A CURIOSITY MAP
‘Keek into the draw-well,
Janet, Janet,
There ye’ll see your bonny sell,
My jo Janet.’
IT was at this time that Lady Rotherwood and her daughter arrived at
Devereux Castle, and Mr. Mohun was obliged to go to meet her there,
leaving his three daughters to spend a long winter evening by themselves,
in their doleful and dismal way, as Lily called it.
The evening had closed in, but they did not ring for candles, lest they
should make it seem longer; and Jane was just beginning to laugh at Emily
for the deplorable state of her frock and collar, tumbled with lying on
the sofa, when the three girls all started at the unexpected sound of a
ring at the front door.
With a rapid and joyful suspicion who it might be, Emily and Lilias
sprang to the door, Jane thrust the poker into the fire, in a desperate
attempt to produce a flame, drove an arm-chair off the hearth-rug,
whisked an old shawl out of sight, and flew after them into the hall,
just as the deep tones of a well-known voice were heard greeting old
Joseph.
‘William!’ cried the girls. ‘Oh! is it you? Are you not afraid of the
scarlet fever?’
‘No, who has it?’
‘We have had it, but we are quite well now. How cold you are!’
‘But where is my father?’
‘Gone to Hetherington with Robert, to meet Aunt Rotherwood. Come into
the drawing-room.’
Here Emily glided off to perform a hurried toilette.
‘And the little ones?’
‘At Broomhill. Mrs. Weston was so kind as to take them out of the way of
the infection,’ said Lily.
‘Oh! William, those Westons!’
‘Westons, what Westons? Not those I knew at Brighton?’
‘The very same,’ said Lily. ‘They have taken the house at Broomhill.
Oh! they have been so very kind, I do not know what would have become of
us without Alethea.’
‘Why did you not tell me they were living here? And you like them?’
‘Like them! No one can tell the comfort Alethea has been. She came to
us and nursed us, and has been my great support.’
‘And Phyllis and Ada are with them?’
‘Yes, they have been at Broomhill these six weeks, and more.’
Here Emily came in and told William that his room was ready, and Rachel
on the stairs wishing to see the Captain.
‘How well he looks!’ cried Lily, as he closed the door; ‘it is quite
refreshing to see any one looking so strong and bright.’
‘And more like Sir Maurice than ever,’ said Emily.
‘Ah! but Claude is more like,’ said Lily, ‘because he is pale.’
‘Well,’ said Jane, ‘do let us in the meantime make the room look more fit
to be seen before he comes down.’
The alacrity which had long been wanting to Lilias and Jane had suddenly
returned, and they succeeded in making the room look surprisingly
comfortable, compared with its former desolate aspect, before William
came down, and renewed his inquiries after all the family.
‘And how is my father’s deafness?’ was one of his questions.
‘Worse,’ said Emily. ‘I am afraid all the younger ones will learn to
vociferate. He hears no one well but ourselves.’
‘Oh! and Alethea Weston,’ said Lily. ‘Her voice is so clear and
distinct, that she hardly ever raises it to make him hear. And have you
ever heard her sing?’
‘Yes, she sings very well. I cannot think why you never told me they
were living here.’
‘Because you never honour us with your correspondence,’ said Emily; ‘if
you had vouchsafed to write to your sisters you could not have escaped
hearing of the Westons.’
‘And has Mr. Weston given up the law?’
‘No, he only came home in the vacation,’ said Emily. ‘Did you know they
had lost two daughters?’
‘I saw it in the paper. Emma and Lucy were nice girls, but not equal to
Miss Weston. What a shock to Mrs. Weston!’
‘Yes, she quite lost her health, and the doctors said she must move into
the country directly. Mrs. Carrington, who is some distant connection,
told them of this place, and they took it rather hastily.’
‘Do they like it?’
‘Oh yes, very much!’ said Emily. ‘Mrs. Weston is very fond of the
garden, and drives about in the pony-carriage, and it is quite pleasant
to see how she admires the views.’
‘And,’ added Lily, ‘Alethea walks with us, and sings with me, and teaches
at school, and knows all the poor people.’
