"Have you brought my magazines, William?" said a bright-faced, eager
girl, with no slight pretensions to good looks, as she stood there in
her neat, dark, closely fitting dress with white apron, collar and
cuffs, and natty muslin cap with black ribbon, looking the very model of
the neat-handed Phyllis many people think so satisfactory for a
parlour-maid. The William addressed was a broad-shouldered,
heavy-looking young man of three or four and thirty, dressed in brown
velveteen coat and vest, and drab cord trousers. He was very cleanly
shaved; his fair crisp hair closely cut; and he had evidently been
paying a great deal of attention to his heavy boots. There was a sprig
of southernwood in his button-hole, a smaller sprig in his mouth; and he
held in one hand his soft felt hat, in the other, one of those ash,
quarter-staff-looking implements, with a tiny spade at the end, known to
farmers as a thistle-spud--a companion that served him as walking-stick
and a means of getting rid of the obnoxious weeds about his little farm.
For Brother William, otherwise William Cressy, farmed the twenty acres
that had been held by his ancestors for the past two hundred years, and
it was his custom to walk over every Saturday to see how his sister
Fanny was getting on, the said young lady having been in service at the
Rosery ever since Sir James Scarlett's marriage, he always timed his
visit so that he should get there just before Martha set out the
tea-things, and from regular usage Martha always placed an extra cup--
extra large as well, for Brother William, who afterwards stayed until
supper, and then declared, in a tone quite of remonstrance, "Well, I
must go now," as if he had been all along pressed to stay, whereas he
had scarcely spoken all the time, and been hardly spoken to, but had sat
stolidly in an armed Windsor chair staring at Martha, the housemaid, as
she darned, stockings, a whole basket full, with the light making a
broad path upon her carefully smoothed and glossy hair.
"Yes; here they be," said Brother William, solemnly drawing a couple of
the most romantic and highly flavoured of the penny weeklies of the day
from his breast-pocket, and opening and smoothing them out, so as to
display to the best advantage the woodcuts on the front pages of each,
where, remarkably similar in style, a very undulatory young lady in
evening dress was listening to the attentions of a small-headed,
square-shouldered gentleman of impossible height, with an enormous
moustache, worn probably to make up for his paucity of cranial hair.
"Yes; here they be; and I don't think much of 'em either."
"No! what do you know about them?" said the girl sharply. "If it had
been the _Farmer's Friend_, with its rubbish about crops and horseballs
and drenches, you would say it was good reading."
"Mebbe," said Brother William, placing his soft hat very carefully upon
the rounded knob of his thistle staff, and standing it up in a corner of
the room adjoining the kitchen. "Mebbe, Fanny, my lass; but I don't see
what good it's going to do you reading 'bout dooks and lords a-marrying
housemaids, as they don't never do--do they, Martha?"
"I never knew of such a thing, Mr Cressy," said Martha in a quiet
demure way. "I did once hear of a gentleman marrying his cook."
"Yes," said Brother William solemnly, "I think I did hear of such a
thing as that, and that might be sensible; but in them magazines they
never marry the cooks--it's always the housemaids--and Fanny's getting
her head full of such stuff."
"You mind your own business, William, and let me mind mine, if you
please," said the young lady warmly.
"Oh, all right, my dear; only, I'm your brother, you know," said the
young man, hitching himself more comfortably into his chair. "Got
company, I see."
"How did you know?" cried Fanny.
"I was over at the station delivering my bit o' wheat, when Sir James
come in with that Mr Prayle. I don't think much of him."
"And pray, why not?"
"Dunno. Seems too smooth and underhanded like. I didn't take to him
when he come round my farm."
"You're a very foolish, prejudiced fellow, William," said Fanny warmly;
and she whisked herself out of the room.
"That's what mother used to say," said Brother William, thoughtfully
rubbing his broad palms to and fro along the polished arms of the chair.
"She used to say: `Wilyum, my boy, thou'rt prejudiced;' and I s'pose I
am. That sort o' thing is in a man's natur', and can only be bred out
in time.--Is tea 'most ready, Martha Betts?"
Martha replied by filling up the teapot, and proceeding to cut some
bread and butter, of both of which refreshing kinds of nutriment Brother
William partook largely upon the return of his sister, who soon after
hurried away to attend to her duties, that being with her a busy night.
