VISITORS ARRIVE.
O! if in this great world of strife,
This mighty round of human life,
We had no friends to cheer,
O! then how cold the world would seem!
How desolate the ebbing stream
Of life from year to year!
J. B. KERRIDGE.
Autumn passed away, and winter spread its icy mantle over the earth.
Abroad all looked bleak, cold, and desolate. Trees had lost their
leaves, flowers their blossoms, and the beautiful green fields were
covered with snow; while here and there a snowdrop reared her drooping
head from under its white veil, or a crocus feebly struggled to escape
its cold embraces. Within doors, things wore a brighter aspect than
they had done for some time past. Visitors had arrived at Brampton, who,
it was hoped, would enliven the old Hall, and dissipate the dulness of
its haughty mistress. Rooms long unoccupied had bright, cheerful fires
blazing in the grates; footsteps hurried to and fro, echoing through the
long, lofty passages, where all before had been so still and silent. The
old, gloomy, melancholy look had totally disappeared, and the house
teemed with life and mirth.
Mrs. Hopkins was no longer nurse, but had been installed as housekeeper
in the room of one who had grown too old for the office; and was all
smiles and importance, much to the disgust of Mason, the lady's maid,
who, having always considered herself a grade above the _Nurse_, now
found herself a mere cipher next to the all-important _Housekeeper_, who
seemed to sweep everything before her as she walked grandly down the
long corridor; Mason's pert toss of the head, and still perter replies,
were met with cool disdain, much to her disappointment, as she tried to
discomfort her; but all to no purpose, as Mrs. Hopkins' sway continued
paramount; and she wielded her sceptre with undiminished power,
notwithstanding all the arts used to dislodge her.
It was a half-holiday; Amy had fetched her hat, and was on her way out;
in the corridor she met Mrs. Hopkins, who was always fond of a chat when
she could find the opportunity; besides, she had long wished for some
one to whom to unburden all Mason's impertinences. She immediately
courtesied, and began--
"Good morning, Miss. Isn't the old house looking different? it does my
heart good to see it, we havn't been so gay for many a year. I am so
glad Madam has given up going to foreign parts; it ain't good for the
young ladies, and I'm certain sure it ain't no good for servants,
Mason's never been the same since she went; I havn't patience with her
airs and graces!" Here she broke off abruptly, as Mason crossed the
passage, her flowing skirts sweeping the floor, and a little coquettish
cap just visible at the back of her head. "Only look at her, Miss,
thinking herself somebody in her own opinion, when in most everybody's
elses' she's a nobody. Why, Miss, a Duchess couldn't make more of
herself," said Mrs. Hopkins, testily.
"Indeed, I do not believe she could," replied Amy, smiling, "and I am
sure would not _think_ more of herself."
"Think, Miss! Why, it's my belief she dreams at night she's found the
hen with the golden egg, and so builds castles on the strength of it all
day long; and airy ones she'll find them, I know," and Mrs. Hopkins
laughed at the idea of Mason's supposed downfall.
"I suppose, Nurse, you have been very busy?"
"Yes, Miss, just what I like. I don't care to sit with my hands before
me. I'm always happy when I'm busy. It isn't natural for me to be idle."
"How many strangers are here, Nurse? You must forgive me for calling you
Nurse, but I am so accustomed to it."
"Forgive you, Miss! I'm Nurse to you and the children if you please,
always, I'm proud of the title; but to Mason and the rest I'm Mrs.
Hopkins," said she with firmness. "As to how many are here, why I can't
exactly say; they're not all come yet, there are several empty rooms,
but I suppose they'll be filled to-day or to-morrow at the latest; then
the young Master's to come; but his room's always ready; he comes and
goes when he likes. We call him the young Master, because he's to have
the Hall by-and-by. He's a thorough good gentleman, is Mr. Charles, and
will make a good master to them as lives to see it. But it is a pity,
Madam has no son."
"Excuse me for interrupting you, Miss Neville," said Mrs. Linchmore's
voice close behind, "but I wish, Mrs. Hopkins, another room prepared
immediately; one of the smaller ones will do," and Mrs. Linchmore passed
on. Amy followed; while nurse shrugged her shoulders, shook her head,
and muttered, "Another man! Humph! I don't like so many of 'em roaming
about the place; it ain't respectable."
Mrs. Linchmore, on reaching the hall, was turning off to the library,
when Edith and Fanny ran past, closely pursued by a young girl, who
stopped suddenly on perceiving them, and, addressing Mrs. Linchmore,
exclaimed,
"Pray do not look at me, Isabella, I know my toilette is in dreadful
disorder. I have had such a run that I really feel quite warm."
"Your face is certainly rather flushed," replied Mrs. Linchmore, as she
looked at the young girl's red face, occasioned as much by the cold wind
outside, as by her run with the children.
"I know I'm looking a perfect fright," she added, vainly endeavouring to
smooth the dishevelled hair under her hat.
"Your run has certainly not improved your personal appearance. Allow me,
Miss Bennet, to introduce you to Miss Neville, whom I fear you will find
a sorry companion in such wild games."
"I don't know that!" and she gazed earnestly at Amy. "A romp is
excusable in this weather, it is so cold outside."
"A greater reason why you should remain in the house, and employ your
time more profitably;" so saying, Mrs. Linchmore walked away, leaving
the two girls together.
"That is so like her," observed Miss Bennet, "she takes no pleasure in a
little fun herself; consequently thinks it's wrong any one else should.
Now, children, be off," she continued, looking round, but they were
nowhere to be seen, having fled in dismay at the first sight of Mrs.
Linchmore.
"Are you going out?" asked she, placing her hand on Amy's arm.
