THE GIGGLING SCOTCH GIRL.
'For every Lamp that trembled here,
And faded in the night,
Behold a Star serene and clear
Smiles on me from the height.'--B. M.
Nuttie was not mistaken in supposing that this first day would be a
fair sample of her life, though, of course, after the first weeks of
mourning there were variations; and the return of the Rectory party
made a good deal of brightening, and relieved her from the necessity of
finding companionship and conversation for her father on more than half
her afternoons and evenings.
He required her, however, almost every forenoon, and depended on her
increasingly, so that all her arrangements had to be made with
reference to him. It was bondage, but not as galling in the fact as
she would have expected if it had been predicted to her a few months
previously. In the first place, Mr. Egremont never demanded of her
what was actually against her conscience, except occasionally giving up
a Sunday evensong to read the paper to him, and that only when he was
more unwell than usual. He was, after all, an English gentleman, and
did not ask his young daughter to read to him the books which her
mother had loathed. Moreover, Gregorio was on his good behaviour,
perfectly aware that there was a family combination against him, and
having even received a sort of warning from his master, but by no means
intending to take it, and therefore abstaining from any kind of offence
that could furnish a fresh handle against him; and thus for the
present, Dr. Hammond's regimen was well observed, and Mr. Egremont was
his better self in consequence, for, under his wife's guardianship, the
perilous habit had sufficiently lost strength to prevent temper and
spirits from manifestly suffering from abstinence.
The first time Nuttie found herself obliged to make any very real
sacrifice to her father's will was on the occasion of Mark's marriage
at Easter. Things had arranged themselves very conveniently for him at
Micklethwayte, though it seemed to Nuttie that she only heard of
affairs there in a sort of distant dream, while such events were taking
place as once would have been to her the greatest possible revolutions.
Aunt Ursel reached home safely, but her expectations of illness were
realised. She took to her bed on arriving, and though she rose from
it, there was reason to think she had had a slight stroke, for her
activity of mind and body were greatly decayed, and she was wholly
dependent on Mary Nugent for care and comfort. Mary, remembering the
consequences of the former alarm, made the best of the old lady's
condition; and Nuttie, ashamed of having once cried 'wolf,' did not
realise the true state of the case, nor indeed could she or would she
have been spared to go to Micklethwayte.
The next news told that Gerard Godfrey, at the end of the year required
by Mr. Dutton, had resigned his situation, and at the close of his
quarter's notice was going to prepare for Holy Orders under the
training of a clergyman who would employ him in his parish, and assist
him in reading up to the requirements for admission to a theological
college. Poor dear old Gerard! It gave Nuttie a sort of pang of
self-reproach to own how good and devoted he was, and yet so narrow and
stupid that she could never have been happy with him. Was he too good,
or was he too dull for her? Had she forsaken him for the world's sake,
or was it a sound instinct that had extinguished her fancy for him? No
one could tell, least of all the parties concerned. He might be far
above her in spiritual matters, but he was below her in intellectual
ones, and though they would always feel for one another that peculiar
tenderness left by the possibilities of a first love, no doubt the
quarrel over the blue ribbon had been no real misfortune to either.
The next tidings were still more surprising. Mr. Dutton was leaving
the firm. Though his father had died insolvent, and he had had to
struggle for himself in early life, he was connected with wealthy
people, and change and death among these had brought him a fair share
of riches. An uncle who had emigrated to Australia at the time of the
great break up had died without other heirs, leaving him what was the
more welcome to him that Micklethwayte could never be to him what it
had been in its golden age. He had realised enough to enable him to be
bountiful, and his parting gift to St Ambrose's would complete the
church; but he himself was winding up the partnership, and withdrawing
his means from Greenleaf and Co. in order to go out to Australia to
decide what to do with his new possessions.
Mark Egremont purchased a number of the shares, though, to gratify the
family, the shelter of the Greenleaf veiled his name under the 'Co.,'
and another, already in the firm, possessed of a business-like
appellation, gave designation to the firm as Greenleaf, Goodenough, and
Co.
Mr. Dutton's well-kept house, with the little conservatory and the
magnolia, was judged sufficient for present needs, and the lease was
taken off his hands, so that all was in order for the marriage of Mark
and Annaple immediately after Easter.
