THE LITTLE NEPHEW
‘You must be father, mother, both,
And uncle, all in one.’
MR. MOHUN had much business to transact in London which he could not
leave undone, and as soon as his nephew began to recover he thought of
setting off to meet Mr. and Mrs. Hawkesworth, who had already been a week
at Lady Rotherwood’s house in Grosvenor Square, which she had lent to
them for the occasion. Claude had intended to stay at home, as his
cousin was not yet well enough to leave the room; but just at this time a
college friend of the Rector’s, hearing of his illness, wrote to propose
to come and stay with him for a month or six weeks, and help him in
serving his church. Mr. Devereux was particularly glad to accept this
kind offer, as it left him no longer dependent on Mr. Stephens and the
Raynham curates, and set Claude at liberty for the London expedition.
All was settled in the short space of one day. The very next they were
to set off, and in great haste; Lily did all she could for the regulation
of the house, packed up her goods, and received the commissions of her
sisters.
Ada gave her six shillings, with orders to buy either a doll or a
book—the former if Eleanor did not say it was silly; and Phyllis put into
her hands a weighty crown piece, begging for as many things as it could
buy. Jane’s wants and wishes were moderate and sensible, and she gave
Lily the money for them. With Emily there was more difficulty. All
Lily’s efforts had not availed to prevent her from contracting two debts
at Raynham. More than four pounds she owed to Lily, and this she offered
to pay her, giving her at the same time a list of commissions sufficient
to swallow up double her quarter’s allowance. Lily, though really in
want of the money for her own use, thought the debts at Raynham so
serious, that she begged Emily to let her wait for payment till it was
convenient, and to pay the shoemaker and dressmaker immediately.
Emily thanked her, and promised to do so as soon as she could go to
Raynham, and Lily next attempted to reduce her list of London commissions
to something more reasonable. In part she succeeded, but it remained a
matter of speculation how all the necessary articles which she had to buy
for herself, and all Emily’s various orders, were to come out of her own
means, reduced as they were by former loans.
The next day Lilias was on her way to London; feeling, as she left
Beechcroft, that it was a great relief that the schoolroom and storeroom
could not follow her. She was sorry that she should miss seeing Alethea
Weston, who was to come home the next day, but she left various messages
for her, and an affectionate note, and had received a promise from her
sisters that the copy of the music should be given to her the first day
that they saw her. Her journey afforded her much amusement, and it was
not till towards the end of the day that she had much time for thinking,
when, her companions being sleepily inclined, she was left to her own
meditations and to a dull country. She began to revolve her own feelings
towards Eleanor, and as she remembered the contempt and ingratitude she
had once expressed, she shrank from the meeting with shame and dread, and
knew that she should feel reproached by Eleanor’s wonted calmness of
manner. And as she mused upon all that Eleanor had endured, and all that
she had done, such a reverence for suffering and sacrifice took
possession of her mind that she was ready to look up to her sister with
awe. She began to recollect old reproofs, and found herself sitting more
upright, and examining the sit of the folds of her dress with some
uneasiness at the thought of Eleanor’s preciseness. In the midst of her
meditations her two companions were roused by the slackening speed of the
train, and starting up, informed her that they were arriving at their
journey’s end. The next minute she heard her father consigning her and
the umbrellas to Mr. Hawkesworth’s care, and all was bewilderment till
she found herself in the hall of her aunt’s house, receiving as warm and
affectionate a greeting from Eleanor as Emily herself could have
bestowed.
‘And the baby, Eleanor?’
‘Asleep, but you shall see him; and how is Ada? and all of them? why,
Claude, how well you look! Papa, let me help you to take off your
greatcoat—you are cold—will you have a fire?’
Never had Lily heard Eleanor say so much in a breath, or seen her eye so
bright, or her smile so ready, yet, when she entered the drawing-room,
she saw that Mrs. Hawkesworth was still the Eleanor of old. In contrast
with the splendid furniture of the apartments, a pile of shirts was on
the table, Eleanor’s well-known work-basket on the floor, and the
ceaseless knitting close at hand.
Much news was exchanged in the few minutes that elapsed before Eleanor
carried off her sister to her room, indulging her by the way with a peep
at little Harry, and one kiss to his round red cheek as he lay asleep in
his little bed. It was not Eleanor’s fault that she did not entirely
dress Lily, and unpack her wardrobe; but Lilias liked to show that she
could manage for herself; and Eleanor’s praise of her neat arrangements
gave her as much pleasure as in days of yore.
The evening passed very happily. Eleanor’s heart was open, she was full
of enjoyment at meeting those she loved, and the two sisters sat long
together in the twilight, talking over numerous subjects, all ending in
Beechcroft or the baby.
Yet when Lily awoke the next morning her awe of Eleanor began to return,
and she felt like a child just returned to school. She was, however,
mistaken; Eleanor assumed no authority, she treated Lily as her equal,
and thus made her feel more like a woman than she had ever done before.
Lily thought either that Eleanor was much altered, or that in her folly
she must have fancied her far more cold and grave than she really was.
She had, however, no time for studying her character; shopping and
sight-seeing filled up most of her time, and the remainder was spent in
resting, and in playing with little Henry.
