Annas had a letter this morning from Lady Monksburn: the loveliest
letter, says Flora, that ever woman penned. Mr Raymond said, when he
had read it (which she let him do) that it was worthy of a martyr's
mother.
"Is Mr Raymond coming round?" said I.
"What, in politics?" replied Flora, with a smile. "I don't quite know,
Cary. I doubt if he will turn as quickly as you did."
"As I did? What can you mean, Flora?"
"Did you not know you had become of a very cool politician a very warm
one?" she said. "I remember, when you first went with me to
Abbotscliff, Angus used to tease you about being a Whig: and you once
told me you knew little about such matters, and cared less."
I looked back at myself, as it were, and I think Flora must be right. I
certainly thought much less of such things six months ago. I suppose
hearing them always talked of has made a change in me.
There is another thing that I have been thinking about to-night. What
is it in my Aunt Kezia that makes her feel so strong and safe to lean
upon--so different from other people? I should never dream of feeling
in that way to Grandmamma: and even Father,--though it is pleasant to
rely on his strength and kindness, when one wants something done beyond
one's own strength,--yet he is not restful to lean on in the same way
that she is. Is she so safe to hold by, because she holds by God?
This is Grandmamma's last Tuesday, as Lent begins to-morrow, and I
believe she would as soon steal a diamond necklace as have an assembly
in Lent. I had been walking a great deal, as I have carried my Aunt
Kezia these last few days to see all manner of sights, and I was very
tired; so I crept into a little corner, and there Ephraim found me.
By the way, it is most diverting to carry my Aunt Kezia to see things.
My Uncle Charles has gone with us sometimes, and Ephraim some other
times: but it is so curious to watch her. She is the sight, to me. In
the first place, she does not care a bit about going to see a thing just
because everybody goes to see it. Then she has very determined ideas of
her own about everything she does see. I believe she quite horrified my
Uncle Charles, one day, when he carried us to see a collection of
beautiful paintings. We stopped before one, which my Uncle Charles told
us was thought a great deal of, and had cost a mint of money.
"What's it all about?" said my Aunt Kezia.
"'Tis a picture of the Holy Family," he answered, "by the great painter
Rubens."
"Now, stop a bit: who's what?" said my Aunt Kezia, and set herself to
study it. "Who is that old man that hasn't shaved himself?"
"That, Madam, is Saint Joseph."
"Never heard of him before. Oh, do you mean Joseph the carpenter? I
see. Well, and who is that woman with the child on her knee? Why ever
does not she put him some more clothes on? He'll get his death of
cold."
"My dear Madam, that is the Blessed Virgin!"
"I hope it isn't," said my Aunt Kezia, bluntly. "I'll go bail she kept
her linen better washed than that. But what's that queer thing
sprawling all over the sky?"
"The Angel Gabriel, Madam."
"I hope he hasn't flown in here and seen this," said my Aunt Kezia. "I
should say, if he have, he didn't feel flattered by his portrait."
My Aunt Kezia did not seem to care for fine things--smart clothes,
jewels, and splendid coaches, or anything like that. She was interested
in the lions at the Tower, and she liked to see any famous person of
whom my Uncle Charles could tell her; but for Ranelagh she said she did
not care twopence. There were men and women plenty wherever you went,
and as to silks and laces, she could see them any day over a mercer's
counter. Vauxhall was still worse, and Spring Gardens did not please
her any better.
But when, in going through the Tower, we came to the axe which beheaded
my Lady Jane Grey, she showed no lack of interest in that. And the next
day, when my Uncle Charles said he would show us some of the fine things
in the City, and we were driving in Grandmamma's coach towards Newgate,
my Aunt Kezia wanted to know what the open space was; and my Uncle
Charles told her,--"Smithfield."
"Smithfield!" cried she. "Pray you, Mr Desborough, bid your coachman
stop. I would liever see this than a Lord Mayor's Show."
"My dear Madam, there is nothing to see," answered my Uncle Charles, who
seemed rather perplexed. "This is not a market-day."
