DOWN AT REDMOOR.
Just on the highest ridge of the great waste of Redmoor, which is
interspersed with dangerous peat-bogs and morasses, and extends about
ten miles every way, with scarcely a fence or a tree, stands Redmoor
House, from time immemorial--which means from the reign of Edward
III.--the home of the Mitford family. Stands high and dry, and looking
warm and snug and comfortable, with its red-brick face and its quaint
gables and queer little mullioned windows. It is a house the sight of
which would put spirit into a man chilled and numbed with looking over
the great morass, and would give some vestige of credibility to the
fact, that the sluggiest little stream born in the middle of the moor,
and winding round through the gardens of the house, from its desolate
birthplace flows down--as can be traced from the windows--through a
land of plenty, of park and meadow, of orchard and cornfield, by the
old cathedral-city, to the southern shore.
A grand old house, with a big dining-hall like St. George's Chapel at
Windsor on a small scale, without the stalls, but with the knightly
banners, and the old oak, and the stained glass, and the solemn air of
antiquity; with a picture-gallery full of ancestors, beginning with
Sir Gerard, temp. Henry VIII., painted by Holbein, a jolly red-bearded
swashbuckler, not unlike _his_ royal master, and ending with the late
lamented Sir Percy, painted by Lawrence, with a curly head of hair, a
fur collar to his coat, a smile of surprising sweetness, and
altogether not unlike _his_ royal master. There were drawing-rooms in
blue and amber; a charming bow-windowed room hung with tapestry, and
commanding a splendid view over the cultivated landscape, which, in
the housekeeper's tradition, had been a boudoir for Sir Percy's lady,
who died within three years of her marriage; a grand old library, the
bookcases in black oak, and nearly all the books in Russia leather,
save those bought under the auspices of the late baronet,--Hansard's
Debates, and a legal and magisterial set of volumes all bound in calf
and red-lettered at the back. There is a grand terrace in front of the
house, and all kinds of gardens stretch round it: Dutch gardens,
formal, quaint, and solemn, with a touch of old-world stiffness like
the Mynheers; Italian gardens, bright and sunny and gaudy, very
glittering and effective, but not very satisfactory after all, like
the Signori; English gardens, with ample space of glorious
close-shaved lawn, and such wealth of roses as to keep the whole air
heavy with their fragrance. Great prolific kitchen-gardens at the
back, and stables and coach-houses which might be better; but the late
baronet cared for nothing but his quarter-sessions and his yacht; and
so long as he had a pair of horses to jolt with him to join the
judge's procession at assize-times, troubled himself not one jot how
the internal economy of the stables was ordered.
This is all to be altered now. It was not very bright in Sir Percy's
time, and it has been deadly-lively indeed since his death; but the
Sleeping Beauty herself was never more astonished by the arrival of
the prince than was Mrs. Austin, the old housekeeper at Redmoor, by
the advent of a tall hook-nosed gentleman, who announced himself as
Captain Bligh, and who brought a letter from Sir Charles Mitford, duly
signed and sealed with the family arms, which Mrs. Austin knew so
well, ordering implicit obedience to whatever orders the bearer might
choose to give. With him came a sleek-looking man with close-cut hair
and a white cravat, whom Mrs. Austin at first took for a clergyman,
until she discovered, he was the stud-groom. This person inspected the
stables, and the remnant of the late Sir Percy's stud, and reported to
Captain Bligh that the stables was pigsties, and as for the hanimals,
he should think they must be the 'osses as Noah put into the hark.
