Here all the summer could I stay,
For there's a Bishop's Teign
And King's Teign
And Coomb at the clear Teign's head,
Where, close by the stream,
You may have your cream,
All spread upon barley bread.
Then who would go
Into dark Soho
And chatter with dank-haired critics
When he can stay
For the new-mown hay
And startle the dappled crickets?
KEATS.
A great bustle was rife in the little parlor of the "Fountain Head." A
hamper was being packed, rugs strapped together, preparations in general
being made. The excitement seemed to communicate itself to the village
in some mysterious way; and small wonder. It was rarely that so many
visitors from London haunted the Combe all at once; rarer still that so
mysterious a celebrity attached to one of them; rarest of all that the
Misses Willoughby should be giving a picnic-party.
Yet so it was; and the weather, which, under the iron rule of St.
Swithun, had "gone to pieces," as Osmond said, for the past three weeks,
had now revived anew, full of heat and beauty and sunshine.
In the doorway of the inn stood Osmond himself, and a tall, fine-looking
girl with a brilliant complexion and large hazel eyes.
"What a day for a pic-nic!" she cried, jovially. "And this place--I must
freely admit that Wyn, prone as she is to rhapsody, has _not_ overdone
it in describing the Combe. Oh, here comes Mr. Haldane, just in time. I
hope you know we were on the point of starting without you," said she,
with an attempt at severity, as a young man came slowly along the road
leading from the village.
"I should soon have caught you up," he said peacefully, raising his hat
with a smile. "How are you this morning, Mr. Allonby? Still
convalescent?"
"I don't think the present participle is any longer applicable. I am
convalesced--completely convalesced, and, it seems to me all the better
for my accident."
"So you are not cursing me for having recommended the Combe as a
hunting-ground?"
"Not in the least, I assure you."
"Did you ever hear, Mr. Haldane," cried the girl, with a burst of
laughter, "that the detective tried to assign poor old Osmond's blow on
the head to your machinations?"
"No! Really! You flatter me; what made him do that?" asked he, with
imperturbable and smiling composure.
"He thought you had some _arriere pensee_ in sending Osmond down here to
paint."
"Well, so I had."
"You had?"
"Of course. I knew he'd like the place so much that he'd want to spend
all the summer here; and then I thought you and your sisters would come
down; and then I thought I'd come down; and I have, you see."
Jacqueline laughed merrily.
"We're going to have such a good time to-day," she cried, "and, please,
listen to me. You and Wyn are _not_ to talk shop. The first of you that
mentions the R. A. Schools, or the gold medal pictures, or the winter
exhibition, shall be sent to Coventry at once! Remember! You are under
orders."
"Well, I don't think I'm likely to forget it, as long as you are here to
remind me, Miss Jacqueline. By-the-by, aren't you getting bored down
here? Surely the Combe falls a trifle flat after the gaieties of Cowes?"
"We are getting on pretty well so far, thank you; a school-treat the day
after we arrived, an expedition to the quarries yesterday, a pic-nic
to-day! I am managing to exist, but I can't think what we shall do
to-morrow. The blackberries are not yet ripe, there are no ruins to
explore, and not another school-feast for miles; there will be nothing
for it but to go out in a boat and get drowned."
"All right; I'll come too."
"You can go out in a boat and get drowned to-day, if you like,"
suggested Osmond. "Boats are in the programme."
"So they are! I had forgotten. How late this Mr. Fowler is! Don't you
think we had better go on, Osmond, and leave you and Wyn to follow?"
"Certainly, if you like. Who is packing?"
"_Need_ you ask? Hilda, of course. She always does everything she
should. Wyn! Wyn! Are you ready?"
"Coming!"
Wyn emerged from the dark entry, and shook hands with Mr. Haldane.
