It is a most unfortunate and ever-to-be-lamented thing that the
fairies have quitted England. How it happened I do not know, nor is
the period of their departure exactly ascertained; but I cannot help
thinking that it was about the time of the Great Rebellion, when the
whole people of the country were so busy about other things that they
had hardly time to eat their breakfasts, and none to knock holes in
the bottoms of their egg-shells, so that the fairies had a fleet of
little ships ready prepared for them to cross the Channel when they
thought fit. Nor is it at all wonderful that they should choose that
time for going, with the Fairy of Order at their head; for every one
knows that the good little people are strongly averse to anarchy and
confusion, and dissension of every kind; so that, when Oberon and
Titania quarrel, I have it upon good authority, the whole of the royal
train, except Puck, who stands by and laughs, hide themselves away
under harebells and columbines, and only peep out with one eye to see
when the storm has blown over.
However, certain it is that they are all gone--left our shores, I
fear, for ever. Nothing can be done by magic now. The milk remains
unchurned; and no more is seen before the fire,
Stretched at his length, the lubbard fiend.
All the business of the world goes on at a jog-trot, and that trot is
very often a slow one.
So Lady Anne Mellent found it at Milford, for the people were not at
all accustomed to work fast or obey promptly; and they did not believe
the stories told by the servant whom she had left behind, in regard to
her impatience of disobedience and delay. Early in the morning, a
whole host of servants, headed by the butler and housekeeper, arrived
at Milford Castle; but when Lady Anne herself appeared, with good Mrs.
Brice, her former governess, she found everything in the most woeful
state of confusion. There was no end of embarrassments. Almost all the
servants were congregated in the great hall, waiting for her coming,
and all were full of complaints of Mrs. Grimes and the steward.
"I never saw such neglect in my life, my lady," said the tall, stately
housekeeper, dressed in a quaker-coloured silk, shot with amethyst and
green. "This good woman, this Mrs. Grimes, tells me that she used
almost all the coals in the house last night and this morning, and
that there are heaven knows how many miles to send for more."
"There is not a bit of charcoal in the house, my lady," said the cook,
advancing in his white nightcap and apron; "and Mrs. Barker here says
it is my fault for not bringing it in the fourgon: now, I could not
lumber the fourgon all the way from London with charcoal."
"Where are the toilet-covers for my lady's room, Mrs. Barker?" said
Lady Anne's maid, addressing the housekeeper in a loud tone, aside.
"I declare," said one of the footmen, in an audible tone, just behind
the butler's back, "I don't think that either oil or candles were
remembered."
"Nor blacking," said another.
"Nor soap," said a very broad housemaid.
"The meat is all fresh-killed," grumbled the cook.
"And the poultry has been sent in with all the feathers on," added the
kitchen-maid, with a sort of hysterical scream at the thought of the
eternity of plucking before her and the scullion.
Lady Anne burst into a fit of laughter, which no sense of dignity
could restrain. It was evident that there were no fairies there to
favour her; though, heaven knows, if there had been one in the
island, he or she would have been there with counsel to support the
gay-hearted, good-humoured lady of the castle.
Seeing that her merriment was becoming infectious, Lady Anne made a
great effort to suppress it, and was turning away towards the
drawing-room, telling the housekeeper to follow her, when a girl ran
in exclaiming, apparently in reference to something which had passed
just before the lady's arrival--
"Butter! they say there's not a pound of butter within twenty miles!"
It was too much for human endurance; and, making the best of her way
into the drawing-room, Lady Anne sat down and wiped the merry tears
from her eyes, while the housekeeper stood before her, looking
exceedingly rueful.
"Let me have my writing-desk," said the young lady, at length. "Now,
Mrs. Barker," she said, "have the goodness to let me know everything
that is wanting in your department and the cook's."
"Oh, my lady, I can't manage the cook," exclaimed the housekeeper, in
a tone of spiteful dignity; "he has been raging like a wild beast all
the morning. I am sure I was very glad when your ladyship came, for I
thought he would have eaten some of us up."
"Cooked you, I suppose you mean," replied her lady: "I will very soon
manage him, if you cannot. Go and make me out a list then of what you
want yourself, and remember that it be complete. Send the butler
here."
The butler, when he entered, received nearly the same orders; and then
the cook, being introduced, made his complaint in formal terms in
regard to the state of everything in the house. The very pots, pans,
and kettles, were not according to his mind. The meat was all
new-killed; no fish had yet appeared; butter was not to be had; eggs
were scanty; and the vegetables which the garden produced had been out
of season in London for a full month.
