IN THE PARK.
The next day was a delightful one in Dolly's experience. Mr. St. Leger
went back to town early in the morning; and as soon as she was free of
him, Dolly's delight began. She attended to her mother, and put her in
comfort; next, she examined the house and its capabilities, and
arranged the little household; and then she gave herself to the garden.
It was an unmitigated wilderness. The roses had grown into irregular,
wide-spreading shrubs, with waving, flaunting branches; yet sweet with
their burden of blushing flowers. Lilac bushes had passed all bounds,
and took up room most graspingly. Hawthorn and eglantine, roses of
Sharon and stocky syringas, and other bushes and climbers, had entwined
and confused their sprays and branches, till in places they formed an
impenetrable mass. In other places, and even in the midst of this
overgrown thicket, jessamine stars peeped out, lilies and violets grew
half smothered, mignonette ran along where it could; even carnations
and pinks were to be seen, in unhappy situations, and daisies and
larkspur and scarlet geraniums, lupins and sweet peas, and I know not
what more old-fashioned flowers, showed their fair faces here and
there. It was bewildering, and beyond Dolly's powers to put in order.
She wished for old Peter's arrival; and meantime cut and trimmed a
little here and there, gathered a nosegay of wildering blossoms,
considered what might be done, and lost herself in the sweet June day.
At last it was growing near lunch time, and she went in. Mrs. Copley
was lying on an old-fashioned lounge; and the room where she lay was
brown with old oak, quaint with its diamond-paned casement windows, and
cool with a general effect of wooden floor and little furniture; while
roses looked in at the open window, and the light was tempered by the
dark panelling and low ceiling. Dolly gave an exclamation of delight.
"What is it?" said Mrs. Copley fretfully.
"Mother, this place is so lovely! and this room,--do you know how
perfectly pretty it is?"
"It isn't half furnished. Not half."
"But it is furnished enough. There are only two of us; and certainly
here are all the things that we want, and a great deal more than we
want; and it is so pretty! so pretty!"
"How long do you suppose there are to be only two of us?"
"I don't know that, mother. Lawrence St. Leger is just gone, and I
don't want him back, for my part. In fact, I don't believe we have
dinner enough for three."
"That's another thing. Where are we going to get anything to eat?"
"Lunch will be ready in a minute, mother."
"What have we got?"
"What you like. Frizzled beef and chocolate."
"I like it,--but I don't suppose it is very nourishing. Where are we to
get what we want, Dolly? how are we to get bread, and butter, and
marketing?"
"There's a village half a mile off. And, here is lunch on the table. We
shall not starve to-day."
Mrs. Copley liked her chocolate and found the bread good. Nevertheless,
she presently began again.
"Are we to live here alone the rest of our lives, Dolly? or what do you
suppose your father's idea is? It's a very lonesome place, seems to me."
"Why, mother, we came here to get you well; and it's enough to make
anybody well. It is the loveliest place I have ever seen, I think. Mr.
St. Leger's grand establishment is nothing to it."
"And what do you mean by what you said about Lawrence St. Leger? Are
you glad to have even _him_ go away?"
"Yes, mother, a little bit. He was rather in my way."
"In your way! that's very ungrateful. How was he in your way?"
"Somebody to attend to, and somebody to attend to me. I like to be let
alone. By and by, when you are sleeping, I shall go over and explore
the park."
"What I don't understand," said Mrs. Copley, recurring to her former
theme, "is, why, if he wanted me to be in the country, your father did
not take a nice house somewhere just a little way out of London,--there
are plenty of such places,--and have things handsome; so that he could
entertain company, and we could see somebody. We can have nobody here.
It looks really quite like poor people."
"That isn't a very bad way to look," said Dolly calmly.
"_Not?_ Like poor people?" cried Mrs. Copley. "Dolly, don't talk folly.
Nobody likes that look, and you don't, either."
"I am not particularly afraid of it. But, mother, we do not want to
entertain company while you are not well, you know."
"No; and so here you are shut up and seeing no creature. I wish we were
at home!"
