A THUNDERBOLT
While the rain was beating with monotonous persistence upon the oriel
windows of Pen-y-Gros Castle, Araminta was summoned to Aunt Caroline’s
boudoir. So little did that artless being suspect calamity that she
obeyed the summons joyfully, because she felt convinced that Aunt
Caroline was to confer with her as to whether Muffin would like to stay
still longer. But it proved to be something else.
Aunt Caroline was looking very bleak and formidable, and Lord Cheriton,
who was present also, had never seemed so much like a parent, so
benevolently unbending was his manner.
“Girl,” said Aunt Caroline--she very seldom addressed Araminta in any
other style than “Girl”--“sit there and try not to behave foolishly. I
am going to speak about your future.”
So little was Araminta preoccupied with things in general that she
hardly knew that she had such a thing as a future. However, with
her usual docility, she sat upon the chair that Aunt Caroline had
indicated, and proceeded to give her best attention to her august
relation.
“I will be brief,” said Aunt Caroline, with an extremely businesslike
air. “My old friend Lord Cheriton has been good enough to take an
interest in you, and if you are a good girl he will marry you. You have
no objection, I presume?”
It was clear by Aunt Caroline’s tone that she merely asked the last
question as a matter of form. But that brisk old worldling went a
little too quickly for her niece Araminta, who was really a very
slow-witted creature. Some little time had to pass before she could
accept the purport of Aunt Caroline’s announcement. And when at last
she was able to do so it literally took away her breath.
Aunt Caroline allowed the creature quite thirty seconds in which to
reply. No reply being forthcoming in that space of time, she proceeded
to address her as though she were a prisoner at the bar.
“Well, girl,” said Aunt Caroline, “what have you to say?”
Araminta had nothing to say apparently. But from the uppermost forehead
to the depths of the neck, a slowly deepening wave of scarlet was
spreading over the whole surface of her frank and vividly colored
countenance.
“Humph!” said Aunt Caroline; “no objection apparently.” She then
addressed a third person very succinctly. “Cheriton,” said she, “I
congratulate you. You are not everybody’s choice, and I must confess to
some surprise that no objection has been urged. That is the Wargrave
in her, I dare say. The Wargraves have always known how to accept the
inevitable. They have often gone to the scaffold rather than make a
pother.”
“Family pride again, my dear Caroline,” said Cheriton, in a voice of
honey. “Still, in the circumstances, perhaps a slight display of it is
pardonable. History is not my strong point, but I seem to remember that
between the age of Edward VI. and the age of Victoria the Wargraves
went oftener to the scaffold than anywhere else. To a layman that
always appears to be one of the baffling points about the pride of old
families. If we go back far enough we generally find that a lawyer who
was too astute to be honest established their fortunes; or a fellow who
managed to cheat the troops in Flanders of their food and clothing.”
“Don’t be a coxcomb, Cheriton,” said Caroline, sharply. “Remember my
niece. I shall expect you to be good to her. Fortunately for herself
she has no brains, but she eats well and sleeps well, she is quite
healthy in every respect, and her disposition is affectionate.”
“Our dear Miss Goose is perfectly charming,” said Cheriton, ogling Miss
Perry, who by this time was trembling violently, and who sat in solemn
scarlet consternation. “I am the proudest man in England.”
Caroline Crewkerne raised a finger.
“You have said enough, Cheriton,” said she. “I have my own opinion
about the transaction, but I am inclined to think the creature might
have done worse. You can go now, girl. Don’t mention this matter to
your sister until you have my permission to do so.”
Miss Perry rose with her usual docility, but in her countenance was
an ever-deepening scarlet. She moved slowly and heavily to the door
of the boudoir without speaking a word, either to her aunt or to Lord
Cheriton. Her hand was already upon the door when she turned round and
faced the former. The blue eyes were full of dismay.
“If you please, Aunt Caroline,” she drawled in her ridiculous manner,
“I don’t _quite_ think I can marry Lord Cheriton.”
