THE BLAKE FAMILY AT HOME
'Her manner was warm, and even ardent; her sensibility seemed
constitutionally deep; and some subtle fire of impassioned
intellect apparently burnt within her.'--DE QUINCEY.
There was certainly a tinge of Bohemianism in Audrey's nature. She
delighted in any short-cut that took her out of the beaten track. A
sudden and unexpected pleasure was far more welcome to her than any
festivity to which she was bidden beforehand.
'I am very unlike Gage,' she said once to her usual confidant, Captain
Burnett. 'No one would take us for sisters; even in our cradles we were
dissimilar. Gage was a pattern baby, never cried for anything, and
delighted everyone with her pretty ways; and I was always grabbing at
father's spectacles with my podgy little fingers, and screaming for the
carving-knife or any such incongruous thing. Do you know my first
babyish name for father?'
'I believe it was Daddy Glass-Eyes, was it not?' was the ready response,
for somehow this young man had a strangely retentive memory, and seldom
forgot anything that interested him.
Audrey laughed.
'I had no idea you would have remembered that. How I loved to snatch off
those spectacles! "You can't see me now, Daddy Glass-Eyes," I can hear
myself saying that; "daddy can't see with only two eyes."'
'You were a queer little being even then,' he returned, somewhat dryly.
'But I believe, as usual, we are wandering from our subject. You are a
most erratic talker, Audrey. What made you burst out just now into this
sisterly tirade?'
'Ah, to be sure! I was contrasting myself with Gage; it always amuses
me to do that. It only proceeded from a speech the Countess made this
afternoon'; for in certain naughty moods Audrey would term her elder
sister the Countess. 'She declared half the pleasure of a thing
consisted in preparation and anticipation; but I disagree with her
entirely. I like all my pleasures served up to me hot and
spiced--without any flavour reaching me beforehand. That is why I am so
charmed with the idea of surprise parties and impromptu picnics, and all
that kind of thing.'
Audrey felt as though she were assisting at some such surprise party as
she turned in at the green gate, and relieved Joe of the basket. Mollie
came running round the side of the house to meet her. She had washed her
face, and brushed out her tangled hair and tied it afresh.
'Oh, what have you there?' she asked in some little excitement. 'Miss
Ross, have you really carried all these things? The kettle is boiling,
and I have some clean cups and saucers. Kester has been helping me. I
think mamma is awake, for I heard her open her window just now.'
'What a nice, intelligent face she has!' thought Audrey, as she unpacked
her basket and displayed the hidden dainties before the girl's delighted
eyes. 'I am sure I shall like Mollie. She is not a bit pretty--I daresay
Gage and Michael would call her plain; but she has an honest look in her
brown eyes.' 'Mollie,' speaking aloud, 'if your mother has awakened from
her nap, she will be quite ready for her tea. May I go into the kitchen
a moment? I want Biddy to boil these eggs--they are new-laid; and
perhaps you could find me a plate for the butter'; and as Mollie ran off
Audrey turned coolly into the kitchen--a pleasant apartment, overlooking
the street--where she found a little old woman, with a wrinkled face and
dark, hawk-like eyes, standing by the hearth watching the boiling
kettle.
The kitchen was in the same state of chaos as the dining-room--the table
covered with unwashed dishes, and crates half unpacked littering the
floor. It was evident Biddy was no manager. As she stood there in her
dirty cotton gown, with her thin gray hair twisted into a rough knot,
and a black handkerchief tied loosely over her head, she was the image
of Fairy Disorder; her bent little figure and the blackened poker in her
hand carried out the resemblance, as she looked up with her bright,
peering eyes at the tall young lady who confronted her.
'Do you think I could find a saucepan, Biddy?'
'I suppose there is one about somewhere,' was the encouraging answer.
'Perhaps Miss Mollie will be knowing; she boiled some potatoes for
dinner.'
'Do you mean this?' regarding the article with some disfavour. 'Would it
trouble you very much to wash it while I make the tea? I have some nice
fresh eggs, which I think they will all enjoy.'
But Biddy only returned a snapping answer that was somewhat
unintelligible, and carried out the saucepan with rather a sour face.