Dolly did not precisely wish that; not at least till she had had time
to examine this new leaf of nature's book opened to her. And yet she
sighed a response to her mother's words. It was all the response she
made.
She was too tired with her unwonted gardening exertions to go further
exploring that afternoon. It was not till a day or two later, when
Dolly had become somewhat more acquainted with her new life and its
conditions, that she crossed the bridge one fair, warm June evening,
and set her hesitating steps upon what seemed to her a wonderful piece
of ground. She entered it immediately upon crossing the bridge. The
green glades of the park woods were before her; the old giants of the
park trees stretched their great arms over her and shadowed her
footsteps. Such mighty trees! their great stems stood as if they had
been there for ever; the leafy crown of their heads was more majestic
than any king's diadem, and gave its protecting shelter, each of them,
to a wide domain of earth's minor growths. Underneath their branches
the turf was all green and gold, for the slant sun rays came in there
and gold was in the tree tops, some of the same gold; and the green
shadows and the golden bands and flecks of light were all still. There
was no stir of air that evening. Silence, the stillness and solitude of
a woodland, were all around; the only house visible from here was the
cottage Dolly had just quitted, with its rose-covered porch.
Dolly went a little way, and stood still to look and listen, then went
on a few steps more. The scene had a sort of regal beauty, not like
anything she had ever known in her life before, and belonging to
something her life had never touched. For this was not a primeval
forest; it was not forest at all; it was a lordly pleasure ground. A
"pleasaunee," for somebody's delight; kept so. There was no ragged
underbrush; there were no wildering bushes and briars; the green turf
swept away out of sight under the great old trees clean and soft; and
they, the oaks and beeches, stretching their arms abroad and standing
in still beauty and majesty, seemed to say--"Yes, we belong to the
family; we have stood by it for ages." Dolly could see no dead trees,
nor fallen lumber of dry branches; the place was dressed, yet
unadorned, except by its own magnificent features; so most simple, most
lordly. The first impression almost took away Dolly's breath. She again
went on, and again stood still, then went further; at last could go no
further, and she sat down on the bank under the shadow of a great oak
tree which had certainly seen centuries, and gave herself up to the
scene and her thoughts. They did not fit, somehow, and took possession
of her alternately. Sometimes her eyes filled with glad tears, at the
wonderful loveliness and stateliness of nature around her; the sense of
beauty overcame all other feelings; filling and satisfying and also
concealing a certain promise. It was certainly the will of the Creator
that all things should be thus perfect, harmonious, and fair. What was
not, could be made so. But then again a shadow would come over this
sunshine, as Dolly remembered the anxieties she had brought from home
with her. She had meant to let herself look at them here, in solitude
and quiet; could she do it, now she was here? But when, if not now?
Gradually Dolly gave herself up to thinking, and forgot where she was,
or more correctly, saw the objects around her only through a veil of
her own thoughts.
She had several anxieties; she was obliged to confess it to herself
unwillingly; for indeed anxiety was so new to Dolly that she had hardly
entertained it in all her life before; and when it had knocked at her
door, she had answered that it came to the wrong place. However, she
could not but hear and heed the knock now; and she wanted to consider
the matter calmly and see whether the unwelcome visitor must be really
taken in, and lodged.
It was not her mother's condition. With the buoyancy of youth, and the
inexperience, Dolly expected that Mrs. Copley would soon get well. Her
trouble was about her father; and the worst thing about her mother's
state of nervous weakness was, that she could not talk to her on the
subject or get her help and co-operation. That is, if anything were to
be attempted to be done in the matter.--That was another question she
wanted to consider.
In the first place, she could not help seeing one thing; that Mr.
Copley was not flush with money as he used to be; as he had always
been, ever since Dolly could remember. It was wholly unlike him, to
send her and her mother down to this cottage with a household of two
women servants; barely enough for the work that was indispensably
necessary. Evidently, Mr. Copley entertained no idea of showing
hospitality here in the country, and Dolly thought he had been secretly
glad to be relieved of the necessity of doing it in town. Very unlike
him. It was unlike him, too, to content his pride with so meagre an
establishment. Mr. Copley loved to handle money, always spent it with a
lavish carelessness, and was rather fond of display. What had made this
change? Dolly had felt the change in still other and lesser things.
