The Towers
Mildred meantime was speeding northward, and once the wrench of parting
from home was over, she could not be altogether unattracted by the
novelty of the change in store for her, and the prospect of seeing fresh
places and faces. The dingy bricks and mortar of the town had given
place to green fields, woods, and streams, and these in their turn
yielded to bare moorland slopes, with stone walls instead of hedges,
till presently in the distance she could catch her first glimpse of the
hills, their grey peaks outlined against a pale-blue sky. The train ran
on for fully an hour more, between craggy heights and thickly-wooded
glens, the scenery growing in beauty with every mile, till at length the
engine plunged with a whistle into a long tunnel, and finally emerged at
the little station of Whiterigg.
"Here you are, Miss!" cried the guard, flinging open the carriage door,
and helping her out in a hurry. "Your luggage is at the end of the
platform. We're a bit late to-day. Right away!"
And waving his flag, he jumped into his van as it passed him, leaving
Mildred standing with her violin case in one hand and a bag in the
other, almost bewildered at this sudden termination of her journey. As
the retreating train rumbled away in the distance she heard the hoot of
a motor-horn, and a car came rapidly along the road and drew up at the
gate below. A tall, handsome man jumped out, and ran up the station
steps on to the platform.
"Why, here you are at last!" he cried, shaking hands heartily with
Mildred. "I'm glad you've found your way here safely. Is that your
luggage? We're sending a cart for it. These light things can go in with
us."
Mildred followed her new uncle shyly. His face was pleasant, and his
manner was kind as he helped her into the car. To her great relief,
after his first greeting was over, he did not trouble her with much
conversation, but left her to enjoy the scenery. The road wound up and
down in a gorge between two ranges of hills, sometimes passing through
woods, and sometimes crossing a noisy stream, overshadowed by brambles
and hazel bushes.
"That's Helvellyn!" said Sir Darcy, pointing to a tall peak so far off
that it was difficult to distinguish it from the cloud banks in the sky.
"It's not often we can see it from here, there's generally a mist
rolling over; but when we do, it foretells fine weather. That stream
marks the boundary of the property. As soon as we enter the wood we
shall be out of Whiterigg and in Castleford, and in a few minutes you'll
get your first peep of the lake."
They had at last reached the end of the valley, and, rounding the spur
of the hill, went through a thick pine wood, where the tall red stems of
the trees stood upright as the masts of a ship. Then, climbing a short
incline, they came into an open road above, from which there suddenly
burst upon Mildred's eyes such a view as she had never hitherto even
imagined. Below her lay the lake, an outstretched shining mass of
shimmering brightness in the afternoon light, enfolded by wooded slopes
like a jewel in a setting. Here and there a rocky promontory, jutting
out into the water, broke the line with its dark reflections, while at
the farther end rose a precipice of wild splintered crags, leading up to
the tall rigs and fells beyond.
Nestled in a hollow, where it could receive some shelter from the woods
and yet command a full view of the water, rose the ivy-covered turrets
of a fine old house, the many windows of which were flashing back the
light from the lake. Surrounded by beautiful gardens and pleasure
grounds, it was indeed a stately home, man's best handiwork set amongst
Nature's grandest surroundings, and it was with a thrill of perhaps
pardonable pride in his voice that Sir Darcy turned to Mildred and said:
"That is The Towers."
The great wrought-iron gates were open, and they entered the park, where
a herd of deer and some Highland cattle, which were grazing under the
trees, ran off in a mad stampede at their approach. Through a long
avenue of beeches and under a carved stone gateway they passed, then
into a paved courtyard, and drew up at last before the broad steps of
the front entrance.
[Illustration: MILDRED IS MET BY HER UNCLE, SIR DARCY LORRAINE, AT THE
STATION]
Sir Darcy took Mildred into the hall, the panelled walls of which were
hung with stags' heads, antlers, armour and weapons, well in keeping
with the carved oak of the antique furniture. A splendid white deerhound
sprang forward, barking a tempestuous greeting to its master. The sound
seemed to announce their arrival, for from a room beyond a tall,
graceful lady came hastily, followed by a girl who might perhaps be six
months younger than Mildred herself--a very pretty girl, whose slender
figure, fair face, and long flaxen hair made a charming picture against
the background of old oak.