A fresh _régime_ and fresh work to be done by everybody under it. No
more chance for Tummus coachman and Willum helper to just ride harses
to ex'cise and dryaive 'em out in trap whenever wanted to go crass to
races or market, or give missus and young 'uns a little change. No
more chance for Dawniel Todd the Scotch gardener to make his market of
all the fruits, flowers, and vegetables, selling them to Mrs. Dean or
Miss Archdeacon, or to the officers up in barracks. Not much chance
for the head-keeper and his two under-trappers, who really had all
their work to do to keep the game down after Sir Percy's death, so
strictly had that terror of poachers preserved; though they thought
they saw their way to balancing any loss which they might sustain from
being unable any longer to supply the poulterers of the county town,
in a house full of ardent sportsmen, with innumerable heavy tips after
battue-days, and an occasional dog to break or to sell. The old
lodge-gates had begun to grow rusty from disuse; but they are
constantly on the stretch now, for carts with ladders and
scaffolding-poles, and men in light linen blouses daubed with paint,
were streaming in and out from morning till night. There is a new roof
being put on the stables, and the outhouses are being painted and
whitewashed throughout; and the mastiff, who has been bred on the true
English principle of "keeping himself to himself," has been driven
quite mad at the influx of new faces, and has shown such a convincing
set of teeth to the painter's men, that they have declined proceeding
with their work until he has been removed. So Tummus coachman and
Willum helper have removed his big kennel to the back of the stables;
and here Turk lies, with nothing but his black nose visible in the
clean straw, until he catches sight of a painter or a tiler pursuing
his occupation high up in mid-air, and then with one baleful spring
Turk bounds out of his kennel, and unmistakably expresses his fervent
wish to have that skilled labourer's life's-blood.
Captain Bligh too sits heavy on the lodge-keeper's soul. For the
captain, after a cursory inspection of the vehicles at Redmoor louse,
has sent down to Exeter for a dog-cart, and has duly received thence
the nearest approach which the Exeterian coachbuilder had on hand. It
is not a bad tax-cart, of the kind known as "Whitechapel," has a very
big pair of wheels, and behind a long chestnut mare--which the captain
found in a loose box in the corner of the yard, and which it seemed
Tummus the coachman used to reserve for his special driving-runs
remarkably well and light. In this tax-cart Captain Bligh drives to
and from the station, where he is occupied watching the disembarkation
of furniture coming direct from Gillow's--ottomans for the
smoking-rooms, and looking-glasses for my lady's boudoir; to and from
the market-town, where the painters and other workpeople are to be
hunted up; to and from the barracks, where he has found that
hospitality and good-fellowship which are invariable characteristics
of the service. From the barracks the Captain is not unfrequently very
late in returning, yelling out, "Ga-a-ate!" in the early hours of the
morning, and frightening the lodge-keeper from peaceful dreams; and as
the painter's men arrive at six, and the railway-van did not leave
till eleven, the lodge-keeper begins to feel, on the whole, that life
is not all beer and skittles, and rather wishes that the late baronet
had never been drownded.
Now things begin to look a little straighter, and rumours are rife
that it won't be long before the new baronet brings his wife down,
and, regularly takes possession. The old stables have been re-tiled
and touched up, four new loose boxes, "wi' sla-ate mangers and brass
foxes' heads a-holdin' the pillar-reins," have been erected, the
coach-houses have been cleaned and enlarged. The stud-groom, under
whose directions all these alterations have been made, has watched
their completion, and has then started for London, returning with a
whole string of splendid creatures, all in the most perfect-fitting
hoods and cloths embroidered with Sir C. M.'s initials and bloody
hand, railed down to the nearest station, and brought over thence in
charge of three underlings, also sleek-headed, tight-trousered, and
white-cravated. Not in income, but in status do Tummus coachman and
Willum helper feel the change. They are to be retained on the
establishment at the same rate of wages; but they are simply to make
themselves generally useful in the stables, and to have no particular
duties whatsoever.