Money had not been immediately forthcoming when she asked for it lately
to pay her mantua maker's bill; and she had noticed on several
occasions that her father had taken a 'bus instead of a hansom, or even
had chosen to walk. A dull doubt had been creeping over her, which now
was no longer obscure, but plainly enough revealed; her father had lost
money. How, and where?
Impossible to answer this question. But at the same time there floated
before Dolly's mind two vague images; Epsom and betting,--and a green
whist table at Mr. St. Leger's, with eager busy players seated round
it. True, the Derby came but once a year; and true, she had always
heard that whist was a very gentlemanly game and much money never lost
at it. She repeated those facts to herself, over and over. Yet the
images remained; they came before her again and again; her father
betting eagerly in the crowd of betters on the race course, and the
same beloved figure handling the cards opposite to his friend the
banker, at the hospitable mansion of the latter. Who should be her
guaranty, that a taste once formed, though so respectably, might not be
indulged in other ways and companies not so irreproachable? The more
Dolly allowed herself to think of it, the more the pain at her heart
bit her. And another fear came to help the former, its fit and
appropriate congener. With the image of Mr. St. Leger and his cards,
rose up also the memory of Mr. St. Leger's decanters; and Dolly lowered
her head once in a convulsion of fear. She found she could not bear the
course of her thought; it must be interrupted; and she sprang up and
hurried on up the bank under the great trees, telling herself that it
was impossible; that anything so terrible could not happen to her; it
was not to be even so much as thought of. She cast it away from her,
and resolved that it could not be. As to the rest, she thought, poverty
is not disgrace; she would not break her heart about _that_ till she
knew there was more reason.
So with flying foot she hastened forward, willing to put a forcible
stop to thought by her quick motion and the new succession of objects
before her eyes. Yet they were not very new for a while. The ground
became level and the going grew easier; otherwise it was the same
lovely park ground, the same wilderness of noble trees, a renewal of
the same woodland views. Lovely green alleys or glades opened to right
and left, bidding her to enter them; then as she went on the trees
stood thicker again. The sun getting more low sent his beams more
slant, gilding the sides of the great trunks, tipping the ends of
branches with leafy glitter, laying lovely lines of light over the
turf. Dolly wandered on and on, allured by the continual change and
variety of lovely combination in which grass, trees, and sunlight
played before her eyes. But after a while the beauty took a different
cast. The old oaks and beeches ceased; she found herself among a
lighter growth, of much younger trees, some of them very ornamental,
and in the great diversity of kinds showing that they were a modern
plantation. What a plantation it was! for Dolly could not seem to get
to the end of it. She went fast; the afternoon was passing, and she was
curious to see what would succeed to this young wood; though it is
hardly right to call it a wood; the trees were not close to each other,
but stood apart to give every one a fair chance for developing its own
peculiar manner of growth. Some had reached a height and breadth of
beauty already; some could be only beautiful at every stage of growth;
very many of them were quite strange to Dolly; they were foreign trees,
gathered from many quarters. She went on, until she began to think she
must give it up and turn back; she was by this time far from home; but
just then she saw that the plantation was coming to an end on that
side; light was breaking through the branches. She pressed forward
eagerly a few steps; and on a sudden stood still, almost with a cry of
delight. The plantation did end there abruptly, and at the edge of it
began a great stretch of level green, just spotted here and there with
magnificent trees, singly or in groups. And at the further edge of this
green plain, dressed, not hidden, by these intervening trees, rose a
most beautiful building. It seemed to Dolly like a castle in a fairy
tale, so bewitchingly lovely and stately it stood there, with the
evening sunlight playing upon its turrets, and battlements, and all
that grand sweep of lawn lying at its feet. This must be the "house" of
which Lawrence had spoken; but surely it was rather a castle. The style
was Gothic; the building stretched along the ground to a lordly extent
for a "house," and yet in the light grace and adornment of its
structure it hardly looked like anything so grim as a castle. The
stillness was utter; some cattle under the trees on the lawn were the
only living things to be seen.
