And, after all, even if it did, we could wait for a later train."
"You won't find the church open, madam, I'm afraid," said the clerk.
"But you might like to walk round it. From the other side there's a
nice view, Alderwood way. On a clear day you can see right across. And
at the other end of the lane there's one of the lodges of East
Moddersham, Sir Conway Marth's place--one of _the_ places. You can see
it any Thursday. The avenue is half a mile long by this approach."
CHAPTER FIVE.
THE GIRL WITH THE HAPPY FACE.
As Derwent did not seem to feel any _very_ lively interest in East
Moddersham, and proud little Stasy reared her head at the very idea of
going to see a show, like tourists, when, of course, they would there as
guests!
But the mention of Alderwood had a different effect.
"Alderwood," repeated Stasy's mother, ignoring the young man's last
words. "Do you mean Sir Adam Nigel's place? Why, it is quite at the
other side of Blissmore, unless there are two Alderwoods. But that
could scarcely be."
"Sir Adam Nigel," repeated the clerk in his turn, shaking his head. "I
don't recollect the name. Alderwood is the residence of Mrs Lilford--
that's to say, it is her property, but it has been let on a long lease
to Lady Harriot Dunstan."
"Ah," said Mrs Derwent, turning to her daughters, "that explains it,
then. Poor Sir Adam must be dead, for Mrs Lilford is a niece of his, a
favourite niece, his brother's only child. I am surprised at her
letting a family place like that; and yet it must be the same. Only I
can't understand its being at this side of Blissmore."
"It is three or four miles off, quite the other way," said the young
man, "but there is a view of it from this. It stands high, and I
believe there is a short cut to it across the fields, skirting the
town."
"I see," said Mrs Derwent consideringly. "Then you have never heard Sir
Adam Nigel's name? Perhaps you are not a native of the place, however."
"No; I come from Yorkshire," replied he. "I have only been down here a
few months."
"Ah; that explains it," the lady said again.
They strolled round the church, and gazed over to where they were told
Alderwood _should_ be seen, if it were clearer. But a slight mist was
already rising, and there was a mist over the older woman's eyes too.
"Alderwood was close to my old home, you know," she whispered to
Blanche.
Then they walked round the green and down the short bit of lane
separating it from the high-road, the clerk staying behind to tell the
flyman to follow them.
"How does it all strike you, Blanchie dear?" said Mrs Derwent, with some
anxiety in her tone.
"I like the house very much indeed," the girl replied. "It might be
made _very_ nice. Would all that cost too much, mamma?"
"We must see," Mrs Derwent replied. "But the place--the green, and all
these other new houses. What do you think of the neighbourhood, in
short?"
"They are pretty, bright little houses," said Blanche, not fully
understanding her mother's drift. "But I think, on the whole, I like
the old-fashionedness of--"
"Of _our_ house?" Stasy interrupted, clearly showing how the wind was
setting in _her_ direction.
Blanche smiled.
"Of _our_ house, best," she concluded.
"Yes, oh yes, most decidedly," agreed Mrs Derwent. "But that was not
exactly what I meant. I was wondering if the close neighbourhood of
this sort of little colony may not be objectionable in any way."
"I scarcely see how," Blanche replied. "Of course, they are not the
sort of people we should _know_; but still, these other houses make it
less practically lonely. And once you look up all your friends, we
shall be quite independent, you see, mamma."
"Of course," said Mrs Derwent, and she was going on to say more, when at
that moment the sound of a horse or horses' feet approaching them
rapidly, made her stop short and look round.
They were just at the end of the lane. A few yards higher up the road,
on the opposite side, large gates, and the vague outline of a small
house standing at one side of them, were visible. This was the entrance
to the great house--East Moddersham--of which the clerk had spoken with
bated breath. The sounds were coming towards where the Derwents stood,
from the direction of the town, so, though they naturally turned to
look, they in no way associated them with the near neighbourhood of the
East Moddersham lodge.
There were two riders--a lady, and not far behind her, a groom. They
were not going very fast; the horses seemed a little tired, and were not
without traces of cross-country riding through November mud. Still they
seemed to go by quickly, and as the first comer--a girl evidently, and
quite a young girl--passed, a slight exclamation made both Mrs Derwent
and Stasy start slightly.
"Did you speak, Blanchie?" said her sister; and as she glanced at
Blanche's face, she saw, with surprise, that she was smiling.
