AN ENGLISH AUNT
No one had invited the English aunt to come over, so when a letter
arrived one morning saying she would be with them that same day, and
would they send the carriage to the station to meet her, everyone was
surprised. The children were delighted at the thought of a visit from
an unknown aunt: they had thought Aunt Mary was the only aunt they had.
This strange Aunt Charlotte was their mother's sister, and, Patsy said,
she was sure to bring them a present in her trunk. But Lull went about
the house, getting ready a room in the nursery passage, dusting the
drawing-room, and opening the windows, with a look in her eyes that was
not of pleasure.
"Don't ye want Aunt Charlotte to come?" Jane asked her.
"Want her?" Lull snapped. "Why couldn't she come when she was wanted
sore? What kep' her then, an' me prayin' night an' day for her?"
Jane stopped in the middle of the drawing-room floor with a soup tureen
full of dog-daisies in her hands.
"There, I'll quit bletherin'!" Lull added. "None of yous mind, thank
God, but--if I had 'a' had a young sister struck dumb in morshial agony
haythen Turks wouldn't 'a' kep' me from her."
Lull flounced out of the room, and Jane was left standing in the middle
of the floor. She had never heard Lull speak like that before. What
did she mean? A young sister, she had said; their mother was the only
sister Aunt Charlotte had. When was their mother struck dumb and Aunt
Charlotte wouldn't come? Jane went out to the stable, where Andy
Graham was putting the horse in the car. Honeybird was brushing his
top hat for him at the far end of the stable, but Jane did not see her.
"Andy, when was mother struck dumb in morshial agony?" she said.
Andy dropped a trace. "By the holy poker! what put that in yer head?"
he said.
"Lull said Aunt Charlotte wouldn't come when she was wanted sore, an'
her young sister was struck dumb in morshial agony," said Jane.
"An' a fine ould clashbag Lull was to say the word," said Andy, picking
up the trace.
"Tell us, Andy, an' I'll niver name it," said Jane.
"See here, Miss Jane," said Andy, "it's no talk for the likes a' yous
to be hearin'. Sure, there's niver a wan would mind it at all if it
wasn't for that ould targe of a Lull, an' it be to be as far back as
the flood for her to forget."
"Go on, Andy; tell a buddy," Jane begged, "an' I'll not come over it to
a livin' sowl."
"Sure, ye know all I know myself," said Andy. "The mistress was tarble
bad, an' they sent for yer Aunt Charlotte, an' she wouldn't come."
"Why wouldn't she?" said Jane.
"God knows," said Andy. "She wouldn't, and Lull was clean dimented at
the time for the want of her. An' I'm tellin' ye it got yer Aunt
Charlotte an ill name about the place. There's many's the wan has it
agin her to this day."
"Have you, Andy?" said Jane.
"Is it me! God forgive me, I could bear no malice. An' see an' forgit
it yerself Miss Jane, for she'll be the good aunt to ye all yit."
Jane went slowly back to the house. She would have liked to consult
Mick about it, but she had promised not to tell. The only thing to do
was to wait till she could ask Aunt Charlotte herself.
Mick went to the station on the car to meet Aunt Charlotte. The others
waited at the gate, two on each of the stone lions, to give a cheer
when she arrived.
It was a long drive from the station, and they were stiff and cramped
before the car came back, but Jane would not let them get down, for
fear the car might turn the corner while they were down, and Aunt
Charlotte would not get a proper welcome.
It came at last, and they hurrahed till they were hoarse. Aunt
Charlotte sat on one side, and Mick on the other. There was a tin box
between them on the well of the car. As the car came nearer they saw
that Mick was making signs, shaking his head and frowning, and when the
car turned in at the gate Aunt Charlotte looked straight in front of
her, and did not even glance at the welcoming party on the lions.
They got down, and followed up the avenue. In a minute they were
joined by Mick. "Let's hide," he said; "she's an ould divil."
Silently they turned away from the house, across the lawn, and dropped
over the wall into the road. They went up the road till they came to
an opening in the wall on the other side, where they filed through, and
struck out across the fields. Sheep were feeding on the spongy grass,
and as they got farther away from home rocks and boulders began to
appear, and at last a long line of clear blue sea. Mick led the way
till they came to a flat rock jutting out like a shelf over the sea,
and here they sat down.
