VALE LESTON.
'The way to make thy son rich is to fill
His mind with rest before his trunk with riches;
For wealth without contentment climbs a hill,
To feel those tempests that fly over ditches,
But if thy son can make ten pounds his measure,
Then all thou addest may be called his treasure.'
_George Herbert._
'I say, Felix, you've not told me about Vale Leston.'
The two brothers were established under the lee of an old boat, beneath
the deep shadow of the red earth cliffs, festooned with ivy, wild
clematis, everlasting pea, thrift, and samphire. Not far off, niched
beneath the same cliff, were two or three cottage lodging-houses,
two-storied, with rough grey slate roofs, glaring white walls, and
green shutters to the windows that looked out over the shingly beach to
the lazily rippling summer sea.
Ewmouth was a lazy place. Felix had felt half asleep through the
earlier days of his stay, and Lance seemed to be lulled into a
continual doze whenever he was unoccupied, and that was almost always.
It had grieved his elder brother to see this naturally vivacious
being so inert and content with inaction, only strolling about a
little in early morning and late evening, and languid and weary, if
not actually suffering, during the heat and glare of the day. He was
now, with his air-pillow and a railway rug, lying on the beach, beside
Felix, who with his safety ink-stand planted in the sand, was at work
condensing the parliamentary debates for the Pursuivant, and was glad
to perceive that he was so far alive as to be leaning on his elbow,
slowly shovelling the sand or smaller pebbles with the frail tenement
of a late crab; and it was another good sign to hear his voice in a
voluntary inquiry about Vale Leston.
'I have not been there yet.'
'Not there?'
'No. Old Abednego Tripp comes over here every market day, and he's the
only person I wanted to see.'
'I thought you came here because you wanted to see the place?'
'Yes; but I was not up to the walk when I came here; and while you were
ill I never durst go out of reach of the telegraph, and latterly I
waited for you. After all, I have not much mind to it. I don't see the
good of setting oneself a coveting one's neighbour's house.'
'It wouldn't be my house, any way,' said Lance quaintly. 'How far is
it?'
'Rather more than three miles. We'll get a boat some day and do it.'
'That will be jolly!' and after shovelling a little longer, Lance
added, 'How came we to be turned out?'
'That's just what I can't tell. I was only seven, you know, and my
father never would talk of it. Sibby used to revile the mane nagur,
Misther Fulbert, till it was current in the nursery that he was a black
man who expelled us _vi et armis_. One day, my father found four or
five of us in a row slashing at an old black doll, by way of killing
Misther Fulbert, and prohibited such executions. I think, too, that he
quashed an attempt to call our own Fulbert by his other name.'
'I wonder what the nagur did?'
'By the light of maturer nature, I imagine that he may have succeeded
as heir-at-law, and that his _maneness_ may have consisted in not
giving the living to my father; but I cannot tell. It always seemed my
father's great desire to put it out of our minds. I remember before we
left the place his catching me in a furious rage with some one who told
me my pony was to be sold. He carried me off, and told me it was all
true; and we were going away, and he trusted to me to be brave and make
it as little hard to Mamma and the little girls as could be. He said
the place had belonged to old Uncle Underwood, and that we had no right
to stay there after his death. That was all the explanation he gave me,
first or last; and I don't think we thought much about it after the
neck of the change was broken.'
'You remember it, though.'
'I believe I know every step of the house and garden. I have never
ceased to dream of them; and I am as much afraid of disturbing old
impressions as of reviving wishes.'
'Holloa! what's up?' exclaimed Lance, as the landlady was seen coming
in quest of them. 'I thought I saw a tidy little tiger going in there
just now.'
'A note from Mr. Staples, if you please, Sir, and they wait for an
answer.'
'I didn't know you had any acquaintance here.'
'Mr. Staples is the solicitor who did the business about Admiral
Chester's legacy. He is retired now, and only holds some county office.
He found me out last week, I believe, from some letters of mine going
wool-gathering to the other F. Underwood. He called and said he knew my
father, and was very civil and friendly. He sent to inquire after you
the day you came. This is what he says:--
MY DEAR MR. FELIX UNDERWOOD,
Your relative at Vale Leston wishes me to dine with him
to-morrow evening. If you and your brother would like to
accompany me on the drive, meet me at six o'clock on the top of
the cliff. If you would prefer to return earlier than I do, I
can direct you to a boatman to take you down by the river.
Believe me, yours truly,
C. STAPLES.
'Hurrah! that's not half a bad fellow for an attorney,' cried Lance.
'Shall not you be tired? Will it not be too hot for you?'
'Not a bit of it. He,' indicating the sun, 'can only get at me asquint
by that time, and I'm a match for him with my blue umbrella. Come, fire
away, you tardy Norseman. Say we are good for it. Fancy boating back!'
And Lance whistled a few bars of 'The Hardy Norseman,' the liveliest
thing he had done since his illness.
At the appointed hour, the brothers were standing on the top of the
cliff, with a broad estuary before them; on the opposite side of which
lay the town of Ewmouth at the foot of the old castle, with fresh
modern fortifications towards the sea. The town, with its church towers
and gas chimneys, sloped away from it; vessels thronged the harbour;
and a long weird-looking thready suspension-bridge spanned the broad
tide-river to East Ewmouth, the village fast growing into a suburb.
There had not been more than time to point out the details to Lance
before a waggonet drove up from one of the roads that branched among
pleasant 'villa residences;' and in it appeared a white-haired but
hearty-looking gentleman, prepossessing and merry, very unlike Lance's
notion of attorneys, who shook hands with them warmly, and took care to
put the boy under the shade of the driving-seat.
It was a pretty drive, through rich meadows, shut in by the sloping
wooded hills which gradually closed nearer; and by-and-by over the
shoulder of one looked a very tall church tower, whereat Felix started
with a thrill of responsive recognition, and suddenly faltered in the
political discussion Mr. Staples had started, but dropped at once,
looking at the young man's face with kindly interest.
At the same time road and river both made a sudden turn into a much
narrower and wilder valley, the hills beyond more rough and rocky; but
the river still broad and smooth, and crossed by a handsome high-backed
five-arched bridge, the centre arch grandly high and broad, the other
two rapidly diminishing on either side. Over this the carriage turned;
and from the crown Lance beheld an almost collegiate-looking mass of
grey building, enclosing sunny lawns and flower-beds, and surrounded
by park-like grounds and trees, all sloping towards the river, and
backed by steep hills of wood and moorland, whence a little brook
danced with much impetus down to the calm steady main stream of Ewe.