In her turn, Blanche started.
"I--I really don't know if I said anything, or if it was she who did,"
she replied. "Did you see her, Stasy? Did you, mamma? It was the girl
at the station--the girl with the happy face."
But neither her mother nor Stasy had known the little episode at the
time, though they remembered Blanche's telling them of it afterwards.
"I wish I had looked at her more," said Stasy regretfully. "I didn't
notice her face; I was so taken up in looking at her altogether, you
know--the horse, and the whole get-up. It _did_ look so nice! Shall we
be able to ride when we come to live here, mamma? It is one of the
things I have longed to be in England for."
"I hope so," said Mrs Derwent. "At least we can manage a pony and
pony-carriage. I think you could enjoy driving yourselves almost as
much as riding. I wonder who the girl is. Did she look as happy this
time, Blanche?"
"Yes; it seems the character of her face. I couldn't picture her
anything else," Blanche replied. "I wonder, too, who she is."
"She rode in at those big gates a little farther on," Stasy said.
Just as she spoke, the clerk came up to them again, followed by the fly.
He overheard Stasy's last words, and ventured, though quite
respectfully, to volunteer some information.
"That lady who just rode past," he said, "is Lady Hebe Shetland; she is
a ward of Sir Conway's. A very fine-looking young lady she is
considered. She has been hunting, no doubt. She is a splendid
horsewoman."
"Of course, there is a great deal of hunting hereabouts," said Mrs
Derwent. "It was my own part of the country in my young days."
And something in her tone, though she was too kindly to indulge in
"snubs," made the young man conscious that the ladies were of a
different class to most of the applicants for houses at the office in
Enneslie Street.
They soon found themselves there again; Mr Otterson receiving them with
urbanity, which increased when he found Mrs Derwent a prospective
tenant, likely to do more than "nibble."
"I should have _preferred_ a house on the other side," she said, "nearer
Alderwood and Fotherley. Fotherley was my own old home."
"Indeed," said the agent, with secret curiosity. "I fear there is
nothing thereabouts--really _nothing_. The new building has all been in
the town, or quite close to it, with the exception of Pinnerton Green."
"Ah well, then there is no use in thinking of another neighbourhood,"
said Mrs Derwent.
And she went on to discuss the house that there _was_ use in thinking
of, after a very sensible and practical fashion, which raised Mr
Otterson's opinion of her greatly.
There would be a good deal to do to it; of that there was no doubt. And
repairs, and alterations, and embellishments are not done for nothing.
Mr Otterson looked grave.
"The first thing to be done," he said, "is to get at an approximate idea
of the cost."
"You cannot make even a guess at it?" said Mrs Derwent, glancing at the
clock.
For it had been already explained to her that all but the most
absolutely necessary work must be at her own expense.
The agent shook his head.
"Not till to-morrow morning," he said. "I have a very clever builder
close at hand, who could give a rough idea almost at once, but not this
evening. You are not staying the night at Blissmore, I suppose, madam?"
"We had not thought of doing so," Mrs Derwent replied doubtfully.
"It would save a good deal of time, and indeed the man would almost need
to see you to receive your personal instructions," said Mr Otterson.
"If it is impossible, perhaps you can manage to come down again next
week."
Blanche looked at her mother, as if to ask leave to speak.
"Yes, my dear?" said Mrs Derwent inquiringly.
"I think, mamma, it would be a good plan to stay the night," she said.
"It would be less tiring for you, and we should feel more settled if we
knew a little more."
"I think so too," said Mrs Derwent. "We can telegraph to Jermyn Street,
so that Herty and Aline will not be frightened. I suppose there is a
good hotel here?"
Mr Otterson hesitated.
"There are one or two fairly comfortable, but not exactly what I should
recommend for ladies," he said.
"It is not very often hotel accommodation is needed here. People come
down for the day. I did not know--I thought perhaps you had friends in
the neighbourhood."
"No, no one I could go to suddenly," said Mrs Derwent. "I daresay we
shall manage well enough," and she was turning away, when a bright idea
struck the agent.
"There are lodgings--private apartments--in the High Street," he said,
"where you could certainly be accommodated for the night, and though it
might be in a plain way, it would be quieter and more retired for ladies
alone than the hotels. It is at number--What is Miss Halliday's number
in the High Street, Joseph?" he called out to an invisible somebody in
the inner office.