"What did she do?" Jane asked.
"She said I was no gentleman," said Mick.
"What for?"
Mick began his tale.
"When the train come in I went up to her, an' sez I: 'How'r' ye?' Sez
she: 'Who are you?' Sez I: 'I'm Michael Darragh.' 'Is it possible?'
sez she, an' ye should 'a' seen the ould face on her. Sez I: 'The
car's waitin'.' 'Then tell the man to come for my luggage,' sez she."
"Oh Mick," gasped Jane, "what did ye do?"
"I didn't know what to do. I didn't like to say right out that Andy
had got no livery on his legs, and daren't strip off the rug. So I
sez: 'We'll get a porter to carry it out.' 'No,' sez she; 'I'd have to
tip him. Tell the coachman to come.'"
"As mane as dirt," said Patsy.
"Sez I: 'He can't come, Aunt Charlotte, 'cause he can't get off the
dickey.' 'What's the matter with him?' sez she. I was afraid I'd tell
a lie, but I thought a bit, an' then I sez: 'He's disable.'"
"Good for you, Mickey Free!" Jane shouted.
"But it wasn't good, for when we started she begun astin' Andy what
ailed him. Andy didn't know, so he said he was in the best of good
health. Sez she: 'My nephew tould me you had been disabled.' 'Divil a
fut, mem,' sez Andy; 'I'm as well as ye are yerself.' She got as red
as fire, an' sez she: 'No gentleman tells lies, Michael!" Mick's face
was white with anger.
"But ye tould no lie, Mickey dear," said Fly.
"An' ye couldn't tell her Andy had no white breeches," said Patsy.
"Dear forgive her," said Jane bitterly, "an' we thought she was an
aunt."
They did not go home till it was getting dark. When they went into the
kitchen Lull was sitting by the fire. "Well," she said, "did ye see
yer Aunt Charlotte; she's out lukin' for ye?"
"She can luk till she's black for all I care," said Jane.
Their mother was sitting up in bed when they went in to say good-night,
and they saw she had been crying.
"You are the best children in the world," she said, "but your Aunt
Charlotte thinks you are barbarians."
"She's an ould divil, an' we just hate the sight a' her," said Patsy.
"'Deed, an' there's more than yous does that," said Lull.
"Hush, Lull," said their mother; "she is my sister, after all."
"Purty sister," Lull snorted, "comin' where she's not wanted, upsettin'
everybuddy with her talk a' ruination."
"It's true, it's true," Mrs Darragh wailed, and began to cry again.
Lull hurried the children out of the room; they heard her comforting
their mother as they went down the passage. They went to bed with
heavy hearts. Jane said her prayers three times over, then cried
herself to sleep.
Next morning Aunt Charlotte was down early. Fly and Patsy, who had
been out to see if the gooseberries were ripe, met her in the hall as
they came back.
"Good morning," she said. "I don't think I saw you yesterday. What
are your names?"
"I am Fly, an' he is Patsy," Fly answered.
"What?" said Aunt Charlotte.
"Fly an' Patsy," Fly repeated, and was going past, but Aunt Charlotte
pounced on some gooseberries Fly had in her pinafore. "What are you
going to do with these?" she said.
"Ripe them," said Patsy, trying to get past.
"You cannot ripen green gooseberries off the bushes," said Aunt
Charlotte.
"'Deed, then, ye just can," said Fly; "ye squeeze them till they're
soft, an' then ye suck them till they're sweet."
"I am sure your nurse cannot allow you to do anything so disgusting,"
said Aunt Charlotte.
At this moment Lull came out of the schoolroom, where she had been
laying the table for breakfast.
"M'Leary!" said Aunt Charlotte--they had never heard Lull called that
before--"surely you cannot allow the children to eat such poisonous
stuff as unripe gooseberries?"
Lull's eyes flashed fire for a second, then she said: "You lave them to
me, mem," and took Fly and Patsy off to the kitchen, where they
squeezed and sucked the gooseberries in peace.