The church and remnants of the old priory occupied the forefront of a
sort of peninsula, the sweep of the Ewe on the south and east, and the
little lively Leston on the north. There was slope enough to raise the
buildings beyond damp, and display the flower-beds beautifully as they
lay falling away from the house. The churchyard lay furthest north,
skirted by the two rivers, and the east end with the lovely floriated
window of the Lady Chapel rising some thirty yards from the bank of
the Ewe, the outline a little broken by an immense willow tree that
wept its fountain-like foliage into the river. The south transept was
cloistered, and joined to the building beyond, a long low grey house
with one row of windows above the sloping roof of the cloister, and
this again connected with a big family mansion, built of the same grey
stone with the rest, but in the style of the seventeenth century, and a
good deal modernized upon that. A great plate-glass window looked out
on the river in the east front, which projected nearly as far as did
the Lady Chapel, the space between being, as before said, laid out in a
formal parterre, with stone steps leading down to the river.
'Oh, what a place! what a place!' shouted Lance, starting up in the
carriage. 'It's like the minster, and the jolly old river besides! Two
of them! Oh! what fishing there must be!'
'I did not know it was really so beautiful,' said Felix in a low voice.
'You remember it?' said Mr. Staples.--'I suppose you can't?' to Lance.
'Oh no! I wasn't born! More's the pity! Do the salmon come up here,
Sir?'
'Yes, since the fisheries have been protected; but young Mr. Underwood
is a great fisherman, and I fear it is not easy to get a card.'
'Oh, I wasn't thinking about leave, Sir, thank you. I've got no tackle
nor anything; but I _am_ glad _we_ have salmon,' said Lance, as though
he had acquired an accession of dignity.
Descending from the bridge, they were in a road skirting the river,
and on which presently opened the lodge gates of the Rectory. Here Mr.
Staples got out, telling his servant to drive the young gentlemen round
to the village.
'I say, Felix,' said Lance, as they were whirled on along the lane
which swept round the long wall overhung by trees, 'that old party must
know all about it.'
'Most likely,' said Felix; 'but if there had been any good in my
hearing, my father could have told me himself. How well I remember his
giving me my first ride along this lane! Do you smell the bean field? I
don't believe I have thought of the scent since.'
Felix seemed absorbed in the pleasures of recognition; and Lance,
amazed at the beauty and what seemed to him the splendour of the
place, looked up at his brother with a kind of romantic feeling for a
disinherited knight, as he contrasted the scene with the counter and
printing-office.
The lane led to the village street, a very pretty one sloping upwards,
and lying on each side of the Leston, which rippled along as clear as
crystal, crossed every here and there by foot-bridges, some wooden,
some a single stone; while the cottages on the opposite side were
perched on a high shelf or terrace, and were approached by charming
irregular flights of stairs with low walls or balustrades. Over the
rail of one, smoking a pipe in summer evening enjoyment, was seen
Abednego Tripp, with long nose, brown parchment cheeks, and lank hair
not yet grey--one of the genuine almost extinct species of parish
clerk. As the carriage stopped, he began to descend, keys in hand, for
the church was a lion, and many carriages did stop there; but it was
not till Felix jumped out and hailed him that he knew who were his
visitors.
'Bless me, if it is not Master Felix after all! I did think you was
never coming, Sir. And this is the young gentleman as has been so ill.
You're kindly welcome, Sir. I think he'd favour poor Master Eddard if
he didn't look so nesh.'
'I shall get well here,' said Lance. 'If it is not my native air, it
ought to be.'
'Will you come and rest a bit, Sir? or would you like to go to the
church?'
'The church,' they said. Felix first explained what he knew would give
pleasure--that they had come depending on him for a cup of tea, and
a cast in his boat which was wont to convey the marketables of Vale
Leston twice a week to Ewmouth.
Abednego sped up his stairs like a lamp-lighter, to cause his
grand-daughter to make preparations, and was speedily down again,
delighted to hear Felix prove his memory by inquiries after the
inhabitants of the old dwellings.
'Ha! the Miss Hepburns!' said Felix, looking at a tall narrow house
completely embowered in trailing roses, and with the rails of the
bridge of entrance wreathed with clematis. 'Are they there still?'
'Oh yes, Sir, all the four on 'em; and a sight of good they does to the
poor!'
'I wonder whether I ought to call?' said Felix; 'they used to be very
kind to me.'
'What, is that Rob's godmother, that never gave her anything but that
queer name?' asked Lance.
'I shouldn't think they were rich,' said Felix. 'I fancy they used
to be very fond of my mother, and made her promise that the next
girl should be named for one of them. There was Miss Bridget, and
Miss Martha, and something else as bad, and Robina was the least
objectionable of the lot. I think they used to write to my mother; but
it is late in the day for calling.'
'Here comes Miss Bridget,' said the clerk, as there appeared in sight
a tall, rigid, angular figure, with a big brown hat and long straight
cloak, and a decidedly charity-looking basket in her hand.
Felix stepped forward with his hand to his hat. 'Miss Hepburn, I
believe. I must introduce myself--Felix Underwood.'
The lady's first move had been a startled shy drawing herself up and
into herself, at being addressed by a stranger. Then she looked up with
an amazed 'Felix Underwood! Little Felix!' and as he smiled and bowed,
she fumbled and put out a hesitating hand.
'Yes. Tripp did tell us something--something of your being at Ewmouth,
but we were not sure.'
'We had not been able to come over before,' said Felix, thinking she
meant to imply that he ought to have called. 'We came for health and
have not been equal to the walk.'
'Oh, indeed. Nothing infectious, I hope?'
'Oh no,' he said, explaining in a few words the total want of
connection between his case and Lance's.
'I am glad. I'll--I'll tell my sisters. I'm glad to have seen you.'
There was something faltering and ill-assured in her manner, and in a
moment she turned back with 'Mr. Underwood, where are you stopping?'
He answered; and with 'I'll tell my sisters,' she parted with them
again.
'That's Miss Bridget,' commented old Tripp. 'She's the one as allys
says, "I'll tell my sisters." They do say as Miss Isabella, she be the
master on 'em all.'
Felix and Lance smiled to one another the assurance that every family
had its Wilmet; but while the younger brother shrugged his shoulders,
the elder felt a certain chill in the contrast with those days of old,
when the sugar-plums and picture-books of the whole sisterhood were all
at his service, and bethought him that times were changed.
They entered the churchyard by a little side-gate. The church was a
grand pile of every style of architecture that had prevailed since the
Cistercians had settled in Vale Leston, and of every defacement that
the alternate neglect and good-will of the Underwoods could perpetrate.
The grand tower at the west end was, however, past their power to
spoil, and they had not done much damage to the exterior, except in a
window or buttress here and there. But within! The brothers, used to
the heavy correctness of the St. Oswald's restoration, stood aghast
when Abednego admitted them by the door of excommunication, straight
into the chancel, magnificently deep, but with the meanest of rails,
a reredos where Moses and Aaron kept guard over the Commandments in
black and gold, and walls bristling with genii and angels of all
descriptions, weeping over Underwoods of different generations. Lance
stood open-mouthed before a namesake of his own, whose huge monumental
slab was upborne by the exertions of a kind of Tartarean cherub, solely
consisting of a skull and a pair of bats' wings!
'My stars! where did that brute come from?' muttered Lance under his
breath. 'He's got no trifle of a piece of work!'