There was a moment's delay. Then the invisible somebody replied.
"Twenty-nine, sir--number twenty-nine."
"Exactly--twenty-nine. Miss Halliday has a small millinery
establishment, but has more rooms than she wants--it is a good-sized
house--and lets them to lodgers. And I happen to know that they are
vacant at present."
"Thank you," said Mrs Derwent more cordially than she had yet spoken to
the house-agent; "I think that sounds much better. We will drive round
there at once."
"Mamma," said Blanche, when they were again in the fly, "it may be a
very good thing to know of these rooms; for we may find it a convenience
to come down here before the house is ready, to superintend its getting
into order."
"Yes, that is a good idea," her mother agreed; "for I may find the hotel
in London very dear. I really don't know. I could not get them to say
anything very definite, but English hotels are always dearer than
abroad, I believe. Yes, I really think we are very lucky."
This opinion increased when, in reply to the flyman's knock at Miss
Halliday's door, it was opened by a neat, old-fashioned looking, little
servant-maid of twelve or thirteen, who replied that her missis was in
the shop, but she would see the ladies at once. It was evidently a case
of lodgings, not bonnets, and the small damsel appreciated its
importance.
Mrs Derwent and Blanche left Stasy, rather to her disgust, to wait for
them in the fly, while they were shown into Miss Halliday's best
sitting-room. A very nice old sitting-room it was, at the back of the
house, looking out upon a long strip of walled-in garden, which in
summer bade fair to be quaintly pleasant. And Miss Halliday matched her
house. She was small and neat, with a certain flavour of "better days"
about her, though without the least touch of faded or complaining,
decayed gentility. On the contrary, she was briskly cheerful, though
the tones of her voice were gentle and refined. She took in the
situation at a glance, was honoured and gratified by the application,
much obliged to Mr Otterson, and anxious at once to take upon her small
shoulders the responsibility of making her visitors as comfortable as
their sudden advent would allow.
"Tell Stasy to come in, Blanchie dear," said Mrs Derwent. "I have no
doubt Miss Halliday will make us a cup of tea quickly, for we are cold
and rather tired.--Will your servant ask the flyman his fare?" she
added, turning to the little landlady; "and, oh, by-the-by, I forgot.
Can I easily send a telegram?"
"The post-office is only two doors off," Miss Halliday replied.
"Deborah shall run with it at once. And this room will soon be warm--
the fire burns up very quickly once it is lighted--but if the ladies
would honour me by stepping into my own little parlour across the
passage. It is nice and warm, and tea shall be ready directly. Dear,
dear, down from London to-day, and such cold weather! You must be
tired, and longing for tea."
Now that they were free to rest, they _did_ begin to feel tired, and
very glad to escape the dark journey back to town, and the cold drive
from the station. The bedrooms up-stairs were aired and ready, as Miss
Halliday was expecting visitors next week for a few days.
"There's a good deal of coming and going at Blissmore, nowadays," she
said. "It's a very improving place by what it used to be, every one
says," as she hospitably bustled about.
"You have not been here many years, I suppose," said Mrs Derwent. "I
cannot remember this house. I don't think it used to be a shop in the
old days, otherwise I should recollect it. There were not many shops
here when I was a girl."
Miss Halliday looked deeply interested, but she was too well-bred a
little woman to ask questions.
"If you were here a good many years ago, madam," she said, "you may
remember my aunt, Mrs Finch, whom I succeeded. She had a nice little
millinery business, and I came to her as a learner. Things had gone
badly at home, after my dear old father died, and I was very glad to
have the chance my aunt offered me. That was about seven years ago.
There's been many changes here even since then, but the most of the
building had begun before I came."
"Yes," said Mrs Derwent, "I had not heard anything of it. I was quite
astonished to find how the school had increased. Mrs Finch, did you
say? Oh yes, I remember her very well, but she did not live here--not
in this house."
"No," said Miss Halliday, "my aunt lived in the Market Place--a small
corner house. But we got on pretty well, and then we moved here to join
apartments to the millinery. So many ladies disliked the hotels: they
were noisy and rough. And it's answered pretty well on the whole."