At breakfast Aunt Charlotte asked questions about everything: who their
neighbours were; where they visited; where they went to church.
"You see," she said, "I have not been here before, so you must tell me
everything about your surroundings now."
"Why didn't ye come afore?" said Jane eagerly. "When ye were wanted
sore, what kept ye then?"
"Little girls cannot understand the motives of their elders," Aunt
Charlotte said sharply. "I was far from well, and the country was
disturbed."
"What's disturbed?" said Patsy.
Her back stiffened. "Your fellow-countrymen were in a wicked state of
rebellion against the powers ordained by God," she said.
"'Deed, an' who wouldn't fight the polis?" said Patsy. "Ye should 'a'
seen the gran' fight we had last week on the twelfth."
"I understood that everything was quiet," Aunt Charlotte murmured.
"Lull was prayin' night an' day for ye to come. She was clean dimented
for the want of ye," Jane went on, hoping Aunt Charlotte would explain.
But Aunt Charlotte did nothing of the kind.
"We will not discuss the matter," she said; "I have told you it was
impossible for me to come."
"I'm tellin' ye it got ye an ill name about the place," said Honeybird,
looking up from her porridge; "there's many's a one has it agin ye to
this day."
The children looked at each other in surprise. Honeybird had a way of
repeating things she had picked up; but only Jane knew where she could
have heard this, and a kick from Jane told her to be quiet. Aunt
Charlotte's knife and fork dropped with a clatter on her plate. Her
face was white as chalk. For a minute no one spoke. Aunt Charlotte
drank some coffee, and shut her eyes. The children thought she had
forgotten to say her grace till now; they went on with their breakfast,
and in a few minutes she spoke again.
"I suppose you all like toys," she said.
The three younger ones brightened up.
"You know there are beautiful toys to be had in London, and I did think
of bringing you some, but, then, I thought that out here in the
country, with so many trees and flowers to play with, it would be like
bringing coals to Newcastle."
They understood that she had brought nothing. Mick and Jane looked
relieved, but Honeybird's eyes filled with tears. "Niver a wee dawl?"
she said.
"What does she mean?" said Aunt Charlotte. "Oh, a little doll; the
child speaks like a peasant."
No one answered. Honeybird's tears dropped into her lap. Fly passed
her a ripened gooseberry under the table.
After breakfast Aunt Charlotte said they must show her the gardens and
the stable. They had meant to go out bathing, and stay away all day;
but there was no escaping from her, so they started off, to the stables
first.
Aunt Charlotte shook her head over everything.
"Disgraceful neglect," they heard her say.
"We'll soon make it grand when our ship comes in," said Jane.
"What a strange expression," said Aunt Charlotte. "And, pray, when
will that be?"
"God knows, for I don't," said Honeybird, repeating what Andy Graham
always said when they asked him that question.
Aunt Charlotte looked at Honeybird, who was playing with the cat. "Do
you know that you have taken your Maker's name in vain?" she said. "Go
back to the house at once, you wicked child."
Honeybird stared, her grey eyes growing wider and wider.
"Do you hear me?" said Aunt Charlotte. "Go into the house at once."
With a gasp of horror Honeybird turned back across the yard, and they
heard her go into the kitchen, sobbing: "Poor, poor wee me!"
"Now take me to see the kitchen garden," said Aunt Charlotte.
"Ould Davy'll be mad if we do," said Jane.
"I wish you would speak more distinctly," said Aunt Charlotte, "I
cannot understand what you say."
"I on'y said ould Davy'd be cross," said Jane.
"What is his name? Who is he?" said Aunt Charlotte.
"'Deed, he's just ould Davy," said Patsy; "thon's him in among the
cur'n' bushes."
But ould Davy spoke for himself.
"Be off wid yer," he shouted; "away home ar this, or if I catch the
hould a' yer I'll cut yer throats."
"I tould ye he'd be cross," said Jane.
But Aunt Charlotte was running back to the house as fast her legs would
carry her.
"She's feared," said Jane joyfully.
Patsy danced. "It'd be quare fun to take her to see Jane Dyer," he
said.
They laughed at the thought till they had to sit down on the path.