However, Felix had taken in that the chancel had respectable
poppy-headed benches, though the lower part of the church was
completely 'emparoked in pues,' such as surprised Lance out of all
bounds when he withdrew his eyes from the white marble death's head.
'My stars!' again he said, 'this is what I've heard of, but never saw.'
'Ay, Sir,' said Mr. Tripp, 'every one that come here do be crying out
upon the pews; and to be sure, I see the folk sleepin' in them as is
shameful!'
Well he might, for his place was the lowest in a lofty three-decker,
against one pier of the chancel arch, surmounted by a golden angel
blowing a trumpet, and with lettering round the sounding-board,
recording it to have been the gift of the Reverend Lancelot Underwood,
Rector and Vicar of this parish--the owner of the mural slab before
mentioned. That angel recalled to Felix that the sight of it had been
his great pleasure in going to church, only marred by the fact that he
was out of sight of it in the chancel.
'Why, you weren't in the choir then?' said Lance.
'Choir! no, Sir,' said the clerk. 'They sits in the gallery. The
chancel is for Mr. Underwood's family--the Rector, Sir. They seats was
just put up instead of the red baize pew before old Mr. Underwood as
was then died, and your poor papa went away. And that there font was
put, as 'tis there, just when the twin young ladies was christened.'
'Where was I christened, then?'
'In the bowl as we used to have on the Communion, Sir.'
It was plain how far Edward Underwood had dared to work at renovation,
and that nothing had since been done. The Lady-chapel, with a wonderful
ceiling of Tudor fans and pendants, was full of benches and ragged
leaves of books for such Sunday schooling as took place there, the
national school having been built half a mile off, that the children
might not be obnoxious to the Rectory. The church was a good way behind
the ordinary churches of 1861, and struck the two brothers the more
from the system in which they had been brought up.
'What a state Clem would be in!' uttered Lance, as they came out.
'It is of no use to think about it,' said Felix. 'Let us enjoy the
beautiful exterior.'
'Ay, Sir,' said old Tripp, 'parties do be saying as how it is a mortial
pity to see such a church go to wrack; and I do believe the Squire
wouldn't be so hard to move if it warn't for the Passon--that's young
Mr. Fulbert, the vicar.'
'I don't understand all these rectors and vicars,' said Lance. 'I
thought they never hung out together.'
'Why, you see, Master Lancelot, as how this is what they calls a lay
rectory, as goes like a landed estate from father to son, without there
being any call for 'em to be clergy; and the Vicar, he is just put in
to do Passon's work, only he gets his situation for life, like I do,
not like them curates.'
'I see,' said Felix; 'and the rectors have generally taken Holy Orders,
and presented themselves to the vicarage.'
'Yes, Sir, that's how it ought to be; only this here Squire--not being
no Passon, though Rector he be--he puts in a gentleman to keep it warm
till his son, young Mr. Fulbert, our Vicar as is, was growed up, and
hard work they say it was to get him to bend his mind to 't; nor he'd
not have done it at last, but for his father's paying of his bills,
and giving consent to his marrying Miss Shaw. And since that, bless
you, Sir, the curates have done nothing but change, change, change,
till 'tis enough to ruin a good clerk. You knows what that is, Master
Felix, you that be one of the cloth.' (For Felix allowed himself no
unprofessional coats.)
'It is only the cloth, Mr. Tripp; don't you see I sport a blue tie? I
am a bookseller.'
'A bookseller!' The old man recoiled. 'You'll not be passing your jokes
on me, Sir. A book-writer--I understands.'
'No, a bookseller in earnest. I have a share in a very good business at
Bexley; I've been at it ever since I was sixteen.'
The old clerk was quite overcome; he leant upon a headstone and stared
at Felix without speaking, and then it was a sort of soliloquy. 'To
think of poor dear Master Eddard's son being come to that! and he
looking a dozen times more like a clergyman and a gentleman than ever
this young Mr. Fulbert will!'
'Never mind, Mr. Tripp,' said Felix; 'there's one of us on the way to
be a clergyman--Edward Clement, you know, that I wrote to you about;
and maybe this fellow too. Don't look so angry with me. I was obliged
to do the best I could to bring in something for the thirteen of us.'
'And we're as proud of him as can be!' added Lance, affectionately and
indignantly.
'Ah, well,' said the old aristocrat, 'that may be, for you never
knew them he came of. There was my old Lady Geraldine, as was his
great-grandmother, who gave a new coat or new gown to every poor body
in the parish at Christmas, and as much roast beef as they could eat;
and wore a shawl as come from the Injies and cost two hundred pounds!
She _was_ a lady! Bless me, what would she have said to see the day--'
'That she was glad to have a great-grandson good for something,'
stoutly answered Lance. 'I declare, Mr. Tripp, you'd have liked him
better if he had come a begging!'
'So I do,' said Felix; 'and what's more, Mr. Tripp is going to refuse
me because he is too fine to sit down to tea with a tradesman!'
'No, no, sir,' said old Tripp, with tears in his eyes. 'You'll not go
for to say that. If it was the last morsel I had, I'd be proud to share
it with one of Master Eddard's sons; but I can't but think as how we
rung the bells and drunk your health when you was born, just as we did
for the Prince of Wales, and how proud poor Master Eddard looked. No
doubt he was spared the knowing of it.'
'No,' said Felix, 'it was settled with his full consent.'
Abednego seemed more distressed than ever. 'Poor Master Eddard! he must
have been brought very low. Such a gentleman as he was! Never spoke a
proud or rude word, Sir, but used to hold up his head like the first
lord in the land, and fire and colour up and start like one of young
Mr. Fulbert's thoroughbreds if any one said an impudent word.'
'That no one ever ventured,' said Felix. 'He was as much respected at
Bexley--yes, and is still--as ever he could be here. I wish you could
see my brother Edgar, he is more like him than either of us. Ah, here's
the old garden gate, I wish we could go into the shrubbery.'
Tripp was rather for trying it. He said the gardeners would be gone
home, and the elder master at dinner--the younger, with his wife,
was absent; but Felix could not bear the sense of spying, though he
did not withhold Lance from a rush into the garden paths, where he
did not discover much. Then they looked into the eddy at the meeting
of the waters; and turning back to Tripp's neatest of kitchens, were
there regaled upon shrimps, rashers hissing from the fire, and the
peculiar native species of hot-buttered cake, which Felix recollected
as viewed in the nursery as the _ne plus ultra_ of excellence, probably
because it was an almost prohibited dainty. Lance was in his element,
delighting himself and Miss Kerenhappuch Tripp by assisting her to
toast, to butter, and even to wash up, calling Felix to witness that he
always helped Cherry in the holidays; when just as they were rising to
seek the boat, Mr. Staples came climbing up the steps.
'I thought I should find you here,' he said. 'Mr. Underwood very much
wishes you would come and spend the rest of the evening with him.'
'The old humbug!' burst out Lance. 'You won't go, will you, Felix?'
