|BY the time Lady Lisgard returned to the Abbey, notwithstanding that
the sleek bays had devoured the road with all the haste of which their
condition permitted, it was long past the breakfast-hour, and her
absence from that meal provoked no little comment from the members of
her family. Nobody was able to allay their curiosity as to what could
have taken mamma to Dalwynch, but Miss Aynton did her best to stimulate
it.
“She has gone upon Mary Forest's account,” said she--“that is all I can
tell you. I never knew any one take such trouble about her maids as dear
Lady Lisgard.”
“Yes, Rose,” replied Letty warmly; “but it is not every maid who has
lived with her mistress thirty years. I believe Mary would lay down her
very life for dear mamma, and indeed for any of us. Whenever I read
those stupid letters in the papers about there being no good old
servants to be seen now a days, I long to send the editor a list of
our people at the Abbey. Mary, indeed, is quite a new acquisition
in comparison with Wiggins and the gardener; but then she is almost
faultless. I have heard mamma say that there has never been a word
between them.”
“Not between them, indeed, Letty,” returned Miss Aynton laughing; “for
Mistress Forest has all the talk to herself.”
Sir Richard smiled grimly, for Mary had been in his bad books ever since
her attachment to “that vagabond Derrick.”
“Good, Miss Rose!” cried Walter--“very good. I wish I could say as much
for this so-called new-laid egg. Why should eggs be of different
degrees of freshness? Why not all fresh? Why are they ever permitted to
accumulate?”
“My egg is very good,” observed Sir Richard sententiously; “how is
yours, Miss Aynton?” and he laid an emphasis upon the name, in tacit
reproof to his brother for having been so familiar as to say “Miss
Rose.”
“Well, Sir Richard, I am London-bred, you know, and therefore your
country eggs, by comparison, are excellent.”
“I wish I could think,” said the baronet with stateliness, “that in
other matters we equally gained by contrast with Town, in your opinion.”
“I believe London is the place to get everything good,” remarked Walter
sharply.
“We are going to-day, Miss Aynton,” continued the baronet, without
noticing the interruption, “to offer you something which really
cannot be got in town, and which hitherto the state of the weather has
forbidden even here”----
“Ah, for shame, Richard!” interrupted Letty, holding up her hands. “Now,
that was to be a surprise for Rose.--It's a picnic, my dear. I daresay
now you scarcely know _what_ that is.”
“I can tell you, then,” ejaculated Walter with acidity: “it's packing
up all the things you would have in the ordinary course at luncheon in
a comfortable manner--except the bread, or something equally necessary,
which is always left behind--and carrying them about six miles to the
top of an unprotected hill--in this particular case, to a tower without
a roof to it--there to be eaten without tables or chairs, and in
positions the most likely to produce indigestion that the human body can
adapt itself to.”
“I have always been told that being in a bad humour is the most certain
thing to cause what you eat to disagree with you,” observed Letty
demurely.--“Never mind what Walter says. I am sure you will be
delighted, dear Rose; we are going to Belcomb, a sort of shooting-box
belonging to us, about five miles away, and built by grandpapa.”
“Commonly termed 'Lisgard's Folly,'” added Master Walter.
“Not by his descendants, however, I should hope, with one exception,”
observed Sir Richard haughtily.--“I will thank you, Walter, not to cut
my newspaper.”
Master Walter had seized the paper-knife as though it had been a more
deadly weapon, and was engaged in disembowelling one of a multiplicity
of newspapers which had just arrived by post.
“I did not see it was yours,” returned he. “Goodness knows, nobody wants
to read the _Court Journal_ but yourself. The idea of not liking one's
newspaper cut!”
“Yes, I must say, my dear Richard,” said Letty, playfully patting her
elder brother, next to whom she sat, upon the shoulder, “that is a most
singular objection of yours, I think it certainly proves that you will
always remain an old bachelor.”
Sir Richard maintained a frowning silence. Master Walter twirled his
silken moustache, and looked up at Miss Aynton with a meaning smile.
“What is your opinion upon the subject,” said he, “Miss Rose?”
“Insolent!” exclaimed Sir Richard, rising so hastily that he knocked
over the chair on which he had been sitting. “How dare you ask such
questions in my presence?”
“Richard, Richard!” cried a reproving voice; and lo! at the open door
stood my Lady, hollow-eyed and pale, and with such a weariness and
melancholy in her tones as would have touched most hearts.--“Am I ever
to find you and Walter quarrelling thus?--Yes, I have heard all, and
think you both to blame; but nothing can excuse this violence. If I have
any authority in this house at all, not another word, I beg.”