"I wisht I could come with ye," said Jane, "but ould Jane's friends
with me, so I can't."
"No; ye'll have to stay at home, Janey dear," said Mick; "she wouldn't
lift a finger if she saw ye with us."
"It's all because I tuk her them ould boots," said Jane; "but yous
three can go; an' mind ye run the minute she throws the first stone,
for if ye stan' an' face her she's like a lamb."
A few minutes later Mick and Fly and Patsy came into the drawing-room,
and asked Aunt Charlotte if she would like to go for a walk; they were
going down to the sea, they said. Aunt Charlotte said she would be
delighted to go. She put on her hat and gloves, and they started. On
each side of the road was a wall of loose stones bound together by moss
and brambles. In the distance, to their right, rose the mountains, and
a turn of the road about a mile from home brought them in sight of the
sea. They passed through the village, a long road of whitewashed
cottages, with here and there a fuchsia bush by a door, a line of
bright nasturtiums under a window, or a potato patch dotted with curly
kale by the side of a house. Farther down the street the church stood
back from the road in a graveyard full of tombstones and weeds. Aunt
Charlotte said she was interested in churches, so they stopped to look
at it. Coming back through the graveyard Mick showed her the
tombstones of the rebels, with skull and crossbones on the top, and the
grave of a great-uncle of theirs, who had been hanged at the time of
the rebellion for deserting his friends.
"Serve him right, the ould traitor," said Patsy.
Aunt Charlotte was shocked. "If he was your great-uncle you should
think of him with respect," she said.
"An' him an informer!" said Mick; "'deed, I'd 'a' kilt him myself, so I
would. Andy Graham sez he'd 'a' japped the brains out a' him."
"Lull sez she'd 'a' napped him on the head with a wee blackthorn," said
Fly. "But whist," she added, "I do believe the ould ruffian's lyin' in
his grave listenin' to us."
Aunt Charlotte shivered. As they were going down the steps Patsy
stopped. "Look at them two ould rats," he said, "sittin' there on the
wall like ould men. They're just sayin' which of us all will be
brought here the first."
Aunt Charlotte gave a little scream, and ran out into the road. "You
children have such morbid minds," she said; "indeed," with a little
laugh, "you have made me quite nervous."
About five minutes' walk from the village they came to a lane that ran
down to the sea, black mud underfoot and stone walls on each side. The
lane widened into a small farmyard. There was a low cottage, a stack
of peat, and two or three hens picking about in the mud.
"What a squalid scene!" said Aunt Charlotte. "Is it possible that any
human being can live here?"
The children did not answer, for, to their disappointment, the door was
shut. "She's out!" Mick said.
A few yards from the cottage the land ended on the seashore. The sand
was covered with brown seaweed; a cart filled with it was propped up on
stones. Bits of cork and wood were strewn about in every direction,
and beyond the line of dry seaweed there were big round stones covered
with golden brown seaweed, still wet, for the tide was only half-way
out.
Aunt Charlotte didn't like this sea very much. She said it was all so
untidy. Not even the beautiful green crabs that Fly caught under the
wet seaweed pleased her, so after a few minutes they turned back. The
children were afraid that Jane Dyer would not have come home yet, but
just as they passed the cottage Aunt Charlotte suddenly gripped hold of
Mick's arm.
"Who is that," she said sharply; "there, coming down the lane?" Fly
gave a hysterical giggle. Coming towards them down the lane was a tall
figure dressed in an old green ulster coat, tied in round the waist by
an apron; white hair fell about a flat white face, and big bare feet
splashed in the mud. As it came it muttered and frowned and shook its
fist.
"Who is it, I say?" said Aunt Charlotte.
"It's Jane Dyer," said Mick.
Patsy gave a loud 'Hee-haw,' that was supposed to remind Jane of her
dead donkey, and always made her wild with rage, even if the sight of
visitors in her lane had not already made her angry. She came swinging
along, muttering and cursing to herself, stopping here and there to
pick up a stone, till her apron was full. Then, with a sudden leap in
the air, she aimed. The stone hit Fly on the shin; she gave a yell of
pain, and was over the wall in a second. The boys followed, while a
volley of stones and curses came from the lane. Aunt Charlotte was
left behind. They heard her scrambling over the wall, the loose stones
rolling off as she scrambled, and as they ran they could hear her
panting: "My God, my God, this is awful!"