Felix thought a moment, then walked with Mr. Staples to the corner
of the narrow ledge in front of the cottage. 'Mr. Staples,' he said,
'I know nothing about it. I trust to you to tell me whether this man
treated my father so that I ought not to accept attention from him.'
'Hm? ha? I should not say so. He treated him unkindly, ungenerously,
but he hardly knew how much so, and he had the letter of the law on his
side. I verily believe he regrets it, and that your father, being what
he was, would be the last to wish you to hold aloof.'
'Most likely,' said Felix. 'I am sure he forgave whatever there was to
forgive.'
'It is not my doing, I assure you. He spoke of your letters that had
gone astray, and that led to more, till when he found you were in the
village, he said he should like to see you. He is breaking up; his son
has given him a good deal of trouble, and I believe he is altogether
concerned for what has passed.'
'And he will not suppose we want anything from him?' said Felix, with
something of the almost unavoidable pride of independent poverty.
'Certainly not. I have guarded against that.'
'Then I suppose we must.--That is, how is your head? are you too much
tired, Lance?'
'No,' said Lance, almost sulkily; for he was much inclined to make
fatigue a plea for escaping the 'mane nagur' and enjoying the boat, and
was rather unreasonably disposed to think it all a plot on the part of
Mr. Staples for spoiling the evening. Felix might have been equally
glad of the excuse, but he believed his father would have thought
this act of conciliation a duty, and followed Mr. Staples across
the churchyard, where all the little boys in the place seemed to be
playing marbles on the flagged paths. Its neglected state was a painful
contrast to the exquisitely laid-out shrubbery, as trim as gardeners
could make it, and improved and altered beyond Felix's recognition.
Entering the house, Mr. Staples led the way to the dining-room,
where there was a large empty table in the middle of the room, and
in the deep bay of the window a smaller one, laid out with wine and
dessert, where sat 'old Fulbert.' Having always heard him so called,
the brothers were surprised to find him no more than elderly. He must
have been originally a thorough florid handsome Underwood, and had the
remains of military bearing, though with an air of feebleness and want
of health, and a good deal of asthmatic oppression on his breath. He
did not rise, but held out his hand, saying, 'Good evening. Thank you
for coming to see a sick man.'
'I am sorry to see you so unwell, Sir.'
'Thank you, I'm on the mend. Sit down. Take a glass of wine--claret?'
Felix accepted, wondering if his father would regard it as an act of
pardon.
'And you?'
'No thank you, Sir.'
'No wine? You are the one that has been so ill? No objection to melon,
eh?'
And Lancelot, whose illness had left a strong hankering for fruit, was
considerably appeased by the first cut into the cool buff flesh.
'Is he the next brother to you?'
'Oh no. There are three brothers and three sisters between us.'
'And what are they doing? There were one or two with Tom Underwood.
Didn't the young fellow offend him and turn out idle?'
'Not that, Sir,' said Felix, his colour rising: 'but he had no turn
for a clerkship, and a good deal for art. He is studying at the Royal
Academy; but there never was any quarrel; he is often at Thomas
Underwood's.'
'And the rest?'
'One has the Ewshire Scholarship at St. Cadoc's; and there's one in
Australia.'
'And this lad--what's his name?'
'Lancelot. He is in the choir school at Minsterham Cathedral, and hopes
to get a scholarship.'
'Is that all of you?'
'Two more boys, quite little, and the six girls.'
'Any of them able to do anything for themselves?'
'The eldest is a teacher in a school at Bexley,' said Felix, not
delighted with the cross-examination; 'and Alda, the one that lived
with the Tom Underwoods, is engaged to a man of good fortune. Then two
of the younger ones are at schools, where an allowance is made for poor
clergymen's daughters.'
'How long has your mother been dead?'
'Four years and a half.'
'And you have managed all single-handed?'
'With my eldest sister's help, Sir.'
'Taken to the press, have you?' (Mr. Staples must have made the best of
his vocation.) 'What's your paper?'
'The Bexley Pursuivant. Most likely you never heard of it. It is only
a little county paper;' and then feeling that to stop there was a
subterfuge, he added, 'Our main business is the retail trade.'
Mr. Underwood was chiefly intent on the next question, the politics of
the paper, though he said he need hardly ask. 'All you young stuck-up
fellows run in one team--all destructives.'
'No, no, Sir,' broke in Mr. Staples eagerly. 'Mr. Felix is staunch to
the back-bone.'
Felix was never more tempted to deny his principles than when he found
them brought forward as a recommendation; but he could only explain
that the Pursuivant was an old established county gentleman's style
of paper, in the agricultural interest. Whereupon the Squire mounted
his political hobby in such sort and with such abusive violence,
especially as to the local representatives of the adverse party, that
Felix could not help feeling that if such were indeed the opinions of
his own side, he should certainly be on the other. One good effect was
the sparing him any more personal catechizing. Mr. Underwood shouted
himself weary, without requiring any reply save what Mr. Staple's local
knowledge supplied; and when the carriage was announced, the guests
were dismissed with a hearty shake of the hands, and invitation to call
again--'It was a comfort to talk of public matters to a young man of
sense;' and Lance found a sovereign in his hand. He was not sure that
he was obliged.
'Well,' said Mr. Staples, rubbing his hands with satisfaction as they
drove off, 'what do you think of the Squire?'
'He talks very loud,' said Felix, who had for some time been watching
the increase of Lance's head-ache, and now was trying to give him a
rest on shoulder and arm.
Mr. Staples gave what help he could towards making the tired boy
comfortable, and then returned to the subject in all their minds. 'So
your father never told you those particulars?'
'No; I think it was his great object not to dwell on them, nor let us
look back with regret or anger.'
'Just like him. I never saw such a case, never! I'll show you a
remarkable letter of his. But, first, you ought to understand the way
the matter stood. To begin with the relationship.'
'I know nothing about them, only that my father and mother were
second cousins; but I don't even know to which of them my great-uncle
Underwood was really uncle.'
'To your mother. He had very strong feelings as to the duty of the head
of a family, and made his house a home for all that needed it. When
Miss Mary was sent home an orphan from India--James's, his favourite
brother's, child--he asked his cousin's widow, Mrs. Edward Underwood,
to bring her boy, superintend the house, and look after the little
girl; and she was glad enough, for the captain had died of his wounds
at Waterloo, and she had little but her widow's pension.'
'I know,' said Felix. 'Then whose son is the Squire?'
'The son of Lancelot, who was the second brother, between the Reverend
Fulbert (your great-uncle) and James, your mother's father. So he was
heir-at-law, but he was a wildish sort of lad, unfit to take Holy
Orders; and there came to be an understanding that if his uncle would
buy his commission and purchase his steps, he would not look for the
Rectory and the estate. On that understanding your father took Orders
and married; but on old Mr. Underwood's death there was only a draught
of a will, which he had not been in a state to execute, leaving a
handsome legacy to Fulbert, but the whole property to your father and
mother. It seemed a matter of course that, as the only compensation,
Fulbert should have presented his cousin Edward to the vicarage--£400 a
year; but as ill-luck would have it, he took offence at some sermon--a
Lent one about self-indulgence, I believe it was--swore he wouldn't
have a Puseyite parson preaching at him, and went into such a rage,
that it is thought to be partly by way of getting off giving him the
living, and getting it held for his son.'