'Disagreeable old thing!' thought Audrey, as she made the tea, but she
afterwards retracted this hasty judgment.
Biddy was a bad manager, certainly, but she was not without her virtues.
She was faithful, and would slave herself to death for those she loved;
but she was old for work, and the 'ache,' as she called it, had got into
her bones. She had slept on the floor for two nights, and her poor old
back was tired, and her head muddled with the confusion and her
mistress's fretful fussiness. Biddy could have worked well if any one
had told her exactly what to do, but between one order and
another--between Mr. Cyril's impatience and Miss Mollie's incapable,
youthful zeal--she was just 'moithered,' as she would have said herself.
She brought back the saucepan after a minute, and Audrey boiled the
eggs. As she looked down at the hissing, bubbling water, an amused smile
stole over her features.
'If only Gage could see me now!' she thought; and then Mollie came in
and rummaged in a big basket for teaspoons.
Audrey carried out her teapot in triumph. Mollie had done her work well
and tastefully: the snowy cloth was on the table; there were cups and
saucers and plates; the butter was ornamented with green leaves, the
cakes were in a china basket. Kester was dusting some chairs.
'Doesn't it look nice!' exclaimed Mollie, quite forgetting her shyness.
'How I wish Cyril would come in! He does so love things to be nice--he
and Kester are so particular. Mamma!' glancing up at a window above
them, 'won't you please to hurry down? May I sit there, Miss Ross? I
always pour out the tea, because mamma does not like the trouble, and
Kester always sits next to me.'
'Is your mother an invalid, my dear?' asked Audrey, feeling that this
must be the case.
'Mamma? Oh no! She has a headache sometimes, but so do I--and Cyril
often says the same. I think mamma is strong, really. She can take long
walks, and she often sits up late reading or talking to Cyril; but it
tries her to do things in the house, she has never been accustomed to
it, and putting things to rights in Cyril's room has quite knocked her
up.'
'What are you talking about, you little chatterbox?' interrupted a gay,
good-humoured voice; and Audrey, turning round, saw a lady in black
coming quickly towards them: the next moment two hands were held out in
very friendly fashion. 'I need not ask who our kind visitor is,' went on
Mrs. Blake. 'I know it must be Miss Ross--no one else could have heard
of our arrival. Have you ever experienced the delights of a move? I
think I have never passed a more miserable four-and-twenty hours. I am
utterly done up, as I daresay my little girl has told you; but the sight
of that delicious tea-table is a restorative in itself. I had no idea
Rutherford held such kind neighbours. Mollie, I hope you have thanked
Miss Ross for her goodness. Dear me, what a figure the child looks!'
'Yes, mamma,' replied Mollie, with a return of her shyness; and she
slunk behind the tea-tray.
Audrey had apparently no answer ready. The oddest idea had come into her
mind: Supposing Michael were to fall in love with Mrs. Blake? He was a
great admirer of beauty, though he was a little fastidious on the
subject, and certainly, with the exception of Geraldine, Audrey thought
she had never seen a handsomer woman.
Mrs. Blake's beauty was certainly of no ordinary type: her features were
small and delicate, and her face had the fine oval that one sees in the
portraits of Mary Queen of Scots; her complexion was pale and somewhat
creamy in tint, and set off the dark hazel eyes and dark smooth coils of
hair to perfection.
The long black dress and widow-like collar and cuffs suited the tall,
graceful figure; and as Audrey noticed the quick changes of expression,
the bright smile, and listened to the smooth, harmonious voice, she
thought that never before had she seen so fascinating a woman.
'Gage will rave about her,' was her mental critique. 'She will say at
once that she has never seen a more lady-like person--"lady-like," that
is Gage's favourite expression. And as to Michael--well, it is never
Michael's way to rave; but he will certainly take a great deal of
pleasure in looking at Mrs. Blake.'
'Will you sit by me, Miss Ross?' asked her hostess in a winning voice;
and Audrey woke up from her abstraction, colouring and smiling.