Two fields away the boys found Fly sitting on a bank nursing her leg.
"Did ye hear her takin' her Maker's name in vain?" said Patsy, and he
rolled on the grass with laughter.
"I niver seen ould Jane in better fettle," said Mick.
"If we'd had any wit we'd 'a' set Sammy on her too," said Fly.
"We'll do it yit," said Patsy, and there and then they began to run
like hares along the road to the cottage where Sammy lived. Sammy was
an innocent, and lived in a one-roomed cottage on the roadside that was
entirely hidden from sight by the rowan-trees that grew round it. He
was a little old man, who spent his days attending to his sister's pig.
There was not a more peaceable soul in the countryside, but on the
subject of the pig Sammy could be roused to fury. He talked to it,
sang to it, fed it out of his hand. When he walked about the fields
the pig followed at his heels, when he sat on the doorstep it lay at
his feet. But if one of the village children threw a stone at it, or
if any threatened in joke to harm it, Sammy was beside himself with
rage, and it was an insult he never forgot. Twice a week he came to
Rowallan for the refuse and broken meat, and, next to the pig, he loved
the children. He was at home when they knocked at the door, and came
out at once.
"M-m-m-m-mornin'!" he stammered.
They were out of breath, and could hardly speak. Sammy began to look
frightened; it was so easy to scare his few wits away.
"Oh, Sammy, she's comin' after yer pig," Fly panted.
"Wh-wh-wh-where?" Sammy shouted.
"Along the road," said Patsy; "she'll be here in a minute; a long
string of a woman with a black dress on. She's clean mad to get at it;
ye'd better be out, an' chase her."
"L-l-l-l-let me at her!" roared Sammy, picking up his bucket.
"She's comin' to kill it, Sammy," said Mick; "she come all the way from
England to do it."
Sammy was dancing on the doorstep. "Hide down behind the wall till she
comes," said Patsy, and they pulled Sammy down with them.
"Whist, Sammy; be quiet, man, till she comes," said Mick--for Sammy was
snorting and quivering. "I'll give ye the word when I see her."
[Illustration: "Whist, Sammy, be quiet, man, till she comes," said Mick]
In about five minutes Aunt Charlotte came in sight. They saw her
through the holes in the wall, limping slowly, and looking back over
her shoulder every few steps. Her hair was down, and she was trying to
fasten it up. Mick nudged Fly and Patsy not to speak, and gave Aunt
Charlotte time to pass the cottage before he said: "Here she comes,
Sammy." Sammy jumped up, and out on to the road, waving his bucket
over his head, and roaring: "Ye-ye-ye-ye ould butcher, E-e-e-e-english
butcher, I'll-'ll-'ll-'ll bite ye."
There was a half-stifled scream as Aunt Charlotte turned for a second,
and the next moment she was out of sight. Sammy danced on the road,
and yelled after her till he was hoarse, then he came back to where the
children were crouched down behind the wall.
"S-s-s-she was aff like the wind, af-af-af-fore I could touch her," he
said, "b-b-but I'll kill her th-th-the next time."
They shook hands with him, and told him he was a brave man. Then they
went down to the sea, and bathed, and stayed out till it was tea-time.
Jane and Honeybird met them at the door when they got home. "She's
away back to England," they chanted.
The others could hardly believe their ears. "She came back all mud and
dirt," said Jane, "with her hair a-hingin' in her eyes, an' said we
were all haythens an' savages, an' she wouldn't stay another day in
this blackguardy country."
Lull questioned them while they were having supper. "An' what an' iver
did ye do to send yer Aunt Charlotte home like thon?" she said.
"'Deed, we just tuk her to see Jane Dyer," said Patsy.
Lull looked at him for a minute. "There's a hape a' wisdom in a
chile," she said at last.
THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH.
[Transcriber's note: the HTML version of this ebook contains page scans
of the publisher's catalogue.]
End of Project Gutenberg's The Weans at Rowallan, by Kathleen Fitzpatrick