'I see,' said Felix.
'It was a dirty trick; and I was a younger man at the time, and it
struck me that if your father chose to try the case, the testator's
intentions being clear, and instructions in his own hand extant, it was
ten to one it might be given in his favour. I even took a counsel's
opinion, thinking that at any rate an intimation that the case was to
be tried before possession was given up, might bring Fulbert to terms
with regard to the living.'
'And he would not?'
'No. I should like to show you his letter. Would you do me the honour
of dining with me to-morrow?'
Felix was obliged to mutter something about ladies and no dress-coats;
but this was silenced, and he made a promise contingent on Lance's
fitness. He was puzzled by the relations in which Mr. Staples seemed to
stand with the lay-rector; but he found that they were not of business,
only that elections, and county affairs, brought them together, and
that Mr. Underwood was regarded with a sort of compassion by the men
of his own standing, who used to go and visit him whenever they could
be secure of not encountering the cold welcome and ill-breeding of his
daughter-in-law--the grievance of his life.
'Did you see any one you remembered?' further asked Mr. Staples.
'One of the Miss Hepburns, who did not seem very well to know whether
to acknowledge me or not.'
'Ha, ha!' chuckled Mr. Staples. 'Queer old girls they are. Very high.
Very good to the poor. All the good that is done in Vale Leston is by
them; but anything between a swell and a pauper don't exist for them.
They're as poor as Job, and their pride is all they have, so they make
the most of it.'
So, after all, the day had not been quite without mortification, and
Felix felt it a little more than he thought it was worth.
Lance was a good deal excited by the sight of his ancestral home. He
had an eye for scenery, and longed to bask in it again; boating seemed
delightful; and he was amazed, not to say elated, by the grandeur
of the house, which exceeded any--save Centry Park--in his limited
experience. His mind was set on explorations there, and on the whole
history; while Felix, to whom all was less new and more sorrowful, was
inclined to hang back from any unwise awakening of unsettling regrets;
but there was no declining Mr. Staples' kindness, and he had much
desire to see the letter. So the two youths put on their Sunday coats,
assisted one another's ties, and looked each other well over before
encountering the formidable mass of ladies Felix had seen in church,
and about whom he was far more shy than Lance, who had seen a good deal
more of the species at Minsterham.
It turned out very pleasant; the frank good-natured mother and
daughters made themselves very agreeable; and though no one was as
pretty as Alice Knevett, they were all so far superior to her in manner
and cultivation that the mixing with them could not fail to soften
any sting of disappointment that might remain. Lance was made much of
as an invalid, and very much liked the privileges that did not hinder
an evening game of croquet, since Mr. Staples evidently intended his
conference with Felix to be _tête-à-tête_.
It took place in a pleasant little study, fitted with green morocco and
walnut, that spoke well for the solicitor's taste and prosperity, and
looking out on the pretty lawn, with the long shadows of the trees, the
croquet players flitting about, and the sea glittering in the distance.
The letter was ready, folded up lengthwise and docketed, business
fashion; but when opened, the familiar handwriting seemed to bring back
the father, even to the sound of his voice.
Vale Leston Rectory,
18th January.
MY DEAR STAPLES,
My wife and I feel greatly obliged to you for your good-will
and zeal on our behalf, and have not for a moment justified
your dread of being thought officious. In other circumstances,
I might be tempted to fight the battle; but it is impossible
for several reasons. Were we the losers, we should be
totally unable to pay the costs, and a load either of debt
or obligation would be a burthen we have no right to assume.
Moreover, the uncertainty of our position pending the decision
would be as mischievous to myself as to the parishioners. It
would destroy any fitness to be their Vicar, whether we gained
or not. The holding the Rectory is in itself an abuse; and
now that the grapes are sour, I am glad not to encounter the
question of conscience, and so shall not adopt any means--to
my mind doubtful--for bringing it on myself. This being the
case, you will see that the idea of alarming Fulbert Underwood
falls to the ground. Supposing he were coerced into the
compromise, what a pleasing pair--squire and parson--would
be the result! No, my kind friend, be content to see things
remain as they are. We carry with us the certainty of our good
uncle's kindness, and the non-fulfilment of his intentions
is clearly providential. I have heard of a promising curacy,
where I shall get the training I need after feeling my wilful
way as I have done here. My wife, being the expectant heiress
and lay-rectoress, shall write to satisfy you that she is not
suffering from my coercion.
Yours, most sincerely obliged,
E. F. UNDERWOOD.
And on another sheet followed:--
DEAR MR. STAPLES,
I think my husband is quite right, and that to go to law would
only make things much worse. It is very kind in you, but I
really do not care about anything so long as I have my husband
and children, and can feel that my dear uncle meant all that
was kind. Indeed, I really think my husband enjoys the prospect
of a new and more active kind of work. He is sure to be happy
anywhere, and as long as that is the case, all will be right;
and he says that it will be much better for the children not to
grow up in luxury.
With many warm thanks,
Yours very truly,
M. W. UNDERWOOD.
'May I copy them?' asked Felix, looking up with his eyes fuller of
tears than suited his reserved disposition.
His father's letter, full of his constant brave cheerfulness in
self-abnegation, had not overcome him like the few words that brought
back the lovely young mamma he now remembered at Vale Leston, but
whom he had too soon known only as the patient, over-tasked, drudging
mother, and latterly in the faded helpless invalid. How little she had
guessed the life that was before her!
Mr. Staples readily supplied him with the materials, adding, 'I will
take care you have the letters by-and-by. I value them too much to part
with them in my lifetime.' And presently he interrupted Felix's writing
by saying, 'I much wished to have seen Mr. and Mrs. Edward Underwood
again, but it seemed to me that they were unwilling to keep up a
correspondence.'
'They were so busy,' said Felix.
'No doubt; and I thought they might feel a visit an intrusion.
Otherwise, I often thought of running down from Town.'
'My father would have been very glad.'
'I did wish to have seen him again--and your mother, almost a child as
she was even at that time, with her flock of pretty children. I shall
never forget her--the beauty and darling of all the neighbourhood, as
she used to be. All we young men used to rave about her long before
she was out.' Mr. Staples smiled at some recollection, and added, 'I
never spoke to her four times in my life; but I was as bad as any of
them--presumptuous as you may think it.'
'I am glad you did not see her again,' burst from Felix, the tears
starting forth as he copied her hopeful words. 'She altered sadly.'
'Ah! indeed.'
The concerned tone forced Felix to add, 'It came so much more heavily
on her than on any of us, care and work and years of seeing my father's
health failing; and in the last week of his life she had a fall, that
brought on softening of the brain.'