"I will send Hilda to you," she said, vanishing, and in a minute or two
there appeared on the scene another tall girl, closely resembling
Jacqueline in height and general appearance, and dressed exactly like
her, down to the minutest detail. In fact the family likeness in all
four Allonbys was strong, something distinctive in the curve of the
chin, the setting on of the head, the steady glance of the eye, which
made them all noticeable, whether handsome or not. They were, all four,
people who, having once been seen, were not likely to be forgotten. Of
his two younger sisters Osmond was justly proud. Their height, grace,
and slenderness were striking, and the want of likeness in their
dispositions completed the charm, by the rare virtue of being
unexpected.
Hilda was as reserved as Jacqueline was communicative, as statuesque as
she was animated, as diligent and capable as she was lavish and
reckless. The difference between them was this morning, however, much
less obvious than the likeness, for Hilda was full of spirits, the whole
of her sweet face irradiated with pleasure.
They set off with young Haldane, chattering eagerly, the sound of their
light laughter tossed behind them on the breeze as they climbed the
steep grassy hillside to Edge, to join the rest of the party.
They were hardly out of sight when Mr. Fowler and his dog-cart appeared
down the road, the black horse's glossy flanks and polished harness
reflecting the brightness of the sun.
"Good morning," cried Osmond, blithely; "what a fresh lovely morning! We
are ready and waiting for you."
"We? Then I am to have the pleasure of driving Miss Allonby! That's all
right. Cranmer came down yesterday evening, looking rather jaded; he
seemed very glad to get here. He has gone on foot to join the others,"
said Mr. Fowler, alighting and entering the dark cool passage of the
inn.
"Are you there Miss Allonby?"
"Yes, here I am. Good morning, Mr. Fowler. Come and help me with this
strap."
He entered, and took her hand.
"So you are all established here! What did Mrs. Battishill say to your
desertion?"
"She was very unhappy, but I could not help it. She totally declined to
accept a penny for rent, and I wanted to have Hilda and Jac down, so I
was obliged to move. I could not quarter my entire family upon her, it
was too barefaced. There, how neatly you fastened that buckle! Now
everything is ready. I'll call Tom to carry the hamper to the carriage."
"You'll do no such thing; I shall take it myself. We are favored in our
weather, are we not?"
"That we are. In fact, everything is favorable to-day. My mental
barometer is up at 'set-fair.' I have a mind to tell you why, and
receive your congratulations all to myself. I heard from Barclay's
to-day that my novel is to be put into a second edition. What do you
think of that?"
Mr. Fowler thought the occasion quite important enough to justify a
second energetic grasping of Miss Allonby's little slim hand in his
vigorous square palm; and the dialogue might have been for some time
prolonged, had not Osmond cried out, from his position at the horse's
head,
"Now then, you two!"
In a few minutes Wyn was enthroned beside Mr. Fowler in the high
dog-cart, her brother had swung himself up behind with the hamper, and
the swift Black Prince was off, delighted to be tearing along in the
sunshine.
"I am going to enjoy myself to-day, and forget all vexations," said
Henry Fowler, in his quiet voice.
"Vexations? Are you vexed? What is it?" asked Wyn, anxiously.
"I am--a good deal vexed--about my Elsie," he answered, with a sigh.
"Poor little lass! I think she is deeply to be pitied."
"So do I," said Wyn, promptly; and Osmond cut in from behind.
"I should like to lick that cheeky little beast of a boy."
"There's the rub--you can't lick the child, he's too delicate," said
Henry, with a sigh. "I took him by the shoulder and shook him the other
day, and he turned as white as a sheet and almost fainted. He is a mass
of nerves, and has no constitution; careful rearing might have done
something for him, but he is accustomed to sit up all night, lie in bed
all day, drink spirits, and smoke cigars--a poor little shrimp like
that! It is a terrible trial to Elsie; one that I'm afraid she's not
equal to," he concluded, slowly, his eyes rivetted on the lash of his
whip, with which he was flicking the flies from Black Prince's pretty
pricked-up ears.
"She ought never to be called upon to endure it--they ought to send the
little imp away," said Osmond, indignantly.
