WESTHAVEN VERSIONS OF HONOURS
'Thank you, a bit of partridge, Mr. Rollstone, if you please.'
'Excuse me, Mrs. Grover. This is a grouse from Lord Northmoor's own
moors, I presume,' replied Mr. Rollstone, to the tune of a peal of
laughter from Herbert and exclamation--'Not know a grouse!'--for which
Ida frowned at him.
'Yes, indeed,' said his mother; 'we had so much game up at my brother's,
Lord Northmoor's, that I shall quite miss it now I am come away.'
'Flimsy sort of grub!' growled an old skipper. 'Only fit for this sort
of a tea--not to make a real meal on, fit for "a man"!'
The young folk laughed. Captain Purdy was only invited as a messmate of
Mrs. Morton's father.
'You'll excuse this being only a tea,' went on Mrs. Morton. 'I hope to
have a dinner in something more of style if ever I return here, but I
could not attempt it with my present establishment after what we have got
accustomed to. Why, we never sat down to dinner without two
menservants!'
'Only two?' said Mr. Rollstone. 'I have never been without three men
under me; and I always had two to wait, even when the lady dined alone.'
Mrs. Grover, who had been impressed for a moment, took courage to say--
'I don't think so much of your grouse, Mrs. Morton. It's tasty and
'igh.'
'High game goes with high families,' wickedly murmured Herbert, causing
much tittering at his corner of the table; and this grew almost
convulsive, while another matron of the party observed--
'Mrs. Macdonald, Mr. Holt's sister in Scotland, once sent us some, and
really, Mrs. Morton, if you boil them down, they are almost as good as a
pat-ridge!'
'Oh, really now, Mrs. Holt! I hope you didn't tell Mrs. Macdonald so!'
said Mrs. Morton. 'It is a real valuable article, such as my brother,
Lord Northmoor, would only send to us, and one or two old friends that he
wishes to compliment at Hurminster. But one must be used to high society
to know how such things should be relished!'
'Are Lord Northmoor's moors extensive?' asked Mr. Rollstone.
'There's about four or five miles of them,' responded Herbert; 'and these
grouse are awfully shy.'
'Ah, the Earl of Blackwing owns full twenty miles of heather,' said the
ex-butler.
'Barren stuff!' growled the skipper; 'breeding nothing worth setting
one's teeth into!'
'There are seven farms besides,' put in Mrs. Morton. 'My brother is
going to have an audit-day next week.'
'You should have seen the Earl's audits,' said Mr. Rollstone.
'Five-and-twenty substantial tenant-farmers, besides artisans, and all
the family plate on the sideboard!'
'Ah, you should see the Northmoor plate!' said Mrs. Morton. 'There are
racing cups, four of them--not that any one could drink out of them, for
they are just centre-pieces for the table. There's a man in armour
galloping off headlong with a girl behind him-- Who did your uncle say
it was, Conny?'
'The Templar and Rowena, mamma,' said Constance.
'Yes, that was the best--all frosted. I liked that better than the one
where the girl with no clothes to speak of was running like mad after a
golden ball. They said that was an heirloom, worth five hundred--'
'Lord Burnside's yachting cups are valued at five thousand,' said Mr.
Rollstone. 'I should know, for I had the care of them, and it was a
responsibility as weighed on my mind.'
So whatever Mrs. Morton described as to the dignities and splendours of
Northmoor, Mr. Rollstone continued to cap with more magnificent
experiences, so that, though he never pretended to view himself in the
light of a participator in the grandeur he described, he continued, quite
unintentionally, so to depreciate the glories of Northmoor, that Mrs.
Morton began to recollect how far above him her sphere had become, and to
decide against his future admission to her parties.
The young ladies, as soon as tea was over, retired into corners in pairs,
having on their side much to communicate. Rose Rollstone was at home for
a holiday, after having begun to work at an establishment for art and
ecclesiastical needlework, and it was no small treat to her and Constance
to meet and compare their new experiences. Rose, always well brought up
by her father, was in a situation carefully trained by a lady head, and
watched over by those who deepened and cultivated her religious feeling;
and Constance had to tell of the new facilities of education offered to
them. Ida was too delicate for school, their mother said, and was only
to have music lessons at Brighton, or in London whenever the present
house could be parted with; but Herbert had already begun to work with a
tutor for the army, and Constance was to go to the High School at Colbeam
and spend her Sundays at Northmoor, where a prettily-furnished room was
set apart for her. She described it with so much zest that Rose was
seized with a sort of alarm. 'You will live there like all the lords and
ladies that papa talks of, and grow worldly and fashionable.'
