"Se'l sol mi splende, non curo la luna."
_Italian Proverb_.
"_Man proposes, but the weather interposes_," is a travesty of the
well-known old saying, which few people would dispute the truth of.
Directly the delay in the Cheviotts' return home was traceable to other
agencies, but indirectly the weather was at the bottom of it after all.
The journey to London was accomplished without let or hindrance by the
way; the let and the hindrance met the brother and sister on their
arrival at Miss Winstanley's house, where they were to spend the night,
in the shape of a letter for one thing, and of a bad sore throat of
their hostess for another. And all that was wrong was the fault of the
weather! Miss Winstanley had caught cold through getting her feet wet
the Sunday before, when the morning had promised well and turned out a
base deceiver by noon; and the letter was from the housekeeper at
Romary, written in abject distress at the prospect of her master and
mistress's return home sooner than she had expected them. More than
distress, indeed; the letter closed an absolute entreaty that they would
not come for ten days or so. It was "a terrible upset with the pipes,"
she wrote, that was the cause of her difficulty--an upset caused by a
complete overhauling of these mysterious modern inventions of household
torture, the necessity for which had been revealed by some days of
unusually heavy rains, by which "the pipes" had been tested and found
wanting, and the Withenden plumbers being no exception to their class,
long celebrated as the most civil and procrastinating of "work-people,"
had already exceeded by several days the date at which the business was
to have been concluded.
"Pipes is things as can't be hurried," wrote Mrs Golding, pathetically,
"and, as everybody knows, it's easy getting work-people into a house to
getting them out again; but what with the pipes and the men, the house
is in that state I cannot take upon myself to say what my feelings would
be for you and Miss Alys to see it."
Now Mrs Golding was an excellent servant; she had been Alys's nurse,
and though her grammar was far from irreproachable, and her general
appearance not more than respectable and old-fashioned, she was
thoroughly well qualified for the somewhat onerous post to which, on her
master's accession to Romary, he had at once promoted her. But she had
two faults--she had feelings and she had nerves.
The letter came at breakfast-time. Alys and her brother were by
themselves, Miss Winstanley's sore throat preventing her coming down as
early as usual. Mr Cheviott read it, and tossed it across the table to
his sister.
"So provoking!" he exclaimed.
"Yes," said Alys, "it is tiresome just when you were so particularly
anxious to go home. But I see no help for it; when nurse takes to her
`feelings,' what can we do? No doubt the house is in a terrible mess,
and if we persisted in going down at once, I really believe she would
have a fit. If we wait a few days, as she suggests, you may trust her
to have everything ready for us; and indeed, Laurence, I was thinking
just before nurse's letter came that it seemed hardly kind of me to go
away when aunt is ill and all alone. She will be able to come with us
to Romary in a week, she says, if we can wait till then."
Mr Cheviott did not at once answer.
"It is unlucky," he said at last; "but, as far as I am concerned, I must
not put off going home, and Mrs Golding's feelings must just make the
best of it. But you had better stay here a week or so, Alys, I see
that, so you can tell my aunt so."
"Thank you," said Alys; "but I wish you could stay too."
But "No, it is really impossible," was her brother's reply, and soon
after he went out.
Alys did not see him again till about an hour before dinner-time.
"Is my aunt up yet?" he inquired, as he came in, and even in the tone
with which he uttered the two or three words she could perceive a
cheerfulness which had not been his in the morning.
"No," she replied, "but she says she will come into the drawing-room
after dinner. She is much better."
"Ah, well, then, if I am not to see her till after dinner, you must tell
her from me that I have taken the liberty of inviting a friend to dinner
in her name. Fancy, Alys, almost the first person I ran against this
morning was Arthur. He only came up to town yesterday for a few days to
settle something about this new farm-house that his head's running
upon--so lucky we met!"
"Yes, very. I shall be so glad to see him," said Alys, heartily. "But
what a pity, Laurence, that you have to go just as he has come. It
would have been so nice for all of us to go home together."
Mr Cheviott hesitated.
"I am not, after all, perfectly certain that I shall go down to Romary
quite so soon as I said. Part--in fact, the chief part--of my business
was with Arthur, and if he stays in town a few days too, we may all go
down to Romary together, as you wish."