"Then your aunt is dead, I suppose," said Mrs Derwent. "She must have
been a good age, for when I remember her, she had already quite white
hair and stooped a good deal. She used to retrim and alter my hats very
nicely, and I remember how interested she was when my new ones came down
from London. I was--my unmarried name was Fenning. My father was the
rector of Fotherley, the village near Alderwood."
Miss Halliday looked delighted at having her curiosity thus satisfied.
"Oh indeed, madam," she said. "I'm sure I've heard my aunt speak of the
late Mr Fenning. When I first came to Blissmore, the vicar of Fotherley
was a Mr _Fleming_, and I recollect my aunt drawing a contrast, if
you'll excuse my naming it, between that gentleman and his predecessor."
Mrs Derwent smiled.
"Yes," she said, "by all accounts there was a very marked contrast."
Then Deborah appeared to say that the fire was burning up nicely in the
best parlour, and thither the ladies repaired to rest and talk.
Blanche, the foreseeing, had taken the precaution of bringing a bag with
a few necessary articles "just _in case_ we were kept too late," and
Miss Halliday was only too ready to lend anything she could, so the
prospects for the night were not very alarming.
Altogether, the spirits of the little family improved; and when Miss
Halliday's neatly prepared little supper made its appearance, they drew
their chairs round the table, prepared to do full justice to it.
"I really think," said Mrs Derwent for the second time that day, "that
we have been very lucky. It is nice to have found out these lodgings.
We could stay here quite comfortably for a few weeks while the house is
getting ready."
"It would certainly be much less expensive than a London hotel," said
Blanche. "Yes, I do hope we may get to like Blissmore, if all goes
through about the house."
"You mean you hope we shall like Pinnerton Lodge," said Stasy. "We
needn't have anything to do with Blissmore, except, of course, that it
will be our station and post-town. And I suppose we shall do a little
shopping here. But, _of course_, we shall not know any Blissmore
people. Mamma, I wish you'd begin to look up some of your old friends.
That big place now, near us--East Moddersham. Didn't you know those
people long ago?"
Mrs Derwent shook her head.
"It was as good as shut up in those days," she said. "The Marths were
scarcely ever there, as the then Lady Marth was very delicate.--Do the
present owners of East Moddersham live there much, do you know?" she
inquired of Miss Halliday, who just then re-entered the room to see that
her guests had all they wanted.
"Sir Conway and Lady Marth?" she replied. "Oh yes, they are there most
of the year; they have several sons, some grown up and some still at
school, and one quite little daughter. They are very much liked and
highly thought of in the county."
"And," began Blanche, "there is a grown-up girl, is there not? A niece
or a ward of Sir Conway's?" Miss Halliday's face grew still brighter.
"Lady Hebe, Miss, you must mean; Lady Hebe Shetland. Yes, she is their
ward, and Sir Conway's niece too. A great heiress, and to my mind the
most beautiful and charming young lady in all the country round. Her
face makes one think of everything sweet and pleasant."
"And happy," said Blanche. "I never did see any one look so happy."
"She has everything to make her so," said Miss Halliday. "But that
wouldn't do it without a happy _nature_."
"How old is she?" asked Stasy abruptly.
"Nineteen, I think, Miss. They do say she is engaged to young Mr
Milward, a fine young gentleman, and well suited to her. But I don't
know if it is true."
"Do you mean the Milwards of Crossburn?" said Mrs Derwent.
"Yes; that is where they live, I believe," was the reply.
"I hope it's not true that that girl of Blanche's is engaged," said
Stasy, later in the evening, after she had been sitting silent for some
time.
"Why?" said her sister, looking up in surprise; "what difference could
it make to us?"
"All the difference. If she were married, she'd go away to a home of
her own, and we would never see her. But living there, so near, she
would be a nice friend for us. She is just about your age, Blanchie."
"Well," said Blanche, "we shall see. It is not even certain yet that we
are going to live at Pinnerton at all."
"I'm sure we shall. I have a presentiment that we shall," said Stasy
oracularly.
CHAPTER SIX.
THE DOCTOR'S WIFE.
Stasy's presentiment came true. The reports of the builder the next
morning, when he called to enter into particulars with Mrs Derwent, were
favourable; and later in the day the mother and daughters returned to
London with very little doubt in their minds as to their future home
being Pinnerton Lodge.
London looked very grim and dreary after the clear fine sky in the
country, and Stasy shivered at the thought of how many days must yet
forcibly be spent there, before they could install themselves in their
new quarters.