Dolly could not satisfy herself with looking. This was something that
she had read about and heard about; a real English baronial residence.
But was it reality? it was so graceful, so noble, so wonderful. She
must go a little nearer. Yet it was a good while before she could make
up her mind to leave the spot where this exquisite view had first
opened to her. She advanced then upon the lawn, going towards the house
and scarce taking her eyes from it. There were no paths cut anywhere;
it was no loss, for the greensward here was the perfection of English
turf; soft and fine and thick and even. It was a pleasure to step on
it; and Dolly stepped along, in a maze, caught in the meshes of the
beauty around her, and giving herself up to it in willing captivity.
But the lawn was enormously wider than she had supposed; her eye had
not been able to measure distances on this green level; she had walked
already a long way by the time she had got one-third of its breadth
behind her. Still, Dolly did not much consider that; her eye was fixed
on the house as she now drew nearer to it, busied in picking out the
details; and she only now and then cast a glance to right or left of
her, and never looked back. It did occur to her at last that she
herself was like a mere little speck cast away in this ocean of green,
toiling over it like an ant over a floor; and she hurried her steps,
though she was beginning to be tired. Slowly, slowly she went; half of
the breadth of lawn was behind her, and then three quarters; and the
building was unfolding at least its external organisation to her
curious eyes, and displaying some of its fine memberment and broken
surface and the resulting lights and shadows. Dolly almost forgot her
toil, wondering and delighted; though beginning also to question dimly
with herself how she was ever to find her way home! Go back over all
that ground she could not, she knew; as little could she have told
where was the point at the edge of the lawn by which she had entered
upon it. _That_ way she could not go; she had a notion that at the
house, or near it, she might find somebody to speak to from whom she
could get directions as to some other way. So she pressed on, feeding
her eyes as she approached it upon the details of the house.
When now more than three-fourths of the lawn ground was passed, one of
Dolly's side glances, intended to catch the beauty of the trees on the
lawn in their evening illumination, revealed to her a disagreeable
fact--that, namely, she was looked upon as an intruder by some of the
cattle; and that in especial a young bull was regarding her with
serious and ominous bearing and even advancing slowly towards her from
the group of his companions. It seemed to Dolly not desirable to stand
the question, and she set off to run; which proceeding, of course,
confirmed the young bull's suspicions, whatever they were, and he
followed on a run also. Dolly became aware of this, and now, with all
the strength of muscle that remained to her, fled towards the house; no
longer seeing its Gothic mouldings and picturesque lights and shadows,
only trying very hard to get near. She thought perhaps the creature
would be shy of the immediate neighbourhood of the house, and not
choose to follow her so far. But just as she reached that desirable
vicinity she longed for, she was met by another danger, coming from the
quarter from whence she sought safety. An enormous staghound dashed out
from his covert somewhere, with an utterance from his deep throat which
sounded sufficiently awful to Dolly, an angry or a warning bay, and
came springing towards her. Dolly stood still dismayed and uncertain,
the dog before and the bull behind; then, even before the former could
reach her, a voice was heard calling him off and directing him to the
advancing bull. In another minute or two a woman had come over the
grass and stood at Dolly's side. Dolly was on her feet no longer; with
the first breath of respite she had sunk down on the grass; nerves and
muscles all trembling with the exertion and with the fright.
The woman came up with a business air; then as she stood beside Dolly
her look changed. This was no common intruder, she saw; this
delicate-featured girl; and her dress too, simple as it was, was the
dress of a lady. Dolly on her part looked up to a face not
delicate-featured; far from it; solid and strong built as was the
person to which it belonged; sense and capacity and kindliness,
however, were legible even at that first glance.
"You've been rather badly frightened, ma'am, I'm afraid," she said, in
a voice which precisely matched the face; strong and somewhat harsh,
but kindly in accent.
"Very," said Dolly, whose face began to dimple now. "I am so much
obliged to you!"
"Not in the vary least, ma'am. But you are worried with the fright, I
fear?"
