"She might possibly go to the Princess Caroline. People say she is the
best of the family. Bad is the best, I am afraid." [Note 2.]
"How did Mr Raymond come to know my Lady Inverness?"
"Oh, you discovered who she was, did you?"
"She told me herself."
"Ah!--I cannot say; I am not sure that he knew anything of her before
Tuesday night. She was our superior officer, and gave orders which we
obeyed--that was all."
"I cannot understand how Mr Raymond could have anything to do with it!"
cried I.
"Nor I, precisely. I believe there are wheels within wheels. Is he not
a friend of your uncle, Mr Drummond?--an old friend, I mean, when they
were young men."
"Possibly," said I; "I do not know."
Somebody came up now, and drew Ephraim away. I had no more private talk
with him. But how could he come to know anything about Annas? And
where is she going to be?
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next morning Caesar brought me a little three-cornered note. I
guessed at once from whom it came, and eagerly tore it open.
"We arrived in London last night, my dear Caroline, and are very
desirous of seeing you. Could you meet me at Mr Raymond's house this
afternoon? Mr Hebblethwaite will be so good as to call for you, if
you can come. Love from both to you and Hester. Your affectionate
friend, A. K."
Come! I should think I would come! I only hoped Annas already knew of
my share in the plot to rescue Angus. If not, what would she say to me?
I read the note again. "We"--who were "we"?--and "love from both."
Surely Flora must be with her! I kept wishing--and I could not tell
myself why--that Ephraim had less to do with it. I did not like his
seeming to be thus at the beck and call of Annas; and I did not know why
it vexed me. I must be growing selfish. That would never do! Why
should Ephraim not do things for Annas? I was an older friend, it is
true, but that was all. I had no more claim on him than any one else.
I recognised that clearly enough: yet I could not banish the feeling
that I was sorry for it.
When Ephraim came, I thought he looked exceeding grave. I had told
Grandmamma beforehand that Annas (and I thought Flora also) had returned
to London, and asked me to go and see them, which I begged her leave to
do. Grandmamma took a pinch of snuff over it, and then said that Caesar
might call me a chair.
"Could I not walk, Grandmamma? It is very near."
"Walk!" cried Grandmamma, and looked at me much as if I had asked if I
might not lie or steal. "My dear, you must not bring country ways to
Town like that. Walk, indeed!--and you a Courtenay of Powderham! Why,
people would take you for a mantua-maker."
"But, Grandmamma, please,--if I am a Courtenay, does it signify what
people take me for?"
"I should like to know, Caroline," said Grandmamma, with severity,
"where you picked up such levelling ideas? Why, they are Whiggery, and
worse. I cannot bear these dreadful mob notions that creep about now o'
days. We shall soon be told that a king may as well sell his crown and
sceptre, because he would be a king without them."
"He would not, Madam?" I am afraid I spoke mischievously.
"My dear, of course he would. Once a king, always a king. But the
common people need to have symbols before their eyes. They cannot take
in any but common notions of what they see. A monarch without a crown,
or a judge without robes, or a bishop without lawn sleeves, would never
do for them. Why, they would begin to think they were just men like
themselves! They do think so, a great deal too much."
And Grandmamma took two pinches in rapid succession, which proceeding
with her always betrays uneasiness of mind.
"Dear, dear!" she muttered, as she snapped her box again, and dropped it
into her pocket. "It must be that lamentable mixture in your blood.
Whatever a Courtenay could be thinking of, to marry a Dissenter,--a
Puritan minister's daughter, too,--he must have been mad! Yet she was
of good blood on the mother's side."
I believe Grandmamma knows the pedigree of every creature in this mortal
world, up to the seventh generation.
"Was that Deborah Hunter, Grandmamma?"
"What do you know about Deborah Hunter?" returned Grandmamma pulling out
her snuff-box, and taking a third pinch in a hurry, as if the mere
mention of a Dissenter made her feel faint. "Who has been talking to
you about such a creature? The less you hear of her the better."
"Oh, we always knew her name, Madam," said Hatty, "and that she was a
presbyter's daughter."