Volume 1, Chapter IV.
"JACK."
To "unfig," with Sir James Scarlett, meant to thoroughly change his
London garments for an easy suit of flannels, such as he used for
boating and gardening, the latter pursuit being one of which he was
passionately fond. He had begun by having a professed gardener, and
ended by being his own head. For the sharp professed gardener seemed to
be imbued with the idea that the grounds and glass-houses of the Rosery
were his special property, out of whose abundance he grudgingly allowed
his master a few cut flowers, an occasional cucumber, now and then a
melon, and at times a bunch of grapes, and a nectarine or peach.
But that regime had to come to an end.
"Hang the fellow, Kitty!" cried Scarlett one day; "he bullies poor old
Monnick, and snubs me, and I feel as if I were nobody but the paymaster.
It won't do. What's the good of living in the country with such a
garden as this, if one can't have abundance of fruit and flowers for
one's friends?"
"It does seem too bad, certainly, dear," she replied. "I don't get half
the flowers I should like."
The result was that the professed gardener left, saying that he wanted
to be where the master was a gentleman, and not one who meddled in the
garden like a jobbing hand. Furthermore, he prophesied that the Rosery
would go to ruin now; and when it did not go to ruin, but under its
master's own management put forth such flowers and fruit as the place
had never seen before, the dethroned monarch declared that it was
scandalous for one who called himself a gentleman to suck a poor
fellow's brains and then turn him out like a dog.
Unfigged, Sir James Scarlett hurried out into the garden with his young
partner, and for a good hour was busy seeing how much certain plants had
grown since the previous evening. Then there was an adjournment to the
grape-house, where the great black Hambros grew so well and in such
abundance, without artificial heat; and here, about half an hour later,
a very keen-looking, plainly-dressed man heard the sound of singing as
he walked down the path from the house. He paused and listened, with a
pleasant smile coming upon his earnest lace, and as he stood attent, a
judge of humankind who had gazed upon his broad shoulders and lithe
strong limbs, and the sharp intelligent look in his face, would have
said that Nature had meant him for a handsome man, but had altered her
mind to make him look like one of the clever ones of earth. He laughed,
and after listening for a minute, went on softly and stood in the
doorway, looking up. The large house with its span roof was covered
with the sweetly scented leaves of the young vine growth, and everywhere
hung pendent bunches in their immature state, with grapes no larger than
so many peas. It was not upon these that the visitor's eyes were fixed,
but upon a stout plank stretching from one iron tie of the grape-house
to another; for, perched upon this plank, to whose height approach was
gained by a pair of steps, sat the owners of the place, with heads
thrown back, holding each a bunch of grapes with one hand, a pair of
pointed scissors with the other, which clicked as they snipped away,
thinning out the superabundant berries, which kept on falling, and
making a noise like the _avant-garde_ of a gentle hailstorm on a
summer's day. As they snipped, the grape-thinners sang verse after
verse, throwing plenty of soul into the harmony which was formed by a
pleasant soprano and a deep tenor voice.
The visitor stood for fully five minutes, watching and laughing
silently, before he said aloud: "What a place this is for birds!"
Lady Scarlett started; her scissors fell tinkling upon the tiled floor,
and her face followed suit with her name.
"Why, Jack!" shouted Scarlett, leaping off the board, and then holding
it tightly as his wife uttered a cry of alarm.--"All right, dear; you
shan't fall. There, let me help you down."
"I beg your pardon, Lady Scarlett," said the visitor apologetically.
"It was very thoughtless of me. I am sorry."
"O Jack, old fellow, Kitty don't mind. It was only meant for a bit of
fun. But how did you get down?"
"Train, and walked over, of course."
"I _am_ glad to see you," said Scarlett. "Why didn't you say you were
coming, and meet me at the station?"
"Didn't know I was coming till the last moment.--Will you give me a bit
of dinner, Lady Scarlett?"
"Will we give you a bit of dinner?" cried Sir James. "Just hark at him!
There come along; never mind the grapes. I say, how's the practice--
improving?"
"Pooh! No. I shall never get on. I can't stick to their old humdrum
ways. I want to go forward and take advantage of the increased light
science gives us, and consequently they say I'm unorthodox, and the
fellows about my place won't meet me in consultation."