The old woman sat up in her chair in the manner of a Lord Chief Justice
who has been confronted with a flagrant contempt of court.
“What do you mean, girl?” said she. “You don’t _quite_ think you can
marry Lord Cheriton. Explain your meaning.”
In the most favorable circumstances it was never very easy for Miss
Perry to explain her meaning. In these she seemed to find considerable
difficulty in doing so. Aunt Caroline gave her exactly thirty seconds,
but Miss Perry required longer than that.
“Speak, girl,” said Aunt Caroline. “Are you dumb?”
Miss Perry was not dumb, but speech had never been so tardy.
“Girl, will you have the goodness to explain,” said the old lady, “why
you are not _quite_ able to marry Lord Cheriton?”
At last Miss Perry was able to furnish the required explanation.
“If you please, Aunt Caroline,” she drawled ridiculously, “I have
p-r-r-romised to marry Jim.”
The old lady’s ebony walking-stick fell to the ground so peremptorily
that Ponto was disturbed in his slumbers.
“Jim!” said Aunt Caroline. “Who, pray, is Jim?”
“Jim Lascelles,” said Miss Perry.
“I presume you mean the painting man,” said Aunt Caroline.
“Yes,” said Miss Perry.
There was a pause in which Cheriton and his old friend looked at one
another long and particularly.
“Hand me my stick, girl,” said Aunt Caroline.
Miss Perry did as she was desired. Her manner of doing it seemed to
imply that she expected to receive physical correction.
“Sit down, girl,” said Aunt Caroline.
Miss Perry resumed her chair, doubtless with an emotion of thankfulness
upon her narrow escape.
“I could not have believed it to be possible,” said Aunt Caroline,
speaking very slowly, “that a Wargrave could have been so imprudent, so
ungrateful, so entirely lacking in self-respect.”
This indictment was delivered in the most deliberate and crushing
manner; but a good deal of the effect was marred because Cheriton
laughed outright in the middle of it. Aunt Caroline, however, presented
a haughty indifference to the behavior of the husband-elect, who, of
course, was not himself a Wargrave, and whose behavior in this crisis
showed that fact clearly.
“Are you mad, girl?” said the old lady. “Answer me.”
“Jim is awfully nice,” drawled Miss Perry.
The ebony walking-stick and the head-dress performed a concerted piece
together which filled Ponto with consternation.
“The creature must be a natural.”
Miss Perry grew bolder, however, as the clear conviction that she was
pledged to Jim Lascelles took a firmer hold upon her.
“We shall not marry just yet, don’t you know,” said Miss Perry, with
the air of one who imparts valuable information. “But Jim is going to
get rich so that he can buy back the Red House at Widdiford, and then
we are going to live in it, and it will be too sweet.”
Aunt Caroline having grown incoherent with legitimate anger it devolved
upon Cheriton to say something.
“Capital!” said he, in a most benevolent manner.
This expression of opinion helped Caroline Crewkerne through her crisis.
“You inconceivably foolish girl,” said she. “Have you no sense of
decency?”
“Muffin has p-r-r-romised to wear her mauve at the wedding,” drawled
Miss Perry.
Had not the husband-elect blown his nose very vigorously there is
reason to fear that he would again have been guilty of conduct unlike
that of a Wargrave.
“Silence, girl!” said Aunt Caroline. “Don’t speak another word until
you have permission. This comes of crossing the breed. Now listen to
me. The sooner you remove the man Lascelles from that inconceivably
foolish and demoralized head of yours the better it will be for you.
Where is your self-respect? Where is your sense of decency?”
“Muffin----” said Miss Perry, but she got no farther because an
imperious finger stayed her.
“Don’t speak,” said Aunt Caroline. “Simply listen. Dismiss the man
Lascelles from your mind, and try to remember who you are, and where
you are, and what you are saying. My old friend Lord Cheriton desires
to marry you. Understand that clearly. And he has my permission to do
so. Understand that clearly also. Now you may say something.”
Miss Perry took advantage of this gracious permission to turn to Lord
Cheriton with a charmingly friendly smile upon her scarlet countenance.
