IN THE SUMMER MORNING.
John Hammond loved the wild freshness of morning, and was always eager
to explore a new locality; so he was up at five o'clock next morning,
and out of doors before six. He left the sophisticated beauty of the
Fellside gardens below him, and climbed higher and higher up the Fell,
till he was able to command a bird's-eye view of the lake and village,
and just under his feet, as it were, Lady Maulevrier's favourite abode.
He was provided with a landscape glass which he always carried in his
rambles, and with the aid of this he could see every stone of the
building.
The house, added to at her ladyship's pleasure, and without regard to
cost, covered a considerable extent of ground. The new part consisted of
a straight range of about a hundred and twenty feet, facing the lake,
and commandingly placed on the crest of a steepish slope; the old
buildings, at right angles with the new, made a quadrangle, the third
and fourth sides of which were formed by the dead walls of servants'
rooms and coach-houses, which had no windows upon this inner enclosed
side. The old buildings were low and irregular, one portion of the roof
thatched, another tiled. In the quadrangle there was an old-fashioned
garden, with geometrical flower-beds, a yew tree hedge, and a stone
sun-dial in the centre. A peacock stalked about in the morning light,
and greeted the newly risen sun with a discordant scream. Presently a
man came out of a half glass door under a verandah which shaded one side
of the quadrangle, and strolled about the garden, stopping here and
there to cut a dead rose, or trim a geranium, a stoutly-built broad
shouldered man, with gray hair and beard, the image of well-fed
respectability.
Mr. Hammond wondered a little at the man's leisurely movements as he
sauntered about, whistling to the peacock. It was not the manner of a
servant who had duties to perform--rather that of a gentleman living at
ease, and hardly knowing how to get rid of his time.
"Some superior functionary, I suppose," thought Hammond, "the
house-steward, perhaps."
He rambled a long way over the hill, and came back to Fellside by a path
of his own discovering, which brought him to a wooden gate leading into
the stable-yard, just in time to meet Maulevrier and Lady Mary emerging
from the kennel, where his lordship had been inspecting the terriers.
'Angelina is bully about the muzzle,' said Maulevrier; 'we shall have to
give her away.'
'Oh, don't,' cried Mary. 'She is a most perfect darling, and laughs so
deliciously whenever she sees me.'
Angelina was in Lady Mary's arms at this moment; a beautifully marked
little creature, all thew and sinew, palpitating with suppressed
emotions, and grinning to her heart's content.
Lady Mary looked very fresh and bright in her neat tailor gown, kilted
kirtle, and tight-fitting bodice, with neat little brass buttons. It was
a gown of Maulevrier's ordering, made at his own tailor's. Her splendid
chestnut hair was uncovered, the short crisp curls about her forehead
dancing in the morning air. Her large, bright, brown eyes were dancing,
too, with delight at having her brother home again.
She shook hands with Mr. Hammond more graciously than last night; but
still with a carelessness which was not complimentary, looking at him
absently, as if she hardly knew that he was there, and hugging Angelina
all the time.
Hammond told his friend about his ramble over the hills, yonder, up
above that homely bench called 'Rest, and be Thankful,' on the crest of
Loughrigg Fell. He was beginning to learn the names of the hills
already. Yonder darkling brow, rugged, gloomy looking, was Nab Scar;
yonder green slope of sunny pasture, stretching wide its two arms as if
to enfold the valley, was Fairfield; and here, close on the left, as he
faced the lake, were Silver Howe and Helm Crag, with that stony
excrescence on the summit of the latter known as the 'Lion and the
Lamb.' Lady Maulevrier's house stood within a circle of mountain peaks
and long fells, which walled in the deep, placid, fertile valley.
'If you are not too tired to see the gardens, we might show them to you
before breakfast,' said Maulevrier. 'We have three-quarters of an hour
to the good.'
'Half an hour for a stroll, and a quarter to make myself presentable
after my long walk,' said Hammond, who did not wish to face the dowager
and Lady Lesbia in disordered apparel. Lady Mary was such an obvious
Tomboy that he might be pardoned for leaving her out of the question.
They set out upon an exploration of the gardens, Mary clinging to her
brother's arm, as if she wanted to make sure of him, and still carrying
Angelina.
The gardens were as other gardens, but passing beautiful. The sloping
lawns and richly-timbered banks, winding shrubberies, broad terraces cut
on the side of the hill, gave infinite variety. All that wealth and
taste and labour could do to make those grounds beautiful had been
done--the rarest conifers, the loveliest flowering shrubs grew and
flourished there, and the flowers bloomed as they bloom only in
Lakeland, where every cottage garden can show a wealth of luxurious
bloom, unknown in more exposed and arid districts. Mary was very proud
of those gardens. She had loved them and worked in them from her
babyhood, trotting about on chubby legs after some chosen old gardener,
carrying a few weeds or withered leaves in her pinafore, and fancying
herself useful.
'I help 'oo, doesn't I, Teeven?' she used to say to the gray-headed old
gardener, who first taught her to distinguish flowers from weeds.
'I shall never learn as much out of these horrid books as poor old
Stevens taught me,' she said afterwards, when the gray head was at rest
under the sod, and governesses, botany manuals, and hard words from the
Greek were the order of the day.
Nine o'clock was the breakfast hour at Fellside. There were no family
prayers. Lady Maulevrier did not pretend to be pious, and she put no
restraints of piety upon other people. She went to Church on Sunday
mornings for the sake of example; but she read all the newest scientific
books, subscribed to the Anthropological Society, and thought as the
newest scientific people think. She rarely communicated her opinions
among her own sex; but now and then, in strictly masculine and superior
society, she had been heard to express herself freely upon the nebular
hypothesis and the doctrine of evolution.
