze scurrying over it! Oh, my
dear old sea!"
"But I am afraid it is very late, and Dr. Elliott—Ah, here is Stasy
bringing a cup of tea for you! Good Stasy."
"Oh, Stasy, I should have known you anywhere!" cried Marian. "Come here
and kiss me."
"My missy, you're more like what you used to be to-day. Ah, but it is
good to see even two of ye!"
"Two are quite enough to begin with," said Honora. "I must wash and
dress as fast as I can, and give Dr. Elliott his breakfast. You are not
to get up, dear, till he has seen you."
"I am quite content," smiled Marian.
"May I tell him that you are free from pain, Marian?"
"Not quite free, but very nearly; and so happy."
Honora dressed herself, and went into the sitting-room, where she
found Dr. Elliott waiting for her. He was looking with interest at
the room and its furniture. Honora had ransacked what she called her
Enchanted Cave—the room in which all the old furniture was stored—and
had selected such articles as seemed most suitable to this rather small
apartment. The walls were painted, and had been so well done that a
good washing had made the pale grey look very nice once more. The
sofa and the few chairs she had chosen were covered with much faded
embroidery done by ladies of the house of Vandeleur long before, yet
still beautiful—perhaps not the less beautiful because faded.
Stasy had exclaimed when Honora insisted on having these brought out
and thoroughly dusted. She said they had been left in one of the
turret-rooms all the time Mr. Vandeleur lived at S. Canice, being
the only furniture he found in the castle, and even then too old and
shabby for use. But his daughter greatly preferred them to the heavy,
crimson-covered things which had been the pride of her mother's heart.
And with these, some bookcases, and a new carpet and curtains, Honora
had made the room look homelike and pretty.
She and the doctor had breakfast together. And he told her that he
had felt very doubtful the night before whether he had done right
in allowing Marian to take the journey. But now, he said, she would
be just as usual, and he had no doubt whatever that perfect quiet,
happy homelife, and the fine sea air would make her life one of less
suffering than it had been lately.
"You see, she never complains, and so I had no idea that Miss Drury
made her unhappy. And either exertion of any kind, or being fretted and
mortified, are very bad for her. I do think that gratifying her strong
desire to be here will make a great difference in her—happiness."
"Will she get well?" said Honora, looking up at him. "Tell me the very
truth, please."
"No, my child. And there is nothing to be done for her. I kept her
lying flat for a long time, and did all that I possibly could. She
was injured beyond remedy before I saw her. But she may live for many
years; and you can do much to make that likely."
He then gave into her keeping such remedies for pain and faintness as
he had found to be the best. And he said he would see Dr. Musgrave, and
put the case into his hands.
"I shall write it for him, and he can leave my notes with this Dr.
Egerton who is coming in his place. But you can always write to me,
Honora, and I hope you will, and, if necessary, I will come to you."
Dr. Elliott left them that day, and it was not till the following
morning that Marian saw the pretty parlour where her quiet days were to
pass. Her delight in it was great, but her pleasure was too keen for
words when, the day being fine and sunny, she was established in her
easy-chair on the rocky platform on which the castle was built, there
to bask in the sunshine and listen to the sea, and to look so utterly
peaceful and full of joy that Stasy declared she was more like an angel
than anything else.
"I fear you will soon find that I am not very like an angel," Marian
said, laughing.
"At all events, you do not look like the poor, sad Marian I found in
that dingy little room at Miss Drury's."
"Ah, I was not unhappy there in the old days—but oh, this is different!"
Later in the day, Dr. Musgrave came to see them, bringing a great bunch
of daffodils of every known variety except the old yellow double, which
he rather despised.
"Oh, Dr. Musgrave," cried Honora, "are those for us? How very kind of
you, for I suspect you are not fond of cutting your lovely flowers!"
"Now, how did you know that?" he said, getting very red.
"Ah, I'm very discerning! Marian, this is Dr. Musgrave—Miss Vandeleur.
And sit down and talk to her while I put these in water. Then I will
give you a cup of tea, and I hope it will be as good as the tea you
gave me the day I first came here."
Dr. Musgrave sat down, but to Marian's amusement, he seemed unable to
take his eyes off Honora as she moved about putting the flowers into
glasses. But when she left the room to see about tea, his broad face
took such a deserted expression that Marian very nearly laughed out.