'I have taken a great liberty with your house,' she said, feeling for
the first time as though some apology were due; for the queenly
beneficence of Mrs. Blake's manner seemed to imply some condescension on
her part in accepting such favours. 'I called to see if you needed any
assistance from a neighbour, and I found poor Mollie looking so tired
and perplexed that I stayed to help her.'
'Mollie does her best,' replied Mrs. Blake gently; 'but she is a sad
manager, and so is Biddy. They nearly worry me to death between them. If
they put a thing straight, it is sure to be crooked again the next
moment.'
'I am sure Mollie works hard enough,' grumbled Kester; but his mother
did not appear to hear him.
'I am a wretched manager myself,' she went on. 'If it were not for
Cyril, I do not know what would become of us. Poor Kester is no use to
anyone. Would you believe it, Miss Ross, that, when we arrived last
night, not a bedstead was up? That was Biddy's fault; she forgot to
remind the men. We all slept on the floor except Kester. Cyril would put
up his bed for him, though I told him that just for once, and on a
summer's night, it would not hurt him.'
Mollie and Kester glanced at each other; and then Kester bit his lip,
and looked down at his plate.
'Oh, mamma,' began Mollie eagerly; but Mrs. Blake gave her a quick,
reproving look.
'Please don't interrupt, Mollie. I want Miss Ross to understand; she
must be quite shocked to see such confusion. Cyril said this morning we
should be all ill if we passed another night in that way; so he and
Biddy have been putting up the beds, and getting the upstairs rooms in
order, and Mollie was sent down to make the dining-room a little tidy.'
'But, mamma----' pleaded Molly, turning very red.
'My dear little girl,' observed her mother sweetly, 'Miss Ross can see
for herself the room has not been touched.'
'Because Kester was asleep, and Cyril told me I must not wake him,'
persisted Molly, looking ready to cry again; 'and whenever I began,
either you or Cyril called me;' and here, though Mollie dashed away a
tear bravely, another followed, and would splash down on her frock, for
the poor little soul was tired and dispirited, and Miss Ross would think
she had been idle, instead of having worked like a slave since early
morning.
'Don't be a goose, Mollie!' retorted Mrs. Blake, with the ready
good-humour that seemed natural to her; 'you are too old to cry at a
word. Miss Ross, may I have one of those delicious cakes? I shall feel a
different woman after my tea. Children, what can have become of your
brother? I thought he was only going out for half an hour.'
'He is to dine at Woodcote to-night, I believe, Mrs. Blake.'
'Yes; Dr. Ross kindly asked him this morning. I must not begin to talk
about Cyril; that must be a tabooed subject. Of course, a mother has a
right to be proud of her son--and such a son, too!--but it is not
necessary for her to bore other people. If you were to ask me'--with a
low laugh of amusement at her own expense--'if I thought any other
mother's son could be as handsome and clever and affectionate as my
Cyril, I should probably say no; but I will be prudent for once: I will
not try to prejudice you in his favour. Cyril shall stand on his own
merits to-night; he will not need his mother's recommendation.'
Mrs. Blake made this speech with such a pretty air of assurance, such a
conviction that there was something pardonable in her egotism, with such
winning frankness, that Audrey forgave the thoughtless insinuation
against poor overtasked Mollie. It was evident that Mrs. Blake idolised
her eldest son; her eyes softened as she mentioned his name.
'Ah, there is his step!' she added hastily. 'No one walks in the same
way as Cyril does; isn't it a light, springy tread? But,' checking
herself with another laugh, 'I must really hold my tongue, or you will
think me a very silly woman.'
'No; I like you all the better for it,' replied Audrey bluntly. She had
no time to say more, for a gay whistle heralded the new-comer; and the
next moment a young man vaulted lightly over the low window-sill.
He seemed a little taken aback at the sight of a stranger, shook hands
rather gravely with Audrey, and then sat down silently beside his
mother.
Audrey's first thought was that Mrs. Blake had not said a word too much.
Cyril Blake was certainly a very striking-looking young man. 'He is like
his mother,' she said to herself; 'he is as handsome in his way as she
is in hers. There is something foreign in his complexion, and in those
very dark eyes; it looks as though there were Spanish or Italian blood
in their veins. She hardly looks old enough to be his mother. Father
said he was two-and-twenty. What an interesting family they seem! I am
sure I shall see a great deal of them.'