"That's very nice of you, Laurence. I really think my training is
beginning to do you good. Aunt, of course, will be delighted to see
Arthur, but I will go and tell her about it now."
She was leaving the room when her brother called her back. "Remember,"
he said, "I haven't _promised_," but Alys laughed and shook her head,
and ran off.
"I can manage Arthur," she thought, "if it depends on him. But I am
sure there is something Laurence has not told me that has annoyed him
lately, though he looks happier to-night--I wonder what it is all
about."
Captain Beverley was a great favourite with Miss Winstanley, whose
affection for her nephew--her half-brother's son--Laurence Cheviott, was
considerably tempered with awe. But with Arthur she always felt at
ease.
"It is not that I mind being laughed at, now and then," she would
confide to Alys, pathetically, "but with Laurence I really never feel
sure if he is laughing at me or not. Of course he is never wanting in
real respect, and he is the best of nephews in every way, but I can't
deny that I am frightened of him, and, however _you_ laugh at me, my
dear, you can't laugh me out of it. I always have been afraid of
Laurence, ever since he was a baby, I believe. He has had such a
dreadfully _superior_ sort of way of looking at one, and saying, `What
for does you do that?'"
"What a dreadful baby he must have been! I always tell him he was never
snubbed as much as would have been for his good," Alys would reply, upon
which her aunt would observe, with a sigh, that it was "far too late in
the day to think of anything of the kind _now_."
Her spirits rose greatly when she heard that Arthur was coming to
dinner.
"I really think I feel well enough to dine with you, after all," she
said to Alys. "It would certainly seem more hospitable, as Arthur is
coming, and I don't like to get the character of exaggerating my
ailments," and Alys agreed with her that if she were "well wrapped up,"
the exertion of going down two flights of stairs to the dining-room was
not likely to do her any harm.
"But you know, aunt, you mustn't eat too much at dinner," said Alys,
gravely, "for if you feed a cold you'll have to starve a fever. A
little soup and a spoonful of jelly--anything more might be very
dangerous."
"Naughty girl, _you_ are laughing at me now," remonstrated poor Miss
Winstanley, but Alys assured her solely that she was "quite, quite in
earnest."
And the _partie carree_ was a very cheerful one. Laurence seemed more
light of heart than he had been for some time; Arthur, whose state of
spirits was, to give him his due, seldom such as to cause his friends
much anxiety, was even gayer and merrier than usual, almost feverishly
so, it seemed to Alys once or twice, and yet again, when she caught his
eyes fixed upon her with a sort of appealing anxiety in their expression
that she never remembered to have seen in them before, she could have
fancied, were such a fancy possible in connection with so light-hearted
and thoughtless a being, that he, in his turn, had something on his
mind. Could the mantle of Laurence's recent anxiety have fallen upon
him? she asked herself. It seemed so strange to associate anxiety of
any kind with Arthur that she tried to dismiss the idea, and told
herself that she must have grown morbid from being so much alone with
Laurence, and fancying he was vexed or annoyed whenever he looked dull.
"Then it is all nicely settled about our staying in town, and going down
to Romary together. It all depends on you, Arthur."
Captain Beverley looked surprised.
"On _me_!" he exclaimed, "how do you mean? I thought it all depended on
Miss Winstanley's sore throat."
"Oh! no. Laurence's staying has nothing to do with aunt. He said he
had business with you, but that you could settle it in town as well as
at Romary, if you could stay--and so you will stay, won't you? It would
be so much nicer to go down all together."
Captain Beverley looked increasingly mystified.
"I don't understand--" he was beginning, but Mr Cheviott, whose
attention had been caught by the sound of his own name, interrupted him.
"It is Alys herself who does not understand," he said, good-humouredly,
but not without a little constraint. "If you had been still at that
delightful farm-house of yours, Arthur, I would have joined you there,
and talked over these improvements. But that can wait, I dare say, and
if you care to go into the financial part of it, we can do that in town
as well. You are not in a hurry to go back to your new quarters, are
you? You will wait and go back with us to Romary, as Alys wishes, won't
you?" Captain Beverley looked a little surprised, and a little
disconcerted. He was not prepared for his cousin's sudden interest in
his improvements at Hathercourt, and hardly understood it, for hitherto
Mr Cheviott had looked somewhat coldly on the schemes Arthur was full
of, and he was still less prepared to be cross-questioned as to his
length of stay in town, which in his own mind he had decided was to be a
very short one.