Sir Richard bit his lip, but resumed his seat; Walter went on quietly
dissecting the _Illustrated London News_, with an air of intense
interest; Miss Aynton very accurately traced the pattern of her plate
with her fork; Letty, the innocent cause of the outbreak, shed silent
tears. Altogether, the family picture was gloomy, and the situation
embarrassing. My Lady reaped this advantage, however, that nobody asked
her a word about her expedition to Dalwynch.
“Do not let me detain you at table, my dear Letty,” said she, breaking
a solemn pause. “Miss Aynton was so good as to make my coffee this
morning, and therefore it is only fair that she should perform the same
kind office now.”
Glad enough of this excuse to leave the room--a movement felt by all to
be very difficult of imitation--Letty rushed up stairs to indulge in a
good cry in her own bedroom, “the upper system of fountains” only having
been yet in play. Sir Richard gloomily stalked away towards the stables;
Walter lounged into the hall, lit a cigar, and paced to and fro upon the
terrace beneath the windows of the breakfast-room, with both his hands
in his pockets. Whiffs of his Havana, and scraps of the opera tune which
he was humming, came in at the open window, to those who yet remained.
My Lady had much too good taste to dislike the smell of good tobacco,
and the air which he had chosen was a favourite one with her; perhaps
Master Walter hummed it upon that account. He was to leave the Abbey
next day to join his regiment--although not immediately. It was only
natural he should wish to spend a few days in London after he had had so
much of the quiet of Mirk, and yet my Lady grudged them. How pleasant
everything about him was; how dull the Abbey would be without him; what
a sad pity it was that he and Sir Richard got on so ill. If she were
to die, would they not turn their hacks on one another for ever, and he
brothers no more; and if something worse than Death were to happen to
her----No, she would not think of that. Had not all that could be done
to avert such utter ruin been done that very morning? There was surely
no immediate peril now--no necessity for such excessive caution and
self-restraint as she had been obliged of late months to exercise; it
was something to have breathing-space and liberty.
“I hope you are coming with us to the picnic, Lady Lisgard, now that
that horrid man has gone?” said a cold quiet voice.
My Lady, looking out of window at her favourite son, and lost in gloomy
depths of thought, had entirely forgotten that she had invited Miss
Rose Aynton to bear her company. She did not venture to look upon her
questioner's face, though she felt that it was fixed on hers, reading
Heaven knew what. How had she dared to think of liberty with this
domestic spy under her very roof! What should she answer to this
dreadful question? Something this girl must know, or must suspect, or
she would never have ventured thus to allude a second time to the man
Derrick, after her rebuff in the morning. Above all things, she would
follow Mistress Forest's advice, and get Miss Aynton out of Mirk Abbey.
She had intended to speak to her respecting what had just occurred
at the breakfast-table; that would also offer an opportunity to say
something more.
“Yes, Rose, I am going with you to Belcomb. It is a very favourite spot
of mine--very. It was about that expedition, partly, that I wished
to speak with you. I was about to ask you to be very careful in your
conduct towards my sons this day. It is the last time they will be
together for weeks, perhaps. Be kind to my poor Richard. Of course,
Walter knew nothing of what has passed between you and his brother; but
the bow which he drew at a venture sent home a barbed shot.”
Miss Aynton bowed her head.
“You were sorry for that, Rose, I know. You cannot fail to see how
irritable he has lately grown, poor fellow. The fact is, he has
overestimated the strength of his own powers of self-constraint. Your
presence is a perpetual trial to him.” My Lady paused, anticipating some
reply to a hint so palpable; but Miss Aynton, who carried her fancy-work
in her pocket, continued to develop a pansy in floss silk; and the
flower opened in silence.
“Under these circumstances, dear Rose,” pursued my Lady, “do you not
think it would be better--I know how embarrassing it would be to you to
propose it, and therefore, although your hostess, I relieve you of the
task--do you not think it would, on the whole, be wiser for you to leave
us a little sooner than you had intended?”
The humming of the opera tune, and the odour of the Havana, were growing
more distinct, and the elastic footfall on the gravel was coming very
near.
“If I consulted my own feelings,” returned Miss Aynton, in firm, clear
tones, “I should certainly have left Mirk before this, Lady Lisgard.”
“Hush, Miss Aynton, for Heaven's sake!” cried my Lady, “the window is
open.”
