THE DOWER-HOUSE
Surrounded by its winter woods and an over-thick growth of evergreens,
the little Jacobean hall, which had for centuries been the second home
of the Clintons of Kencote, had an air slightly depressing as Dick and
the twins came to it through the yew-enclosed garden at the back.
White blinds were down behind all the leaded mullioned windows, only
one thin thread of smoke rose into the sky from the carved and twisted
chimney-stacks.
Forty years before, when the Squire had succeeded his grandfather, his
six spinster aunts had left him in undisturbed possession of the great
house and taken up their abode here, very seldom to leave, until one by
one they had been carried off to their grave in Kencote churchyard.
Aunt Ellen, the eldest of them all, had died at a great age a few
months before, and Aunt Laura, the youngest, who was now seventy-eight,
had removed herself and her belongings to a smaller house in the
village. Neither Dick nor, of course, the twins had ever known the
dower-house unassociated with the quiet lives of the old ladies, and
they shared in their different degree the same feeling of strangeness
as they stood under the porch and listened to the bell echoing in the
empty house. It was like a human body from which life had departed,
but with its age and many memories it still kept a soul of its own
which could be revivified by fresh occupancy.
They went through all the rooms. There was a great deal of fine old
furniture in them, things which Clintons of past centuries had bought
new, never thinking that they would some day acquire merit as
antiquities. There were few such things in the great house, which had
been rebuilt after a fire in the reign of Queen Anne and refurnished
later still, in the reign of Queen Victoria. Nor had the beautiful
things of which the dower-house was full been valued in the least by
their owners until long after the six maiden aunts had gone to live
there. They had been simply old-fashioned in the eyes of the Squire,
their owner, and were so still, for he had no knowledge of such things,
and no appreciation of them. Dick knew a little more, and as he looked
at one fine old piece of furniture after another, standing forlorn on
the carpetless floors, or against the dark panelling of the walls, he
said, "By Jove! Twankies, there's some good stuff in this old shanty."
"Who is going to live in it?" asked Joan.
"Ah, that's the question!" replied Dick. "Tell you what, Twankies,
let's play a game. Supposing I ever got married, _I_ should live here,
you know. Let's see how the rooms would pan out."
The twins were quite ready to play this or any other game, although it
did not promise much excitement, because there were only quite a
limited number of rooms, and most of them were more or less obviously
labelled. It seemed, however, that Dick was prepared to play the game
seriously, for after they had fixed the dining-room, drawing-room,
morning-room, and smoking-room, and a tiny oak parlour which the aunts
had used for garden chairs and implements and Dick said would do for
his guns if a baize-lined glass cupboard were put up in a recess by the
fireplace, he inspected the kitchen premises with some thoroughness.
"I say, Dick, _are_ you going to get married and come and live here?"
asked Joan, as he began to make notes on the back of an envelope.
"There's more in this than meets the eye," observed Nancy.
"Small Twankies mustn't ask impertinent questions," replied Dick. "But
I'll tell you exactly how it stands, and you mustn't let it go any
further."
"Oh, rather not," said Joan.
"Our ears are all agog," said Nancy.
"You see, Twankies, _some_body has got to live in this house, haven't
they? Well, then, it must be done up, eh? And if _I_ come and live in
it some day, I don't want to have to do it up again--see? So there you
have it all in a nutshell."
"Yes, I see," said Joan; "but it's a little disappointing."
"It all sounds very reasonable," said Nancy, "but I still think there's
more in it than meets the eye."
They were in the great stone-floored kitchen, which still retained its
cavernous hearth and open chimney.
"You could roast an ox here," said Dick. "We'll turn this into a
servants' hall, Twankies, and rig up the other place for cooking. The
cellar's all right, so is the pantry--and big enough for two. We'll
divide it up, eh? and one part will do for a brushing-room. There's
nowhere at present where a servant can brush your clothes."
"What wonderful domestic knowledge you display, Dick!"' observed Nancy.
"Where are the maids to brush their mistresses' clothes? In here with
the valets?"