"There'll be plenty I can see!" was my Aunt Kezia's reply; and, my Uncle
Charles pulling the check-string, we alighted. My Aunt Kezia stood a
moment, looking round.
"You see, there is nothing to see," he observed.
"Nothing to see!" she made answer. "There are the fires to see, and the
martyrs, and the angels around, and the devils, and the men well-nigh as
ill as devils. There is the land to see that they saved, and the Church
that their blood watered, and the greatness of England that they
preserved. Ay, and there is the Day of Judgment, when martyrs and
persecutors will have their reward--and you and I, Mr Desborough, shall
meet with ours. My word, but there is enough to see for them that have
eyes to see it!"
"Oh!--ah!" said my Uncle Charles.
My Aunt Kezia said no more, except a few words which I heard her whisper
softly to herself,--"`They shall reign for ever and ever.' `The noble
army of martyrs praise Thee.'" Then, as she turned back to the coach,
she added, "I thank you, Sir. It was worth coming to London to look at
that. It makes one feel as if one got nearer to them."
And I thought, but did not say, that I should never be nearer to them
than I had been that winter night, when Colonel Keith helped me to carry
the basket into the gates of that grim, black pile beyond. He was there
yet. If I had been a bird, to have flown in and sung to him!--or,
better, a giant, to tear away locks and bars, and let him out! And I
could do _nothing_.
But here I am running ever so far from Grandmamma's Tuesday, and the
news Ephraim brought.
Annas has seen the Princess Caroline. She liked her, and thought her
very gentle and good. But she held out no hope at all, and did not seem
to think that anything which she could say would influence her father.
She would lay the matter before him, but she could promise no more.
However, she appointed another day, about a month hence, when Annas may
go to her again, and hear the final answer. So Annas must wait for
that.
Ephraim and Annas seem to be great friends. Is it not shockingly
selfish of me to wish it otherwise? I do not quite know why I wish it.
But sometimes I wonder--no, I won't wonder. It will be all right, of
course, however it be arranged. Why should I always want people to care
for me, and think of me, and put me first? Cary Courtenay, you are
growing horribly vain and selfish! I wonder at you!
It is settled now that we go home the week after Easter Day. We, means
my Aunt Kezia, and Flora, and Hatty, and me. I do not know how four
women are to travel without a gentleman, or even a serving-man: but I
suppose we shall find out when the time comes. I said to my Aunt Kezia
that perhaps Grandmamma would lend us Dobson.
"Him!" cried she. "Dear heart, but I'd a vast deal liever be without
him! He would want all the coach-pockets for his silk stockings, and
would take more waiting on than Prince Charlie himself. I make no
account of your grand gentlemen in plush, that pick up baskets with the
tips of their fingers! (My Aunt Kezia cannot get over that.) Give me a
man, or a woman either, with some brains in his head, and some use in
his hands. These southern folks seem to have forgotten how to use
theirs. I watched that girl Martha dusting the other day, and if I did
not long to snatch the duster out of her hands and whip her with it!
She just drew it lazily across the top of the table,--never troubled
herself about the sides,--and gave it one whisk across the legs, and
then she had done. I'd rather do my work myself, every bit of it, than
have such a pack of idle folks about me--ay, ten times over, I would!
They don't seem to have a bit of gumption. They say lawyers go to
Heaven an inch every Good Friday; but if those lazy creatures get there
or anywhere else in double the time, I wonder! And just look at the way
they dress! A good linsey petticoat and a quilted linen bed-gown was
good enough for a woman that had her work to do, when I was young; but
now, dear me! my ladies must have their gowns, and their muslin aprons
of an afternoon, and knots of ribbon in their hair. I do believe they
will take to wearing white stockings, next thing! and gloves when they
go to church! Eh dear, girls! I tell you what, this world is coming to
something!"
Later in the evening, Miss Newton came up to me, with her fan held
before her laughing face.
"My dear Miss Courtenay, what curious things your worthy Aunt does say!
She asked me just now why I came into the world. I told her I did not
know, and the idea had never before occurred to me: and she said, `Well,
then, it is high time it did, and some to spare!' Do all the people in
Cumberland ask you such droll questions?"