"He does not show himself in his true colors before the Miss
Willoughbys--this is where I can't forgive him," returned Mr. Fowler,
sternly. "The child is a habitual liar--you never know for a moment
whether he is telling the truth or not. His dog worried two of my sheep
yesterday; the shepherd absolutely saw the brute in the field, and
he--Godfrey--coolly told me that Ven had been chained in the yard all
that morning. It was then," he added, with a half-smile, "that I shook
him; I would have liked to lay my stick about him, but one can't touch
such a little frail thing; and his language--ugh! That Elsa should ever
hear such words makes one grind one's teeth. I never saw such a young
child so completely vitiated."
"What a misfortune!" said Wyn.
"You are right; it is a real misfortune. I am very doubtful as to what
steps I ought to take in the matter. Did you hear of his setting his
bull-dog at Saul Parker, the idiot? The poor wretch had one of his fits,
and his mother was up all night with him. Little cur! Cruelty and
cowardice always go together: but think what his bringing up must have
been."
"I wonder Mr. and Mrs. Orton are not ashamed to send him visiting;
Osmond knows something of the Ortons, you know."
"Indeed!"
"Yes; they have one of the new big houses up in our part of London, and
Mr. Orton is something of a connoisseur in pictures. Osmond is painting
two for him now."
"Yes," said Osmond, laughing, "but now I go out armed, and escorted by a
_cordon_ of sisters to keep off murderers; landscape-painting has become
as risky a profession as that of newspaper-reporter at the seat of war.
I really think I ought to allow for personal risk in my prices, don't
you, Fowler?"
A brisk "Halloo!" startled them all; and, looking eagerly forward, they
became aware of a group gathered together at some distance ahead, at the
point where the road ended, and gave way to a winding pathway among the
chalk cliffs. Very picturesque and very happy they all looked--Wyn
longed to coax them to stand still, and take out her sketch-book.
The wagonette stood a short way off, with two Miss Willoughbys, Miss
Fanny and Miss Emily, seated in it. Acland was unloading the provisions
and handing them to Jane. Hilda, Jacqueline, and Elsa were sitting on
the grassy chalk boulders, with Mr. Haldane, Claud Cranmer, Dr. Forbes,
and Godfrey as their escort.
As the party in the dog-cart drew near, Osmond's eyes sought out Elsa.
She was looking charming, for the aunts had taken Wyn into confidence on
the subject of their niece's costume, and her white dress and shady hat
left little to be desired. She and the Allonby girls had been plucking
tall spires of fox-glove to keep off the annoying flies; Mr. Cranmer was
arranging a big frond of diletata round Hilda's hat for coolness; and
over all the lovely scene brooded the sultry grandeur of early August,
and the murmur of the sea washing lazily at the feet of the scorched red
cliffs.
The spot selected for pic-nicking was a shelving bit of coast known as
the Landslip. A large mass of soil had broken away in the middle of the
seventeenth century, carrying cottages and cattle to headlong ruin. Now
it lay peacefully settled down into the brink of the bay, the great scar
from whence it had been torn all riddled with gull's nests. The chatter
and laughter of the birds was incessant, and there was something almost
weird to Wynifred in the strange "Ha-ha!" which echoed along the cliffs
as the busy white wings wheeled in and out, flashing in the light and
disappearing.
"They are teaching the young to fly," explained Mr. Fowler. "If you came
along here next week, you would find all silent as the grave."
"I am glad they are not flown yet," said Wyn. "I like their laughter,
there is something uncanny about it."
Mr. Cranmer was passing, laden with a basket.
"Characteristic of Miss Allonby! She likes something because it is
uncanny!" he remarked. "Is there anything uncanny about _you_, Fowler,
by any chance?"
"What has upset Cranmer?" asked Henry, arching his eyebrows.
"I don't know, really. Suppose you go and find out," said Wyn, laughing
a little.
It was her greeting of him which had annoyed Claud; and Wyn was keen
enough to gauge precisely the reason why it had annoyed him.
