Before four-and-twenty hours had passed, a certain premonition of
approaching change had stolen into the air at Langton-Courtenay. Miss
Blank, too, had been received by Mr. Courtenay in a private audience,
where he treated her with the courtesy due from one crowned head to
another; but, nevertheless, gave her fully to understand that her reign
was over. This took her all the more by surprise, that she had expected
quite the reverse, from his words and looks in the morning; and it was
perhaps an exclamation which burst from her as she withdrew, amazed and
indignant, to her own room, which betrayed the possibilities of the
future to the household. Miss Blank was not prone to exclamations, nor
to betraying herself in any way; but to have your resignation blandly
accepted, when you expected to be implored, almost with tears, to retain
your post, is an experience likely to overcome the composure of any one.
The exclamation itself was of the plainest character--it was, ‘Oh! I
like his politeness--I like that!’ These words were heard by a passing
housemaid; and not only were the words heard, but the flushed cheek, the
indignant step, the air of injury were noted with all that keenness and
intelligence which the domestic mind reserves for the study of the
secrets of those above them. ‘She’s got the sack like the rest,’ was
Jane’s remark to herself; and she spread it through the house. The
intimation produced a mild interest, but no excitement. But when late in
the afternoon Maryanne came rushing downstairs, open-mouthed, to report
some unwary words which had dropped from her young mistress, the
feelings of the household acquired immediate intensity. It was a
suspecting place, and a poor sort of place, where there never were any
great doings; but still Langton-Courtenay was a comfortable place, and
when Maryanne, with that perverted keenness of apprehension already
noticed, which made her so much more clever in divining her mistress’s
schemes than doing her mistress’s work, had put Kate’s broken words
together, a universal alarm took possession of the house. The housemaid,
and the kitchenmaid, and the individual who served in the capacity of
man-of-all-work, shook in their shoes. Mrs. Cook, however, who was
housekeeper as well, shook out her ample skirts, and declared that she
did not mind. ‘A house can’t take care of itself,’ she said, with noble
confidence; ‘and they ain’t that clever to know now to get on without
me.’ The gardener, also, was easy in his mind, secure in the fact that
‘the “place,” must be kep’ up;’ but a thrill of tremulous expectation
ran through all those who were liable to be sent away.
These fears were very speedily justified. In as short a time as the post
permitted, Mr. Courtenay received an effusive and enthusiastic answer
from Mrs. Anderson, to whom he had written very curtly, making his
proposal. This proposal was that she should receive Kate, not as a
visitor, but permanently, until she attained her majority, giving her
what educational advantages were within her reach, getting masters for
her, and everything that was needful; and, in short, taking entire
charge of her. ‘Circumstances prevent me from doing this myself,’ he
wrote; ‘and, of course, a lady is better fitted to take charge of a girl
at Kate’s troublesome age than I can be.’ And then he entered upon the
subject of money. Kate would have an allowance of five hundred pounds a
year. It was ridiculously large for a child like his niece, he thought
to himself; but parsimony was not Mr. Courtenay’s weakness. For this she
was to have everything a girl could require, with the exception of
society, which her guardian forbade. ‘It is not my wish that she should
be introduced to the world till she is of age, and I prefer to choose
the time and the way myself,’ he said. With these conditions and
instructions, Kate was to go, if her aunt wished it, to the Cottage.
Mrs. Anderson’s letter, as we have said, was enthusiastic. She asked,
was she really to have her dearest sister’s only child under her care?
and appealed to heaven and earth to testify that her delight was
unspeakable. She said that her desire could only be the welfare, in
every point, of ‘our darling niece!’ That nobody could be more anxious
than she was to see her grow up the image of her sweet mother, ‘which,
in my mind, means an example of every virtue and every grace!’ She
declared that were she rich enough to give Kate all the advantages she
ought to have, she would prove to Mr. Courtenay her perfect
disinterestedness by refusing to accept any money with the dear child.