“It is so dear of you, Lord Cheriton,” she said, “and if I were not
going to marry Jim I would marry _you_. Perhaps Muffin----”
Aunt Caroline affronted the nerves of Ponto by rapping sharply with her
stick upon the floor.
“You have said sufficient,” said she. “Dismiss the man Lascelles from
your mind once and for all. You are going to marry Lord Cheriton. Is
that quite clear?”
Apparently this was not quite so clear to Miss Perry as it was to Aunt
Caroline. For that Featherbrain opened her eyes so widely that they
seemed to acquire the color of violets, and a look of sheer perplexity
settled upon her frank countenance.
“But if you don’t mind, dearest Aunt Caroline,” said she, “I
p-r-r-romised to marry Jim.”
Aunt Caroline began to storm.
“Is the girl a dolt!” she cried. “Has she no brains at all! Girl, have
the goodness to listen once more. Your father, your brothers, and your
sisters are all poor as mice, are they not?”
“Yes, dearest Aunt Caroline,” said Miss Perry, quite simply.
“Very good. Now heed this carefully. By the terms of your marriage
settlement, which I may say I have been able to arrange not without
difficulty, you will become a countess with six thousand a year in your
own right, with a house to live in, and your father or one of your
brothers will have the reversion of a living worth eleven hundred a
year which is in Lord Cheriton’s gift. Now have you the intelligence to
comprehend all that I have said to you?”
Apparently Miss Perry had. Doubtless her understanding was a
slow-moving and cumbrous mechanism which generally found infinite
difficulty in assimilating the most obvious facts; but it was very
difficult for the most obtuse person to misunderstand Caroline
Crewkerne. Slowly but surely her hard lucidity percolated to the
recesses of Miss Perry’s mind; and just as slowly and as surely as it
did, large solemn tears welled into the eyes that had deepened to the
color of violets. They rolled in ridiculous procession down the crimson
cheeks.
Neither Caroline Crewkerne nor Cheriton was affected easily, but there
was something in the solemn slow-drawn emotion of Miss Perry that
imposed silence upon them. The silence that ensued was uncomfortable
and by tacit consent it was left to Miss Perry herself to terminate it.
“It is so dear of you both,” she said, “to be so good to me. I shall
write to dearest papa about you, but I p-r-r-romised Jim.”
Aunt Caroline snorted.
“And what do you suppose your father will say to you, you simpleton,”
said she, “when he learns what you have done? Now take my advice.
Send the man Lascelles to me. I will deal with him. And then you must
prepare to marry Lord Cheriton some time in October.”
But Miss Perry sat the picture of woe. It is true that in the opinion
of Cheriton she sat a perfectly enchanting picture of it; yet at the
same time it gave him no particular pleasure to observe that the absurd
creature was shedding real tears, tears which somehow seemed almost
majestic in their simple sincerity.
Miss Perry was dismissed with strict instructions not to mention the
subject to anyone.
“What a creature!” said Caroline Crewkerne, when the door had closed
upon her niece.
She contented herself with that expression. As for Cheriton, he gave
an amused shrug and said nothing. For all his nonchalance perhaps he
could not help feeling that he had been tempting Providence. Yet so
ingrained was his habit of cynicism that it may not have occurred to
him that he had anything to fear from Jim Lascelles. The young fellow
had not a shilling in the world; he had a good head on his shoulders;
and he had been brought up properly. That in such circumstances he
should have taken the unpardonable liberty of offering to marry
Caroline Crewkerne’s niece was totally at variance with his knowledge
of the world, and of human nature as he understood it.
Caroline Crewkerne was the first to speak.
“Cheriton,” said she, “we are both of us old enough to know better. In
the first place, you ought not to have brought that man to Hill Street;
and in the second, I ought not to have allowed him to enter the house.
However, the mischief is done. We must now take steps to repair it.”
“I shall be interested, my dear Caroline,” said Cheriton, in his most
agreeable manner, “to learn what the steps are you propose to take.”