“But unless Sir Richard himself,” pursued the girl in more subdued
accents, “releases me from my promise to remain until after his
birthday, I must, with your permission, madam, do so; otherwise, he
might possibly imagine that _his_ presence is too great a trial
for _me_, and I should be loath indeed to have my departure so
misconstrued.” There was bitterness in the tone with which she spoke,
but determination too.
“I am to understand, then,” returned my Lady flushing, “that contrary to
my advice and wish”----
“Mother, dear, here comes the Break,” cried Master Walter, from the
terrace beneath, in his ringing cheerful tones. “I hope you have told
Roberts about the prog.”
“Yes, dear, yes,” answered my Lady, lovingly even in her haste; then
turning to the young girl, she whispered almost fiercely: “At least,
Miss Aynton, you will shape your behaviour this afternoon as I
requested. There is no time now to discuss the other matter.”
And indeed the butler entered the next moment with: “The Break is at the
door, my Lady.”
Now, the Break was a very roomy vehicle, with accommodation within it
for three times the party who were now about to occupy it, beside two
seats at the back, like flying buttresses, for footmen. Yet Sir Richard
chose to sit upon the box beside the driver, a place only selected
(unless for smoking purposes) by persons with “horsey” characteristics,
who prefer coachman's talk to that of their equals, and among whom the
baronet could not be justly classed; but the fact was, the young man was
in an evil temper, and desired no companionship but his own. He would
have seen the whole expedition at the bottom of the sea--a metaphor open
to the gravest objections, but which he used while arguing the
matter with himself aloud--if it were not that that fellow Walter was
going--and--and--he was not going to let _him_ have all the talk to
himself, that was all. True, Sir Richard had given up the idea of
transforming Miss Aynton into Lady Lisgard; but still it was not
pleasant to see another man making himself exclusively agreeable to
her. He was annoyed with himself at having exhibited such passion at
the breakfast-table, for the more he thought of it, the more he felt
convinced that Walter's remark, although doubtless intended to be
offensive, had not been made with any knowledge of his own rejected
suit. Still, he was in a very bad temper,-and listened to the
conversation going on behind his back with a moody brow, and every now
and then a parting of the lips, through which escaped something the
reverse of a prayer.
It was Walter, of course, who was talking.
“Inhabited!” said he in answer to some question of Miss Aynton's; “O
dear, no. Belcomb never had a tenant but once, and I should think would
never have another. One Sir Heron Grant and his brother took it two
years for the shooting-season: a brace of Scotchmen whose ancestors
dated from the Deluge, but so dreary a couple, that one wished that the
family had started from a still earlier epoch, and been all washed
away.”
“I thought Richard rather liked Sir Heron,” observed Letty simply.
“Yes, because he was a baronet; and birds of the same gorgeous plumage
flock together, you know. There was nothing remarkable about him but his
feathers, and he scarcely ever opened his mouth except to put food in
it. It is said that in the old stage-coach times, he and his brother
travelled from Edinburgh to London, and only uttered one sentence
apiece. At York, the younger brother saw a rat come out of a wheat-rick.
'By Jove,' cried he, 'there's a rat!' The next morning, and after an
interval of about eighty miles, Sir Heron replied: 'Ay, if Towser had
seen that rat, he would have made short work of him.'”
“Well, it appears, they agreed, at all events,” returned Rose coldly.
“After all, even a foolish remark is better than an ill-natured one.”
“The scenery is getting well worth your attention here,” observed Sir
Richard, turning graciously round towards Miss Aynton. “Belcomb is a
complete solitude, but for those who are contented with the pleasures of
the country, it is a pleasant spot enough.”
“Can we see the house from here, Sir Richard?”
“No, not until we reach this Windmill, on the top of the hill. The
private road branches out from the highway at that spot; and the mill
is the nearest inhabited house to Belcomb.--By the by, mother, Hathaway
must be spoken to about those sails of his--there, you saw how even old
Jenny started at them--it is positively dangerous for horses to pass
by. He must build up that old wall a foot higher, and put a gate up.
Any stray cattle might wander in and get knocked down--the sails are so
close to the ground.”
Master Walter had not at all relished Miss Aynton's rejoinder to
his story; still less had he liked his brother's striking into the
conversation; least of all did he approve of this landlord talk about
repairs and alterations, which reminded him of his being a younger son,
and having neither part nor lot in the great Lisgard heritage.
“There's the Folly,” cried he suddenly, with a view of changing the
subject; “upon that cliff-like hill yonder, above that belt of trees.”
“What, that beautiful ivied tower!” exclaimed Rose.
“Yes; without a roof to it.”
“Well, at all events, it's very pretty,” said Miss Aynton reprovingly.