"Thank you," he said, with a little hesitation. "I should like to go
over the plans for the Edge with you very much. But as to my staying in
town another week, I really can't say. I only ran up for a couple of
days, and there are lots of things waiting for me to settle about at
Hathercourt."
"You are becoming quite a man of business, I see," and Alys fancied that
Arthur winced a little.
She felt sorry that she had said anything about their plans till she
could have seen Arthur alone, for somehow she had managed to cause an
uncomfortable feeling--the cheerfulness of the little party seemed to
have flown; Laurence grew silent and abstracted; Alys tried nervously to
hit upon a safe subject of conversation. Fortune favoured her.
"By-the-bye, Arthur," she said, suddenly, "have you heard anything about
the Brocklehurst ball? When it is to be, I mean. Some one said
something about its being earlier than usual, and I shall be rather
glad, for it will be less likely to interfere with other things than
when it is so near Christmas time."
Captain Beverley looked up in surprise.
"It is to be in a fortnight--in less than a fortnight, indeed, on the
fourth, and to-day is the twenty-third," he replied. "Did you not know?
I supposed you had made all your arrangements."
"Oh! I am so sorry!" exclaimed Alys. "I had all sorts of plans in my
head, and now it will be too late."
"What will be too late? What are you talking about?" said Mr Cheviott;
and when Alys explained, he looked rather ashamed of himself.
"I should have told you, Alys, but I completely forgot about it. I
found a letter here last night when we arrived, asking us to go to
Cleavelands on the twenty-second, and go to Brocklehurst with a party
from there. You would like that, wouldn't you?"
But Alys's face did not brighten up as he expected.
"I thought you liked the Cleaves so much," he said.
"Yes, I do. I like young Mrs Cleave very much. It isn't that. It is
only that I had set my heart on going from Romary, and asking nice
people to go with us."
"So we might have done, but for this visit to Paris," said Mr Cheviott.
"But it can't be helped. There will be more balls in the neighbourhood
before the winter is over."
"Arthur," said Alys, suddenly, but in a low voice, when, later in the
evening, she had got Captain Beverley to herself in a corner of the
drawing-room--"Arthur, do you know what I had set my heart on for the
Brocklehurst ball."
"What sort of dress, do you mean?" said her cousin. "No, I certainly do
not know, and I am perfectly sure I couldn't possibly guess. So you had
better tell me."
"I don't mean a _dress_," said Alys, contemptuously, "I meant a _plan_."
Captain Beverley did not at once answer.
"A _plan_, I say, Arthur, don't you hear?" repeated Alys, impatiently.
"I beg your pardon," exclaimed Arthur, rallying his attention. "A plan
to show me, did you say? For my new farm-house? It is very good of you
to trouble about it."
"Oh! Arthur, how provoking you are! What is the matter with you?"
exclaimed Alys. "Of course it wasn't that sort of plan I was talking
of. It was a plan of mine--one that I had made in my head, don't you
understand? It was about the Brocklehurst ball. I wanted to coax
Laurence into letting me call on the Westerns, Arthur, the Westerns at
Hathercourt, you know, and then I would have got him to let me ask
them--the girls, of course, I mean--to come to stay at Romary for two or
three days, and go to the ball with us. Wouldn't it have been nice,
Arthur? It would have been a treat for them, as the children say. They
are such pretty, nice girls, and I am sure they don't have many
`treats'."
She looked up in Arthur's face with eager, sparkling eyes, and this time
she had no need to recall his attention. His eyes were sparkling too,
his colour rose, his voice even seemed to her to shake a little with
suppressed excitement as he replied to her:
"Alys, you are the best and nicest girl in the world. It was just like
you, you dear good child, to think of such a thing, and I thank you--I
always shall thank you for it with all my heart. I felt sure," he went
on, more quietly--"I felt sure I should find I might count upon you, and
now I know it. I have a great deal to tell you, Alys, and I--"
But at this moment Mr Cheviott's voice was heard.
"Alys," he was saying, "are you not going to play a little? What
mischief are Arthur and you concocting over there?"
