AT CASTLE MONTJOIE.
The world has lost its bright illusions. One by one
The masks have gone; the lights burnt out;
The music dropped into silence, and she stands alone
In the dark halls, and hears no sound of life
Save the monotonous beating of her heart.
LONGFELLOW.
Now she will sit all day, and now she’s fain
To rise and walk, then sigh and sit again;
Then try some work, forget it and think on,
Wishing, with perfect love, that time were gone.
LEIGH HUNT.
Perfect peace fell on Montjoie Castle after the exodus of the Coyles.
The good old earl was gone indeed, but his granddaughter was comforted
for his departure by the thought that he had gone to join the beloved
wife with whom he had lived in harmony and happiness for more than sixty
years on earth.
In her tender memory of them there was no bitterness of sorrow.
Lord Beaudevere and Vivienne Desparde had remained with her at Castle
Montjoie until the arrival of Net Fleming.
Net came on the Saturday afternoon and brought the children, according
to her promise.
These little ones were wild with delight, in anticipation of the long
carriage ride and the long visit at the end of it.
From the moment in which Net announced these prospective pleasures to
them, which she did on the afternoon of her return from the old earl’s
funeral, the children had made Little Mammam’s life a burden to her with
questions as to—
“_When_ are we going?”
“How many days before Saturday comes?”
“How many nights?”
“How many hours?”
And when Saturday _did_ come, with a drizzling rain, the children arose
in despair, until Net assured them that if the carriage should come they
should go, whether it rained or cleared.
And then they begged to be dressed for the journey immediately after
dinner, and when their request was complied with they stood at the
windows and flattened their noses against the panes, watching for the
approach of the carriage.
About two o’clock in the afternoon their vigilance was rewarded. The
rain ceased, the sun shone out, the clouds dispersed, and—a light,
covered cart drove up to the cottage gate.
The children thought _that_ was the carriage which had come for them,
and they raised a shout of joy as they rushed out of the parlor and tore
open the front door.
But only a groom from Castle Montjoie dismounted from the seat and came
through the gate and up the little walk and put a note into the hand of
Mrs. Fleming.
It was from the young countess and contained but a few words—saying:
“DEAREST NET.—I send the light cart for yours and the children’s
luggage, that you may not be encumbered with it in the carriage, which
will follow in a few minutes.
“It will be the close brougham, in which you may venture to come without
fear of taking cold, even though it should continue to rain. Lord
Beaudevere and Vivienne are only waiting for your arrival to take leave
of me and return to Cloudland.
“It is good of my guardian to give me my own will in regard to my
remaining at the castle; but he says he means to use his power only to
guard, not to control.
“Come along, Net! I am anxiously awaiting you,
“ARIELLE.”
“Can I help to take the luggage out, ma’am?” inquired the groom,
touching his hat.
“I thank you, yes; I will call some one to show you where it is,”
answered the little lady, who then summoned Peter Ken from the kitchen
and told him to assist the groom in removing the two trunks that were
already packed and waiting in the bedroom.
By the time the luggage had been placed upon the cart, and the cart had
been driven away, the brougham drew up at the gate.
Net had locked up all the inside of the house, and had sent her
maid-of-all-work home. Now, therefore, she left her faithful Peter Ken
to put out the last fires, lock up the house, and take the key home with
himself.
As Net left the house-door and overtook the two children at the gate,
she saw, to her slight dismay, that Luke had the cat hugged up in his
arms to be the companion of his visit, and Ella had the two little straw
hearth brooms to take with her.
It cost Little Mammam some trouble to convince the children as to the
propriety of leaving puss and the besoms at home.
They yielded at length only on condition that Peter Ken should promise
to feed the cat every day, and take care of the brooms until their
return home.
Then at length they gladly submitted to be lifted into the brougham,
whither Net immediately followed them.
In a few more minutes, to their great delight, they were bowling rapidly
down the lane towards the turnpike road.
It was a happy journey to the children, who keenly enjoyed every mile of
the ride, and Net sympathetically entered into their enjoyment.