Lady Anne listened to him with the utmost patience; but when he had
done, she said in a grave tone--
"Monsieur Hacker, I wonder to hear you speak in this way. I had always
thought that a man of your great skill could, out of an ox's head or
foot, produce at least three courses. It is in emergencies such as the
present that the genius of a great man appears. Go, sir, and out of
such materials as you have show me what your art can do. I shall dine
at eight. But in the mean time, as there will be servants going both
to Bedford and Wooler, you can make out a list of all that is
absolutely necessary, and send it to both places. Gradually we shall
get what is required from London; but at present remember, I expect to
see a triumph of art."
"My lady, you shall not be disappointed," said the cook, laying his
hand upon his heart: "it is only that Mrs. Barker enrages me with her
_inepties_."
"Very well," replied Lady Anne; "see that she does not enrage you any
more, lest your lady's service should suffer."
The man retired; and with a gay glance to poor Mrs. Brice, who had
been confounded at the symptoms of rebellion she had witnessed, Lady
Anne gave way to another burst of merriment, which she had repressed
in the man's presence, in order to treat him with that dignified
consideration which is especially required by men-cooks, the vainest
of all creatures upon earth, not even excepting dancing-masters,
romance-writers, and poets.
Some degree of order in the proceedings of the household was soon
re-established. The lists were made out--very formidable, it must be
confessed, in length and details; and a copy of each was sent off to
Wooler and Belford. Some fine trout were brought in, in the course of
the morning, and also a salmon. It was found just possible, when
people set about it willingly, to obtain butter and coals within a
less distance than twenty miles; and although, from, time to time,
during the rest of the day, a fresh want was discovered, and a little
noise was made about it, like an occasional roar of thunder after a
storm has passed by, all went on very tolerably considering, till at
length, about five o'clock, a cart was seen wending towards the house,
the driver of which bore a note to Lady Anne.
"My Dear Child" (it ran)--"I saw very clearly yesterday that you know
not Northumberland, that you forgot Milford has not been regularly
inhabited for more than ten years, and that 'tis in somewhat of a
remote district. I have, therefore, sent you over some of the produce
of my farms to supply deficiencies for to-day; and to-morrow I shall
come and dine with you, and inquire what can be done to render you
service, by your faithful servant and admirer,
"CHARLES HARGRAVE."
Columbus, when he first discovered the shores of a new continent,
hardly felt as much satisfaction as Mons. Hacker when he saw the
contents of that cart--the well-fed, well-fattened, well-kept
mutton--the fine river and sea fish--the white poultry, the fat
pigeons, the ducklings, the guinea-fowls, the eggs, the butter, the
green goose, the fine vegetables, the hot-house fruit. Everything
was there that could be thought of; and he went from one
article to another, murmuring, "_Cotelettes à-la-braise--en
compottes--matelottes--rôtis aux cressons à-la-Celestine. Mon Dieu!_
if we had truffles, it would be complete!"
And the heart of the cook rejoiced with a pure and high devotion for
the honour of his art and of his mistress; for he knew that on that
day Lady Fleetwood and Maria Monkton were expected to dine at
Milford; and for the latter lady he entertained that reverent
affection which all really chivalrous cooks feel towards beauty. His
last and severest trial was to discover that nothing but brown bread
was to be procured in the neighbourhood, for which there was no
remedy; but, nevertheless, that was not his fault; and when, about
half-past seven o'clock, the rush of wheels was heard, and Maria's
carriage drove up to the gates, he felt a proud satisfaction at the
odours which were rising up around him, as an incense which had not
risen from the altars of Milford for many a long year.
The dinner was laid in the great dining-hall, for Lady Anne had
determined to make the first impression of her ancestral castle as
imposing as possible upon her young friend.
The reader may ask, Why? and may say, Was it like her--so gay, so
joyous, so thoughtless, so careless of show, ceremony, or parade?