But it seemed to dawn upon him that he ought to talk, so with an effort
he remarked—
"Fine day, Miss Vandeleur."
"It is indeed," she answered. "I was out by the cliff there for two
hours or more."
"Very good for you. Here's your sister!"—as Honora returned, followed
by Stasy with the tea-tray.
She brought a small table and set it before Marian, who poured out the
tea.
Honora expected the doctor to get up and hand her her cup, but on the
contrary, he waited till she handed him his.
"Well, Dr. Musgrave, when do you desert us?" she inquired.
"Not so soon as I thought. Egerton's in a peck of trouble and can't
come."
"What is the matter with him?" Marian asked, as Honora did not speak.
"His mother's ill—very ill, she is. He couldn't leave her. And I see
by the notice of her illness in the paper that she's Mrs. Egerton of
Eltringham, poor woman! Hope he's a good son to her, for she's had a
dreadful bad husband."
"Was he so bad? Will you have another cup of tea?"
"Yes, thank you. He was a perfect beast; he turned her out of his
house, I believe. There's an elder son—takes after the father. This one
stuck to the mother and gets not a penny piece from Mr. Egerton."
"Indeed? But if you are to be delayed, I fear you will be sorry you let
Stasy leave you," Honora said.
"No; glad to do it—for you. Hephzy isn't too bad, either. Good-bye. I
must be going. I'll see you again."
Marian held out her hand, but the poor man did not see this, and with
a nod to Honora and a second nod to Marian, he stole from the room.
And in a moment, a tremendous bang of the hall door proved that he had
departed.
"What is the matter with him?" said Honora, laughing.
"I suppose he is shy," replied Marian.
"That great, big, not young and very fat man, shy! Oh, he could not be
so silly! He is only 'gauche.'"
"I hope the new one will be different," said Marian.
"He 'is' different; he is quite pleasant," said Honora, sedately.
The days passed only too quickly, for the College was to open on the
first of May, and then Honora would be away all the day. They enjoyed
everything, even the terrible scarcity of forks and spoons, of which
Honora had bought only two or three, because in her trunks which
Madame André was forwarding to her from Dinar, she had those which had
belonged to Lady Barker; also many other things which would be very
useful.
But the trunks were in no hurry, whatever they might be, and for a
month or more they had to manage as best they could, and found out at
last that the trunks had been most of that time at Plymouth railway
station.
Long before that time, Honora had begun her work at Heyward's College.
She could always come and go by train, but the five-o'clock train was
later than she need be, if she was free at three o'clock, as she was on
most days. So she ventured to walk home across the moor, getting down
to the sea-level by a very primitive system of zigzag paths and wooden
ladders, with some steep steps cut in the rock to help them out. It was
a good three miles, but a lovely walk in fine weather. And there was a
curious crag which rose suddenly from the turf about half way, where
she often rested for a few minutes, finding a snug seat in a hollow
place at the side, whence a lot of stone had been quarried long before.
S. Michael's Stone the crag was called. But she knew that she must give
up crossing the moor in winter, for it was very lonely, and the road,
hardly more than a footpath, was very rough.
As to her work, she found it difficult at first, and always much more
arduous than she expected. Many of her scholars were about her own
age. Some of them did not care to learn to speak French, only to write
and read it easily. But those who intended to be nursery governesses,
milliners, copying clerks, ladies' maids, etc., were very anxious to
speak it well.
After a little while, she divided her great class into two, and found
that all got on much better. From nine o'clock till two, when the girls
dined, and Honora employed herself in correcting exercises, she taught
French, and from three to four writing. Very often this class was only
over in time for her to race down the hill and catch the train. But
on some days, she was free at three, and on Saturday at one. And the
Sunday rest was very welcome.
But the work did her no harm, and as she was a very capable girl, she
gave Miss Webb great satisfaction. Miss Webb became quite fond of her,
and often came to S. Canice for an hour or so. And how pleasant it was
to have a home and a sister, and to enjoy every moment of the long
quiet evenings! Marian was wonderfully well, and as to Honora, she was
brighter than ever. It was a lovely summer, not so much as a capful of
wind, and very little rain; and Marian sat out-of-doors for hours at a
time—she never wearied of it.