‘I must go and see those children to-morrow,’ said William.
The evening passed very pleasantly; and perhaps, in truth, Captain Mohun
and his sisters were surprised to find each other so agreeable; for, in
the eyes of the young ladies, he was by far the most awful person in the
family.
When he had been last at home Harry’s recent death had thrown a gloom
over the whole family, and he had especially missed him. Himself quick,
sensible, clever, and active, he was intolerant of opposite qualities,
and the principal effect of that visit to Beechcroft was to make all the
younger ones afraid of him, to discourage poor Claude, and to give to
himself a gloomy remembrance of that home which had lost its principal
charms in his mother and Harry.
He had now come home rather from a sense of duty than an expectation of
pleasure, and he was quite surprised to find how much more attractive the
New Court had become. Emily and Lilias were now conversible and
intelligent companions, better suited to him than Eleanor had ever been,
and he had himself in these four years acquired a degree of gentleness
and consideration which prevented him from appearing so unapproachable as
in days of old. This was especially the case with regard to Claude,
whose sensitive and rather timid nature had in his childhood suffered
much from William’s boyish attempts to make him manly, and as he grew
older, had almost felt himself despised; but now William appreciated his
noble qualities, and was anxious to make amends for his former
unkindness.
Claude came home from Oxford, not actually ill, but in the ailing
condition in which he often was, just weak enough to give his sisters a
fair excuse for waiting upon him, and petting him all day long. About
the same time Phyllis and Adeline came back from Broomhill, and there was
great joy at the New Court at the news that Mrs. Hawkesworth was the
happy mother of a little boy.
Claude was much pleased by being asked by Eleanor to be godfather to his
little nephew, whose name was to be Henry. Perhaps he hoped, what Lilias
was quite sure of, that Eleanor did not think him unworthy to stand in
Harry’s place.
The choice of the other sponsors did not meet with universal approbation.
Emily thought it rather hard that Mr. Hawkesworth’s sister, Mrs. Ridley,
should have been chosen before herself, and both she and Ada would have
greatly preferred either Lord Rotherwood, Mr. Devereux, or William, to
Mr. Ridley, while Phyllis had wanderings of her own how Claude could be
godfather without being present at the christening.
One evening Claude was writing his answer to Eleanor, sitting at the sofa
table where a small lamp was burning. Jane, attracted by its bright and
soft radiance, came and sat down opposite to him with her work.
‘What a silence!’ said Lily, after about a quarter of an hour.
‘What made you start, Jane?’ said William.
‘Did I?’ said Jane.
‘My speaking, I suppose,’ said Lily, ‘breaking the awful spell of
silence.’
‘How red you look, Jane. What is the matter?’ said William.
‘Do I?’ asked Jane, becoming still redder.
‘It is holding your face down over that baby’s hood,’ said Emily, ‘you
will sacrifice the colour of your nose to your nephew.’
Claude now asked Jane for the sealing-wax, folded up his letter, sealed
it, put on a stamp, and as Jane was leaving the room at bedtime, said,
‘Jenny, my dear, as you go by, just put that letter in the post-bag.’
Jane obeyed, and left the room. Claude soon after took the letter out of
the bag, went to Emily’s door, listened to ascertain that Jane was not
there, and then knocked and was admitted.
‘I could not help coming,’ said he, ‘to tell you of the trap in which
Brownie has been caught.’
‘Ah!’ said Lily, ‘I fancied I saw her peeping slyly at your letter.’
‘Just so,’ said Claude, ‘and I hope she has experienced the truth of an
old proverb.’
‘Oh! tell us what you have said,’ cried the sisters.
Claude read, ‘Jane desires me to say that a hood for the baby shall be
sent in the course of a week, and she hopes that it may be worn at the
christening. I should rather say I hope it may be lost in the transit,
for assuredly the head that it covers must be infected with something far
worse than the scarlet fever—the fever of curiosity, the last quality
which I should like my godson to possess. My only consolation is, that
he will see the full deformity of the vice, as, poor little fellow, he
becomes acquainted with “that worst of plagues, a prying maiden aunt.”