"No; I'll get up," said Dolly; "I'm only tired. I believe I'm a little
weak too. I haven't quite got over trembling, I find."
"You haven't your colour yet again, ma'am. Would you come into my room
and rest a bit?"
"Oh, thank you. You are very kind!" said Dolly with sincere delight at
this proposition. For now she was upon her feet she felt that her knees
trembled under her, and her footsteps were unsteady as she followed the
woman over the grass. They went towards a small door in the long line
of the building, the staghound coming back from his chase and attending
them gravely. The woman opened the door, led Dolly through a passage or
two, and ushered her into a cosy little sitting-room, neat as wax,
nicely though plainly furnished. Here she begged Dolly to rest herself
on the sofa; and while Dolly did so she stood considering her with a
kindly, anxious face.
"I'm all right now," said Dolly, smiling.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am, but you're growing paler every minute. If
you'll allow me, ma'am, I will fetch you a glass of wine."
"Wine? Oh, no," said Dolly. "I don't want any wine. I do not drink
wine. I am just tired. If you'll let me rest here a few minutes"----
"Lie still, ma'am, and don't talk."
She left the room, and Dolly lay still, with shut eyes, feeling very
much exhausted. It was inexpressibly good to be under shelter and on
her back; how she was to get home she could not yet consider. Before
that question fairly came up, her entertainer was back again; but Dolly
kept her eyes shut. If she opened them, perhaps she would have to talk;
and she wanted nothing on earth at that moment but to be still.
After a little interval, however, she heard the door open and a second
person enter; and curiosity brought her eyes open then. The second
person was a maid-servant with a tray. The tray was set upon a table,
and Dolly heard the other woman say--
"You'll bring the tea, Kitty, when I ring."
Dolly took this as a signal that she must go; of course she was in the
way; yet rest felt so very comfortable, that for a moment she still lay
where she was; and lying there, she gave her hostess a more critical
examination than she had hitherto bestowed on her. Who could she be?
She was very well, that is very respectably, dressed; her manner and
bearing were those of a person in authority; she was at home; but with
gentle or noble blood she could have no connection unless one of
service. Her features and her manner proved that. Nevertheless, both
her face and bearing had a certain attraction for Dolly; a certain
quiet and poise, an expression of acute intelligence and efficient
activity, flavoured with good will, which was all very pleasant to see.
Evidently she was not a person to be imposed upon. Dolly raised herself
up at last to a sitting posture, preparatory to going.
"Are you recovered enough to be up, ma'am?" her hostess asked, standing
still to survey her in her turn. "I'm afraid not."
"Oh, thank you, yes; I must go home. And I must ask you kindly to
direct me; for I do not in the least know the way."
"Have you come far, ma'am? I couldn't make out by what direction it was
or could have been; for when I saw you first, you seemed to be coming
right from the middle of the lawn."
"Not quite that; but a little one side of the middle I did cross the
lawn."
"I do not know, ma'am, anybody that lives in that direction, nor any
village."
"Brierley Cottage? You know Brierley Cottage?"
"I ask your pardon, ma'am; I thought that was standing empty for
months."
"It was, I suppose. We have just moved in. My mother wants country air,
and Mr. St. Leger has let us the cottage. My mother and I are living
there, and we came only a day or two ago. I wanted to see the beautiful
ground and trees on this side the brook, and came over the bridge. I
did not mean to have come so far; I had no notion of seeing the house
or getting near it; but everything was so beautiful, I was drawn on
from one point to another, till I found myself at the edge of the lawn.
And then I saw the cattle, but I never thought of them."
"Why, ma'am," said the woman, looking surprised, "you must have walked
a good bit. You must have come all through the plantations."
"I should not have minded the walk so much, if I had not had the fright
at the end of it. But now the thing is, to get home. Can you tell me
which way? for I am completely out of my reckoning."
"You will take a cup of tea first, ma'am," said the woman, ringing the
bell. "I had it made on purpose for you. I am sure you'll be the better
for it. I am the housekeeper here, ma'am, and my name is Jersey."
"The housekeeper?" said Dolly. "I thought the family were abroad."