Lady Lorraine welcomed her niece kindly, and was so gentle and
encouraging that Mildred's shyness began slightly to thaw. Violet also
made smiling overtures of friendship.
"We hear you are very musical, my dear," said Lady Lorraine. "I'm afraid
Violet cares nothing about it, though she practises every day. Perhaps
you will be able to spur her on a little."
"I'd never open the piano if I weren't obliged," declared Violet. "I
hate lessons of any sort, so it's no use pretending I like them. When
I'm grown up, I'm just going to hunt and play tennis. They're the only
things worth bothering about."
"She's a true Lorraine!" laughed Sir Darcy, patting his daughter on the
shoulder. "We all like outdoor sports better than books. We shall have
to see how Mildred takes to the saddle. A good gallop across country
would soon bring the roses into her cheeks. Can you ride, Mildred? Well,
well, we'll soon teach you. Never too late to learn, is it?--though the
younger you begin, the firmer your seat. Violet could manage her little
Shetland by the time she was five."
"Mildred must get accustomed to country life by degrees," said her aunt.
"We will not frighten her with too many things just at first."
When Sir Darcy and Lady Lorraine discussed their niece afterwards, they
both decided that she had made a favourable impression upon them.
"A pretty, lady-like girl, though painfully shy," was her uncle's
verdict. "I'm much relieved to notice that she has such nice manners. I
was afraid we might find her lacking in many ways. I see a strong look
of the Lorraines in her face, and no doubt, now she is separated from
her other relations, she'll soon get used to us, and in time will forget
even to think about her early surroundings, and will not wish to
remember that she has ever known anything different from The Towers. I
am glad we sent for her. It was certainly rather a venture, but I think
the experiment seems likely to prove a success."
The wheels of life, well oiled by a handsome income, ran very smoothly
at The Towers. Sir Darcy Lorraine was a fine specimen of an English
country gentleman--a splendid shot, a hard rider, interested in the
improvement of his estates, and to a certain degree in the welfare of
his tenants. He entertained well, subscribed liberally to local
charities, supported the Church, and, as a magistrate and guardian of
the poor, took what part he could in the affairs of the district without
allowing the ensuing duties to monopolize too much of his time. Neither
public school nor college had been able to endow him with any love for
learning.
"My fly-book and my cheque-book are all the literature I want," he often
declared; and though he occasionally sat in his well-furnished library,
he rarely, if ever, took down the handsomely bound volumes from their
shelves. With other ways of life than his own he had scant sympathy,
regarding the arts and sciences as harmless diversions for amateurs who
might like them, and a means of livelihood for those who were obliged to
take up professions to earn their bread. A good landlord and a kind
master, he liked to have everybody bright and cheerful around him, but
did not care to be distressed by social problems or tales of outside
misery. Always in easy circumstances himself, and never having
experienced any reverses, he had a vague idea that misfortunes were
mostly caused by people's own fault, and that lack of success was due to
lack of merit.
Lady Lorraine had been a society beauty in her girlhood, and still
retained enough of her former good looks to attract a considerable
amount of attention at hunt balls and garden fetes. In her way she
really worked quite hard at local duties, being always ready to open
bazaars, attend flower-shows, distribute prizes, and organize charity
dances. She was mildly interested in the village school, where the
little boys all respectfully touched their forelocks, and the little
girls dropped bob-curtsies whenever she looked at them. She occasionally
visited at some of the cleanest cottages, and could never resist putting
her hand in her pocket; though the Vicar, who did not approve of
indiscriminate charity, complained that she pauperized those of his
parishioners who knew how to whine, while the deserving went unhelped.
Both Sir Darcy and Lady Lorraine idolized their only child. To dress
Violet prettily, to take her to garden parties and flower-shows, to see
her admired, and finally to bring her out successfully into society,
was her mother's chief ambition; and her father, though he would have
preferred a boy who could inherit his title, gloried in his little
daughter's fearless riding and her achievements in the hunting field.