Very busy indeed has been Captain Bligh; but his labours are drawing
to an end now, and he begins to think that he has been very successful
He has been good in generalization, he thinks; there's nothing that
any one could find particular fault with, looking at the materials he
had to work upon, and the time he had to do it in. But there are two
things about which he knows in managing for other people you should be
particular. Take care that both the men and the women have a stunning
good room of their own. You know the library is generally considered
the men's room; but Charley ain't much of a bookworm; the _Times_ of a
day, and _Bell_ of a Sunday, and that kind of thing; and the library's
an infernal big room, with all sorts of plaster-casts of philosophic
classic parties grinning at you off the tops of the shelves. Charley
won't like that; so Bligh has fitted him up this little crib, next to
his dressing-room, cosey and comfortable, good-drawing stove, little
let-down flap for his grog, whip-rack, pipe-rack, and all snug--don't
you think so? Bollindar and Smyth, of the 26th Cameronians, to whom
the question is put, think so--rather! and look all round the room
and nod their heads sagaciously, and clap Bligh on the back and tell
him what a knowing hand he is, and then go off to try the new
billiard-table which Thurston has just sent from London. That Lady
Mitford's special room should also be something to be proud of, is
also a desideratum with the Captain; but there he mistrusts his own
taste. The late Mrs. Bligh had been a barrack-master's daughter, and
having lived in barracks both before and after her marriage, had been
accustomed, as her husband recollected, to think highly of any place
where the doors would shut and the windows would not rattle. But the
old campaigner recollected that Mrs. Barrington the widow, daughter of
the Dean and Deaness, and then living at home with her parents in the
Close, had, during the two happy years of her marriage to George
Barrington, private secretary to Lord Muffington when keeper of the
Gold Fish to her Majesty, lived in very decent society in London; and
it was after Mrs. Barrington's idea that the bow-windowed boudoir had
its bow-window filled with plate-glass, and a light chintz paper and
maple furniture. Sipping a glass of '20 port with her lunch-biscuit
(the cellars at Redmoor were splendidly stocked, and wanted no
renovation), Mrs. Dean declared that the room was perfect; and poor
pale peaky little Mrs. Barrington, looking round at the elegance and
comfort, was reminded of the days when she was something more than a
dependent on her parents' bounty, and when she had a husband whose
chiefest delight was the fulfilment of her every wish.
So the Captain wrote up to his principal, and reported all in
readiness; and the day for Sir Charles and Lady Mitford to come down
was agreed upon. There was some talk of having a public reception; but
the Captain did not think Sir Charles would care particularly about
that, and so the scheme was given up. However, when the carriage which
fetched them from the station dashed through the lodge-gates, the
tenantry, some mounted on their rough little Redmoor ponies, some on
foot, but all in their best clothes, were drawn up on either side of
the avenue, and greeted their new landlord with reiterated cheers.
They are an impressible people, these Devonians; and they were much
gratified by the frank, hearty, sporting appearance of Sir Charles,
"so different from Sir Percy, as were all dried-up like;" they liked
the jolly way in which he stood up and waved his hat to them; while as
for Lady Mitford, the impression she created was something
extraordinary. The men raved about her, and the women seemed to feel
the greatest gratification in repeating that she was "a pure Devon
lass, as any one could tell by her skin."
Sir Charles had wished to bring all their friends down to Redmoor at
the same time as they themselves came; but Georgie, who, ever since
the visit to the ancestral home had been determined upon, had found
her mistress-of-the-house position weighing on her mind, begged that
they might be there for at least a day or two by themselves, that she
might settle with Mrs. Austin the disposal of the various rooms, and
the general arrangement of the household. To this Sir Charles agreed,
and they came alone.
The "day or two" spent by themselves were very happily passed by
Georgie. The whole of the first day was consumed in going from room to
room with Mrs. Austin, listening to the family history, and thoroughly
examining all the pictures, tapestry, and curios. The old lady was
enchanted with her new mistress, who took so much interest in
everything, and who, above all, was such an excellent listener. Then
Georgie, whose housekeeping tastes had not had much opportunity for
display in the parsonage at Fishbourne, under Mrs. Austin's guidance
went "through the things," absolutely revelling in snowy linen and
spotless damask, in glorious old china and quaint antique glass, in
great stores of jams and preserves, and all Mrs. Austin's household
treasures. She did not take so much interest in the display of plate,
though it was really very handsome and very valuable; not the least
effective among the trophies being several splendid regatta-prizes won
by the late baronet's celebrated yacht. With the boudoir Georgie was
delighted; and when she heard from Captain Bligh that, feeling his
utter ignorance in the matter, he had consulted Mrs. Barrington, after
whose taste the room had been prepared, Georgie declared that Mrs.