"Yes, of course," said Dick. "This isn't a palace. People who come to
stay must expect some inconveniences. I don't see any place for a game
larder. We must see about that outside. Now we'll go upstairs."
They went up the broad shallow stairs of age-worn oak, and through the
hive of rooms, which opened into one another, and led out into little
passages, closets, and stairways in the most confusing way, and made
you wonder what scheme of daily life the old builder had in mind when
he planned them. He had certainly wasted a great deal of room. The
main corridor opened out here and there into broad spaces, where there
was perhaps a bookcase, or a low seat under a latticed window, or only
the rich emptiness of the square of oak panelling, the polished floor,
and the plastered ceiling. Whatever his aims, he had gained his effect
of gracious ease and warm shelter. However varied might be the needs
of its occupants through the succeeding years, the dower-house would be
as much of a home as on the day it was first built.
"A man might make himself very comfortable here, Mr. Copperfield,"
quoted Nancy, as they stood at a window of the biggest bedroom, which
had panels of linen pattern, with a plastered frieze and an oak-beamed
ceiling. There was also a heavy carved oak bed, in which Aunt Ellen
had recently looked her last upon surroundings that had continually
reminded her of the age and importance of the family of which she was a
member.
"I shall have all these beastly laurels grubbed up, and some of the
trees cut down," said Dick. "The place is like a family vault. And
I'm not sure that I won't have this woodwork painted white."
Joan looked doubtfully round her. She knew nothing of the value of old
good things, but she felt dimly that the carved panelling, dark with
age, ought to remain as it was. Nancy felt so still more strongly.
"It would be wicked to do that," she said. "This is a lovely room, and
tells you stories. If you like I'll give you a rhapsody."
Joan grinned. "Have you ever heard one of Nancy's rhapsodies, Dick?"
she asked. "They're awfully good."
Dick had not, but expressed himself willing to listen to whatever
foolishness might be in store for him for the space of one minute
precisely. Nancy stood against the dark woodwork on the other side of
the room. Her pretty, mischievous face was framed in the thick fall of
her fair hair and the fur round her throat. She wore a little fur cap
and a red coat, and a big muff hung from her shoulders. Dick, always
affectionately disposed towards his young sisters, thought he had never
seen a girl of her age look prettier, and put his arm vicariously round
Joan, who was exactly like her, as they sat on the window-seat.
"In this old house," began Nancy, using her right hand for
gesticulation and keeping the other in her muff, "lots of old Clintons
have died, and lots of new Clintons have been born. Think, my
children, of the people who have come here to live. Some of them were
gallant young men Clintons who had just taken to themselves fair young
brides, and they were full of hope for the future, and pleasure in
having such a jolly house to live in with her they loved best in the
world. A few years would pass and the rooms would echo with the voices
and steps of little children, and all would be gaiety and mirth. Then
a change would come over the spirit of the scene. The young couple
would go with their family to the great house, and in their stead would
come a sad-faced figure in deep black, a Clinton widow, who had had her
day of glory, and would now spend the rest of her years here in peace
and seclusion. But all would not be dark to her. She would have great
fun in suiting the dear old house to her taste, she would be cheered by
the constant visits of the younger members of her family, and she could
do a good deal more what she liked than she had done before."
"Well, upon my word!" interposed Dick.
Nancy held up her hand. "Hear, all ye Clintons!" she concluded. "Old
men and women, young men and maidens, and especially the gallant
warrior knight and the sweet young maiden I see before me--ye belong to
a race which has its roots far back in history, and has been
distinguished for many things, but not particularly for brains, as far
as I can make out from my recent researches. But at last there has
arisen one who will make up for that deficiency. You now behold her in
the person of Nancy Caroline Clinton, who addresses you. See that ye
cherish her and tip her well, or ye will be eternally disgraced in the
eyes of posterity."
She ended with a ripple of laughter, shaking back her hair.
"Well, you're the limit," said Dick, with a grin. "Come on, let's go
and look at the stables. Is it true that you suddenly find yourself
possessed of brains, Twanky? I never suspected it of you."