"So they are, ma'am; and to be sure that makes me less to do; but
enough still to take care of the place. Put the table up by the sofa,
Kitty."
The girl had brought in the tea-pot, and Dolly saw some magnificent
strawberries on the board. The table was shoved up, a cup of tea poured
out, and Mrs. Jersey cut bread and butter.
"How kind you are!" Dolly cried. "You are taking a great deal of
trouble for me; a stranger."
"Is it for somebody that loves my Master?" said Mrs. Jersey, looking at
her with keen eyes.
Dolly's face dimpled all up at this, which would have completed her
conquest of Mrs. Jersey's heart, if there had been by this time any
ground in that region not already subjected.
"Your Master?" she said. "You mean--?"
"Yes, ma'am, I mean that. My Master is the Lord Jesus Christ; no other.
One cannot have two masters; and I serve Lord Brierley only under Him."
"And what made you think--how did you know--that I am His servant too?"
"I don't know, ma'am," said the housekeeper, smiling. "I guessed it
when I saw you sitting on the grass there. It seems to me, if the Lord
don't just yet write His name in their foreheads, He does put a letter
or two of it there, so one can tell."
"I am very glad to find I have a friend in the neighbourhood," said
Dolly. "I am Dolly Copley; my father is American Consul at London, and
a friend of Mr. St. Leger."
"I know Mr. St. Leger, ma'am; by name, that is."
By this time Dolly's tea was poured out. The housekeeper served her,
and watched her as she drank it and eat her strawberries, both of which
were refreshing to Dolly.
"I think, ma'am, if you'll allow me to say it, you should not try your
strength with quite such long walks."
"I did not mean it. I was drawn on; and when I got a sight of the house
from the other side of the lawn, I wanted to look at it nearer. I had
no notion the distance was so much."
"Ay, ma'am, it's a good bit across the lawn. Perhaps you would like to
come another day and see the house inside. I would show it to you with
pleasure."
"Oh, may I?" said Dolly. "I should like it; oh, very much! But you are
extremely kind, Mrs. Jersey!"
"It is only what I do for a great many indifferent people, ma'am. I
would think it a privilege to do it for you. My lord and lady being
away, I have plenty of time on my hands."
"I wonder anybody can stay away from so beautiful a home."
"They have no choice, ma'am; at least so the doctors say. Lady Brierley
is delicate, and the air of England does not agree with her."
"And she must be banished from her own home!" said Dolly, looking out
into the lovely landscape visible from the window. "How sad that is!"
"There's only one home one can always keep, ma'am," said the
housekeeper, watching her.
"Heaven, you mean?"
"We are not in heaven yet. I meant what David says, 'Lord, thou hast
been our dwelling-place in all generations.'"
"I am not sure I understand it."
"Only love does understand it, ma'am."
"How do you mean, please?"
"Ma'am, it is only love that can live in the life of another; and when
that other is God, one lives in a secure and wealthy abode. And then it
does not much matter where one's body is. At least, so I find it."
Dolly looked very thoughtful for a minute; then she rose up.
"I am coming again," she said; "I am coming very soon, Mrs. Jersey.
Now, will you tell me how I can get home? I must be as quick as I can."
"That is provided for, ma'am," said Mrs. Jersey. "It's a longish way
round by the road, farther than even you came this afternoon; and
you're not fit for it; far from it, I should say. I have ordered the
dog-cart to take you home; and it's ready."
"How could you be so kind to a stranger?" said Dolly, giving her hand.
But the housekeeper smiled.
"You're no stranger to me, ma'am," she said, clasping the hand Dolly
had given. "It is true I never saw you before; but whenever I see one
of my Lord's children, I say to myself, 'Jersey, there is another of
the family, and the Lord expects you to do what you can for him, or for
her, as the case may be.'"
Dolly laughed and ran away. The adventure was taking beautiful shape.
Here she was to have a charming drive home, to end the day; a drive
through the pretty country lanes. And they were charming in the evening
light. And the dog-cart did not bring her to Brierley Cottage a bit too
soon; for Mrs. Copley was already fidgeting about her.