Barrington must be a very nice woman to have such excellent taste,
would probably prove a delightful neighbour, and certainly should be
called upon as soon as possible.
You see, if Georgie "gushed" a little at this period of her life, it
was not unnatural, and was certainly excusable. She had been brought
up very quietly, and had had, as we have seen, her little trouble and
had, borne it with great pluck and determination; and now, as she
imagined, she was thoroughly happy. Husband's love, kind, friends,
wealth and position, were all hers; and as she was young and
impulsive, and thoroughly appreciative of all these blessings, she
could not help showing her appreciation. In those days, even more than
in the present, it was considered in the worst taste to be in the
smallest degree natural; a dull uncaring acceptance of events as they
occurred, without betraying the least astonishment or concern, was
considered the acme of good breeding; so that unless Georgie altered a
great deal before the London season, she would be voted very bad _ton_
by Lady Clanronald and the Marchioness of Tappington, those sovereigns
of society. But there is some little time yet before the commencement
of the season, and Georgie may then have become as unappreciative and
as undemonstrative as the other women in her position. Just now she is
thoroughly happy with Mrs. Austin and the contents of the linen and
china-rooms.
Whether, as the woman is the lesser man, the feminine mind is much
more easily amused than the masculine, or whether there was much more
absolute novelty to Lady Mitford in her position than to Sir Charles
in his (he had seen something of the external life of fashionable
people, and, like most military men, had acquired a veneer of swelldom
while in the army), it is difficult to determine; but it is certain
that the "day or two" to be spent before the arrival of their friends
seemed like a day or twenty-two to Sir Charles Mitford. He had gone
over every room of the house, thoroughly examined the new stables and
loose boxes, had out all the horses and critically examined them, had
tried two new pairs and spent an hour or two in breaking them, had
pulled the old mastiff's ears until the dog growled, had then kicked
him for growling, had put all his whips and all his pipes into their
respective racks, had smoked more than was good for him, had whistled
every tune he could remember, and was utterly and horribly bored.
He was like the little boy in the child's story-book: he wanted
somebody to come and play with him. Captain Bligh had been obliged to
leave for London directly his friends arrived, and was coming down
again with the first batch of visitors. And Sir Charles hated being
alone; he wanted somebody to smoke with him, and to play billiards
with him. He used to put a cigar in his mouth and go and knock the
balls about, trying various new hazards; but it did not amuse him. He
could not ask the officers of the neighbouring garrison to come over,
as his plea to his friends had been the necessity for preparation in
the house. He grew very cross towards the close of the second day; and
after dinner, as he was going to smoke a sulky pipe in his own
room, Georgie came up to him, and put her arm through his, and looked
at and spoke to him so affectionately, that his conscience gave him a
little twinge as he thought how lately he had let his fancy run on
eyes and hair of a different colour from his wife's.
"What is it, Charley? You're all wrong, I see; not ill, are you,
darling?"
"No, Georgie, not ill; only confoundedly bored."
"Bored?"
"Yes, bored! Oh, I know it's all very well for you, who have your
house to look after and Mrs. Austin to attend to, and all that kind of
thing--that passes the time. But I've had nothing to do, and nobody to
speak to, and I'm regularly sick of it. If this is the kind of thing
one's to expect in country life, I shall go back to town to-morrow."
"Oh, you won't feel it when your friends come down, Charley; they'll
be here the day after to-morrow. It's only because you're alone with
me--and I'm not much of a companion for you, I know--that you're
moped. Now let us see, what can you do to-morrow? Oh, I have it,--why
not drive over and see your friends the Hammonds at Torquay?"
He had thought of that several times, but had not mentioned it
because--well, he did not know why. But now his wife had started the
subject; so of course it was all right. Still he hesitated.
"Well, I don't know--"
"Now I think it a capital idea. You can drive over there, and they'll
most probably ask you to stop to dinner, and you'll have a fine
moonlight drive back. And then the next day all the rest of the people
will come down."
After this Sir Charles did not attempt, however faintly, to interpose
an objection, and was in a very good temper for the remainder of the
evening.