Somehow, the whole had never struck him as so piteous before as in the
contrast with her youthful brightness, and when he saw Mr. Staples
greatly affected. He could only write on through a mist of tears,
while the solicitor walked about the room, blowing his nose violently,
and muttering sentences never developed; till at last he came behind
Felix's chair, and laying his hand on his shoulder, said, 'After all,
it will come round. You are next heir.'
'Heir? There's Fulbert Underwood!' exclaimed Felix.
'True; but he's been some years married, and there's no sign of a
family. Depend upon it, we shall see Vale Leston come back yet.'
'It would make no difference now,' muttered Felix, as he traced his
mother's fearless lines; nay, if he had a personal thought, it was of
what he might have ventured towards Alice Knevett.
'Not to them,' said Mr. Staples, 'but a good deal to you, my young
friend.'
'Now, Mr. Staples,' said Felix, smiling, 'aren't you doing our best to
unsettle a young man in business?'
'Well, well, you are too reasonable. A contingency--only a contingency.
But I should like to show you.' And he hastily sketched a pedigree that
had at least the advantage of showing Felix his relationships.
Rev. Lancelot.
|_____________________________________________2
| |
| |
Rev. Fulbert. Lancelot.
| |
| 2 3 | 2
Rev. Fulbert.____Lancelot.____James U. Lancelot._______Thomas.
d. 1843. | | | |
| | | |
Fulbert. Mary Wilmet. Thomas. Rev. Edward.
| m. Edward U. m. Mary Kedge. m. Mary Wilmet
| | | Underwood.
ev. Fulbert. | |
Felix, &c. Mary Alda
Underwood.
'There! Through your mother you stand next in the line--are
heir-at-law, you see. May I live to see that day! That's all.'
The thought did not affect Felix much at the moment. He was too full of
what might have been, and the 'contingency' was such a remote one! So
after answering to the best of his ability whether any of his sisters
were like his mother, he was glad to get out, and forget it all in
croquet. His musical capacities were discovered too; but the attempt
to profit by them proved quite too much for Lance, to whose brain the
notes of the piano were absolute and severe pain.
A formal little note came on the ensuing morning, in which 'the Misses
Hepburn'--in the third person--requested the favour of the company of
Mr. Felix Underwood and his brother at luncheon. Felix felt a little
stung. He could recollect warm passages between the ladies and his
mother, and had been their pet long enough to wonder at this cold
reception, and question whether it were not more dignified to reject
advances made in such a manner; but his heart yearned towards those
who had been kind to him in his youth, and he believed that his mother
would have wished him to renew the intercourse, and therefore decided
upon going; but it was too hot and sunny a day for Lance to walk, and
Felix so entirely expected the visit to be wearisome and disagreeable,
if not mortifying, that he could only resolve on it as a duty, and
would not expose his brother to it.
So he plodded off alone, and a curious visit he had. It was not easy
for him to guess at the sacredness of those traditions of gentility and
superiority that the 'Misses Hepburn' held--not so much for their own
sakes as in faithful loyalty to the parents many years dead, and to
the family duty that imposed a certain careful exclusiveness on them
in deference to the noble lineage they could reckon, and the head of
the house, whom none of them had ever seen. He could not have guessed
the warm feeling towards 'dear Mary' that had struggled so hard with
the sense of duty, and had gained the victory over the soreness at the
dropping of correspondence, and the idea that it was a dereliction to
bend to one 'who had lowered himself,' as Mrs. Fulbert Underwood said
he had.
What he saw was a tiny drawing-room, full of flowers and gimcracks, and
fuller of four tall angular women, in dark dresses in the rear of the
fashion, and sandy hair. They had decided in council, or rather Miss
Isabella had decided for them, that since he was to be received, they
would remember only his gentle blood; and therefore they shook hands
with him, and the difference of the clasp alone could have shown the
difference of character--the patronising, the nervous, the tenderly
agitated, the hearty.
He found them better informed than the Squire had been as to the
condition of the family--at least, so he presumed from the text of
their inquiries. Not a word did they say of his own employment--it
was to be treated as a thing not to be spoken of; but the welfare of
the others was inquired after, and especially of Robina--who was the
name-child of the eldest sister, the gentlest of the set, and the most
in the background, quiet and tearful--pleased to hear that her godchild
was at school, and as Felix emphatically said 'a very good girl,'
anxious that he should take charge of 'a little token' for her.
The little token turned out to be 'Ministering Children'; and this gave
Felix a further hint, which prepared him for the tone in which some of
his information was received, when he had only mentioned Geraldine as
gone for health's sake to the St. Faith's Sisterhood.
The ladies looked at one another, Miss Isabella cleared her throat, and
he knew a warning was coming; so he quickly said, 'One of the ladies,
a clergyman's widow, was very kind to my father in his illness, and is
really the best friend we have left in England.'
'Your dear father was too much inclined to those specious doctrines
that are only too fascinating to youth. I hope you do not outrun him.'
'I hope not,' said Felix, very sincerely; and he then succeeded in
interesting his monitor by speaking of Fulbert, and using him as a
bridge to lead to an account of Mr. Audley's Australian doings.
It was altogether a stiff uncomfortable visit; the very politeness
of the good ladies made Felix feel that they viewed his position as
altered, and he could not but feel a strong hope that he should never
again have to make this offering at the shrine of ancient friendship.
On coming home in the evening, Felix found a note on the table.
'Croquet to wit?' asked Lance, as Felix tried to read it by the almost
vanished twilight.
'What's this?'
'We hope you and your brother will join us in a pic-nic at
Kitt's Head on Saturday.
'Having discharged my ladies' commission, I proceed to that
which I have authority from your relation for intimating
to you--namely, that failing heirs of his own son, he has
entailed the Vale Leston property upon you, thus rendering its
alienation by the Reverend Fulbert impossible. I believe the
arrangement was made within the last week. Congratulations
would hardly be suitable, but I cannot refuse myself the
pleasure of saying how sincerely I rejoice.'
'What--what?' cried Lance, jumping up. 'You to have that splendiferous
river, and the salmons, and all. Won't you get a magnificent organ for
that church?'
'My dear Lance, don't you see that all this means is, that if young
Fulbert has no children, I shall come after him.'
'Oh, he won't! I'm sure he won't. Things always do come right. Oh, what
a _coup d'état_ mine was after all! Things always do come right. You,
that were born to it! Didn't old Tripp say how they had had the bells
rung for you? I should like to set them going this minute!'
'They should be on your own cap, then!' said Felix, laughing and yet
sharing in a castle or two--how Cherry should have a pony-carriage! how
Clement should be turned loose upon the Church! how Lance should pursue
the salmon at home and the humanities at the University! how Bernard
should have a real good gentleman's education!--but Felix soon brought
himself back again. 'Remember, Lance, not a word of this at home or
anywhere else.'
'Not tell any one?' cried the boy, crest-fallen.
'Don't you see, Lance, besides the impropriety of talking of what
involves two deaths, it would be the most senseless thing in the world
to let this make the least difference. Old Fulbert may change his mind,
or young Fulbert have a son; at any rate, he is not five-and-thirty,
and just as likely as not to outlive me.'