Cyril was a little silent at first. He was afflicted with the
Englishman's _mauvaise honte_ with strangers, and was a little young for
his age, in spite of his cleverness. But Mrs. Blake was not disposed to
leave him in quiet. She knew that he could talk fluently enough when his
tongue was once loosened; so she proceeded to tell him of Audrey's
neighbourly kindness, treating it with an airy grace; and, of course,
Cyril responded with a brief compliment or two. She then drew him out by
skilful questions on Rutherford and its inhabitants, to which Audrey
duly replied.
'And you like the place, Miss Ross?'
'Oh, of course one likes the place where one lives,' she returned
brightly. 'I was only a little girl when father came to Woodcote, so all
my happiest associations are with Rutherford. I grumble sometimes
because the town is so small and there are not enough human beings.'
'There are over three hundred boys, are there not?' asked Cyril, looking
up quickly.
'Oh, boys! I was not thinking of them. Yes, there are more than three
hundred. I delight in boys, but one wants men and women as well. We have
too few types. There are the masters and the masters' wives, and the
doctors and the vicar, and a curate or two, but that is all. A public
school is nice, but its society is limited.'
'Limited, but choice.'
'Decidedly choice. Now, in my opinion, people ought not to be too
exclusive. I am sociable by nature. "The world forgetting, by the world
forgot" is not to my mind. I like variety even in character.'
'I think we are kindred spirits, my dear Miss Ross. How often have you
heard me say the same thing, Cyril! That is why I took such a dislike to
Headingly--the people there were so terribly exclusive and purse-proud.'
'Not purse-proud, mother. You are wrong there.'
'Well, they were very stiff and inhospitable; there was no getting on
with them at all. I think the Bryces were the worst. Mrs. Bryce is the
proudest woman I know.'
'Mother,' observed Cyril warningly, 'it is never safe to mention names.
I think--that is, I am sure I have heard that Mrs. Bryce is a connection
of Miss Ross.'
'Oh, I hope not!' in an alarmed voice. 'Do--do forgive me my very plain
speaking.'
'There is no harm done,' returned Audrey lightly. 'Mrs. Bryce is only a
connection of my sister's by marriage. She is Mr. Harcourt's sister. I
am afraid I sympathise with you there. I have no special liking for Mrs.
Bryce myself; she is clever, an excellent manager, but she is a little
too proper--too fond of laying down the law for my taste.'
'Oh, I am so glad!' clapping her hands. 'Cyril is always keeping me in
order; he is so afraid what I may say next.'
'You certainly are a most incautious person, mother.'
'See how my children keep me in order,' with an air of much humility.
'Mrs. Harcourt is your sister, and lives at Rutherford. I do hope she is
like you, Miss Ross.'
'No, indeed,' shaking her head and laughing. 'We are very different
persons. Geraldine is far better than I am. She is exceedingly clever,
most accomplished, and so handsome that everyone falls in love with her
at first sight. She is quite a little queen here, and no one disputes
her sway.'
Mrs. Blake gave an eloquent shrug, but she did not venture on a more
direct answer; and Audrey sat and smiled to herself as she thought that
Geraldine and Edith Bryce were certainly pattern women.
How pleasant it all was! Audrey had never enjoyed herself more; she was
making herself quite at home with these Blakes. But surely there was no
need to hurry home; Gage was with her mother. She might indulge herself
a little longer. She longed to talk more to Kester and Mollie, but she
found it impossible to draw them into the conversation. They sat quite
silent, only every now and then Audrey's quick eyes saw an intelligent
look flash between them--a sort of telegraphic communication.
'I hope those two poor children are not left out in the cold,' she
thought uneasily. 'Their brother does not seem to notice them; he and
his mother are wrapped up in each other. It is hardly fair.'
Again Audrey was forming a hasty judgment.
'The country is not very pretty, is it?' asked Cyril at this moment, and
she woke up from her reverie.