Three hours of this, to them, delightful drive, brought them to Castle
Montjoie.
The little ones had never in their lives seen anything like so lofty and
imposing a structure as Castle Montjoie.
On their near approach they grew full of wonder, and plied Little Mammam
with a multitude of questions.
“Was it not biggerer than the Ogre’s castle in Puss-in-Boots?”
“Wasn’t it a great deal biggerer than the giant’s castle in Jack and the
Beanstalk?”
“Anyway, it was ten times biggerer than their church, which was the
biggerest house they had ever seen,” etc., etc., etc.
When they passed up the winding road cut in the solid rock and leading
up to the castle gates, the children stopped talking and held their
tongues, and almost their very breath in fear.
But when they reached the summit of the rock, and passed over the
draw-bridge across the old moat, and through the archway in the wall,
over which hung the long disused portcullis, their eyes and mouths were
both opened with wonder and curiosity.
The carriage crossed the court-yard to the modernized buildings on the
opposite side, at the central hall door of which it drew up.
A groom came to the horses’ heads.
A footman opened the door and lifted out little Ella, who, taking the
liveried servant for a gentleman, said, very humbly and politely:
“Thank you, sir,” as soon as he had set her down.
Luke followed.
Net alighted last of all, and taking the hands of the two children led
them up the stone steps to the great oaken doors that were opened for
their admission.
Arielle received them in the hall, embraced Net in silent welcome, and
then exclaimed:
“I was so much afraid the rain would prevent you from coming!”
“Oh, but wese was coming if it poured and _poured_, wese was,” cried
Luke.
“If it poured and _poured_,” added Ella.
“Were you? You dear children! That was right!” exclaimed Arielle, giving
each one a hand, and then adding: “I hope you are going to be very happy
here.”
“But Mammam wuzzent let us bring Pudence wiz us,” complained Luke.
“No, wuzzent let us bring Pudence nor ze b’ooms, neezer,” added Ella.
“What do they mean?” inquired their puzzled young hostess, appealing to
their mammam.
“Oh, they wanted to bring the cat and their brooms,” laughed Net.
“Well, why didn’t you let them? Do you want your cat?” sympathetically
inquired the young lady, as she led them up stairs, followed by Net.
“Es; tauze poor Pudence will be lonesome zere by herse’f,” said Luke.
“Zere by herse’f,” echoed Ella.
“It was tuel to leaze Pudence all alone,” added Luke.
“All alone,” echoed Ella.
“Your little mammam wouldn’t do anything cruel. She thought I wouldn’t
like to have ‘Pudence,’ and so she didn’t bring her. But I will send a
groom on horseback to bring her this very afternoon, so you can have
her, maybe, before you go to bed, or at any rate the first minute you
are awake to-morrow morning.”
“Oh, that will be joyful!” exclaimed Luke.
“Joyful!” echoed Ella.
“_Would_ you take so much unnecessary trouble?” inquired Net.
“_Now_, my dear, for _you_ to ask such a question! It is not
unnecessary. How much the missing of one little inexpensive trifle
spoils all the enjoyment that wealth and skill can supply! ‘Pudence,’
you perceive, is necessary to the perfection of these children’s
enjoyment. And then again, you see, my men-servants have next to nothing
to do. Let one of them go to Miston and bring ‘Pudence.’ And how about
the brooms, my darlings?” she inquired, turning again to the children.
“Oh, we don’t tare so much about zem. B’ooms won’t be lonesome,” said
Luke.
“No, ‘b’ooms won’t be lonesome,’” echoed Ella.
They had now reached a landing on an extensive upper hall, from which
doors opened into bed-chambers and dressing-rooms on every hand.
Arielle, preceding her guest, led the children into a lofty and spacious
sitting-room, the first of a handsome and extensive suit that she had
appropriated to the use of Net and the twins.
A neat and trim little country girl belonging to the estate was in
attendance.
She was in mourning for her late master, and wore a black bombazine
dress, white lawn bib apron, collar and cuffs, and a white net cap
trimmed with black ribbon.