One evening, when Mr. Mohun and Claude were dining out, Lilias was left
alone with Mr. and Mrs. Hawkesworth. Lily was very tired, but she worked
steadily at marking Eleanor’s pocket-handkerchiefs, until her sister,
seeing how weary she was, made her lie down on the sofa.
‘Here is a gentleman who is tired too,’ said Eleanor, dancing the baby;
‘we will carry you off, sir, and leave Aunt Lily to go to sleep.’
‘Aunt Lily is not so tired as that,’ said Lily; ‘pray keep him.’
‘It is quite bedtime,’ said Eleanor, in her decided tone, and she carried
him off.
Lilias took up the knitting which she had laid down, and began to study
the stitches. ‘I should like this feathery pattern,’ said she, ‘(if it
did not remind me so much of the fever); but, by the bye, Frank, have you
completed Master Henry’s outfit? I looked forward to helping to choose
his pretty little things, but I see no preparation but of stockings.’
‘Why, Lily, did not you know that he was to stay in England?’
‘To stay in England? No, I never thought of that—how sorry you must be.’
At this moment Eleanor returned, and Mr. Hawkesworth told her he had been
surprised to find Lily did not know their intentions with regard to the
baby.
‘If we had any certain intentions we should have told her,’ said Eleanor;
‘I did not wish to speak to her about it till we had made up our minds.’
‘Well, I know no use in mysteries,’ said Mr. Hawkesworth, ‘especially
when Lily may help us to decide.’
‘On his going or staying?’ exclaimed Lily, eagerly looking to Mr.
Hawkesworth, who was evidently more disposed to speak than his wife.
‘Not on his going or staying—I am sorry to say that point was settled
long ago—but where we shall leave him.’
Lily’s heart beat high, but she did not speak.
‘The truth is,’ proceeded Mr. Hawkesworth, ‘that this young gentleman
has, as perhaps you know, a grandpapa, a grandmamma, and also six or
seven aunts. With his grandmamma he cannot be left, for sundry reasons,
unnecessary to mention. Now, one of his aunts is a staid matronly lady,
and his godmother besides, and in all respects the person to take charge
of him,—only she lives in a small house in a town, and has plenty of
babies of her own, without being troubled with other people’s. Master
Henry’s other five aunts live in one great house, in a delightful
country, with nothing to do but make much of him all day long, yet it is
averred that these said aunts are a parcel of giddy young colts, amongst
whom, if Henry escapes being demolished as a baby he will infallibly be
spoilt as he grows up. Now, how are we to decide?’
‘You have heard the true state of the case, Lily,’ said Mrs. Hawkesworth.
‘I did not wish to harass papa by speaking to him till something was
settled; you are certainly old enough to have an opinion.’
‘Yes, Lily,’ said Frank; ‘do you think that the hospitable New Court will
open to receive our poor deserted child, and that these said aunts are
not wild colts but discreet damsels?’
Playful as Mr. Hawkesworth’s manner was, Lily saw the earnestness that
was veiled under it: she felt the solemnity of Eleanor’s appeal, and knew
that this was no time to let herself be swayed by her wishes. There was
a silence. At last, after a great struggle, Lily’s better judgment
gained the mastery, and raising her head, she said, ‘Oh! Frank, do not
ask me—I wish—but, Eleanor, when you see how much harm we have done, how
utterly we have failed—’
Lily’s newly-acquired habits of self-command enabled her to subdue a
violent fit of sobbing, which she felt impending, but her tears flowed
quietly down her cheeks.
‘Remember,’ said Frank, ‘those who mistrust themselves are the most
trustworthy.’
‘No, Frank, it is not only the feeling of the greatness of the charge, it
is the knowledge that we are not fit for it—that our own faults have
forfeited such happiness.’
Again Lily was choked with tears.
‘Well,’ said Frank, ‘we shall judge at Beechcroft. At all events, one of
those aunts is to be respected.’
Eleanor added her ‘Very right.’
This kindness on the part of her brother-in-law, which Lily felt to be
undeserved, caused her tears to flow faster, and Eleanor, seeing her
quite overcome, led her out of the room, helped her to undress, and put
her to bed, with tenderness such as Lily had never experienced from her,
excepting in illness.
In spite of bitter regrets, when she thought of the happiness it would
have been to keep her little nephew, and of importunate and disappointing
hopes that Mrs. Ridley would find it impossible to receive him, Lily felt
that she had done right, and had made a real sacrifice for duty’s sake.
No more was said on the subject, and Lily was very grateful to Eleanor
for making no inquiries, which she could not have answered without
blaming Emily.
Sight-seeing prospered very well under Claude’s guidance, and Lily’s
wonder and delight was a constant source of amusement to her friends.
Her shopping was more of a care than a pleasure, for, in spite of the
handsome equipments which Mr. Mohun presented to all his daughters, it
was impossible to contract Emily’s requirements within the limits of what
ought to be her expenditure, and the different views of her brother and
sister were rather troublesome in this matter. Claude hated the search
for ladies’ finery, and if drawn into it, insisted on always taking her
to the grandest and most expensive shops; while, on the other hand,
though Eleanor liked to hunt up cheap things and good bargains, she had
such rigid ideas about plainness of dress, that there was little chance
that what she approved would satisfy Emily.