He came towards them as he spoke. Captain Beverley had laid his hand on
Alys's in his eagerness, his face was flushed, his whole manner and air
might easily have been mistaken for those of an accepted or would-be
lover, and the start with which he threw himself back on his own chair
as his cousin approached, increased the apparent awkwardness of the
situation. But Alys, though her cheeks were rosier, her eyes brighter
than their wont, answered quietly and without confusion:
"We are not concocting mischief, Laurence," she said; "we are too wise
and sensible for anything of the kind, as you might know by this time.
We'll have another talk about our _plans_ to-morrow, Arthur. Come and
sing something now to please aunt, as she made an effort to do you
honour by coming down to dinner."
And the _tete-a-tete_ between the cousins was not renewed that evening,
nor, as Alys had proposed, "to-morrow," for Arthur did not make his
appearance at Miss Winstanley's the next day at all. Mr Cheviott saw
him and went with him to the architect's, and brought back word that he
was over head and ears in model pig-sties and shippons.
"And in farm-houses too," he said. "I think it very foolish of him to
lay out money on doing much to the house itself. It is quite good
enough as it is for the sort of bailiff he should get."
"Oh, then, he does not intend to live at Hathercourt Edge himself,"
remarked Miss Winstanley.
Mr Cheviott turned upon her rather sharply.
"Live there himself!" he exclaimed, "of course not. What could have put
such an idea in your head, my dear aunt? At the most, all the income he
can possibly hope to make out of Hathercourt will be within three
hundred a year, and he has quite three thousand a year independent of
that; he could have no possible motive for settling at Hathercourt."
"But is there not some condition attached to Arthur's fortune?" said
Miss Winstanley, vaguely. "I remember something about it, and he said
the other day that he would not be of age for two years."
"No; by his father's will he is not to be considered of age till he is
twenty-seven."
"Then I should say it would be a very good thing for him to settle down
at Hathercourt for two years and learn farming before he has to manage
Lydon for himself," said Alys.
"_Nonsense_, Alys," said her brother, severely. "What can you possibly
know about anything of the kind?"
But Alys did not appear snubbed.
"I rather suspect Arthur has some plan of the kind in his head, whether
Laurence thinks it nonsense or not," she remarked to her aunt, when they
were by themselves in the drawing-room. "By-the-bye, aunt, what did you
mean about there being some sort of condition attached to Arthur's
getting his property? I never heard of it."
"Oh, I don't know, my dear. I dare say I have got hold of the wrong end
of the story--I very often do," said Miss Winstanley, nervously, for
something in Mr Cheviott's manner had made her suspect she was
trenching on forbidden ground. "And besides, if you have never been
told anything about it, it shows that, if there is anything to hear,
Laurence did not wish you to hear it."
"Laurence forgets sometimes that I am no longer a child," retorted Alys,
drawing herself up. "However, it doesn't matter. If Arthur looks upon
me as a sister, it is best I should hear all about his affairs from
himself. But, Aunt Fanny," she continued, in a softer tone, "was there
not something unhappy about Arthur's parents? Laurence has alluded to
it sometimes before me, and I have often wondered what it was."
"It was just everything," replied Miss Winstanley, sadly, "the marriage
was a most foolish one. They were utterly unsuited to each other, and
it was just misery from beginning to end."
"Was Arthur's mother not a lady?" asked Alys.
"Oh, yes; you could not have called her unladylike," replied Miss
Winstanley. "It was not that--she married Mr Beverley without any
affection for him, entirely for the sake of his position. She was older
than he, and her people were very poor, and scheming, I suppose, and he
was infatuated."
"And then he found out what a mistake he had made?"
"Oh, it was most miserable. And Edward, Arthur's father, you know, was
no one to make the best of such a state of things. He was always so
hot-headed and impulsive, and he had offended all his friends by his
marriage. Your mother, Alys, poor dear, was the only one who stood by
him. And he was grateful to her; yes, he certainly was."
"But she died," said Alys. "How sad it all sounds!"
"Yes, she died, but Edward did not long survive her. He was never a
strong man, and he was utterly disappointed and broken down. The last
time I saw him, Alys, was with you in his arms--a tiny trot you were--
and Arthur playing about. Poor Edward was trying to see some likeness
to your mother in you, and he was impressing upon Arthur that he must
take care of you, and be very good to you always."