To Mildred the beauty and novelty of her surroundings at The Towers were
a source of great pleasure. As the weeks went on, and her first shyness
and homesickness wore away, she began thoroughly to enjoy herself. The
motoring, the riding, the many tennis parties and other festivities made
an ideal holiday time, and everything seemed new and entertaining. She
had soon formed a friendship with the Somervilles at the Vicarage, an
amusing family, consisting of three sons and a girl of her own age.
Rhoda was pleasant and companionable; and with Rodney, the second boy,
Mildred found a strong bond of sympathy, for he was to go to Kirkton in
the autumn to study engineering at a large motor works, and was glad to
hear all that she could tell him about the city.
Though Mildred thoroughly appreciated the advantages of her new life at
The Towers, she nevertheless missed the Grahams continually. Generous as
the Lorraines were to her in many respects, their conduct was sometimes
lacking in thoughtfulness. They were people who could only be kind in
their own way. They considered they had done her an immense service by
taking her away from Kirkton, and they would refer to her past
surroundings with a contempt which she found it very difficult to bear.
Her cousin treated her with a kindly patronage. Violet was glad to have
Mildred as a companion, but made her quite understand that she was to
occupy a second place. Mildred, accustomed to the "give and take" of a
big school, found this attitude decidedly trying, and often longed for
the congenial society of Kitty Fletcher, Bess Harrison, Maudie Stearne,
or other St. Cyprian's chums, whose friendships were conducted on terms
of strictest equality.
In the midst of all the pleasant arrangements at The Towers Mildred
found it very difficult to get in even the hour's daily work at the
violin which she had faithfully promised Professor Hoffmann not to
neglect. Practising by herself seemed so different from learning from
her enthusiastic teacher. Away from his watchful eye, she felt as if all
kinds of faults were creeping into her playing, and she had not
sufficient courage to wrestle with hard passages when she knew there was
no one to appreciate her exertions. She set herself with grim
determination to master certain new studies; but it was only by constant
effort, and the remembrance of what the Professor would expect from her,
that she could keep up to anything like the mark of his high standard.
Towards the end of August Miss Ward, Violet's governess, returned from
her holidays. She was a pleasant, amiable lady, not clever, but with a
general smattering of a good many subjects. She was much appreciated by
Lady Lorraine, as she did not attempt to work Violet too hard, and was
extremely useful at arranging flowers, writing letters and addressing
invitations, and keeping the accounts of local charities. As Miss Ward
was considered to be musical, Violet one day asked Mildred to bring her
violin into the schoolroom.
"Is this your fiddle?" said Miss Ward, catching it up. "It looks rather
a nice one. Give me the bow and let me try it."
To hear her beautiful and priceless Stradivarius called a "fiddle" was a
shock to Mildred's ears, but it was nothing to the sounds which followed
when the governess began to play. Such scraping and rasping notes it had
never before been her misfortune to hear, even from the very worst of
Herr Hoffmann's pupils, and she could not have believed that her dear
violin could give vent to those harsh and discordant tones. It was
playing that would have caused the Professor to tear his hair;
everything about it was wrong, from the bowing to the way the instrument
was held. The Stradivarius seemed to be shrieking in an agonized protest
at the indignity of its treatment, and so painful was the effect on
Mildred's sensitive nerves that it was all she could do to sit still
with a semblance of politeness.
"Really quite a nice one! Where did you get it?" asked Miss Ward, having
complacently arrived at the end of her piece, and handing back the
violin to its outraged owner.
Mildred took her treasure somewhat as a mother rescues her crying child
from strangers, feeling as if she owed it an apology for having
entrusted it to such a 'prentice hand.
"It was my father's," she answered quietly. "It's a genuine
Stradivarius, and I value it very much. I wouldn't part with it for
anything else in the world."
"Can you remember a tune?" asked Miss Ward, to whom the magic name of
Stradivarius appeared to imply very little. "I should like to hear how
you can play."