'Oh no, no,' cried Constance, and there was a girlish kissing match, but
Rose seemed to think worldliness inevitable.
'The Earl my papa lived with used to bet and gamble, and come home
dreadfully late at night, and so did my lady and her daughters, and their
poor maid had to sit up for them till four o'clock in the morning. Then
their bills! They never told his lordship, but they sold their diamonds
and wore paste. His lordship did not know, but their maid did, and told
papa.'
Constance opened her eyes and declared that Uncle Frank and Aunt Mary
never could do such things. Moreover, she averred that Lady Adela was
always going about among the cottages, and that Miss Morton had not a bit
of pride, and was going to live in London to teach the dust-pickers and
match-box makers. 'Indeed, I don't think they are half as worldly in
themselves,' she said, 'as Ida is growing with thinking about them.'
'Ah, don't you remember the sermon that said worldliness didn't depend on
what one has, but what one is?'
'Talking of nothing better than sermons!' said Herbert, coming on them.
'Have you caught it of the governor, Con? I believe he thinks of nothing
but sermons.'
And Constance exclaimed, 'I am sure he doesn't preach!'
'Oh no, nothing comes out of his mouth that he can help; trust him for
that.'
'Then how do you know?'
'By the stodgy look of him. He would be the awfullest of prosers if he
had the gift of the gab.'
'You are an ungrateful boy,' said Rose. 'I am sure he must be very kind
to you.'
'Can't help it,' said Herbert. 'The old fellow would be well enough if
he had any go in him.'
'I am sure he took you out hunting,' exclaimed Constance indignantly,
'the day they took us to the meet. And he leapt all the ditches when
you--'
He broke in, 'Well, what was I to do when I've never had the chance to
learn to sit a horse? You'll see next winter.'
'Did you hurt yourself?' asked Rose, rather mischievously.
To which Herbert turned a deaf ear and began to expatiate upon the game
of Northmoor, till other sounds led him away to fall upon the other
_tete-a-tete_ between Ida and Sibyl Grover. In Ida's mind the honours of
Northmoor were dearly purchased by the dulness and strictness of the life
there.
'My uncle was as cross as two sticks if ever Herbert or I were too late
for prayers, and he said it was nonsense of Herbert to say that kneeling
at church spoilt his trousers--kneeling just like a school child! It
made me so faint!'
'And it looks so!'
'I tried, because Lady Adela and Miss Bertha and all do,' said Ida, 'and
they looked at me! But it made me faint, as I knew it would,' and she
put her head on one side.
'Poor dear! So they were so very religious! Did that spoil it all?'
'Well, we had pretty things off the Christmas-tree, and we lived quite as
ladies, and drove out in the carriage.'
'No parties nor dances? Or were they too religious?'
'Ma says it is their meanness; but my aunt, Lady Northmoor, did say
perhaps it would be livelier another year, and then we should have had
some dancing and deportment lessons. I up and told her I could dance
fast enough now, but she said it would not be becoming or right to Lady
Adela's and Miss Morton's feelings.'
'Do they live there?'
'Not in the house. Lady Adela has a cottage of her own, and Miss Morton
stops with her. Lady Adela is as high and standoffish as the monument,'
said Ida, pausing for a comparison.
'High and haughty,' said Sibyl, impressed. 'And the other lady?'
'Oh, she is much more good-natured. We call her Bertha; at least, she
told us that we might call her anything but that horrid Cousin Bertha, as
she said. But she's old, thirty-six years old, and not a bit pretty, and
she says such odd things, one doesn't know what to do. She thought I
made myself useful and could wash and iron,' said Ida, as if this were
the greatest possible insult, in which Sibyl acquiesced.
'And she thought I should know the factory girls, just the hands,' added
Ida, greatly disgusted. 'As if I should! But ma says low tastes are in
the family, for she is going to live in London, and go and sit with the
shop-girls in the evening. Still I like her better than Lady Adela, who
keeps herself to herself. Mamma says it is pride and spite that her
plain little sickly girl hasn't come to be my Lady.'
'What, doesn't she speak to them?' said Sibyl, quite excited.
'Oh yes, she calls, and shakes hands, and all that, but one never seems
to get on with her. And Emily Trotman, she's the doctor's daughter, such
a darling, told me _such_ a history--so interesting!'
'Tell me, Ida, there's a dear.'