He had scarcely seen her since the evening when he and she had walked
from the village to Poole together. A vivid remembrance of that walk
remained in his mind, and he had been determined to meet her again in
the most matter-of-fact way possible. He told himself that it would be
ungentlemanly in the extreme to so much as hint at sentimental memories,
when he was not in the least in love, and had no intention of becoming
so. Accordingly his "How do you do, Miss Allonby?" had been the very
essence of casual acquaintanceship. Wyn, on her side, was even more
anxious than he that her momentary weakness should be treated merely as
a digression. She had been very angry with herself for having been so
stirred; for stirred she had been, to such an unwonted extent, that
Claud had been scarcely a moment out of her thoughts for two days after.
The very recollection made her angry with herself. She met him on his
own ground; if his greeting was casual, hers was even more so. It was
perfect indifference--not icy, not reserved, so as to hint at hidden
resentment, hidden feeling of some kind, but simply the most complete
lack of _empressement_; his hand and himself apparently dismissed from
her mind in a moment; and this should have pleased Claud, of
course,--only it did not.
He asked himself angrily what the girl was made of. His usually sweet
temper was quite soured for the moment; impossible to help throwing a
taunt behind him as he passed her, impossible to help being furious when
he perceived that the taunt had not stung at all. He looked round for
Elsa Brabourne, that he might devote himself to her; but she was
entirely absorbed in the occupation of finding a sheltered place for
Allonby, where he might be out of the sun.
Jacqueline and young Haldane were laying the cloth together, and doing
it so badly that Hilda seized it from them and dismissed them in
disgrace, proceeding to lay it herself with the assistance of old Dr.
Forbes, who had fallen a hopeless victim at first sight. Jacqueline and
Haldane went off, apparently quarrelling violently, down to the shore,
and were presently to be seen in the act of fulfilling their threat of
going out in a boat and getting drowned. Mr. Fowler shouted to them not
to go far, as dinner would be ready at once, and hastened off to pilot
dear little Miss Fanny safely down the rocky pathway to a seat where she
might enjoy her picnic in comfort. Everyone had been relieved, though
nobody had liked to say so, when Miss Charlotte announced that picnics
were not in her line.
Wyn had been bitterly disappointed that it was not possible to bring
Miss Ellen; but the invalid's health was growing daily feebler, and she
was now quite unequal to the exertion of the shortest drive. So Miss
Fanny, fortified by Miss Emily, had set out, with as much excitement and
trepidation as if she had joined a band for the discovery of the
north-west passage; and now, clinging to Henry Fowler's arm, was
carefully conducted down the perilous steps towards the place of
gathering. Wyn was left standing by herself, watching with a smile the
manoeuvres of Jac and Haldane in their boat below, and Claud was left
with a scowl watching Wyn.
After standing silently aloof for several minutes, he went slowly up to
her.
"Your brother has made wonderful progress since I left, Miss Allonby,"
he remarked, stiffly.
"Yes, hasn't he?" she said, with a smile, her eyes still fixed on the
boat. "Do just look at my sister; she is trying to pull, and she is only
accustomed to Thames rowing; she does not know what to do without a
button to her oar."
He did not look, he kept his eyes rivetted on her calm face.
"You look much better for your stay in Devonshire, too," he said,
determined to make the conversation personal.
"Yes, so the girls say. I was rather over-worked when I first came down.
How calm it is, isn't it? Hardly a wavelet. I think even I could go out
without feeling unhappy to-day."
"May I take you presently? I am pretty well used to sea-rowing. My
brother's place in Ireland is on the coast."
"Thanks, I should like to come; we will make up a party--Hilda and Mr.
Fowler----"
"You are determined to give me plenty of work. I suggested pulling one
person--not three. There are four boats; let them take another; but
perhaps you don't care to go without Mr. Fowler."
This speech approached nearer to being rude than anything she had ever
heard from the courteous Claud. It made her very angry. She lifted her
eyes and allowed them to meet his calmly.
"It certainly adds greatly to my pleasure to be in Mr. Fowler's
society," she said very tranquilly; "he is one of the most perfect
gentlemen I ever met."
"You are right, he is," said Claud, almost penitently; and just at this
juncture Godfrey tore by like a whirlwind, shouting out at the top of
his voice,
"Dinner! Dinner! Dinner's ready! Look alive, everybody! Come and tackle
the grub!"