But, for Kate’s own sake, she must accept it; adding that the provision
seemed to be both ample and liberal. Mrs. Anderson went on to say that
masters of every kind came to a famous school in her neighbourhood, and
that Mr. Courtenay might be quite sure of darling Kate’s having every
advantage. As for society, there was none, and he need be under no
apprehension on that subject. She herself lived the quietest of lives,
though of course she understood that, when Mr. Courtenay said society,
he did not mean that she was to be interdicted from having a friend now
and then to tea. This was the utmost extent of her dissipations, and she
understood, as a matter of course, that he did not refer to anything of
that description. She would come herself to London, she said, to receive
from his hands ‘our darling niece,’ and he could perhaps then enter into
further details as to anything he specially wished in reference to a
subject on which their common interest was so great. Mr. Courtenay
coughed very much over this letter--it gave him an irritation in his
throat. ‘The woman is a humbug as well as a fool!’ he said to himself.
But yet the question was--humbug or no humbug--was she the best person
to free him of the charge of Kate? And, however he might resist, his
judgment told him that this was the case.
The Rectory people came to return the visit of Mr. and Miss Courtenay
while the house was in this confusion and commotion. They made a most
decorous call at the proper hour, and in just the proper number--Mr. and
Mrs. Hardwick, and one daughter. Kate had fallen from the momentary
popularity which she had attained on her first appearance at the
Rectory. She was now ‘that interfering, disagreeable thing,’ to the two
girls. Nevertheless, as was right, in consideration of Miss Courtenay’s
age, Edith, the sensible one, accompanied her mother.
‘I am the best one to go,’ said Edith to her mother. ‘For Minnie, I am
sure, would lose her temper, and it is much best not to throw her into
temptation.’
‘You must be quite sure you can resist the temptation yourself,’ said
Mrs. Hardwick, who had brought up her children very well indeed, and had
early taught them to identify and struggle against their specially
besetting sins.
‘You know, mamma, though I am sure I am a great deal worse in other
things, this kind of temptation is not my danger,’ said Edith; and with
this satisfactory arrangement, the party took its way to the Hall.
Kate, in the flutter of joyous excitement which attended the new change
in her fortunes, was quite a new creature--not the same who had called
at the Rectory, and surprised and offended them. She had forgotten all
about her own naughtiness. She seized upon Edith, and drew her into a
corner, eager for a listener.
‘Oh! do you know I am going away?’ she said. ‘Have you ever been away
from home? Have you been abroad? Did you ever go to live among people
whom you never saw before? That is what I am going to do.’
‘Oh! I am so sorry for you!’ said Edith, glad, as she afterwards
explained to her mother, to be able to say something which should at
once be amiable and true.
‘Sorry!’ said Kate--‘oh! don’t be sorry. I am very glad. I am going to
my aunt, who is fond of me, though I never saw her. Going to people who
are fond of you is different----’
‘Are you fond of her?’ said Edith.
‘I never saw her,’ said Kate, opening her eyes.
Here was an opportunity to be instructive such as seldom occurred, even
in the schools where Miss Edith’s gift was known. The young sage laid
her hand upon Kate’s, who was considerably surprised by the unlooked-for
affectionateness. ‘I am older than you,’ said Edith--‘I am quite grown
up. You will not mind my speaking to you? Oh! do you know, dear, what is
the best way to make people fond of you?’
‘No.’
‘To love them,’ said Edith, with fervour. Kate looked at her with calm,
reflective, fully-opened eyes.
‘If you can,’ she said--‘but then how can you? Besides, it is their
business to begin; they are older; they ought to know more about it--to
be more in the way; Uncle Courtenay, for instance---- I am sure you are
very good--a great deal better than I am; but could you be fond of him?’
‘If he was my uncle--if it was my duty,’ said Edith.