'She says they were all frightfully dissipated' (Ida said it quite with a
relish)--'the old Lord and Mr. Morton, Lady Adela's husband, you know,
and Miss Bertha--always racing and hunting and gambling and in debt.
Then there came a Captain Alder, who was ever so much in love with Miss
Bertha, but most awfully in debt to her brother, and very passionate
besides. So he took him out in his dog-cart with a fiery horse that was
sure to run away.'
'Who did?'
'Captain Alder took Mr. Morton, though they begged and prayed him not,
and the horse ran away and Mr. Morton was thrown out and killed.'
'Oh!' with extreme zest. 'On purpose?'
'Miss Bertha was sure it was, so that she might have all the fortune, and
so she told him, and flung the betrothal ring in his face, and he went
right off, and never has been heard of since.'
'Well, that _is_ interesting. Do you think he shot himself?'
'No, he was too mean. Most likely he married a hideous millionaire: but
the Mortons were always dreadful, and did all sorts of wicked things.'
'I declare it's as good as any tale--like the sweet one in the _Young
Ladies' Friend_ now--"The Pride of Pedro." Have you seen it?'
'No, indeed, uncle and aunt only have great old stupid books! They
wanted me to read those horrid tiresome things of Scott's, and Dickens's
too, who is as old as the hills! Why, they could not think of anything
better to do on their wedding tour but to go to all the places in the
Waverley novels.'
'Why, they are as bad as history! Jim brought one home once, and pa
wanted me to read it, but I could not get on with it--all about a stupid
king of France. I'm sure if I married a lord I'd make him do something
nicer.'
'I mean ma to do something more jolly,' said Ida, 'when we get more
money, and I am come out. I mean to go to balls and tennis parties, and
I shall be sure to marry a lord at some of them.'
'And you will take me,' cried Sibyl.
'Only you must be very genteel,' said Ida. 'Try to learn style, _do_,
dear. It must be learnt young, you know! Why, there's Aunt Mary, when
she has got ever so beautiful a satin dress on, she does not look half so
stylish as Lady Adela walking up the road in an old felt hat and a
shepherd's-plaid waterproof! But they all do dress so as I should be
ashamed. Only think what a scrape that got Herbert into. He was coming
back one Saturday from his tutor's, and he saw walking up to the house an
awfully seedy figure of fun, in an old old ulster, and such a hat as you
never saw, with a knapsack on her back, and a portfolio under her arm.
So of course he thought it was a tramp with something to sell, and he
holloaed out, "You'd better come out of this! We want none of your
sort." She just turned round and laughed, which put him in such a rage,
that though she began to speak he didn't wait, but told her to have done
with her sauce, or he would call the keepers. He thinks she said, "You'd
better," and I believe he did move his stick a little.'
'Ida, have done with that!' cried Herbert's voice close to her. 'Hold
your tongue, or I'll--' and his hand was near her hair.
'Oh, don't, don't, Herbert. Let me hear,' cried Sibyl.
'That's the way girls go on,' said Herbert fiercely, 'with their nonsense
and stuff.'
'But who--?'
'If you go on, Ida--' he was clutching her braid.
Sibyl sprang to the defence, and there was a general struggle and romp
interspersed with screams, which was summarily stopped by Mr. Rollstone
explaining severely, 'If you think that is the deportment of the
aristocracy, Miss Ida, you are much mistaken.'
'Bother the aristocracy!' broke out Herbert.
Calm was restored by a summons to a round game, but Sibyl's curiosity was
of course insatiable, and as she sat next to Herbert, she employed
various blandishments and sympathetic whispers, and after a great deal of
fuss, and 'What will you give me if I tell?' to extract the end of the
story, 'Did he call the keeper?'
'Oh yes, the old beast! His name's Best, but it ought to be Beast! He
guffawed ever so much worse than she did!'
'Well, but who was it?'
And after he had tried to make her guess, and teased his fill, he owned,
'Mrs. Bury--a sort of cousin, staying with Lady Adela. She isn't half a
bad old party, but she makes a guy of herself, and goes about sketching
and painting like a blessed old drawing-master.'
'A lady? and not a young lady.'
'Not as old as--as Methuselah, or old Rolypoly there, but I believe she's
a grandmother. If she'd been a boy, we should have been cut out of it.
Oh yes, she's a lady--a born Morton; and when it was over she was very
jolly about it--no harm done--bears no malice, only Ida makes such an
absurd work about every little trifle.'