But the things we dread are not always those that come to pass. Mrs
Derwent, as I have said, was in some ways extremely inexperienced in
English life and rates of expenses. Busy and eager about the
arrangements for their new house, she put off asking for her hotel bill
till fully a fortnight after the little party's arrival in London. And
when she received it and glanced at the total, she was aghast!
"Blanche, my dear," she exclaimed, "just look at this. Is it not
tremendous? Why, we might have lived at a hotel at home for nearly a
year for what this fortnight has cost us!"
"Not quite that, mamma," said Blanche, smiling, though her own fair face
was flushed with annoyance. "But, no doubt, it is very dear. And yet
we seem to have lived plainly enough. Mamma," she went on decidedly,
"we mustn't stay here; that is quite certain. All you have got in
reserve for furnishing our house and paying for the alterations will be
wasted, and what should we do then?"
Mrs Derwent sat silent, considering.
"You are quite right, dear," she said at last. "We must look out for
lodgings. But I have a horror of London lodgings. They are so often
detestable."
"Why stay in London at all?" said Stasy suddenly from her corner of the
room, where, though engrossed with a story-book, her quick ears had been
caught by the sound of vexation in her mother's voice. "I am sure it is
horrid--so dull, and knowing nobody. Why shouldn't we go down to
Blissmore, to that nice little Miss Halliday's, and stay there till the
house is ready? We meant to go there for the last week or two, anyway."
Blanche's face lighted up, and she looked at her mother anxiously. But
Mrs Derwent hesitated.
"It would certainly be comfortable enough," she said; "quite as
comfortable as here. But to stay there for so long--for several weeks?
Is it not rather lowering? I don't want to get mixed up with Blissmore
people: they must be a very heterogeneous society; not like in the old
days when there were just a very few thoroughly established people
living in the town, whom everybody knew and respected."
"I don't see that we need know people we don't want to know, any more
when living in the town than in the neighbourhood," said Blanche. "We
can keep quite to ourselves; unless, of course, you can look up some of
your old friends, who would understand how we were placed."
Mrs Derwent seemed perplexed.
"I wish I could," she said, "but I scarcely know how to begin. There
seems nothing but changes. It is such a disappointment about dear old
Sir Adam to start with."
"Still we are gaining nothing in that way by remaining in London," said
Blanche. "And when at Blissmore you can find out about the people you
used to know, and perhaps write to them."
"I can find out about them, certainly," Mrs Derwent agreed. "But I
don't think I should actually write or suggest any one's calling, till
we are in our own house, and have everything nice and settled. People
are so prejudiced. They would immediately begin saying we lived poorly
or messily because we had been so long in France."
"I don't think any one could live `messily' in Miss Halliday's house if
they tried. It is so beautifully neat," said Stasy, who had taken a
great fancy to their little landlady. "Do let us go there, mamma. I am
so tired of being here. London is horrid in winter, especially if you
have no friends. And why should you and Blanche worry about the hotel
bills, when there is no need, and none of us want to stay?"
And in the end, as not unfrequently happened--for there was often a good
deal of wisdom in her suggestions--Stasy's proposal was adopted; so that
about three weeks after their first arrival in England, the Derwents
found themselves settled for the time being at Number Twenty-Nine in the
old High Street of Blissmore.
It was not exactly the beginning of life in England which Mrs Derwent
had pictured to herself. It was a trifle dreary to be back again,
really back again in the immediate neighbourhood of her old home, with
no one except Miss Halliday--herself a new-comer in the place--to
welcome her and her children, or take the slightest interest in their
advent.
"If there had been even one or two of our old servants left somewhere
near," she could not help saying to Blanche that night, when Stasy and
little Hertford had gone to bed, in high spirits at having really got
away from "that horrid London," as they both called it. "But every one
seems gone that I had to do with," she concluded, in a depressed tone.
"You really can't judge yet, mamma," said Blanche. "You haven't looked
up anybody except Sir Adam Nigel, and you said you would rather wait
till we were settled in our own house."
"I know I did. Oh yes, I daresay it will all be right enough. I am
going to make out a list of all the friends I remember, and inquire
about them by degrees. Some day soon we must drive over to Fotherley,
Blanchie. Just think, I have never even seen your dear grandfather's
grave! I am tired to-night, and everything seems wrong when one is
tired."