‘Oh! I don’t know about duty,’ said Kate, shaking back her abundant
locks. The idea did not all commend itself to her mind. ‘It is one’s
duty to learn lessons,’ she went on, ‘and keep one’s temper, and not to
talk too much, and that sort of thing; but to be fond of people----
However, never mind; we can talk of that another time. We are going on
Monday, and I never was out of Langton-Courtenay for a single night in
all my life before.’
‘Poor child!--what a trial for you!’ said Edith.
At this moment Mrs. Hardwick struck in--‘After the first is over, I am
sure you will like it very much,’ she said. ‘It will be such a change.
Of course it is always trying to leave home for the first time.’
‘Trying!’ cried Kate; and she rose up in the very restlessness of
delight, with her eyes shining, and her hair streaming behind her. But
what was the use of discussing it? Of course they could not understand.
It was easier to show them over the house and the grounds than to
explain her feelings to them. And both Mrs. Hardwick and Edith were
deeply impressed by the splendour of Langton-Courtenay. They gave little
glances at Kate of mingled surprise and admiration. After all, they
felt, the possessor of such a place--the owner of the lands which
stretched out as far as they could see--ought to be excused if she was a
little different from other girls. ‘What a temptation it must be!’
Edith whispered to her mother; and it pleased Mrs. Hardwick to see how
tolerant of other people’s difficulties her child was. Kate grew quite
excited by their admiration. She rushed over all the house, leading them
into a hundred quaint corners. ‘I shall fill it from top to bottom when
I am of age,’ she said. ‘All those funny bedrooms have been so
dreadfully quiet and lonely since ever I was born; but it shall be gay
when my time comes.’
‘Oh! hush, my dear,’ said pious Mrs. Hardwick--‘don’t make so sure of
the future, when we don’t know what a day or an hour may bring forth.’
‘Well,’ said Kate, holding her position stoutly, ‘if anything happens,
of course there is an end of it; but if nothing happens--if I live, and
all that--oh! I just wish I was one-and-twenty, to show you what I
should do!’
‘Do you think it will make you happy to be so gay?’ said Edith, but with
a certain wistful inquiry in her eyes, which was not like her old
superiority.
‘Oh! my dear children, hush!’ repeated her mother--‘don’t talk like
this. In the first place, gaiety is nothing--it is good neither for body
nor soul; and besides, I cannot let you chatter so about the future. You
will forgive me, my dear Miss Courtenay, for I am an old-fashioned
person; but when we think how little we know about the future;--and your
life will be an important one--a lesson and an example to so many. We
ought to try to make ourselves of use to our fellow-creatures--and you
must endeavour that the example should be a good one.’
‘Fancy me an example!’ said Kate, half to herself; and then she was
silent, with a philosophy beyond her years. She did not attempt to
argue; she had wit enough to see that it would be useless, and to pass
on to another subject. But as she ran along the corridor, and into all
the rooms, the thought of what she would make of them, when she came
back, went like wine through her thrilling veins. She was glad to go
away--far more glad than any one could imagine who had never lived the
grey, monotonous routine of such an existence, uncheered by companions,
unwarmed by love. But she would also be glad to come back--glad to enter
splendidly, a young queen among her court. Her head was almost turned by
this sublime idea. She would come back with new friends, new principles,
new laws; she would be Queen absolute, without partner or help; she
would be the lawgiver, redresser of wrongs. Her supremacy would be
beneficent as the reign of an ideal sovereign; but she _would_ be
supreme!
When her visitors left, she stood on the threshold of her own house,
looking with shining eyes into that grand future. The shadows had all
faded from her mind. She had almost forgotten, in the excitement of her
new plans, all about Miss Blank’s sharp words, and the people who hated
her. It would have surprised her had any one called that old figment to
her recollection. Hate! there was nothing like it in that future. There
was power and beneficence, and mirth and brightness. There was
everything that was gay, everything that was beautiful; smiles, and
bright looks, and wit, and unbounded novelty; and herself the dispenser
of everything pleasant, herself always supreme! This was the dream of
the future which framed itself in Kate Courtenay’s thoughts.