"My dear Dick," said Joan, as they went down the stairs, "she has been
talking about nothing but her brains for the last month, ever since
Uncle Herbert last came here to shoot."
"They were always there," explained Nancy, "but he put the match to the
tinder. I'm going to write books when I get a little older. But of
course I must be properly educated first. I suppose you know we're
going to have a really up-to-date, top-hole governess, Dick?"
"Yes, I've heard that," said Dick, "although I don't admire your way of
describing her. Lord, what a place to put a horse!"
"If it is the expression 'top-hole' you object to, I learnt it from
you," said Nancy. "My ears are receptive."
"Two loose-boxes and three stalls," said Dick. "We can make that do,
but they're all on the slant. We'd better begin by altering this at
once; the house can wait for a bit."
"Of course the stables are more important than the house," said Joan.
"I say, Dick, there is something we want to ask you. Do be a brick and
say, yes."
Dick was pursuing his investigations. "Coach-house isn't bad," he
said. "Harness-room wants refurnishing. Let's see what the rooms
upstairs are like."
They climbed up the steep staircase. "Dick, will you persuade father
to do something?" asked Joan.
"What?" asked Dick. "This would be all right for an unmarried groom."
"We want a pony. We've never had anything to ride since poor old Tommy
died."
They were clattering down the stairs again. "You want--you want--you
want everything," said Dick. "You'll want a four-in-hand next. I
don't know whether you want a pig-stye, by any chance. I'll give you
this one if you do--ridiculous place to put it! This is where we'll
build the game larder. Come on, Twankies, we'll go and look up old
Aunt Laura. I want to see what she's taken away from here."
He set off at a smart pace, the twins on either side of him. "I don't
know why _you_ want to go putting your oar in about the pony," said
Nancy. "I was to tackle father about that."
"Tackle father!" repeated Dick. "Look here! that's not the way to talk
about the governor, Nancy."
"Oh, Dick darling, don't call me Nancy. I feel that I'm trembling
under the weight of your displeasure."
Joan hastened to her relief. "When she said 'tackle,' she only meant
that I betted her four weeks' pocket-money that father wouldn't let us
have a pony," she said.
"You mean well, but you've done it now," said Nancy.
"Really, it's about time that you two had somebody to look after you,"
said Dick. "Who on earth taught you to bet, I should like to know?"
"Humphrey," replied Nancy promptly. "We were standing by him, and he
betted us a shilling each that he would bring down the next bird that
came over. He didn't, and he paid up promptly."
"We wanted him to bet again, but he refused," said Joan.
"But it gave us a taste for speculation which we shall probably never
overcome," said Nancy.
Dick grunted. "Humphrey oughtn't to have done it," he said. "You are
not to bet with each other, you two. And that bet about the
pony--which was infernal cheek to make, anyhow--is off. Do you hear?"
"Yes, Dick dear," said Joan obediently. "But what does a bet being
'off' mean, exactly?"
"Is it the same as hedging?" asked Nancy.
"It means--well, it means it's off. You know what it means as well as
I do. And I don't like your arranging with each other to get things
out of the governor, either--or anybody else. You get plenty given
you, and it isn't nice for girls of your age to be always on the make."
"But, Dick darling," expostulated Joan, "there are such lots of horses
about the place. I think we might be allowed to ride now. Of course,
we didn't mean a pony, really. We are big enough to stick on a horse,
and father wouldn't have to buy another one for us."
"We are about to embark on an arduous course of study," said Nancy,
"and horse exercise would be the best possible thing for us."
"You stick to your golf," said Dick. "We spent a lot of money making
those links in the park, and you get more fun out of them than anybody."
"Then you won't help us about riding?" asked Joan.
"No," said Dick. "All the nags are wanted for hunting, and I'm not
going to advise the governor to increase the stables."
Nancy breathed a deep sigh. "It's all your fault, Joan," she said.
"You don't know how to treat a man. You must never blurt things out
that you want. You must remember women are a subject race."
"But you won't mind our asking father, Dick, will you?" pleaded Joan.
Dick gave his ultimatum. "You'd better give up the idea," he said.
