AUNT EMILY.
"AND you really think I would better stay several days, Mammina? I don't
like to leave you alone. Some one might come and carry you off! How
should I feel if I came back next week, and found you gone?" Hildegarde
looked down at her mother, as she sat in her low chair by the fire; she
spoke playfully, but with an undertone of wistfulness. Mrs. Grahame had
grown rather shadowy in the last year; she looked small and pale beside
Hildegarde's slender but robust figure; and the girl's eyes dwelt on her
with a certain anxiety. But nothing could be brighter or more cheerful
than Mrs. Grahame's smile, nor could a voice ring more merrily than hers
did as she responded to Hildegarde's tone, rather than her words.
"There _have_ been rumours of a griffin lurking in the neighbourhood. He
is said to have a particular fancy for old--there, there, Hilda! don't
kill me!--well, for middle-aged ladies, and his preference is for the
small and bony. I feel that I am in imminent peril; but still, under all
the circumstances, I prefer to abide my fate; and I think you would
decidedly better spend two or three days at least with your Aunt Emily.
She has never invited you before, and her note sounds pretty forlorn,
poor old lady! Besides, if you really want to do something at the
Exchange, you could hardly manage it in one day. So you shall pack the
small trunk, and take an evening gown, and make a little combination
trip, missionary work and money-making."
"And what will you do?" asked Hildegarde, still a little wistfully.
"Clean your room!" replied her mother, promptly.
"Mamma! as if I would let you do that while I was away!"
"Kindly indicate how you would prevent it while you were away, my dear!
But indeed, I don't mean a revolutionary, spring cleaning; I just want
to have the curtains washed, and the paint touched up a little; I saw
several places where it was getting shabby. Indeed, Hilda, I think the
trip to New York is rather a special providence, do you know?"
"Humph!" said Hildegarde, looking suspiciously at her parent. "And while
I _am_ gone, it might be a good plan to take up the matting, and
re-cover some of the chairs, and have the sofa done over, you think?"
"Exactly!" said Mrs. Grahame, falling innocently into the trap.
Whereupon she was pounced on, shaken gently, embraced severely, and
forbidden positively to attempt anything of the kind. Finally a
compromise was effected, allowing the washing of the curtains, but
leaving the details of painting, etc., till Hildegarde's return; and the
rest of the evening was spent in the ever-pleasant and congenial task of
making out a list.
"You cannot be expected to make visits, of course, dear, in so short a
stay; but there are one or two people you ought to see if possible,"
said Mrs. Grahame.
Hildegarde looked up apprehensively from her jottings of towels, gloves,
and ribbons to be bought. Her mother's ideas of family duty were largely
developed.
"Aunt Emily will expect you to call on Cousin Amelia, and no doubt the
girls will come to see you. Your Aunt Anna is in Washington."
"For what we are about to escape--" murmured the daughter.
"Hildegarde, I wonder at you!"
"Yes, dear mamma! what else were you going to say?"
Mrs. Grahame tried to look severe for a moment, did not succeed, and put
the subject by.
"Then there is old Madam Burlington; she would take it as a kindness if
you went to see her; you need not stay more than a quarter of an hour. A
Cranford call is all that is necessary, but do try to find an hour to go
and sit with poor Cousin Harriet Wither; it cheers her so to see some
young life. Poor Harriet! she is a sad wreck! You will probably dine at
your Cousin Robert Grahame's, and if Aunt Emily wishes you to call on
any of the Delansings--"
"Were you expecting me to stay away over Christmas?" inquired
Hildegarde, calmly.
"Why, darling, surely not! what do you mean?"
"Only that you seem to have started on a month's programme, my love,
that's all. Don't look so, angel! I will go to see all of them; I will
spend a month with each in turn; only don't look troubled!"
By and by everything was settled as well as might be. Mother and
daughter went to sleep with peaceful hearts, and the next day Hildegarde
departed for New York, determined to make as short a visit as she could
in propriety to Aunt Emily Delansing.
