"Some tea, Timothy?" said Lady Mary.
"If you please, my dear," said Sir Timothy, dropping his letters into
the box.
"I am afraid the tea will be little better than poison, brother," said
Lady Belstone, in warning tones; "it has stood so long."
"Perhaps dear Mary intends to order fresh tea, Isabella," said Miss
Crewys.
"It hasn't stood so _very_ long," said Lady Mary, looking appealingly
at Sir Timothy; "and you know Ash is always cross if we order fresh
tea."
"Excuse me, my love," said Miss Crewys. "I am the last to wish to
trouble poor Ash unnecessarily, but the tea waited for ten minutes
before you came down."
"My dear Mary," said Sir Timothy, "will you never learn to be
punctual? No; I will take it as it is. Poor Ash has enough to do, as
Georgina truly says."
Lady Mary sighed rather impatiently, and it occurred to John Crewys
that Sir Timothy spoke to his wife exactly as he might have addressed
a troublesome child. His tone was gentler than usual, but this John
did not know.
"I should have liked to take a turn about the grounds with you," said
Sir Timothy to his cousin, "if it had been possible; but I am afraid
it is getting too dark now."
"Surely there will be time enough to-morrow morning for that,
brother," said Lady Belstone.
Sir Timothy had walked to the oriel window, but he turned away as he
answered her.
"I may be otherwise occupied to-morrow."
"But I hope the opportunity may arise before very long," said John,
cheerfully. "I should like to explore these woods."
"You will have to come with _me_, then," said Lady Mary, smiling.
"Timothy hates walking uphill, and I should love to show our beautiful
views to a stranger."
"I do not like you to tire yourself, my dear," said Sir Timothy.
"A walk through Barracombe woods means simply a climb, Mary," said
Lady Belstone; "and you are not strong."
"I am perfectly robust, Isabella. Do allow me at least the use of my
limbs," said Lady Mary, impatiently.
"No woman, certainly no _lady_, can be called _robust_," said Miss
Crewys, severely.
The sudden clanging of a bell changed the conversation.
"Visitors. How tiresome!" said Lady Mary.
"My dear Mary!" said Sir Timothy.
"But I know it can't be anybody pleasant, Timothy," said his wife,
with rather a mischievous twinkle, "for I owe calls to all the nice
people, and it's only the dull ones who come over and over again."
"You _owe_ calls, Mary!" said Lady Belstone, in horrified tones.
"I am afraid," said Miss Crewys, considerately lowering her voice as
the butler and footman crossed the hall to the outer vestibule, "that
dear Mary is more than a little remiss in civility to her neighbours."
"My dear admiral never permitted me to postpone returning a call for
more than a week. Royalty, he always said, the same day; ordinary
people within a week," said Lady Belstone.
"When royalty calls I certainly will return the visit the same day,"
said Lady Mary, petulantly. "But I cannot spend my whole life driving
along the high-roads from one house to another. I hate driving, as you
know, Isabella."
"What did Providence create carriages for but to be driven in?" said
Lady Belstone.
"You will give John a wrong impression of our worthy neighbours,
Mary," said Sir Timothy, pompously. "Personally, I am always glad to
see them."
"But you don't have to return their calls, Timothy," said Lady Mary.
The canon inadvertently laughed. Sir Timothy looked annoyed. Miss
Crewys whispered to Lady Belstone, unheard save by the doctor--
"How very odd and flippant poor Mary is to-night--worse than usual!
What can it be?"
"It is just the presence of a strange gentleman that is upsetting her,
poor thing," said her sister, in the same whisper. "Her head is easily
turned. We had better take no notice."
The doctor muttered something emphatic beneath his breath.
"Mrs. and Miss Hewel," said Ash, advancing into the hall.
"Is it only you and Sarah, after all? What a relief! I thought it was
visitors," cried Lady Mary, coming forward to greet them very kindly
and warmly. "Did you come across in the ferry?"
"No, indeed. You know how I dislike the ferry. I have the long drive
home still before me. But we were so close to Barracombe, at the
Gilberts' tea-party. I thought we should be certain to meet you
there," said Mrs. Hewel, in rather reproachful tones. "Sarah, of
course, wanted to go back in the ferry, but I am always doubly
frightened at night--and in one's best clothes. It was quite a large
party."