It was late in July when Dr. Musgrave came to tell them that Dr.
Egerton was coming at last. His mother was dead—this they already knew;
he was to have Dr. Musgrave's cottage and Hephzy, and he would no doubt
call on them.
A few days afterwards, Dr. Musgrave came to say good-bye. He was very
awkward and distracted, and when at last he rose to go, Honora went
with him to the hall door, which she generally did, as otherwise he
banged it with considerable noise. He held her hand and gazed at her
for a moment. Then he said hurriedly—
"I'll be late for the train. Miss Honora, have I a chance?"
She raised her blue eyes to his very expressionless face, for his voice
sounded to her rather unusual; but no, he "looked" quite as usual, and
she said—
"I think you will catch it easily. Good-bye!" And with a bright smile,
she shut the door.
"She didn't understand," he said, and walked off in a dismal frame of
mind.
This took place on Wednesday evening.
On Sunday Honora went to church, as she always did, at S. Canice's
Church, a wee little grey building, very old, and in such an exposed
place that even ivy would grow only on one side. North, west, and east
it was all grey stone; on the south side it was closely covered with
green. Honora overtook Mr. Glynn, the rector, about halfway up the hill.
"How's Miss Vandeleur?" he said. "Does she like our new doctor? He
seems a very nice fellow."
"She has not seen him yet. I have met him in France. We did not know
that he had arrived."
"Oh yes; he came on Wednesday night."
Honora went into the church and took her usual place. Presently she
heard a footstep that she knew. And after a while, she knew that Piers
Egerton was sitting a little way off. And when she left the church, she
met him in the porch.
"Miss Vandeleur! How strange that we should meet here!"
"We live here," she answered, giving him a quick, shy glance. "Did not
Madame André tell you? I thought she would."
"I have not seen her since my dear mother's death. She told me that you
were in Exeter."
"I was so sorry to hear of your grief, Dr. Egerton."
"My poor mother, she was getting better when we heard of my eldest
brother's death, from an accident; she never held up her head again."
"It was very sad. I had not heard about your brother. I go this way,
Dr. Egerton. We live at the other side of that great cliff."
"I have seen the house—castle, I mean. A curious place—unique, I should
think. Dr. Musgrave told me to be sure to call there, and gave me a
letter from some other doctor, but I have not had time to read it yet."
"Dr. Elliott. It is about my sister."
"I will call on her. Good-bye, Miss Honora."
"Good-bye," she said, and walked on.
He looked after her. She held herself very upright, and her pretty head
thrown back a little. He turned and went home. He had taken off his
hat when saying good-bye, and he carried it home in his hand without
knowing it.
As to Honora, she sat down on a big stone close to her own gate, and
was very quiet, and very unlike Honourbright.
"He is not the same. I was a fool. I did not understand—I did not
understand. I must forget all silly thoughts. I 'will' forget them. Oh,
I am ashamed!"
Her cheeks burned, and her eyes ached. But she would not let a tear
come. She rose and went home, told Marian about the sermon, and added—
"Dr. Egerton is come. He walked down the hill with me."
"Why did you not ask him in?"
"I did not think of it."
And Marian perceived nothing.
Honourbright had plenty of courage, but her young heart was sore.
Contrary to her usual custom, she went out for a walk that evening.
"I see how it was," she told herself; "he was pleasant because I was
English, and he does not speak much French; and he thought we should
never meet again. It was no mere fancy of mine. He 'did' make me
foolish, but he did not really care. Well, I will forget my silly
fancy, and easily, for he is not what I thought him. It was my folly,
but his fault. I did not fancy it. Now—it is over!"
Dr. Egerton called the next day while Honora was at Heyward's. Marian
liked him, and he came pretty often, but Honora was generally absent.
And if she did not forget her pleasant dream, neither he nor any one
else found out her poor little secret.
August brought holidays, and Miss Webb came for a month or so to be a
"paying guest" at S. Canice. She liked it so well that she remained for
all the holidays, and she and Honora had delightful walks together.
Bathing was new to Honora, but Miss Webb was a good swimmer, and Honora
learned from her, and enjoyed it highly.
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