Of her reception by that lady she herself shall tell:
"BLESSEDEST MOTHER:
"As usual, you were quite right, and I am glad I
came. Hobson was at the station, and brought me up
here in a hansom, and Aunt Emily was in the
drawing-room to receive me. She is very kind, and
seems glad to have me here. I have not done much
yet, naturally, as I have not been here two hours
yet. I could not let the six o'clock mail go
without sending you a line, just to say that I am
safe and well. Very well indeed, dearest, and no
more homesick than is natural, and loving you more
than you can possibly imagine. But oh, the streets
are so noisy, and there are no birds, and--no, I
will not! I will be good. Good-bye, dearest and
best! Always your very ownest,
"HILDA."
Hilda sealed and addressed her letter, and then rang the bell. A grave
footman in plum-coloured livery appeared, received the letter as if it
were an official document of terrible import, and departed. Then, when
the door was closed and she was alone again, Hildegarde leaned back in
her chair and gave herself up to reverie. Her eyes wandered over the
room in which she was sitting,--a typical city room, large and lofty,
with everything proper in the way of furnishing. "Everything proper, and
nothing interesting!" said Hildegarde, aloud. The oak furniture was like
all other oak furniture; the draperies were irreproachable, but without
character; the pictures were costly, and that was all.
Rather wearily Hildegarde rose and began the somewhat elaborate toilet
which was necessary to please the taste of the aunt with whom she had
come to stay. Mrs. Delansing was her father's aunt. Since Mr. Grahame's
death, his widow and child had seen little of her. She considered their
conduct, in moving to the country, reprehensible in the extreme, and
signified to Mrs. Grahame that she could never regard her as a sane
woman again. Mrs. Grahame had borne this affliction as bravely as she
might, and possibly, in the quietly happy years that followed the move,
she and her daughter did not give much thought to Aunt Emily or her
wrath. She was well, and did not need them, and they were able to get on
very tolerably by themselves. Now, however, things had happened. Mrs.
Delansing was much out of health; her own daughters were settled in
distant homes, and could not leave their own families to be with her;
she felt her friends dropping away year by year, and loneliness coming
upon her. For the first time in years, Emily Delansing felt the need of
some new face, some new voice, to keep her from her own thoughts.
Accordingly she had written to Mrs. Grahame a note which meant to be
stately, and was really piteous, holding out the olive-branch, and
intimating that she should be glad to have a visit from Hildegarde,
unless her mother thought it necessary to keep the girl buried for her
whole life.
In replying, Mrs. Grahame did not think it necessary to reply to the
last remark, nor to remind Mrs. Delansing that Hildegarde had spent a
month in New York the winter before, with an aunt on the Bond side, who
was not in the Delansing set. She said simply that Hildegarde would be
very glad to spend a few days in Gramercy Park, and that she might be
expected on the day set. And, accordingly, here Hildegarde was. She had
fully agreed with her mother that it was her duty to come, if Aunt Emily
really needed her; but she confessed to private doubts as to the reality
of the need. "And you do want me, Mrs. Grahame, deny it if you dare!"
she said.
"Heigh ho!" said Hildegarde again, looking about her for something to
talk to, as was her way. "Well, so I packed my trunk, and I came away,
and here I am." She addressed a small china sailor, who was sitting on a
pink barrel that contained matches.
"And if you think I like it so far, my friend, why, you have less
intelligence than your looks would indicate. What dress would you put
on, if you were I? I think your pink-striped shirt would be extremely
becoming to me, but I don't want to be grasping. You advise the brown
velveteen? I approve of your taste!"
Hildegarde nodded to the sailor, feeling that she had made a friend; and
proceeded to array herself in the brown velveteen gown. It was a pretty
gown, made half-low, with full elbow-sleeves, and heavy old lace in the
neck. When Hildegarde had clasped the gold beads round her slender neck,
she felt that she was well dressed, and sat down with a quiet conscience
to read "Montcalm and Wolfe" till dinner-time. Presently came a soft
knock at the door, and the announcement that dinner was served; and
Hildegarde laid aside her book and went down to the drawing-room.