'Fee! Fee! you are quite well, you wretched Norseman!'
'Oh! I didn't mean _that;_ but anybody may outlive anybody for that
matter. Anyway, there's no chance of any of these schemes coming to
pass while we are young enough to care, even if they ever do; and if
they unsettle us now, it would be unmitigated damage.'
'I see that,' said Lance; 'but as, by good luck, I'm No. 8, it can't do
me much harm to think about it, and I don't see why the others should
not.'
'Do you think some of them would be content to go on as we are doing,
with this in their heads? And if any one in the town knew it, whatever
I might do, people would think I was getting above my business. I doubt
whether even Froggy himself would have the same reliance on me.'
'Then shan't you even tell Wilmet and Cherry?'
'I hope not. I don't think Wilmet could keep it from Alda, or Cherry
from Edgar; and just imagine what it would be to have it come round
through Kensington Palace Gardens that we were reckoning on it!
Besides, it will make no earthly difference to anybody, unless, maybe,
to Edgar's son.'
The mention of such a being brought Felix somehow to a sudden silence;
and in the meantime supper and a candle were brought in, revealing a
thick letter from Geraldine, which had at first escaped notice. There
were two enclosures; but as Felix read her writing, he broke out with
an exclamation of consternation that startled Lance.
'Hollo! What is it?' And as he received no answer--'Wilmet's not
given up Jack? Eh? Nor Cherry fallen in love next? Clem hasn't turned
bare-footed friar?' crowding together the wildest suggestions he could
think of to force answer.
'Hush! That dear child--'
'She doesn't want to be a sister? You'll tell her you'd see her at
Jericho first!'
'No. It is about her foot.'
'Not worse?'
'No; but, dear little thing, she wants to have it taken off, because
she fancies if she was more effective, it might be one difficulty out
of Wilmet's way!'
'She's a blessed little brick! But would it be so?'
'Well, I remember in the time of the measles, the last time I ever let
that fellow Rugg come near her, he thought proper to tell somebody in
her hearing that if she was in a fit state of health, it would be the
only remedy. She wasn't, and it was quite uncalled for; and it put the
poor little thing in such an agony, that at last Sibby came and wrapped
me up in a blanket to sit by her, and talk very big about nobody being
able to do it without my leave, and my not intending to consent to any
such thing. I thought she had forgotten all about it, but it seems that
she has not; and she imagines that, as she says, "with a cork foot that
I could stand upon, instead of always keeping this one up in fear of
hurting it, I could get about the house with only a stick, and be of
some use, and then dear Mettie's happiness might not be so far off."'
'And what does Mettie say?'
'She knows nothing; Cherry implores me not to tell her, for she says
that it would be impossible for Mettie to come and nurse her, and she
would rather have Sister Constance than any one.'
'Than Mettie! Deluded child!' cried Lance.
'Her great wish is to have it done now at St. Faith's. She told Clement
before she left home, because she thought they would insist on some
one at home knowing; but "Don't think me very sly," she says; "I would
not tell Sister Constance what was in my head till I came here, for
fear she should think it her duty to speak to Wilmet; and now, they
will not hear of it without your knowing. I did wish to have surprised
you all! About the cost I have thought. You know Dr. Lee attends me
for nothing while I am here, and I told you that Sister Constance has
sent up all my book of illustrations of Queen Isabel, and some of the
water-coloured drawings, to her sister, Lady Liddesdale, and how much
she has been getting for them--quite enough to set me up with a foot
that will not be half such a nuisance as this old dead-alive one, which
has never let me have any peace these twelve years. I am trying to be
good; but indeed I feel as if it might be wrong to try to be rid of my
cross. So I abide by your decision, dear Felix. You are my king, and I
put myself in your hands; only you must not be anxious. You should have
known nothing if I could have helped it."'
'Go on,' grunted Lance, with his face hidden, as Felix paused.
'That's all; but here are notes from Sister Constance and Dr. Lee.'
The Sister's explanation was, that it had been entirely Geraldine's own
thought, and that her willingness and eagerness made a great difference
in such a nature as hers. She told Felix not to think of coming--the
fewer the better; and he could come in a few hours in case of need.
It was advisable that the decision should be made quickly, since to
nervous sensitiveness like Cherry's the very effort to bear suspense
reacted on the bodily frame. 'If you know what I mean,' concluded
Sister Constance, 'heroism is likely to carry the little creature
through what would be far more trying if this were proposed to her for
her own sake.'
And Dr. Lee's letter gave the medical view, decidedly inclining to the
opinion that the probabilities were in favour of the operation, and
that the conditions were never likely to be more promising than at
present.
'Dear child! I wish I were there!'
'Can't we go?'
'What, you? Think of the train.'
Lance shook his head. 'Couldn't I stay by myself, and you run up?'
'I don't think I can help it.'
But the excitement of the evening broke Lance's sleep, and the next day
he was quite ill; while Felix not only saw that he must not be left,
but perceived after the first that Sister Constance's warning ought to
be respected, and that an arrival would only agitate Cherry's nerves.
So he wrote his sanction with a very heavy heart, betraying as little
emotion as was consistent with the tenderness so essential to support
brave but fragile little Geraldine.
The anxiety seemed to have swallowed up the recollection of Mr.
Staples' message; indeed, it was not willingly that Felix answered his
note, and made a half engagement to the pic-nic.
Felix was struck by seeing how much, under the circumstances, Lance
missed the daily service to which he had been used all his life.
'I didn't mind it at first,' said the chorister, 'it seemed a part of
the holiday; but somehow the day seems all stupid and astray without
it.'
But there was no church with it to be heard of; and indeed one attempt
on Sunday at East Ewmouth resulted in Lance's collapsing into some
of his most distressing symptoms, caused, as he declared, by the
overpowering might and untuneableness of the singing, but quite bad
enough to make Felix resolve against permitting further experiments,
and thus walk off by himself on the next Wednesday forenoon when he
heard the bell.
There was a long lecture that he had not bargained for; and when he
came out with a slightly impatient impulse, the first thing he saw was
a blue umbrella, a white hat, and a hand waving a paper. In silence
Felix read--
'Constance Somerville to Felix Underwood.--11.30. Favourably
over. No cause for anxiety.'
They were rather grave and awe-struck, and scarcely spoke all the way
home--indeed, Felix was chiefly thinking how to get Lance home out
of the sun without hurrying or over-heating him; but after dinner
came a reaction; the boy went frantic with admiration of a beautiful
yacht that was standing into the bay; and Felix, with his letter to
Sister Constance to write, one to Australia to finish, and his leading
articles to draw up, was forced to command peace in something of the
old rough-and-ready style; and even when Lance vanished, he was to be
heard singing scraps of comic songs in the distance.
By-and-by he came in carrying a board taller than himself. 'Please your
Majesty, I'll be as mute as a mole; but I must do this here, for Mrs.
Pettigrew is baking.'
'What in the name of wonder have you got there?' asked Felix, as
Lance proceeded to lay his board on the sofa (his day--and Felix's
night--bed) and place on it a white and soppy mass.