Nevertheless it was so. She had laid it all out. She had even
condescended to a little trickery. Although, at that season of the
year, there was light enough remaining in the sky, at a quarter past
eight, when they began their dinner, to proceed with the first course
at least with no aid but from the beams of heaven, yet she had ordered
two windows at the side to be shut up, leaving unclosed only the large
oriel window at the end, filled with deep-coloured stained glass. Over
the table, which looked almost like a speck in the centre of the great
hall, hung an old-fashioned but richly-ornamented silver chandelier,
with eight branches lighted; but yet the beams only illumined the
table; and a sort of uncertain twilight pervaded the remoter parts of
the hall, except where a sideboard loaded with ancient plate appeared,
lighted by several old candlesticks. Lady Anne had so contrived it
that, in coming from the great drawing-room to the hall, the little
party passed through several other rooms but faintly lighted; and in
so doing, Lady Anne managed that Maria should occupy the middle place,
between her and Lady Fleetwood. As they entered the hall, too, she
looked up in her young friend's face, while her eyes ran over the fine
old chamber--which, with its lights in the centre, its mysterious
gloom at the end, the richly-covered table and sideboard, the number
of servants in their handsome liveries, the large antique chandelier
of silver and its silver chain, the tall stained glass oriel at the
end, and the evening light faintly streaming through, only just
sufficiently to throw long lines of yellow, purple, blue, and even
red, upon the floor and ceiling, and those three graceful women
entering arm-in-arm--looked more like some painter's dream of the
ancient time than anything that is seen in our own stiff and tinselled
days.
"What a beautiful hall!" exclaimed Lady Fleetwood, looking round.
"Isn't it cold?"
And at the same moment her foot passed from the rim of marble which
ran round the whole chamber, and took the first step on the ocean of
Turkey carpet with which seven-eighths of the floor was covered.
"I think not," answered Lady Anne: "at all events, I shall try, dear
Lady Fleetwood, to keep it warm and gay while I am here. Isn't it a
fine hall, Maria?"
"It is indeed," replied Maria: "the span of the vault is so great, it
makes me feel as if I were in Westminster Hall."
"Oh, no, no!" cried Lady Anne--"not amongst lawyers in black gowns.
But come, Maria: you take that end of the table, and be mistress of
the house. I will act master for the present; and Lady Fleetwood shall
be our guest. Do you know, dear lady," she continued, seating herself,
"I intend to be very gay while you are all here, and to have a grand
ball, and a number of dinner-parties, and that we shall amuse
ourselves all the morning, and sing and dance and flirt all the night,
and have all the great people of the county who will come. Won't that
be very delightful, Maria?"
"Very splendid indeed," said Maria, with a smile.
"Like the splendour of a sky-rocket when it bursts," said Lady Anne,
quite gravely. "But why did you call it splendid, Maria? Why did you
not say, pleasant--charming--delightful?"
"Because I am sure I should like Milford quite as well without any
such gaieties," replied Maria Monkton. "You know I am not particularly
fond of large parties, Anne; and, although one must mingle with them,
and some of them are pleasant enough, yet I hardly think they deserve
the epithet of charming or delightful."
"Cynic!" said Lady Anne Mellent, and proceeded to eat her dinner, with
a somewhat pouting air, as if she were hardly well pleased. She was
soon as gay again as ever; and when they returned to the drawing-room
she opened the window, and gazed out with Maria upon the starry sky,
which looked almost misty with its innumerable lights, and upon the
wide-spread park with its undulating slopes, and the tall dark masses
of the trees cutting black upon the luminous heaven.
They had been silent for some time, while Lady Fleetwood sat at the
other end of the room, netting one of the innumerable purses which had
afforded her a grand source of occupation through life.
But suddenly Lady Anne's lips moved; and she said aloud, as her eyes
remained fixed upon one spot of the sky, thronged with stars--
"Oh, ye bright and glorious wanderers of the night! had you voices, as
men dreamed in days of old, to tell the fate of those born under your
influence, how gladly would I ask the destiny of those who here stand
and gaze upon you! Say, Arcturus!--wilt thou take me in thy car, and
let me see the storms and tempests that wait my onward course and that
of the dear girl beside me? Or thou, planet of love and hope, just
climbing the hill of heaven!--wilt thou tell me whether the seeds
which have been sown in our hearts under thine influence will bud and
blossom into the flowers we dream of? Shall we go on hand in hand
together, even unto the end, as hitherto we have lived, in deep
affection? Shall the ties which bind us in nearer kindred unite our
hearts still more closely? or, shall the love that knows no sharer
wean us of our youthful tenderness towards each other? I ask not to
hear what will be the frowns or smiles of Fortune--whether the dull
earth's wealth will be augmented or diminished--whether we shall meet
reverse, accident, or care--ay, or even poverty or early death. I only
ask, shall we love and be beloved? for surely that is to know enough
of fate;" and turning away towards Maria, she leaned her brow upon her
fair friend's shoulder.
For a moment or two Maria was silent; and then she said, in a low
tone--
"If the stars could have answered you, would you have asked them,
Anne?"