"Yes, do, Mildred!" added Violet. "I've only heard sounds from your
bedroom before breakfast, when I was much too sleepy to listen to them."
Mildred paused a moment. She longed to plunge into the "Fruehlingslied",
but knew it was impossible to do it justice when the orchestra was
lacking, so she began instead the Polonaise which she had given as an
encore at the Students' Concert. Violet listened in amazement to the
true, clear notes. She had never before heard such playing, and though
she was quite unmusical, she fully recognized the difference between a
good performance and a bad one.
"You did score a triumph over Miss Ward!" she remarked to Mildred
afterwards, when the two girls were alone. "I dared not laugh, but it
was too funny to watch her face while you were fiddling. You took all
the spirit out of her. She had been anxious to teach me her scraping,
squeaking instrument, but I declined with thanks. I can't bear the sound
of it. Gelert always howls dreadfully the moment she begins, and I feel
as if I want to howl too! I'm made to strum on the piano for an hour
every day, but I hate it. It's all nonsense! What's the use of learning
a thing you don't care about? The only music I really like to hear is a
view halloo or a good tally-ho!"
As the summer went on, Mildred thought the scenery at Castleford seemed
to grow more and more beautiful. The ripened corn gave a golden touch to
the fields, the moorlands were ablaze with purple heather, and on the
hillside slopes the bracken was beginning to turn to gorgeous shades of
ochre and sienna brown. She and Violet took many walks with Sir Darcy
round the estate, and she was beginning now to know the neighbourhood
quite well. One day Sir Darcy, who was busy talking with a keeper, left
the two girls to rest on a stone at the head of the precipice which
bounded the lake.
"How lovely it looks!" said Mildred. "I think it is the most exquisite
view I've ever seen in my life."
Violet gazed thoughtfully at the purple-grey lake lying below them, the
encircling woods in all the glory of their summer green seeming richer
in contrast with the peaks of the craggy hills behind. By the water's
edge stretched lush meadows, the village and the church could be seen in
the blue distance, and close at hand rose the turrets and chimneys of
The Towers. Violet did not very often think about such things, but just
then a verse came into her head which she had sung in the psalms at
church the Sunday before, and which had caught her attention at the
time--
"The lot is fallen unto me in a fair ground: yea, I have a goodly
heritage."
"Yes," she replied with a long breath; "it's the dearest place on earth
to me. There's no other like it anywhere. And it's our own, as far as
you can see it--that's the best of it! The Lorraines have held it ever
since the Conquest. It's Father's, and some day I suppose it will come
to me. I can't take the title, but luckily the land is not entailed now.
It's grand to think of possessing all this. Mildred, you shall live
here with me as long as you like. I want you to enjoy it too. I'm most
dreadfully sorry for you. It's hard luck to have absolutely nothing of
your own."
Mildred looked down where her cousin's beautiful inheritance lay
stretched before her. Her heart was too full to answer. Perhaps for a
moment a shade of envy crossed her mind. It was indeed a fortunate lot
to be heiress to such broad acres and so old a name. Some of the best
things that life could offer had fallen to Violet's share. And what had
she herself? An old violin, and the skill to play it--that was all! A
possession utterly valueless in Violet's eyes, yet in those of Dr. and
Mrs. Graham and the Professor a rare and special talent such as God
gives to but very few in this world--a talent to be taken humbly, and
rejoiced in, and treasured zealously, and cultivated carefully, and
which might bring more joy and beauty into the lives of others than even
these glorious woods and waters; for music can lift the soul to the very
summit of earthly ecstasy, and in some of its divinest strains we can
almost catch an echo of the chorus of the "choir invisible" above. She
could not explain--it was quite impossible to put into words what she
only felt deep down in her heart; but as she quietly thanked Violet for
her offer, it seemed to her that, in spite of her lack of lands, she was
not quite portionless. God's gifts to His children were not all alike.
To one the estates handed down by a long line of ancestors from the
past; to another the genius that has the power to create for itself.
Which was the nobler bequest she could not tell, but she knew that after
all she, too, had an inheritance.