"I'm afraid I forgot all about it," said Lady Mary, with a
conscience-stricken glance at her husband.
"I hope you sent the carriage round to the stables?" said Sir Timothy.
"No, no; we mustn't stop a minute. But I couldn't help just popping
in--so very long since I've seen you--and all this happening at once,"
said Mrs. Hewel. She was a large, stout woman, with breathless manner
and plaintive voice. "And I wanted to show you Sarah in her first
grown-up clothes, and tell you about _her_ too," she added.
"Bless me!" said Sir Timothy. "You don't mean to say little Sarah is
grown up."
"Oh yes, dear Sir Timothy; she grew up the day before yesterday," said
Mrs. Hewel.
"Sharp work," said the doctor, grimly.
"I mean, of course, she turned up her hair, and let her dresses down.
It's full early, I know, but it's such a chance for Sarah--that's
partly what I came about. After the trouble she's been all her life to
me, and all--just going to that excellent school in Germany--here's my
aunt wanting to adopt her, or as good as adopt her--Lady Tintern, you
know."
Everybody who knew Mrs. Hewel knew also that Lady Tintern was her
aunt; and Lady Tintern was a very great lady indeed.
"She is to come out this very season; that is why I took her to the
Gilberts', to prepare her for the great plunge," said Mrs. Hewel, not
intending to be funny. "It will be a change for Sarah, such a hoyden
as she has always been. But my aunt won't wait once she has got a
fancy into her head; though the child is only seventeen."
"At seventeen _I_ was still in the nursery, playing with my dolls,"
said Lady Belstone.
"Oh, Lady Belstone!" said an odd, deep, protesting voice.
John looked with amused interest at the speaker. The unlucky Sarah had
taken a low chair beside her hostess, and was holding one of the soft
white hands in her plump gloved fingers.
Sarah Hewel's adoration for Lady Mary dated from the days when she had
been ferried over the Youle with her nurse, to play with Peter, in his
chubby childhood. Peter had often been cross and always tyrannical,
but it was so wonderful to find a playmate who was naughtier than
herself, that Sarah had secretly admired Peter. She was the black
sheep of her own family, and in continual disgrace for lesser crimes
than he daily committed with impunity. But her admiration of Peter was
tame and pale beside her admiration of Lady Mary. A mother who never
scolded, who told no tales, who petted black sheep when they were
bruised and torn or stained entirely through their own wickedness, who
could always be depended on for kisses and bonbons and fairy-tales,
seemed more angelic than human to poor little Sarah; whose own mother
was wrapt up in her two irreproachable sons, and had small affection
to spare for an ugly, tiresome little girl.
Sarah, however, had slowly but surely struggled out of the ugliness
of her childhood; and John Crewys, regarding her critically in the
lamplight, decided she would develop, one of these days, into a very
handsome young woman; in spite of an ungainly stoop, a wide mouth that
pouted rather too much, and a nose that inclined saucily upwards.
Her colouring was fresh, even brilliant--the bright rose, and creamy
tint that sometimes accompanies vivid red hair--and of a vivid,
uncompromising red were the locks that crowned Miss Sarah's little
head, and shaded her blue-veined temples.
Miss Crewys had, in consequence, long ago pronounced her to be a
positive fright; and Lady Belstone had declared that such hair would
prove an insuperable obstacle to her chances of getting a husband.
"I know she's very young," said Mrs. Hewel, glancing apologetically
at her offspring. "But what can I do? There's no going against Lady
Tintern; and at seventeen she ought to be something more than a
tomboy, after all."
"_You_ were married at seventeen, weren't you?" said Sarah to Lady
Mary, in her deep, almost tragic voice--a voice that commanded
attention, though it came oddly from her girlish chest.
"Sarah!" said Mrs. Hewel.
Lady Mary started and smiled. "Me? Yes, Sarah; I was married at
seventeen."
"Mamma says nobody can be married properly--before they're one and
twenty. I _knew_ it was rot," said Sarah, triumphantly.
"Miss Sarah retains the outspokenness of her recently discarded
childhood, I perceive," said Sir Timothy, stiffly.