Lady Delmar had resigned herself to the inevitable, and the wedding was
to take place at Lescombe. Nuttie, whose chief relaxation was in
hearing all the pros and cons from May and Blanche, was asked to be one
of the bridesmaids by Annaple, who had come over to the Rectory in a
droll inscrutable state of mischief, declaring that she had exasperated
Janet to the verge of insanity by declaring that she should have little
umbrellas like those in the Persian inscriptions on her cards, and that
Mark was to present all the bridesmaids with neat parasols. If
crinolines had not been gone out they could have all been dressed
appropriately. Now they must wear them closely furled. All this
banter was hardly liked by May and Blanche, whose little sisters were
laughed at again for needing the assurance that they were really to
wear white and rowan leaves and berries--the Ronnisglen badge. Nuttie,
who had drawn much nearer to May, refrained from relating this part of
the story at home, but was much disappointed when, on telling her
father of the request, she was answered at once:
'Hein! The 24th? You'll be in London, and a very good thing too.'
'Are we to go so soon?'
'Yes. Didn't I tell you to take that house in Berkshire Road from the
20th?'
'I did not think we were to start so soon. Is there any particular
reason?'
'Yes. That Scotch girl ought to have known better than to ask you in
your deep mourning. I thought women made a great point of such things.'
'Aunt Jane did not seem to think it wrong,' said Nuttie, for she really
wished much for consent. Not only had she grown fond both of Mark and
Annaple, but she had never been a bridesmaid, and she knew that not
only the Kirkaldys but Mr. Dutton had been invited; she had even
ventured on offering to lodge some of the overflowing guests of the
Rectory.
'Their heads are all turned by that poverty-stricken Scotch peerage,'
returned Mr. Egremont; 'or the Canoness should have more sense of
respect.'
Nuttie's wishes were so strong that she made one more attempt, 'I need
not be a bridesmaid. They would not mind if I wore my black.'
'I should, then!' said her father curtly. 'If they don't understand
the proprieties of life, I do. I won't have you have anything to do
with it. If you are so set upon gaiety, you'll have enough of weddings
at fitter times!'
It was the old sneering tone. Nuttie felt partly confounded, partly
indignant, and terribly disappointed. She did care for the sight of
the wedding--her youthful spirits had rallied enough for that, but far
more now she grieved at missing the sight of Mr. Dutton, when he was
going away, she knew not where, and might perhaps come on purpose to
see her; and it also made her sore and grieved at being accused of
disregard to her mother. She was silenced, however, and presently her
father observed, in the same unpleasant tone, 'Well, if you've digested
your disappointment, perhaps you'll condescend to write to the agent,
that I expect the house to be ready on the 21st.'
Nuttie got through her morning's work she hardly knew how, though her
father was dry and fault-finding all the time. Her eyes were so full
of tears when she was released that she hardly saw where she was going,
and nearly ran against her aunt, who had just walked into the hall.
Mrs. Egremont was too prudent a woman to let her burst out there with
her grievance, but made her come into the tent-room before she
exclaimed, 'He is going to take me away to London; he won't let me go
to the wedding.'
'I am sorry for your disappointment,' said her aunt quietly, 'but I am
old-fashioned enough to be glad that such strong respect and feeling
should be shown for your dear mother. I wish Annaple had spoken to me
before asking you, and I would have felt the way.'
'I'm sure it is not want of feeling,' said Nuttie, as her tears broke
forth.
'I did not say it was,' returned her aunt, 'but different generations
have different notions of the mode of showing it; and the present
certainly errs on the side of neglect of such tokens of mourning. If I
did not think that Annaple and her mother are really uncomfortable at
Lescombe, I should have told Mark that it was better taste to wait till
the summer.'
'If I might only have stayed at home--even if I did not go to the
wedding,' sighed Nuttie, who had only half listened to the Canoness's
wisdom.
'Since you do not go, it is much better that you should be out of the
way,' said Mrs. Egremont. 'Is your father ready to see me?'
So Nuttie had to submit, though she pouted to herself, feeling
grievously misjudged, first as if she had been wanting in regard to the
memory of her mother, who had been so fond of Mark, and so rejoiced in
his happiness; and then that her vexation was treated as mere love of
gaiety, whereas it really was disappointment at not seeing Mr. Dutton,
that good, grave, precise old friend, who could not be named in the
same breath with vanity. Moreover, she could not help suspecting that
respect to her mother was after all only a cloak to resentment against
Mark and his marriage.