“This is your maid, my dear. Her name is Nelly Lacy, and she is a
younger sister of my attendant, Lacy,” said Lady Arielle.
The rosy-cheeked girl blushed and courtesied, and courtesied and
blushed, until Net said:
“I am sure I shall like you, Nelly. You look very much like your sister.
Will you take off the children’s wraps?”
Nelly courtesied again and drew off little Luke’s overcoat and gum
shoes, for which service the little fellow, mistaking the smart
waiting-maid in a bombazine dress and a mob cap for a young widow, as he
had mistaken the smart footman for a young officer, bowed and said:
“I sanks you vezy much, ma’am.”
And little Ella, when the same service was performed for her, made her
acknowledgments in the same language.
“You see, my rustic children are not accustomed to such grandeur,”
whispered Net, with a smile. “All their notions of female domestics are
drawn from women with coarse gowns tucked up to their waists and sleeves
rolled up above their elbows, bare-headed, bare-armed, and often, by
preference, bare footed, too!—like poor Kit Ken! Ah, poor Kit! Where is
she now?” And Net’s laughing whisper ended in a sigh.
“If we ever get trace of her we will take care of her, Net,” said Lady
Arielle.
“Yes, if we ever get trace of her. And I think we shall, sooner or
later. As far as I have observed among our unfortunate village girls,
their career is soon run, and they always creep home, like wounded
animals, to die! Kit is the third girl who has disappeared from Miston
during my recollection. The first one returned to die in the alms-house,
The second was found dead on her father’s doorstep one bitter winter
night,” sighed Net.
“But we must try to prevent that in Kit’s case. We must try to find her
in time! She has been a victim, not a sinner, poor soul—”
“Unless overweening pride and vanity be sins, which we are taught to
believe that they are! Poor Kit fell, not through love, but through her
passionate desire to become a ‘leddy.’”
The little maid had, meantime, taken the children into the adjoining
nursery to brush their hair, so that this short colloquy was carried on
quietly between the two friends.
“You must let the little ones come down to dessert after dinner,” said
Lady Arielle, as she stood by Net, who was taking off her bonnet and
gloves before the glass.
“They will be delighted,” replied Little Mammam.
“And now—oh! I had nearly forgotten through our talk about poor Kit—I
must see about sending for the children’s cat,” said Lady Arielle,
stepping to the bell and ringing it vigorously.
Adams, the lady’s footman, answered the summons.
Lady Arielle’s instructions were concise.
“Go down to the stables and tell one of the young grooms to mount a
fresh horse and ride to Miston to the house of James Ken, the fisherman,
and ask—“Here Lady Arielle hesitated and looked at Net.
“Peter,” said the latter.
“Ask Peter Ken to go with him to Bird’s Nest Cottage, in Church Lane,
and catch the children’s cat, and put it in a bag and give it to him.
And then he must bring it on here safely. Do you understand now?”
“Yes, my lady, perfectly.”
“Tell the groom to get back as soon as possible.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And not to come without the cat.”
“No, my lady.”
“Now hurry away.”
“Yes, my lady.”
And the man bowed and was gone.
“Mammam! _Mammam!_ MAMMAM!” called the children from the adjoining
nursery.
Net, with her black hair in one hand and her brush in the other, went to
the nursery door, where a pretty picture greeted her sight:
The children at their tea!
It was a low table, covered with a white cloth, and decorated with a
Liliputian service of rosebud china, and laden with a dainty repast of
light cakes and biscuits, fruit and milk.
The two little ones were seated opposite each other on little low
chairs, and Nelly Lacy was waiting on them.
“Oh, that is very pretty!” exclaimed Net.
“It is luzly,” said Luke.
“Luzly,” echoed Ella.
Net expressed her warm approval, and then went back to her bedroom to do
up her hair.
When her toilet was completed the two young ladies left the children in
the care of Nelly Lacy, with orders that they should be brought down to
dessert when the time should come, and then descended to the
drawing-room, where they found Lord Beaudevere and Vivienne waiting for
them.