If Jane was simply curious, I should not complain, but her love of
investigation is not directed to what ought to be known, but rather to
find out some wretched subject for petty scandal, to blacken every
action, and to add to the weight of every misdeed, and all for the sake
of detailing her discoveries in exchange for similar information with
Mrs. Appleton, or some equally suitable confidante.’
‘Is that all?’ said Lily.
‘And enough, too, I hope,’ said Claude.
‘It ought to cure her!’ cried Emily.
‘Cure her!’ said Claude, ‘no such thing; cures are not wrought in this
way; this is only a joke, and to keep it up, I will tell you a piece of
news, which Jane must have spied out in my letter, as I had just written
it when I saw her eyes in a suspicious direction. It was settled that
Messieurs Maurice and Redgie are to go for two hours a day, three times a
week, to Mr. Stevens, during the holidays.’
‘The new Stoney Bridge curate?’ said Emily.
‘I am very glad you are not to be bored by them,’ said Lily, ‘but how
they will dislike it!’
‘It is very hard upon them,’ said Claude, ‘and I tried to prevent it, but
the Baron was quite determined. Now I will begin to talk about this
plan, and see whether Jenny betrays any knowledge of it.’
‘Oh! it will be rare!’ cried Lily; ‘but do not speak of it before the
Baron or William.’
‘Let it be at luncheon,’ said Emily, ‘you know they never appear. Do you
mean to send the letter?’
‘Not that part of it,’ said Claude, ‘you see I can tear off the last
page, and it is only to add a new conclusion. Good-night.’
Jane had certainly not spent the evening in an agreeable manner; she had
not taken her seat at Claude’s table with any evil designs towards his
letter, but his writing was clear and legible, and her eye caught the
word ‘Maurice;’ she wished to know what Claude could be saying about him,
and having once begun, she could not leave off, especially when she saw
her own name. When aware of the compliments he was paying her, she
looked at him, but his eyes were fixed on his pen, and no smile, no
significant expression betrayed that he was aware of her observations;
and even when he gave her the letter to put into the post-bag he looked
quite innocent and unconcerned. On the other hand, she did not like to
think that he had been sending such a character of her to Eleanor in
sober sadness; it was impossible to find out whether he had sent the
letter; she could not venture to beg him to keep it back, she could only
trust to his good-nature.
At luncheon, as they had agreed, Lily began by asking where her papa and
William were gone? Claude answered, ‘To Stoney Bridge, to call upon Mr.
Stevens; they mean to ask him to dine one day next week, to be introduced
to his pupils.’
‘Is he an Oxford or Cambridge man?’ asked Lily.
‘Oxford,’ exclaimed Jane, quite forgetting whence she had derived her
information, ‘he is a fellow of—’
‘Indeed?’ said Lily; ‘how do you know that?’
‘Why, we have all been talking of him lately,’ said Jane.
‘Not I,’ said Emily, ‘why should he interest us?’
‘Because he is to tutor the boys,’ said Jane.
‘When did you hear that he is to tutor the boys?’ asked Lily.
‘When you did, I suppose,’ said Jane, blushing.
‘You did, did you?’ said Claude. ‘I feel convinced, if so, that you must
really be what you are so often called, a changeling. I heard it, or
rather read it first at Oxford, where the Baron desired me to make
inquiries about him. You were, doubtless, looking over my shoulder at
the moment. This is quite a discovery. We shall have to perform a
brewery of egg-shells this evening, and put the elf to flight with a
red-hot poker, and what a different sister Jane we shall recover, instead
of this little mischief-making sprite, so quiet, so reserved, never
intruding her opinion, showing constant deference to all her
superiors—yes, and to her inferiors, shutting her eyes to the faults of
others, and when they come before her, trying to shield the offender from
those who regard them as merely exciting news.’
Claude’s speech had become much more serious than he intended, and he
felt quite guilty when he had finished, so that it was not at all an
undesirable interruption when Phyllis and Adeline asked for the story of
the brewery of egg-shells.
Emily and Lilias kindly avoided looking at Jane, who, after fidgeting on
her chair and turning very red, succeeded in regaining outward composure.
She resolved to let the matter die away, and think no more about it.