[Illustration: "MRS. DELANSING SCRUTINISED HER AS SHE CAME THROUGH THE
LONG ROOM."]
Mrs. Delansing, seated in her straight, high-backed armchair, was on the
watch for her grandniece, and scrutinised her as she came through the
long room. Then she nodded, and, rising, laid her hand on the arm that
Hildegarde offered her.
"Who taught you to enter a room?" she asked, abruptly. "You have been
taught, I perceive."
"My mother," said Hildegarde, quietly.
"Humph!" said Mrs. Delansing. "In my time, one of the most important
accomplishments was to enter a room properly. Nowadays I see young women
skip, and shuffle, and amble into the drawing-room; I do not often see
one enter it properly. You will, perhaps, tell your mother that I have
mentioned this; she may be gratified."
Hildegarde bowed in silence, and as they came into the dining-room, took
the place to which her aunt motioned her, at the foot of the table. It
was a long table, and Hildegarde could only see the bows of Mrs.
Delansing's cap over the stately epergne that rose between them; but she
was conscious of the old lady's sharp black eyes watching her through
the ferns and roses. This awoke a rebellious spirit in our young friend,
and she found herself wondering what would be the effect of her putting
her knife in her mouth, or drinking out of the finger-bowl. The dinner
seemed interminable. It is not easy to talk to some one whom you cannot
see; but Hildegarde replied as well as she could to the occasional
searching questions that were darted at her like spear-points through
the ferns, preserved her composure, and was not too unhappy to enjoy the
good food set before her.
It was a relief to go back to the drawing-room, which seemed a shade
less formal than the one they left; also, she found a comfortable chair,
and received permission to take out her embroidery.
"Where did you get that lace?" asked Mrs. Delansing, suddenly, after a
silence during which Hildegarde had thought her asleep, till, on
looking up, she met the steady gaze of the black eyes, still fixed on
her.
"It is extremely valuable lace; are you aware of it?" The tone was
reproachful, but Hildegarde preserved a quiet mind.
"Yes, I know it is valuable!" she said. "Old Mr. Aytoun left all his
personal property to Mamma, you know, Aunt Emily; there was a great deal
of lace, some of it very fine indeed; this is a small piece that went
with some broad flounces. Beautiful flounces they are!"
Mrs. Delansing's eyes lightened, and her fingers moved nervously. Lace
was one of her few passions, and she could not see it, or even hear of
it, unmoved.
"And what does your mother propose to do with all this lace?" she asked.
"She cannot wear it herself, in the wilderness that she chooses to live
in."
"Oh, she keeps it!" said Hildegarde. "It is delightful to have good
lace, don't you think so? even if you don't wear it. And when either of
us wants a bit to put on a gown,--like this, for example,--why, there it
is, all ready."
"It seems wanton; it seems almost criminal," said Mrs. Delansing, with
energy, "to keep valuable lace shut up in a mouldering country-house.
I--it distresses me to think of it. I shall feel it a point of duty to
write to your mother."
Hildegarde wondered what her aunt would feel it her duty to say. It was
hardly her mother's fault that the lace had been left to her; it seemed
even doubtful whether she should be expected to mould her life upon the
lines of lace; but this seemed an unsafe point to suggest.
"That is very beautiful lace on your dress, Aunt Emily!" said this wily
young woman.
Mrs. Delansing's brow smoothed, and she looked down with a shade of
complacency. "Yes, this is good," she said. "This is very good. Your
grandfather,--I should say your great-uncle, bought this lace for me in
Brussels. It is peculiarly fine, you may perceive. The young woman who
made it lost her eyesight in consequence."
"Oh, how dreadful!" cried Hildegarde. "How could you--" "How could you
bear to wear it?" was what she was going to say, but she checked
herself, and the old lady went on, placidly.
"Your great-uncle paid something more than the price asked on that
account. He thought something more was due; he was a man of great
benevolence. This is point lace."
"Yes," said Hildegarde, "Point d'Alencon; I never saw a more delicate
piece."