“I am sure, Mr Walter, you ought to be grateful to your grandpapa for
building so picturesque an edifice.”
“He might have made a road, however, to it,” observed Walter
satirically; “a road and a roof, I do consider to be indispensable.”
“There's a beautiful winding path through the wood, Rose,” said Letty,
“fifty times better than any road; and is not the piece of water
charming? It is the only one with any pretension to be called a Lake in
all the county.”
Certainly Belcomb deserved praise. A small but comfortably furnished
house, embosomed in trees, through which were the pleasantest peeps of
hill and dale, and spread before it quite a crystal tarn, with rocky
islands so picturesquely grouped that they almost gave the notion of
being artificial. It was as though a segment of the Lake-country had
been cut off, and inserted into the very midst of Wheatshire.
It was as lonely, too, to all appearance, as any Cumberland mère. An
old man and his wife, who were in charge of the place, came hirpling
out with respectful welcomes, and the latter was about to remove the
shutters of the drawing-room, when my Lady interposed.
“No, Rachel; we will not trouble you to do that. We are going to picnic
at the Tower. You seem quite surprised to see us so early. I suppose
nobody has been here yet upon the same errand.”
“Well, no, ma'am; nor is it likely, after your orders”----
“Oh, the fact is, mother,” interrupted Sir Richard with a little
stammer, “I forgot to tell you about it; but Rinkel informs me there has
been considerable damage done by parties coming here from Dalwynch and
other places, and therefore he has put up a Notice to prohibit the whole
thing in future.”
And, indeed, upon the path leading to “the Folly,” which could be
approached by another way than that in front of the house, they
presently came upon a board recently erected, which threatened
Trespassers with all the rigour of the law.
There was a bitter sneer upon Captain Lisgard's handsome face, at this
assumption of authority upon the part of his brother, and it did
not soften when my Lady thoughtfully remarked: “Ah, well; that will
certainly make the place very private.”
A curious reply, as Letty thought, at the time, for her mother to make,
who was always so eager to oblige her neighbours, and who well knew how
popular Lisgard's Folly was with the humbler class of townsfolk in the
summer months. But she was destined to be vastly more astonished before
that day was spent.
The little party, so strangely out of accord with one another, took
their lunch, indeed, beneath the shadow of the Tower; but all those
harmonious elements which are so absolutely essential to the success
of a picnic were wanting. There were no high spirits, no good-humoured
badinage, and not the ghost of a laugh. My Lady, singularly silent even
for her, gazed around her on the familiar landscape, or regarded the
shuttered cottage with a mournful interest, as though they reminded her
of happier times. Miss Aynton, careful of what my Lady had enjoined, was
studiously urbane to Sir Richard, but without obtaining the wished-for
result; for while the baronet was thereby only rendered tolerably
gracious, the captain grew intensely irritated. Poor Letty, who was the
only one prepared to be agreeable, or had any expectation of enjoying
herself, felt immensely relieved when the repast was concluded, and the
horses were ordered to be “put to.” As for strolling about the grounds,
and pointing out their varied beauties to Rose, as she had counted
upon doing, that was no longer to be thought of. Sir Richard, as usual,
offered his arm in stately fashion to his mother; but Master Walter,
lighting a cigar, stood for a few minutes looking down with knitted brow
upon the lake, then sauntered after them, without saying a word, and
with both hands in his pockets.
“Dear Rose,” cried Letty, who watched these proceedings with little
short of terror, “what have you said to make Walter so cross? I never
saw him behave like that in my life. He did not even look at you. Would
it be very wrong if you just ran after him, and said a word or two
before we got into the carriage? I am so dreadfully afraid of a quarrel
between him and Richard.”
“Just as you please, Letty,” returned Miss Aynton, looking pale, and a
little frightened too; and forcing a laugh, she tripped down the zigzag
path in pursuit of the exasperated captain.
Letty waited a reasonable time, watching the footman collect the débris
of the entertainment, and pack the plate, and then, supposing their
difficulty had been adjusted, followed upon the track of her friend and
Walter. The path was not only of considerable length, but so very steep,
that one little zigzag overhung another; thus, as she descended, she
perceived through the thin Spring foliage the two young people standing
beneath her, although they were quite unconscious of her approach. She
caught the last words of something Rose was saying; those were: “Walter,
dear.” She marked the girl stretch her arms towards him, as though
she would have clasped them round his neck; and then she saw Captain
Lisgard, of her Majesty's Light Dragoons, put her roughly by, shake
himself free of her with a movement expressive almost of loathing, and
turn upon his heels with an oath.