When Mr. Mohun and William came home, they brought the news that Lady
Rotherwood had invited the whole party to dinner.
‘I am very glad we are allowed to see them,’ said Emily, ‘I am quite
tired of being shut up.’
‘If it was not for the Westons we might as well live in Nova Zembla,’
said Jane.
‘I am glad you damsels should know a little more of Florence,’ said Mrs.
Mohun.
‘Yes,’ said Claude, ‘cousins were made to be friends.’
‘In that case one ought to be able to choose them,’ said William.
‘And know them,’ said Emily. ‘We have not seen Florence since she was
eleven years old.’
‘Cousin or not,’ said Lilias, ‘Florence can hardly be so much my friend
as Alethea.’
‘Right, Lily,’ said William, ‘stand up for old friends against all the
cousins in the universe.’
‘Has Alethea a right to be called an old friend?’ said Emily; ‘does three
quarters of a year make friendship venerable?’
‘No one can deny that she is a tried friend,’ said Lilias.
‘But pray, good people,’ said Claude, ‘what called forth those vows of
eternal constancy? why was my innocent general observation construed into
an attack upon Miss Weston?’
‘Because there is something invidious in your tone,’ said Lily.
‘What kind of girl is that Florence?’ asked William.
‘Oh! a nice, lively, pleasant girl,’ said Claude.
‘I cannot make out what her pursuits are,’ said Lily; ‘Rotherwood never
talks of her reading anything.’
‘She has been governessed and crammed till she is half sick of all
reading,’ said Claude, ‘of all study—ay, and all accomplishments.’
‘So that is the friend you recommend, Lily!’ said William.
‘Well, Claude, that is what I call a great shame,’ said Emily.
‘Stay,’ said Claude, ‘you have heard but half my story, I say that this
is the reaction. Florence has no lack of sense, and if you young ladies
are wise, you may help her to find the use of it.’
Claude’s further opinion did not transpire, as dinner was announced, and
nothing more was said about Lady Florence till the girls had an
opportunity of judging for themselves. She had a good deal of her
brother’s vivacity, with gentleness and grace, which made her very
engaging, and her perfect recollection of the New Court, and of childish
days, charmed her cousins. Lady Rotherwood was very kind and
affectionate, and held out hopes of many future meetings. The next day
Maurice and Reginald came home from school, bringing a better character
for diligence than usual, on which they founded hopes that the holidays
would be left to their own disposal. They were by no means pleased with
the arrangement made with Mr. Stevens and most unwillingly did they
undertake the expedition to Stony Bridge, performing the journey in a
very unsociable manner. Maurice was no horseman, and chose to jog on
foot through three miles of lane, while Reginald’s pony cantered merrily
along, its master’s head being intent upon the various winter sports in
which William and Lord Rotherwood allowed him to share. Little did
Maurice care for such diversions; he was, as Adeline said, studying
another ‘apology.’ This time it was phrenology, for which the cropped
heads of Lilias and Jane afforded unusual facility. There was, however,
but a limited supply of heads willing to be fingered, and Maurice
returned to the most abiding of his tastes, and in an empty room at the
Old Court laboured assiduously to find the secret of perpetual motion.
A few days before Christmas Rachel Harvey again took leave of Beechcroft,
with a promise that she would make them another visit when Eleanor came
home. Before she went she gave Emily a useful caution, telling her it
was not right to trust her keys out of her own possession. It was what
Miss Mohun never would have done, she had never once committed them even
to Rachel.
‘With due deference to Eleanor,’ said Emily, with her winning smile, ‘we
must allow that that was being over cautious.’
Rachel smiled, but her lecture was not averted by the compliment.
‘It might have been very well since you have known me, Miss Emily, but I
do not know what would have come of it, if I had been too much trusted
when I was a giddy young thing like Esther; that girl comes of a bad lot,
and if anything is to be made of her, it is by keeping temptation out of
her way, and not letting her be with that mother of hers.’
Rachel had rather injured the effect of her advice by behaving too like a
mistress during her visit; Emily had more than once wished that all
servants were not privileged people, and she was more offended than
convinced by the remonstrance.