The baron advanced and received Net with his usual courtly grace, and
Vivienne kissed her with much affection.
Dinner was soon afterwards announced, and the baron gave his arm to Net
to take her in.
“There is a famine of gentlemen in this house just at present, Vivienne.
Will you take _my_ arm in lack of a better?” said the young countess, as
she drew her friend’s hand under her elbow.
The four sat down to an exquisite dinner, which the baron, being an
epicure, appreciated and enjoyed.
“You will do well to retain the services of your present _chef_, my
dear,” he said, as he tested the merits of a new soup.
“I shall retain _every one_ of my dear grandfather’s old servants,”
replied the little countess.
“Oh! I do not recommend _that_! What, for instance, could you do with
his lordship’s valet?” inquired the baron.
“Make him groom of the chambers—an office which our family have not
hitherto established in our homes, but which I will set up for his
benefit,” smiled Arielle.
“Oh!” said the baron; and he swallowed the rest of his soup in silence.
The remaining courses were also highly approved of by the baron, who, in
pushing his last plate away, gave expression to the following opinion:
“I think that the great longevity of the late earl and countess was,
under Divine Providence, due to their own practical wisdom in employing
the highest culinary talent without regard to cost to prepare their
food. It is what a human being eats and drinks that largely goes to save
or to destroy his or her life.”
“I will keep Monsieur Delatour, my lord, unless you would like to take
him off my hands,” replied Arielle.
“Humph! It is a temptation, but I won’t deprive you of him, Countess.”
The cloth was now withdrawn and the fruit, cake, wine and nuts were
placed upon the table.
With these appeared Net’s two children in the charge of Nelly Lacy,
followed by two high chairs brought by a footman from the lumber-room in
one of the towers, by the direction of Lady Arielle.
The high chairs were put up on each side of the hostess and the children
set in them.
At first they were very shy, but as there were but three ladies and one
gentleman at the table, and these were very kind to them, they soon
recovered their spirits.
Beaue peeled oranges and picked out the kernels of walnuts for them, and
the footman in waiting brought cake.
And to the peer of the realm and to the serving-man equally the children
responded for every attention:
“Sanky, sir! Sanky, sir!”
They knew no better. Net was wondering if it were worth while to teach
them any better.
After dinner the party adjourned to the drawing-room and the children
were taken upstairs by Nelly Lacy, followed by Net, who excused herself
to her friends by saying that it had always been her habit to see the
little ones to bed.
Indeed, of course, it was always Net who heard the children say their
prayers at night.
Luke and Ella were very tired, however, on this occasion, and did not as
usual detain their Little Mammam to sing hymns or tell Bible stories
long after they had laid their little heads upon their pillows.
In fact, they were both asleep before they were well laid down, and Net
was at liberty to return to her friends in the parlor, where she found
Lady Arielle seated at the piano and Lord Beaudevere and Vivienne
standing behind her.
They were singing to her accompaniment an evening hymn, with the music
from Haydn.
Net glided up to the group and added her fine soprano voice to them,
completing the quartet.
They spent a long evening with sacred music, and then separated and
retired.
The first creatures awake in that castle the next morning were Net’s
babies. And their first waking thought after they had recovered from
their astonishment at finding themselves in a strange bed, and had
recollected how they came there, was—the cat.
She was coiled up comfortably asleep on the foot of their bed, where she
had been placed by the faithful Nelly, who had received her late at
night from the hands of Moses, the groom, who had brought her from the
Bird’s Nest Cottage.
The children now wanted nothing to complete their happiness. They had
the freedom of the castle and the court-yard, and in the care of Nelly
Lacy they wandered about at will, all over the place, surprised and
delighted anew at every novelty, and pleased with their pretty young
nursemaid, whose position as a servant they began to understand, and
whom they warned that they hoped she would not “wun away as poor Tit
did.”
After luncheon that day Lord Beaudevere and Miss Desparde took leave of
their friends and went home to Cloudland.
[Illustration: [Fleuron]]