"Sarah!" said her mother, indignantly, "I said not unless they had
their parents' consent. I was not thinking of Lady Mary, as you know
very well."
"_Your_ people didn't say you were too young to marry at seventeen,
did they?" said Sarah, caressing Lady Mary's hand.
Lady Mary smiled at her, but shook her head. "You want to know too
much, Sarah."
"Oh, I forgot," said Sarah the artless. "Sir Timothy was your
guardian, so, of course, there was nobody to stop his marrying you if
he liked. I suppose you _had_ to do what he told you."
"Oh, Sarah, will you cease chattering?" cried her mother.
"I hope you have good news of your sons in South Africa, Mrs. Hewel,"
said the canon, briskly advancing to the rescue.
Mrs. Hewel's voice changed. "Thank you, canon; they were all right
when we heard last. Tom is in Natal, so I feel happier about him;
but Willie, of course, is in the thick of it all--and the news
to-day--isn't reassuring."
"But you are proud of them both," said Lady Mary, softly. "Every
mother must be proud to have sons able and willing to fight for their
country."
"We may feel differently concerning the justice of this war," said Sir
Timothy, clearing his throat; and Lady Mary shrugged her shoulders,
whilst the canon jumped from his chair, and sat meekly down again on
catching the doctor's eye.
"But in our sympathy with our brave soldiers we are all one, Mrs.
Hewel."
Sarah sprang forward. "You don't mean to say you're _still_ a
pro-Boer, Sir Timothy?" she exclaimed. "Well, mamma--talking of the
justice of the war--when Tom and Willie are risking their lives"--she
broke into a sudden sob--"and now _Peter_--"
"Peter!" said Lady Mary.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Sarah, running to her friend. "I didn't mean to
hurt _you_--talking of the war--and--and the boys--when you must be
thinking only of Peter." She wrung her hands together piteously.
"Of Peter!" Lady Mary repeated.
"We only heard to-day," said Mrs. Hewel, "and came in hoping for more
details. My cousin George, who is also going out with Lord Ferries,
happened to mention in his letter that Peter had joined the corps."
"I think I can explain how the mistake arose," said Sir Timothy,
stiffly. "Peter wrote for permission to join, and I refused. My son
is fortunately too young to be of any use in a contest I regard with
horror."
"But Cousin George was helping Peter to get his kit, because they were
to sail at such short notice," cried Sarah.
"Sarah," said her mother, in breathless indignation, "_will_ you be
silent?"
"What does this mean, Timothy?" said Lady Mary, trembling.
She stood by the centre table; and the hanging lamp above shed its
light on her brown hair, and flashed in her blue eyes, and from the
diamond ring she wore.
The doctor rose from his chair.
"I am at a loss to understand," said Sir Timothy.
"It means," said Sarah, half-hysterically,--"oh, can't you see what it
means? It just means that Peter is going to South Africa, whether you
like it or not."
"There must be some mistake, of course," said Mrs. Hewel, in
distressed tones. "And yet--George's letter was so very clear."
Dr. Blundell touched the canon's arm.
"Shall I--must I--" whispered the canon, nervously.
"There is no help for it," said the doctor. He was looking at Lady
Mary as he spoke. Her face was deathly; her little frail hand grasped
the table.
"Sir Timothy," said the canon, "I--I have a communication to make to
you."
"On this subject?" said Sir Timothy.
"A letter from Peter."
"Why did you not say so earlier?" said Sir Timothy, harshly.
"I will explain, if you will kindly give me five minutes in the
study."
"A letter from Peter," said Lady Mary, "and not--to me."
She looked round at them all with a little vacant smile.
John Crewys, who knew nothing of Peter's letter, had already grasped
the situation. He divined also that Lady Mary was fighting piteously
against the conviction that Sarah's news was true.
"How could we guess you did not know?" said Mrs. Hewel, almost
weeping.
"I am still in the dark," said Sir Timothy, coldly.
"Birch will explain at once," said the doctor, impatiently.
"Peter writes--asking me,--I am sure I don't know why he pitched upon
me,--to--break the news to you, that he has joined Lord Ferries'
Horse; feeling it his--his duty to his country to do so," said the
unhappy canon, folding and unfolding the letter he held, with agitated
fingers.