'It is a little flat, but it has its good points; it is a splendid
hunting country, as you know. Oh yes, I think it pretty. There are nice
walks. I am very partial to the grass lanes we have about here. In fine
weather they are delicious.'
'And you are a good walker?'
'Oh yes. I am strong, and there is nothing I enjoy so much. One is such
splendid company for one's self. Leo and I used to have such
expeditions! Leo was a St. Bernard puppy, only he died three weeks ago
of distemper. I cannot bear to speak of him yet. He was my playfellow,
and so handsome and intelligent! My cousin, Captain Burnett, has
promised to find me another dog. He has a Dachs-hund himself--such a
loving, faithful little creature. He is obliged to take Booty wherever
he goes, or the poor thing would fret himself to skin and bone. Is that
retriever your special property?' and Audrey looked at Cyril as she
spoke.
'No; he belongs to Kester,' he returned carelessly. Then, with a quick
change of tone: 'Are you tired, old fellow? Would you like me to help
you indoors?' and, as Kester languidly assented, he picked up his
crutches, and taking possession of one, substituted his arm, while
Mollie ran before them with a couple of cushions.
Mrs. Blake looked after them, and a cloud came over her face.
'Is it not sad?' she said, in a melancholy tone. 'That poor boy--he will
be a drag on Cyril all his life. He will never be able to gain his own
living. He is fifteen now.'
'It was the result of an accident, was it not?'
But Audrey regretted her abrupt question, as a troubled expression came
into the mother's eyes.
'Who told you that?' she asked impatiently. 'Of course it was Mollie.
She is a sad chatterbox. And I suppose she mentioned, too, that it was
Cyril's fault?'
'Indeed it was not Mollie,' returned Audrey eagerly. 'Kester spoke of it
himself. He did not enter into particulars. He just said his brother had
let him fall when he was a child.'
'Yes, it was a sad business,' with a sigh. 'I wonder if anyone has ever
had so many troubles as I have. Life has been one long struggle to me,
Miss Ross. But for Cyril I should have succumbed again and again. No
widowed mother has ever been more blessed in a son;' then, dropping her
voice: 'Please do not mention the subject before Cyril; he is dreadfully
sore about it. It was a pure accident: they were all lads together, and
he and his schoolfellows were racing each other. I think they were
steeplechasing, and he had Kester on his back. There was a fence and a
stony ditch, and the foolish child tried to clear it; they might both
have been killed, it was such a nasty place, but Kester was the only
one hurt. He was always a delicate little fellow, and hip-disease came
on. He does not suffer so much now, but he will always be a cripple, and
he has bad times now and then. Cyril is so good to him; he has never
forgiven himself for the accident.'
'I can understand that,' returned Audrey in a moved voice; and then
Cyril came back and she rose to go. 'I shall see you again,' she said
smiling, as he accompanied her to the gate. 'I hear my father has asked
you up to Woodcote this evening to meet the Harcourts.'
'Yes,' he returned briefly, looking as though the prospect were a
formidable one. 'I could not very well refuse Dr. Ross under the
circumstances.'
'Did you wish to refuse?' rather mischievously.
'No, of course not,' but smiling too; 'I feel as though it were a
neglect of duty. Look at the muddle in there! and those poor children. I
have been working like a horse to-day, but there was too much to do
upstairs; I left the living-rooms for this evening.'
'You can work all the harder to-morrow.'
He shook his head.
'To-morrow I have to begin lessons. I suppose the muddle must just go
on, and we must live as we can. Biddy is old and worn out, and Mollie is
too young to direct her.'
'I will come round and help her,' was Audrey's impulsive answer. 'This
is just the sort of thing I love. I do so enjoy putting a place to
rights.'
'But, Miss Ross, we have no right to trespass on your kindness,' replied
Cyril, flushing slightly as he spoke.
But Audrey only smiled and showed her dimple.
'Tell Mollie I shall come,' was her only answer. '_Au revoir_, Mr.
Blake.'
And Audrey walked on rapidly to Woodcote, feeling that she had spent a
very amusing afternoon, and quite unaware of the commotion she would
raise in her mother's and sister's breasts by those few innocently
spoken words, 'I have been having tea at the Blakes'.'