'After all, what does it matter?' she said, finally, with her grand air;
'I have only to marry my granddaughters creditably, and prevent my
grandson going to the dogs, and then my mission on this insignificant
planet will be accomplished. What new form that particular modification
of molecules which you call Lady Maulevrier may take afterwards is
hidden in the great mystery of material life.'
There was no family prayer, therefore, at Fellside. The sisters had been
properly educated in their religious duties, had been taught the
Anglican faith carefully and well by their governess, Fräulein Müller,
who had become a staunch Anglican before entering the families of the
English nobility, and by the kind Vicar of Grasmere, who took a warm
interest in the orphan girls. Their grandmother had given them to
understand that they might be as religious as they liked. She would be
no let or hindrance to their piety; but they must ask her no awkward
questions.
'I have read a great deal and thought a great deal, and my ideas are
still in a state of transition,' she told Lesbia; and Lesbia, who was
somewhat automatic in her piety, had no desire to know more.
Lady Maulevrier seldom appeared in the forenoon. She was an early riser,
being too vivid and highly strung a creature, even at sixty-seven years
of age, to give way to sloth. She rose at seven, summer and winter, but
she spent the early part of the day in her own rooms, reading, writing,
giving orders to her housekeeper, and occasionally interviewing
Steadman, who, without any onerous duties, was certainly the most
influential person in the house. People in the village talked of him,
and envied him so good a berth. He had a gentleman's house to live in,
and to all appearance lived as a gentleman. This tranquil retirement,
free from care or labour, was a rich reward for the faithful service of
his youth. And it was known by the better informed among the Grasmere
people that Mr. Steadman was saving money, and had shares in the
North-Western Railway. These facts had oozed out, of themselves, as it
were. He was not a communicative man, and rarely wasted half an hour at
the snug little inn near St. Oswald's Church, amidst the cluster of
habitations that was once called Kirktown. He was an unsociable man,
people said, and thought himself better than Grasmere folk, the
lodging-house keepers, and guides, and wrestlers, and the honest
friendly souls who were the outcome of that band of Norwegian exiles
which found a home in these peaceful vales.
Miss Müller, more commonly known as Fräulein, officiated at breakfast.
She never appeared at the board when Lady Maulevrier was present, but in
her ladyship's absence Miss Müller was guardian of the proprieties. She
was a stout, kindly creature, and by no means a formidable dragon. When
the gong sounded, John Hammond went into the dining-room, where he found
Miss Müller seated alone in front of the urn.
He bowed, quick to read 'governess' or 'companion' in the lady's
appearance; and she bowed.
'I hope you have had a nice walk,' she said. 'I saw you from my bedroom
window.'
'Did you? Then I suppose yours is one of the few windows which look into
that curious old quadrangle?'
'No, there are no windows looking into the quadrangle. Those that were
in the original plan of the house were walled up at her ladyship's
orders, to keep out the cold winds which sweep down from the hills in
winter and early spring, when the edge of Loughrigg Fell is white with
snow. My window looks into the gardens, and I saw you there with his
lordship and Lady Mary.'
Lady Lesbia came in at this moment, and saluted Mr. Hammond with a
haughty inclination of her beautiful head. She looked lovelier in her
simple morning gown of pale blue cambric than in her more elaborate
toilette of last evening; such purity of complexion, such lustrous eyes;
the untarnished beauty of youth, breathing the delicate freshness of a
newly-opened flower. She might be as scornful as she pleased, yet John
Hammond could not withhold his admiration. He was inclined to admire a
woman who kept him at a distance; for the general bent of young women
now-a-days is otherwise.
Maulevrier and Mary came in, and everyone sat down to breakfast. Lady
Lesbia unbent a little presently, and smiled upon the stranger. There
was a relief in a stranger's presence. He talked of new things, places
and people she had never seen. She brightened and became quite friendly,
deigned to invite the expression of Mr. Hammond's opinions upon music
and art, and after breakfast allowed him to follow her into the
drawing-room, and to linger there fascinated for half an hour, looking
over her newest books, and her last batch of music, but looking most of
all at her, while Maulevrier and Mary were loafing on the lawn outside.
'What are you going to do with yourself this morning?' asked Maulevrier,
appearing suddenly at the window.
'Anything you like,' answered Hammond. 'Stay, there is one pilgrimage I
am eager to make. I must see Wordsworth's grave, and Wordsworth's
house.'
'You shall see them both, but they are in opposite directions--one at
your elbow, the other a four mile walk. Which will you see first? We'll
toss for it,' taking a shilling from a pocketful of loose cash, always
ready for moments of hesitation. 'Heads, house; tails, grave. Tails it
is. Come and have a smoke, and see the poet's grave. The splendour of
the monument, the exquisite neatness with which it is kept, will astound
you, considering that we live in a period of Wordsworth worship.'
Hammond hesitated, and looked at Lady Lesbia.
'Aren't you coming?' called Maulevrier from the lawn. 'It was a fair
offer. I've got my cigarette case.'
'Yes, I'm coming,' answered the other, with a disappointed air.
He had hoped that Lesbia would offer to show him the poet's grave. He
could not abandon that hope without a struggle.
'Will you come with us, Lady Lesbia? We'll suppress the cigarettes!'
'Thanks, no,' she said, becoming suddenly frigid. 'I am going to
practice.'
'Do you never walk in the morning--on such a lovely morning as this?'
'Not very often.'
She had re-entered those frozen regions from which his attentions had
lured him for a little while. She had reminded herself of the inferior
social position of this person, in whose conversation she had allowed
herself to be interested.
'_Filons_!' cried Maulevrier from below, and they went.
Mary would have very much liked to go with them, but she did not want to
be intrusive; so she went off to the kennels to see the terriers eat
their morning and only meal of dog biscuit.