"And remember what I told you about being on the make. You're nice
kids, but you want keeping in order. I hope the new lady will do it."
"I hope she will," said Nancy; "but she's got a hard row to hoe. I
can't help feeling a little sorry for her."
Aunt Laura had taken up her abode in a little old house on the village
street, with a square, brick-walled garden behind it. The agent had
occupied it before the death of Aunt Ellen, but had now removed to a
farm which was in hand.
They found the old lady sitting by the fire in her parlour, knitting.
She was frail and shrunken, and looked as if she might not long survive
her transplantation. Mrs. Clinton or the twins came to see her every
day, but a visit from the Squire or one of his sons, and especially
Dick, was an honour which never failed mildly to excite her. She was
now in a flurry, and told the elderly maid who had shown her visitors
in to bring wine and cake, in the fashion of an earlier day. The men
of the family never refused this entertainment, either because they
were averse to wounding Aunt Laura's susceptibilities, or because they
liked it.
"Well, I hope you've made yourself pretty comfortable, Aunt Laura,"
said Dick in a loud, clear voice, for the old lady was rather deaf,
although she did not like to acknowledge it. He was looking round the
room as he spoke. Its panelled walls were painted light green, and
were hung with coloured prints. A recessed cupboard was full of
beautiful old china; but there was nothing else of much value in the
room, which was furnished with a Victorian drawing-room suite and a
round rosewood table. The old lady had a pretty modern French table by
her side with conveniences for her work and her books. She had also
her old cottage piano, with a front of fluted red silk, upon which she
sometimes played. A canary hung in the window, which faced south and
let in, between the curtains, a stream of wintry sunshine.
"It is a bright little house," said Aunt Laura. "I sometimes wish that
your dear Aunt Ellen had spent the last few years of her life here
after your dear Aunt Anne died. The dower-house was a very dear home
to us, and we were greatly attached to it, but in the winter it was
dark, and this is much more cheerful. It is cold to-day, and I am
sitting over the fire, as you see. But I often sit by the window and
see the people going by. You could not do that in the dower-house, for
nobody did go by."
"Did you bring all the furniture you wanted to make you comfortable,
Aunt Laura?" asked Dick.
Aunt Laura looked up over her spectacles. "I am quite comfortable, I
thank you, Dick," she replied, "although I have not got quite used to
things yet. It is not to be expected that I should, all at once, at my
age, and after having lived with the same things round me for close
upon forty years. But your dear father has been kindness itself, as he
always is, and allowed me to have all my bedroom furniture brought
here, so that in my room upstairs I feel quite at home. And for the
downstairs rooms he told me that any pictures or china and so forth
that I had a fancy for I might have, and I hope I have not taken
advantage of his generosity. I shall not want the things for very
long, and they are being well taken care of. He did not want me to
take any of the furniture, as he said this house was furnished already,
but he wanted me to feel at home here."
Dick seemed to consider for a moment. "If there's anything special you
want in the way of furniture, Aunt Laura," he said, "anything you've
got attached to and like to use, we'll see if we can't get it brought
down for you."
"Well, of course, I got attached to it all," replied Aunt Laura. "But
I can't expect to have it all, and what is here will do for me very
well. Hannah is making some pretty loose chintz covers for the chairs
and sofa in this room, which will give it a more home-like appearance.
I do not like the carpet, which is much worn, as you see, and was never
a very good one, but I have half formed a plan of going over to
Bathgate when the spring comes and seeing if I can get one something
after the pattern of that in the morning-room at the dower-house, which
your aunts and I used much to admire. It was old and somewhat faded,
but its colours were well blended, and I have heard that it was brought
straight from Persia, where they have always made excellent carpets,
for my grandfather, who was in business in the city of London. He
would be your great-great-grandfather, and they used to call him
'Merchant Jack,' even after he succeeded to Kencote."
If Dick had known the true value of the carpet in question he might not
have offered to have it sent down for Aunt Laura's use, but he
immediately did so, and the old lady's gratitude ought sufficiently to
have rewarded him. "Now is there anything else, Aunt Laura?" he asked.