However, she bethought herself that her mother had often been
disappointed and had borne it cheerfully, and after having done what
Aunt Ursel would have called 'grizzling' in her room for an hour, she
wrote her note to Miss Ruthven and endeavoured to be as usual, feeling
keenly that there was no mother now to perceive and gratefully commend
one of her only too rare efforts for good humour. On other grounds she
was very sorry to leave Bridgefield. May had, in her trouble, thawed
to her, and they were becoming really affectionate and intimate
companions, by force of propinquity and relationship, as well as of the
views that May had imbibed from Hugh Condamine. Moreover Nuttie felt
her aunt's watch over the baby a great assistance to her own ignorance.
However the Canoness had resigned to the poor little heir the perfect
and trustworthy nurse, whom Basil had outgrown, and who consented to
the transfer on condition of having her nursery establishment entirely
apart from the rest of the household. Her reasons were known though
unspoken, namely, that the rejection of one or two valets highly
recommended had made it plain that there had been no dislodgment of
Gregorio. The strong silent objection to him of all good female
servants was one of the points that told much against him. Martin and
the housekeeper just endured him, and stayed on for the present chiefly
because their dear lady had actually begged them not to desert her
daughter if they could help it, at least not at first.
Nuttie bound over her cousins to give her a full account of the
wedding, and both of them wrote to her. Blanche's letter recorded
sundry scattered particulars,--as to how well the rowan-trimmed tulle
dresses looked--how every one was packed into the carriages for the
long drive--how there had been a triumphal arch erected over the
Bluepost Bridge itself, and Annaple nearly choked with laughing at the
appropriateness--how, to her delight, a shower began, and the
procession out of the church actually cried out for umbrellas--how
papa, when performing the ceremony, could not recollect that the
bride's proper name was Annabella, and would dictate it as Anna-Maria,
Sir John correcting him each time sotto voce--how Basil and little
Hilda Delmar walked together and 'looked like a couple of ducks,'
which, it was to be hoped, was to be taken metaphorically--how
dreadfully hard the ice on the wedding-cake was, so that when Annaple
tried to cut it the knife slipped and a little white dove flew away and
hit May, which everyone said was a grand omen that she would be the
next bride, while of course Annaple was perfectly helpless with mirth.
Every one said it was the merriest wedding ever seen, for the bride's
only tears were those of laughter. What Nuttie really cared for most
came just at the end, and not much of that. 'Your Mr. Dutton is just
gone. He got on famously with Hugh Condamine, and I forgot to tell you
that he has given Mark such a jolly present, a lovely silver
coffee-pot, just the one thing they wanted, and Lady Delmar said he
didn't look near so like a tradesman as she expected. I see May is
writing too, but I don't know what you will get out of her, as Hugh
Condamine came for the day.'
Nuttie, however, had more hopes from May. Her letter certainly was
fuller of interest, if shorter.
'My Dear Nuttie--Blanche has no doubt told you all the externals. I
suppose there never was a brighter wedding, for as Annaple keeps her
mother with her, there was no real rending asunder of ties. Indeed I
almost wish her excitement did not always show itself in laughing, for
it prevents people from understanding how much there is in her.
(Plainly Hugh Condamine had been rather scandalised by the 'giggling
Scotch girl.')
'Dear old Lady Ronnisglen was delightful. If there were any tears,
they were hers, and Lady Delmar was very cordial and affectionate. Of
course Hugh and Mr. Dutton missed much that one would have liked in a
wedding. I drove back with them afterwards, and it was very
interesting to listen to their conversation about church matters. Hugh
is very much struck with your friend; he had heard a good deal about
Micklethwayte before, and says that such a lay worker is perfectly
invaluable. It is a great pity that he is not going on in the firm, it
would make it so much nicer for Mark, but he says he has duties towards
his new property. I think he was sorry not to find you at home, but he
plainly never thought it possible you should be at the wedding. I
don't know whether I ought to tell you this, but I think you ought to
know it. There is a lovely new wreath of Eucharis lilies and
maiden-hair at dear Aunt Alice's grave, close against the rails at the
feet, and Hugh told me that he looked out of his window very early
yesterday morning and saw Mr. Dutton standing there, leaning on the
rail, with his bare head bowed between his hands. You can't think how
it impressed Hugh. He said he felt reverent towards him all through
that day, and he was quite angry with Rosalind and Adela for jesting
because, when the shower began as we were coming out of church, Mr.
Dutton rushed up with an umbrella, being the only person there who had
one, I believe. Hugh says you may be proud of such a friend. I wish
you could have seen Hugh.--Your affectionate cousin,
'MARGARET EGREMONT.'