"And so he has been--always," replied Alys. "Next to Laurence, aunt, I
do not think there is any one in the world I care for more than for
Arthur. I would do anything for him, _anything_, just as I would for
Laurence."
"What are you saying about me, eh, Alys?" said Mr Cheviott, catching
her last words as he entered the room.
"No harm," said Alys. "We have not been speaking about you at all till
just this minute. I was asking Aunt Fanny about Arthur's father and
mother, and why they did not get on happily together."
An expression of surprise and some annoyance crossed Mr Cheviott's
face.
"It is not a pleasant subject," he said, coldly.
"I dare say not," said Alys, fearlessly, "but one must come across
unpleasant subjects sometimes in life. And, I think, Laurence, you
forget now and then that I am no longer a child. All the same you
needn't look daggers at poor aunt. She hasn't told me anything,
hardly--and it is natural I should wish to hear; for whatever concerns
Arthur must interest me."
Mr Cheviott's brow relaxed.
"I did not mean `to look daggers,' as you say, at Aunt Fanny or you
either. Of course it is natural, and some day I shall probably tell you
more about it," he said, kindly. "It's a queer thing," he added, with
apparent irrelevance, almost as if speaking to himself, "that people who
make mistakes in life are punished more severely than actually
unprincipled people.--I have written to Mrs Cleave, accepting her
invitation," he continued, with a sudden change of tone. "Don't you
want some new dresses, Alys? You had not much opportunity for shopping
in Paris, after all, you know."
"But I made the best use of what I had. I am very well stocked for the
present. If I remember anything I want I'll get Arthur to go shopping
with me to-morrow."
To-morrow came and went, and no Arthur made his appearance. Nor was
anything seen of him the next day, or the day after that either. It was
not till the Tuesday following that he called again, two days only
before that fixed for their journey home.
"We thought you had gone back to Hathercourt without waiting for us,"
said Mr Cheviott, eyeing his cousin somewhat curiously as he spoke.
But Alys, whom Arthur's absence had hurt and disappointed more than she
would have cared to confess, said nothing; only she, too, looked at him,
and so looking, it seemed to her that his colour changed a little, and
forthwith her indignation melted away, to be replaced by anxiety and
concern. And these feelings were not decreased by his manner of
excusing himself.
"I was afraid you would be thinking me very rude," he said, with a sort
of nervous deprecation new to him, "but I have really been very busy."
"Then I don't think being very busy can agree with you," remarked Mr
Cheviott, "you look thoroughly done up."
"_Have_ you been ill, Arthur?" said Alys, kindly.
Arthur started. "Ill; oh dear, no," he exclaimed; "never was better in
my life;" but he smiled at Alys in his old way as he spoke, and seemed
grateful for her cordiality.
But Alys was not satisfied about him. She determined to have "a good
talk" with him, and did her best to make an opportunity for it; but
somehow the opportunity never came. Neither that day nor the next, nor
the day on which they all travelled down to Withenden together could she
succeed in executing her intention. And at last it suddenly dawned upon
her that Arthur was purposely avoiding ever being alone with her, and,
hurt and perplexed, she determined to take his hint, and interfere no
more in his affairs. Girl-like, she went at once to the extreme, till,
in his turn, Captain Beverley was wounded by the marked change in her
behaviour.
"What have I done to offend you, Alys?" he asked, one or two mornings
after their arrival at Romary, when Miss Cheviott and he happened to be
by themselves in the breakfast-room before the others had made their
appearance.
"Nothing," said Alys; "you have done nothing, only you seem to have
changed to me, Arthur. I used to think you looked upon me quite as a
sister, and now when I see you have something on your mind, something
you should be glad to consult a sister about--and you did tell me a
little, you know, Arthur, that evening in town--you repel my sympathy,
and tell me, your _sister_, Arthur, nothing."
She looked at him reproachfully, but his answer was scarcely what she
had expected.
"How I wish you _were_ my sister, Alys," was all he said.
All, perhaps, that he had time to say, for just then Mr Cheviott's step
was heard in the hall.
"That would not make it any better," said Alys, with a sigh, in a low
voice; "if I were your sister I could not care for you more, and you
don't care for me now."
"It isn't that," said Arthur, hastily. "I do care for you just the same
as ever, Alys, but--"
He stopped abruptly as his cousin came in.