"Well, you always were a bit of a quack, old boy," said Scarlett
laughing.
"Always, always. I accept the soft impeachment. But is a man to run
the chariot of his life down in the deeply worn ruts made by his
ancestors? I say, let us keep to the rut when it is true and good; but
let us try and make new, hard, sensible tracks where we can improve upon
the old. It is my honest conviction that in the noble practice of
medicine a man may--ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Just look at your husband's face,
Lady Scarlett," cried their visitor, bursting into a hearty,
uncontrollable fit of honest, contagious laughter.
"My face!" said Sir James. "Why, of course I hurry back home for
country enjoyment, and you begin a confounded lecture on medical
science. I'm quite well, thank you, doctor, and won't put out my
tongue."
"Well? Yes, you always are well," said the other.--"I never saw such a
man as your husband, Lady Scarlett; he is disgustingly robust and
hearty. Such men ought to be forced to take some complaint. Why, if
there were many of them, my profession would become bankrupt."
"You must be faint after your walk, Doctor Scales," said Lady Scarlett.
"Come in and have a cup of tea and a biscuit; it is some time yet to
dinner."
"Thanks. But may I choose for myself?"
"Of course."
"Then I have a lively recollection of a lady with whom I fell in love
last time I was here."
"A lady--fell in love?"
"Yes. Let me see," said the visitor. "She is pretty well photographed
upon my brain."
"I say, Jack, old boy, what do you mean?" cried Scarlett.
"By your leave, sir," said the doctor, waving one strong brown hand.
"Let me see; she had large, full, lustrous, beaming eyes, which dwelt
upon me kindly; her breath was odorous of the balmy meads--"
"Why, the fellow's going to do a sonnet," cried Scarlett. But the
doctor paid no heed, and went on.
"Her lips were dewy, her mousy skin was glossy, her black horns curved,
and as she ruminating stood--"
"Why, he means Dolly," cried Lady Scarlett clapping her hands--"Jersey
Dolly.--A glass of new milk, Doctor Scales?"
"The very culmination of my wishes, madam," said the doctor, nodding.
"Then why couldn't you say so in plain English?" cried Scarlett,
clapping him on the shoulder. "What a fellow you are, Jack! I say, if
you get talking in such a metaphorical manner about salts and senna and
indigestion I don't wonder at the profession being dead against you."
"Would you like to come round to the dairy, Doctor Scales?" said Lady
Scarlett.
"I'd rather go there than into the grandest palace in the world."
"Then come alone," cried Scarlett thrusting his arm through that of his
old schoolfellow; and the little party went down a walk, through an
opening in a laurel hedge, and entered a thickly thatched, shady,
red-brick building, with ruddy-tiled floor, and there, in front of them
was a row of shallow glistening tins, brimming with rich milk, whose top
was thick with yellow cream.
"Hah! how deliciously cool and fresh!" cried the doctor, as his eye
ranged over the white chum and marble slabs. "Some men are wonderfully
proud of their wine-cellars, but at a time like this I feel as if I
would rather own a dairy and keep cows."
"Now then, Kitty, give him his draught," said Scarlett.
"Yes, just one glass," cried the doctor; "and here we are," he said,
pausing before a great shallow tin, beyond which was freshly chalked the
word "Dolly." "This is the well in the pleasant oasis from which I'd
drink."
"Give him some quickly, Kitty," cried Scarlett; "his metaphors will make
me ill."
"Then my visit will not have been in vain," cried the doctor merrily.
Then he ejaculated, "Hah!" very softly, and closed his eyes as he
partook of the sweet rich draught, set down the glass, and after wiping
his lips, exclaimed:
"`Serenely calm, the epicure may say'--"
"O yes; I know," said Sir James, catching him up. "`Fate cannot harm
me--I have dined to-day.' But you have not dined yet, old fellow; and
you shall have such a salad! My own growing; Kitty's making. Come
along now, and let's look round. Prayle's here."
"Is he?" said the doctor, raising his eye-brows slightly, and his tone
seemed to say: "I'm sorry to hear it."