'A little dab out, as Sibby calls it,' said Lance. 'It's my puggery.
Ever since it fell overboard it has been a disgrace to human nature, so
I have been washing it, and now I've got an iron heating.'
'What a mess you will make of it!' observed Felix, with a grimace of
disgust, as Lance returned again from the kitchen, holding the iron
scientifically near his cheek.
'That's all you know about it! Why, I've ironed dozens of
pocket-handkerchiefs--at least, not dozens, but my own, dozens of
times--in the Harewood tubs.'
'I thought the Chapter washed you?'
'So it does, in reason; but last spring there was a doom on my
pocket-handkerchiefs. The Harewood puppy ate up one; one dropped into
the canal; I tied up a fellow that had got a cut with one, and the
beggar never returned it; and two or three more went I don't know how.
I knew W. W. would be in a dreadful state if I asked for a fresh lot,
so I used to wash out the last two by turns, till I got some tip and
bought some fresh ones--such jolly ones, all over acrobats and British
flags; and after all, didn't I catch it? Wilmet was no end of disgusted
to miss her little stupid speckotty ones, vowed these weren't decent
for the Cathedral, and boned them all for Theodore! Now, hush! or I
shall come to grief!'
Felix held his pen suspended to watch the dexterity that reduced the
crude mass to smooth muslin, which in its expanded state looked as
impracticable as before.
'Now, do you mean to get Mrs. Pettigrew to put it on in those elegant
festoons?'
'You just mind your leader, Blunderbore! A man who has had women to do
for him all his life is a pitiable being!'
And Lance, according to instructions obtained from John Harewood,
wreathed his hat triumphantly in the white drapery, and completed
Felix's surprise and amusement by producing a needle and thread, and
setting to work on various needful repairs of his own buttons and his
brother's, over which he shook his head in amusement as he chuckled at
the decay which had befallen the garments of so neat a personage as
Felix, and which had been very distressing to himself.
'Ah! thank you. I never knew what Robinson Crusoe felt like before!'
said Felix, as Lance came on a wrist-band minus button.
'Robinson Crusoe! You'd soon have been like Man Friday before he caught
him.'
'But doesn't the matron mend for you?'
'She pretends; but I should like to see her face if one brought her
a chance thing to do. My eyes! if that isn't old Staples! I must
absquattilate.'
Which after all he had no time to effect, with all his works, before
their friend came to ask whether they were relieved about their sister,
and was amused at the handy little schoolboy's ingenious preparations.
'After all, I find it is to be more of an affair than I expected; I
thought it was to be only ourselves and the Brandons, but they are the
kind of people who always pick up every one.'
'Does that yacht belong here?' eagerly asked Lance.
'That! It is the Kittiwake--Captain Audley's.'
'Ha! That's what Fulbert went to Alexandria in! What fun!'
'He is the son of Sir Robert Audley. Do you know him?'
'His brother was my father's fellow-curate,' said Felix, 'and is our
guardian and kindest friend. I have seen this one in London. Will he be
at this pic-nic?'
'Not likely. He is shy and uncertain, very hearty and friendly when
you do meet him, but reluctant to go into society, and often taking
no notice one day, when he has seemed like one's best friend the day
before. They say he has never got over the loss of his wife; but I
don't like such manners.'
'Does he live here, then?'
'He rents the little Tudor cottage under the cliff year by year, for
the sake of his yachting--for he won't go near the regular stations.
He's got his boy at school at Stoneborough, and stays here all the
winter.'
When the brothers were walking part of the way back with their visitor,
they met the gentleman in question, with three boys after him, and
he was evidently in a cordial mood; for after shaking hands with Mr.
Staples, he exclaimed, 'I am sure I ought to know you!'
'Felix Underwood,' said the owner of that name.
'_Indeed!_ Not staying with your worthy relations?'
'No, I am down here with my brother, who has been laid up by a
sun-stroke, and wanted sea air.'
'I wish I had been at home' said the Captain, who had taken a great
fancy to Felix when they had been together in London two years
before; 'but I've been giving my boy and his cousins, the two young
Somervilles, a trip to the Hebrides; and now, just as I am come home, I
fall upon Mrs. Brandon, hounding me out to an abominable pic-nic, and
my youngsters are wild to go. Are you in for it? I believe we shall go
round to the cove in the yacht. Can I take you two?'
Felix gladly accepted, aware that their transport was a difficulty
to the Stapleses, and that the Kittiwake would be felicity to Lance,
who had fraternized with the boys, and went off with them to see the
vessel. He returned brimful of delight and fatigue, only just in time
to tumble into bed as fast as possible, and Felix was thus able to get
his work off his mind by midnight.
The morning's letters set them quite at rest. Sister Constance and
Clement both wrote: Geraldine had been calm and resolute from the
time Felix's consent arrived, and doubt was over; and Clement, though
tender, and striving hard to be firm, had been chiefly useful in
calling out her words of encouragement. He had spent the time of the
operation in the oratory, and there had been so entirely overcome by
the tidings that all was safely over, that he was hardly fit to go to
Cherry when he was sent for; and that was not soon, for the effect of
chloroform on her had indeed been to annihilate pain, but only half
to make her unconscious, for she went on talking to Felix about the
expedience all the time, ever repeating the old motto, 'Under Wode,
Under Rode;' and the trance had lasted for a good while, though when
once over, she remembered nothing of it, and was only so rejoiced and
thankful, that it was difficult to keep her calm enough. She sent her
brothers her love, and entreated them not to say a word at home. Lady
Liddesdale had contrived the sale of the book of illustrations--a work
that had been Cherry's delight of many years; so that she could feel
that she herself had earned what would cover the expense incurred, all
but the medical attendance, freely given to an inmate of St. Faith's.
'Tell Felix I am as happy as a queen,' was the final message; 'tell him
to give thanks for me.'
Felix's voice trembled, shook, and gave way, as he read; and at last he
sprang up, and walked about the room, saying that no one ever had such
brothers and sisters as himself. There was something almost oppressive
in the relief from so much anxiety, and it was some time before he
roused his ordinary senses to say, 'Well! we must finish breakfast, or
we shan't be ready for the Captain. How round the world is! Those boys
must be Sister Constance's nephews--Lady Liddesdale's sons.'
'Those boys,' said Lance. 'What, Sum and Frank? Well, I did think it
queer that the sailors on board the Kittiwake called every one My Lord.'
'Sum, I imagine, must mean Lord Somerville. What did you think of them?'
'Nicish chaps of eleven and twelve. Nothing like such swells as Tom
Bruce! The little one wanted to know where I was at school, and his
senior snubbed him; so I supposed he saw by the looks of me that I
wasn't upper-crust public school; and when I said I was a choir-boy,
the other--Charlie Audley--said, "Oh, then you're one of the awful lot
my father always jaws about when he's out of sorts!" I told him I was
very sorry, and it wasn't my fault, but yours; and then we got on like
a house on fire.'