"Well, that is as much as you will know of her with my leave!" said
Grandmamma.
I do not know what more she might have said, if my Uncle Charles had not
come in: but he brought news that the Prince's army had been victorious
at Falkirk, and the Cause is looking up again.
"They say the folks at Saint James's are very uneasy," said my Uncle
Charles, "and the Elector's son is to be sent against the Prince with a
larger army. I hear he set forth for Edinburgh last night."
"What, Fred?" said Grandmamma.
"Fred? No,--Will," [Note 1.] answered my Uncle Charles.
"That is the lad who was wounded at Dettingen?" replied she.
"The same," he made answer. "Oh, they are not without pluck, this
family, foreigners though they be. The old blood is in them, though
there's not much of it."
"They are a pack of rascals!" said Grandmamma, with another pinch. I
thought the box would soon be empty if she were much more provoked.
"Nay, Madam, under your pleasure: the lad is great-grandson to the Queen
of Bohemia, and she was without reproach. I would rather have Fred or
Will than Oliver."
Grandmamma sat extreme upright, and spoke in those measured tones, and
with that nice politeness, which showed that she was excessively put
out.
"May I trouble you, Charles, if you please, never to name that--person--
in my hearing again!"
"Certainly, Madam," said my Uncle Charles, with a naughty look at me
which nearly upset my gravity. If I had dared to laugh, I do not know
what would have happened to me.
"The age is quite levelling enough, and the scoundrels quite numerous
enough, without your joining them, Mr Charles Carlingford Desborough!"
Saying which, Grandmamma arose, and as Hatty said afterwards, "swept
from the room"--my Uncle Charles offering her his arm, and assuring her,
with a most disconcerting look over his shoulder at us, that he would do
his very best to mend his manners.
"Your manners are good enough, Sir," said Grandmamma severely: "'tis
your morals I wish to mend."
When we thought Grandmamma out of hearing, we did laugh: and my Uncle
Charles, coming down, joined us,--which I am afraid neither he nor we
ought to have done.
"My mother's infinitely put out," said he. "Her snuff-box is empty: and
she never gave me my full name but twice before, that I remember. When
I am Charles Desborough, she is not pleased; when I am Mr Charles
Desborough, she is gravely annoyed; but when I become Mr Charles
Carlingford Desborough, matters are desperate indeed. I shall have to
go to the cost of a new snuff-box, I expect, before I get forgiven. Yet
I have no doubt Oliver was a pretty decent fellow--putting his politics
on one side."
"I am afraid, Uncle Charles," said Hatty, "a snuff-box would hardly make
your peace for that."
"Oh, that's for you maids, not for her. She is not a good forgiver,"
said my Uncle Charles, more gravely. "She takes after her mother, my
Lady Sophia. Don't I remember my Lady Sophia!"
And I should say, from the expression of my Uncle Charles's face, that
his recollections of my Lady Sophia Carlingford were not among the
pleasantest he had.
Hatty is growing much more like herself, with the pertness left out.
She looks a great deal better, and can smile and laugh now; but her old
sharp, bright ways are gone, and only show now and then, in a little
flash, what she was once.
The Crosslands have disappeared--nobody knows where. But I do not think
Miss Marianne Newton has broken her heart; indeed, I am not quite sure
that she has one.
In the afternoon, Ephraim came, and I went in a chair under his escort
to Mr Raymond's house. Hatty declined to come; she seemed to have a
dislike to go out of doors, further than just to take the air in the
square, with Dobson behind her. I should not like that at all. It
would make me feel as if the constable had me in custody. But
Grandmamma insists on it; and Hatty does not seem to feel safe without
somebody.
In Mr Raymond's parlour, I found Annas and Flora, alone. I do not know
what to say they looked like. Both are white and worn, as if a great
strain had been on their hearts: but Flora is much the more broken-down
of the two. Annas is more queenly than ever, with a strange, far-away
look in the dear grey eyes, that I can hardly bear to see. I ran up to
her first thing.
"O Annas, tell me!" I cried, amidst my kisses, "tell me, did I do right
or wrong?"