"Well, as you are so extremely kind, Dick," she said, "--and I hope
your dear father will not mind, or think that I have been grasping,
which I should not like after all his generosity--I think if I might
have the use of the old bureau upon which your aunts and I used to
write our letters and in which we used to keep our few business
papers--for there was a very good lock--not that there was any
necessity to lock things up at the dower-house, for everything was
under Hannah's charge, and, although she is apt to be a little flighty
in her dress, and your dear Aunt Ellen sometimes rebuked her for that,
but always kindly, she was quite reliable, and _anything_ might have
been left about in perfect safety.--As I was saying, if I might have
the use of the old bureau for as long as I live--I should not want it
longer--I do not think I should regret anything, except of course that
your dear aunts are all gone now, and I am the last of them left."
Dick had prepared himself, during the foregoing speech, to promise,
immediately it came to an end, that Aunt Laura should have the old
bureau, although it was a very fine specimen of Dutch marquetry, and
the piece of furniture that had struck him as the most desirable of all
he had just seen in the dower-house. "Oh, of course, Aunt Laura," he
said. "You shall have the bureau and the carpet sent down this
afternoon. Then you'll feel quite at home, eh?"
"Well, perhaps not this afternoon, Dick," replied Aunt Laura. "It
might upset the house for Sunday to make a change, and I should not be
quite ready to superintend it. But on Monday, or even Tuesday--I am
not particular--I could make ready. There is no immediate hurry. It
is enough for me to know that I am to have the things here, and I shall
think upon them with very great pleasure. I'm sure I cannot thank you
enough, dear Dick, for your kindness. It is of a piece with all the
rest. Why, I do not believe you have yet seen my beautiful table.
Children dear, see here! Is it not convenient? I can place my
favourite book here by my side, and when I am tired of reading, without
moving from my seat, I can lay it down, and there is my work ready for
me underneath, and in this pocket, as you see, are all sorts of
conveniences, such as scissors, little tape-measure in the form of a
silver pig, and so on; and here an ivory paper-knife. It is indeed a
handsome present, is it not?"
"It's lovely, Aunt Laura," said Joan. "Who did it come from?"
"On Thursday," replied Aunt Laura. "Thursday morning. No, I am
telling you a story. It was Thursday afternoon, for Hannah was just
about to bring in the tea."
"Who gave it you, Aunt Laura?" asked Joan again.
"Did I not tell you?" said Aunt Laura. "It was dear Humphrey. He sent
it down from London. He came in to see me when he was last at Kencote
and described to me such a table as this, which I admit I _did_ say I
should like to possess, but certainly with no idea that he would
purchase one for me. But there! all you dear boys and girls are full
of kind thoughts for your old aunt, and I am sure it makes me very
happy in my loss of your dear Aunt Ellen to think I have so much left
to be thankful for."
When the twins were in their bedroom getting ready for luncheon Joan
said, "I wonder why Humphrey is so attentive all of a sudden to Aunt
Laura."
"There's more in it than meets the eye," said Nancy. "Did you notice
how surprised Dick looked when she said Humphrey gave it her? And then
he frowned."
"I expect Dick thinks Humphrey is too extravagant. It must have been
an expensive table. And I know Humphrey has debts, because he asked me
to open a tailor's bill that came for him and tell him the 'demnition
total,' as he was afraid to do it himself. It was more than a hundred
pounds, and he said, 'I wish that was the only one, but if it was I
couldn't pay it.'"
"Poor old Humphrey!" said Nancy. "I say, Joan, do you think he is
making up to Aunt Laura, so that she will pay his bills for him?"
"What a beastly thing to say, Nancy!" replied Joan. "Of course, none
of the boys would do a thing like that. Besides, Aunt Laura hasn't got
any money."
"No, I don't suppose so," said Nancy reflectively. "I expect father
gives her an allowance, poor old darling!"
But Aunt Laura had money. She had the thirty-six thousand pounds which
her father had left to her and her sisters, and she had, besides, the
savings of all six ladies through a considerable number of years.