"I knew there would be a satisfactory explanation," said Mrs. Hewel,
tearfully. "Dear Lady Mary, having so inadvertently anticipated
Peter's letter, there is only one thing left for me to do. I must at
least leave you and Sir Timothy in peace to read it. Come, Sarah."
"Allow me to put you into your carriage," said Sir Timothy, in a voice
of iron.
Sarah followed them to the door, paused irresolutely, and stole back
to Lady Mary's side.
"Say you're not angry with me, dear, beautiful Lady Mary," she
whispered passionately. "Do say you're not angry. I didn't know it
would make you so unhappy. It was partly my fault for telling Peter
in the holidays that only old men, invalids, and--and cowards--were
shirking South Africa. I thought you'd be glad, like me, that Peter
should go and fight like all the other boys."
"Sarah," said Dr. Blundell, gently, "don't you see that Lady Mary
can't attend to you now? Come away, like a good girl."
He took her arm, and led her out of the hall; and Sarah forgot she had
grown up the day before yesterday, and sobbed loudly as she went away.
Lady Mary lifted the miniature from the table, and looked at it
without a word; but from the sofa, the two old sisters babbled audibly
to each other.
"I always said, Isabella, that if poor Mary spoilt Peter so terribly,
_something_ would happen to him."
"What sad nonsense you talk, Georgina. Nothing has happened to
him--_yet_."
"He has defied his father, Isabella."
"He has obeyed his country's call, Georgina. Had the admiral been
alive, he would certainly have volunteered."
John Crewys made an involuntary step forward and placed himself
between the sofa and the table, as though to shield Lady Mary from
their observation, but he could not prevent their words from reaching
her ears.
She whispered to him very softly. "Will you get the letter for me? I
want to see--for myself--what--what Peter says."
"Go quietly into the library," said John, bending over her for a
moment. "I will bring it you there immediately."
She obeyed him without a word.
John turned to the sofa. "I beg your pardon, canon," he said
courteously, "but Lady Mary cannot bear this suspense. Allow me to
take her son's letter to her at once."
"I--I am only waiting for Sir Timothy. It is to him I have to break
the news; though, of course, there is nothing that Lady Mary may not
know," said the canon, in a polite but flurried tone. "I really should
not like--"
"My brother must see it first," said Miss Crewys, decidedly.
"Exactly. I am sure Sir Timothy would not be pleased if--Bless my
soul!"
For John, with a slight bow of apology, and his grave air of
authority, had quietly taken the letter from the canon's undecided
fingers, and walked away with it into the library.
"How very oddly our cousin John behaves!" said Lady Belstone,
indignantly. "Almost snatching the letter from your hand."
"Depend upon it, Mary inspired his action," said Miss Crewys, angrily.
"I saw her whispering away to him. A man she never set eyes on
before."
"Pray are _we_ not to hear the contents?" said Lady Belstone,
quivering with indignation.
"I suppose he thinks Lady Mary should make the communication herself
to Sir Timothy," gasped the canon. "I am sure I have no desire to
fulfil so unpleasing a task. Still, the matter _was_ entrusted to me.
However, the main substance has been told; there can be no further
secret about it. My only care was that Sir Timothy should not be
unduly agitated."
"It is a comfort to find that _some one_ can consider the feelings of
our poor brother," said Miss Crewys.
"Do give me your arm to the drawing-room, canon," said Lady Belstone,
rightly judging that the canon would reveal the whole contents of
Peter's letter to her more easily in private. "The shock has made me
feel quite faint. You, too, Georgina, are looking pale."
"It is not the shock, but the draught, which is affecting me,
Isabella,--Sir Timothy thoughtlessly keeping the door open so long. I
will accompany you to the drawing-room."
"But Sir Timothy may want me," said the canon, uneasily.
"Bless the man! they've got the letter itself, what can they want with
_you?_" said her ladyship, vigorously propelling her supporter out of
reach of possible interruption. "Close the door behind us, Georgina, I
beg, or that odious doctor will be racing after us."
"He takes far too much upon himself. I have no idea of permitting
country apothecaries to be so familiar," said Miss Crewys.