"Ah! you know point lace!" said Mrs. Delansing. Her voice took on a new
tone, and she looked at the girl with more friendly eyes. "I did not
know that any young women of the new generation understood point. These
matters seem to be thought of little consequence nowadays. I have myself
spent months in the study of a special point, and felt myself well
repaid."
She put some searching questions, relative to the qualities of Spanish,
Venice, and Rose point, and nodded her head at each modest but
intelligent answer. Hildegarde blessed her mother and Cousin Wealthy,
who had expounded to her the mysteries of lace. At the end of the
catechism, the old lady sighed and shook her head.
"It is an exceptional thing," she said, "to find any knowledge of laces
in the younger generations. I instructed my own daughters most carefully
in this branch of a gentlewoman's education, but they have not thought
proper to extend the instruction to their own children. I--a shocking
thing happened to me last year!" She paused, and Hildegarde looked up in
sympathy.
"What was it, Aunt Emily?" she asked.
Mrs. Delansing was still silent, lost in distressful reverie. At length,
"It is painful to dwell upon," she said, "and yet these things are a
warning, and it is, perhaps, a duty to communicate them. You have met my
granddaughters, your cousins, Violette and Blanche?"
"Oh, yes!" said Hildegarde, smiling a little, and colouring a little
too. These cousins were rather apt to attempt the city-cousin role, and
to treat her as a country cousin and poor relation. She did not think
they had had the best of it at their last meeting. "Yes, I know them,"
she said, simply.
"They are girls of lively disposition," Mrs. Delansing continued.
"Their mother--your Cousin Amelia--has been something of an invalid,--I
make allowance for all this, and yet there are things--" She broke off;
then, after a moment, went on again. "Violette made me a visit last
winter, here, in this house. She was engaged in what she called fancy
work, for a bazaar (most objectionable things to my mind), that was to
be held in the neighbourhood. One day she came to Hobson--I was unwell
at the time--and said,--Hobson remembers her very words:
"'Oh, Hobson, see what a lovely thing I have made out of a bit of old
rubbishy lace that was in this bureau drawer.'
"Hobson looked, and turned pale to her soul, as she expressed it in her
homely way. She recognised the pattern of the lace.
"'I cut out the flowers,' said the unhappy girl, 'and applied them'--she
_said_ 'appliqued' them, a term which I cannot reproduce--'applied them
to this crimson satin ribbon; it will make a lovely picture-frame; so
unique!'
"She had--she had taken a piece of my old Mechlin, which Hobson had
just done up and had laid in the drawer till I should feel strong enough
to examine and approve its appearance,--she had taken this and cut it to
pieces, cut out the flowers, to sew them-- There are things that have to
be lived through, my dear. It was weeks before Hobson felt able to tell
me what had occurred. I was in danger of a relapse for several weeks,
though she did it as delicately as possible,--good Hobson. I did not
trust myself to speak to Violette in person; I sent for her mother, and
told her of the occurrence. She--she--laughed!"
There was silence for some minutes. Hildegarde wanted to show the
sympathy that she truly felt, for she liked lace, and the idea of its
stupid destruction filled her with indignation. She ventured to lay her
hand timidly on the old lady's arm, but Mrs. Delansing took no notice of
the caress; she sat bolt upright, gazing out of the window with stony
eyes. Presently she said:
"You may ring for Hobson, if you please. I feel somewhat shaken, and
will have my malted milk in my own room. Another evening, I may ask
your patience in a game of backgammon,--you have been taught to play
backgammon? Yes; but not to-night. You will find books in the library,
and the piano does not disturb me. Good-night, my niece."
She shook hands with Hildegarde, and departed on Hobson's arm, looking
old and feeble, though holding herself studiously erect. Hildegarde went
to her room, feeling half sad, half amused, and wholly homesick. She
greeted the china sailor with effusion, as if he were a friend of years.
"Oh, you dear fellow!" she said. "You are young, aren't you? and happy,
aren't you? Well, mind you stay so, do you hear?" She nodded vehemently
at him, and took up her book, to read till bedtime.