"Yes, yes," eagerly replied Lady Anne. "Would not you, Maria?"
"I think so," answered Maria; "yet sometimes, perhaps, it were better
not to know our fate."
"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Lady Anne; "doubt is always horrible."
"Yes; but there may be trust without knowledge, faith without
comprehension," replied her fair friend. "I have both, although the
future is very dark and impenetrable to me just now."
"Oh, it shall be bright!" cried Lady Anne. "Mine shall be the voice of
those brilliant stars, which, rolling millions of miles above all
earthly things, may well see, stretched out beneath their eyes of
living light, the past, the present, and the future of each
existing thing. Oh, yes; it shall be bright, Maria! For you the
future hours are weaving a many-blossomed wreath. First is the early
bud of love, now full-blossomed to a rose; and then the clustering
lily-of-the-vale, to speak domestic happiness and peace; the
passionate violet, hiding its intense blue eyes in the shade, and
spreading rapture's perfume round; and the proud imperial lily,
portrait of high station and the world's esteem: the pansy, too,
imaging the sunshine of the breast, and pure, enduring faith; and the
linked hyacinth with its many buds. All, all are there, sweet sister,
for you and him you love: and the wandering seasons, as they pass
along, shall not unfold a flower or ripen a fruit that shall not fall
into your hand----"
"If your wishes can command fate," said Maria, "it is the voice of
hope and not of the stars you speak, dear Anne."
"Nay, nay--I am a prophetess just now," replied Lady Anne. "Beware how
you doubt Cassandra, lest she predict woes as well as blessings. I see
a little cloud coming, and the stars tell me it is very near. It
sweeps over the face of the moon; but the moon scatters it, and the
blue sky drinks it up."
"Dear me! is the moon risen?" exclaimed Lady Fleetwood from the other
side of the room; and Lady Anne's fanciful visions were gone in a
moment.
"Oh, dear!" she said to Maria, with a low voice and a sigh, "I forgot
we were in this world, but always something brings us back to it. No,
she is not risen yet, dear Lady Fleetwood."
"I thought you said you saw her," said Lady Fleetwood.
"I was only romancing," replied Lady Anne: "this is an age when our
young women dream dreams, but now I'll talk sober sense. You know,
Lady Fleetwood, that I am going to have three gentlemen to stay with
me to-morrow; and you must act quite the lady of the house, for
decorum's sake--be a very discreet chaperon, and not take the
slightest notice if I choose to flirt most desperately with Mr.
Winkworth or any one else. I'll do the same, and not take any notice
when you flirt with any one--or Maria either."
"I am sure, dear Lady Anne, Maria never flirts," said Lady Fleetwood,
in the most matter-of-fact way in the world.
"Bless her heart! then she shall do it for once, just to keep me in
countenance," exclaimed Lady Anne; "but remember you are to be
chaperon, Lady Fleetwood, and to look as demure as possible."
"But where is Mrs. Brice?" said Lady Fleetwood: "I haven't seen her
since we came."
"Oh, dear me! I forgot Mrs. Brice," said Lady Anne. "Well, she will do
quite as well for a chaperon, and so you shall have leave to flirt
too; but the truth is, she's so tired with her journey, and so
frightened with the desolation we found reigning in these halls, that
she said she would not come down to-night, and dined in her own room.
To-morrow she will be as brisk as ever, I dare say, and that will just
do; for I expect Mr. Hargrave, whom I am in love with, and intend to
marry, to dine with us also."
"Mr. Hargrave!" "Intend to marry!" exclaimed Lady Fleetwood and Maria,
both together.
"Certainly," said Lady Anne: "he is the dearest, cleverest, most
beautiful old man in the world, in a velvet coat, embroidered
waistcoat, and black velvet breeches; just like a fine piece of
Dresden china well preserved. He is, moreover, the soul of honour and
the spirit of good judgment. If I had the most difficult and delicate
thing in the world to do, I would entrust it to Mr. Hargrave."
"I have seen him," said Lady Fleetwood; "I remember him quite well in
poor Sir John's lifetime, but Sir John did not like him."
"My dear father did," replied Lady Anne, "and consulted him on all his
affairs; so you see I could not do better than marry him, for I am
sure I want some one to manage me. Don't I, dear lady?"
Maria smiled; but Lady Fleetwood expressed a general opinion that all
young women ought to marry, especially if they had lost their parents;
and after some more conversation of the same rambling kind, they
separated and betook themselves to their beds.