"Yes, poor fellow; he's working too hard, and I brought him down to stay
a bit. Now you've come, and we'll have--"
"No, no; I must get back. None of your unmanly temptations. I'm going
to catch the last up-train to-night."
"One of your patients in a dangerous state, I suppose?" said Scarlett,
with a humorous glance at his wife.
"No: worse luck! I've no patients waiting for me. I say, old fellow,
you haven't a rich old countess about here--baroness would do--one who
suffers from chronic spleen, as the French call it? Get me called in
there, you know, and make me her confidential attendant."
"Why, there's Lady Martlett," said Scarlett, with another glance at his
wife which plainly said: "Hold your tongue, dear."
"Widow lady. Just the body. I dare say she'll be here before long."
"Oh, but I'm off back to-night."
"Are you?" said Scarlett,--"Kitty, my dear, Jack Scales is your
prisoner. You are the chatelaine here, and as your superior, I order
you to render him up to me safe and sound for transport back to town
this day month. Why, Jack, you promised to help me drain the pond.
We'll do it now you're down."
"Oh, nonsense; I must go back."
"Yes; that's what all prisoners say or think," said Scarlett,
laughing--"Don't be too hard upon the poor fellow, dear. He may have as
much milk as he likes. Soften his confinement as pleasantly us you
can.--Excuse me, Jack. There's Prayle."
He nodded, and went off down one of the paths, and his departure seemed
to have taken with it some of the freedom and ease of the conversation
that had been carried on; the doctor's manner becoming colder, and the
bright girlish look fading out of Lady Scarlett's face.
"This is very, very kind of you both," said the doctor, turning to her;
"but I really ought not to stay."
"James will be quite hurt, I am sure, if you do not," she answered. "He
thinks so much of you."
"I'm glad of it," said the doctor earnestly; and Lady Scarlett's face
brightened a little. "He's one of the most frank and open-hearted
fellows in the world. It's one of the bright streaks in my career that
we have always remained friends. Really I envy him his home here,
though I fear that I should be out of place in such a country-life."
"I do not think you would, Doctor Scales," said his hostess, "but of
course he is busy the greater part of his time in town, and that makes
the change so nice."
"But you?" said the doctor. "Do you not find it dull when he is away?"
"I? I find it dull?" she cried, with a girlish laugh. "Oh dear, no. I
did for the first month, but you have no idea how busy I am. James has
made me such a gardener; and I superintend. Come and see my poultry and
the cows."
"To be sure I will," said the doctor more warmly, as they walked on
towards a fence which separated them from a meadow running down to the
river, where three soft fawn-coloured Jersey cows were grazing, each of
which raised its head slowly, and came up, munching the sweet grass, to
put its deer-like head over the fence to feel the touch of its
mistress's hand.
"Are they not beauties?" cried Lady Scarlett. "There's your friend
Dolly," she continued. "She won't hurt you."
"I'm not afraid," said the doctor, smiling; and then a visit was paid to
where the poultry came rushing up to be fed, and then follow their
mistress; while the pigeons hovered about, and one more venturesome than
the others settled upon her head.
They saw no more of Scarlett till just before dinner, when they met him
with Prayle; and now it was that, after feeling warmer and more friendly
towards his young hostess than he ever had felt before, the unpleasant
sense of distance and of chill came back, as the doctor was shown up
into his room.
"I'm afraid I'm prejudiced," he said. "She's very charming, and the
natural girlish manner comes in very nicely at times; but somehow, Kate
Scarlett, I never thought you were quite the wife for my old friend.--
Let's play fair," he said, as he stood contemplatively wiping his hands
upon a towel that smelt of the pure fresh air. "What have I to say
against her?"
He remained silent for a few moments, and then said aloud: "Nothing;
only that she has always seemed to distrust me, and I have distrusted
her. Why, I believe we are jealous of each other's influence with poor
old Jem."
He laughed as he said these words, and then went down-stairs, to find
that his stay at the Rosery was to be more lively than he had
anticipated, for, upon entering the drawing-room, he was introduced by
Lady Scarlett to a stern-looking, grey, elderly lady as "my Aunt
Sophia--Miss Raleigh," and to a rather pretty girl, "Miss Naomi
Raleigh," the former of which two ladies he had to take in to dinner.
Volume 1, Chapter V.