"Only for a short time."
"Then for that short time I will be your companion,--that is if you
like."
Amy expressed her pleasure, and they were soon walking at a brisk pace
round the shrubbery.
Julia Bennet had no pretensions to beauty, though not by any manner of
means a plain girl. She had a very fair, almost transparent complexion,
and small, fairy hands and feet. She was a good-natured, merry girl, one
who seldom took any pains to disguise her faults or thoughts, and
consequently was frequently in scrapes, from which she as often cleverly
extricated herself. If she liked persons they soon found it out, or if
she disliked them they did not long remain in ignorance of it; not that
she made them acquainted with the fact point blank, but no trouble was
taken to please; they were totally overlooked. Not being pretty, no
envious belles were jealous of her, and young men were not obliged to
pay her compliments. Nor, indeed, had she been pretty, would they have
ventured to do what she most assuredly would have made them regret; yet
she was a great favourite with most people, never wanted a partner at a
ball, but would be sought out for a dance when many other girls with
greater pretensions to beauty were neglected. She was a cousin of Mr.
Linchmore's, the youngest of five sisters, only one of whom was
married. Julia gazed over her shoulder at her companion's hat, dress,
and shawl; nothing escaped her penetrating glance. She was rarely
silent, but had always something to say, although not so inveterate a
talker as her sister Anne. The latter, however, insisted that she was
more so, and had resolutely transferred the name of "Magpie" or "Maggy,"
with which her elder sisters had nicknamed her, to Julia.
"I have quite spoilt Isabella's temper for to-day," began Julia. "She
will remember that romp, as she calls it, for ages to come. I cannot
help laughing either, when I think of the figure I must have been when I
met her. Now confess, Miss Neville, did I not look a perfect fright?"
"You looked warm and tired, certainly,"
"Warm and tired! Now do not speak in that measured way, so exactly like
Isabella, when I was as red as this," and she pointed to the scarlet
feather in her hat, "and as for tired, I was panting for breath like
that dreadful old pet dog of hers. Well, I am glad I have made you
laugh; but do not, please, Miss Neville, if we are to be friends, speak
so like Isabella again. I hate it, and that's the truth."
"I will not, if I know it, but will say yes or no, if you like it best,
and wish it."
"And I do wish it, and that was not said a bit like Isabella, so I will
forgive you, and we will make up and be friends, as the children say,"
and she gave her hand to Amy. "And now tell me, Miss Neville, by way of
changing the subject, where, when, and how you became acquainted with my
cousin."
"I am governess to her children," replied Amy, quietly.
Julia stopped suddenly, and looked at her in surprise.
"And are you really the governess of whom Edith and Fanny have talked to
me so much? Why, you cannot be much older than I."
"Do you not consider yourself old enough to be a governess?"
"Well, yes, of course I do; but you are so different to what I always
pictured to myself a governess ought to be. They should be ugly, cross
old maids, odious creatures, in fact I know mine was."
"Why so?" asked Amy.
"Oh, she did a hundred disagreeable things. All people have manias for
something, so there is, perhaps, nothing surprising in her being fond of
_bags_. She had bags for everything; for her boots and shoes, thimble
and scissors, brushes and combs, thread, buttons,--even to her
india-rubber. A small piece of coloured calico made me literally sick,
for it was sure to be converted into a bag, and a broken needle into a
pin, with a piece of sealing-wax as the head."
"She was not wasteful," said Amy, who could not forbear laughing at the
picture drawn.
"Wasteful! Truly not. It was 'waste not, want not,' with her; she had it
printed and pasted on a board, and hung up in the school-room, and well
she acted up to the motto."
"But I dare say she did you some good, notwithstanding her
peculiarities."
"Well! 'the proof of the pudding is in the eating,' another of her wise
sayings; and it is early days to ask you what you think of me, so I
shall wait until we are better acquainted, which I hope will be soon.
How glad I was to get rid of her! I actually pulled down one of the
bells in ringing her out of the house, and would have had a large
bonfire of all the backboards and stocks, if I had dared. I could not
bear her, but I am sure I shall like you, and we will be friends, shall
we not? do not say no."
"Why should I? I will gladly have you as my friend."
"That is right; you will want one if Frances Strickland is coming: how
she will hate you. She likes me, so she says, so there is something to
console me for not being born a beauty; so proud and conceited as she is
too, everything she says and does is for effect. Her brother is as silly
as she is proud, and as fond of me as he is of his whiskers and
moustaches."
"I need not ask you if you like him."
"I shall certainly not break my heart if you are disposed to fall in
love with him."
"Nay, your description has not prepossessed me in his favour. And who
are the other guests?"
"I cannot tell you, for their name is legion, but you will be able to
see them soon, and review them much better than I can," and Julia turned
out of the shrubbery into one of the garden walks leading up to the
house.
"Here is Anne," added she, in a tone of surprise, "all alone too, for a
wonder. See!" and she pointed to a young girl seemingly intent on
watching John the gardener, who was raking the gravel, and digging up a
stray weed here and there.
"Look here, John," cried she, as they approached unperceived, "here is a
weed you have overlooked. Give me the hoe, and let me dig it up. What
fun it is!" added she, placing a tiny foot on the piece of iron, "I
declare I would far rather do this than walk about all by myself. There!
see! I have done it capitally; now I'll look for another, and just
imagine they are men I am decapitating, and won't I go with a vengeance
at some of them," and then turning she caught sight of Julia and Amy.
"Well, Maggie," said she, "here I am talking to John, in default of a
better specimen of mankind, and really he is not so bad. I declare he is
far more amusing than Frank Smythe, and has more brains than half the
men I have danced with lately, and that's not saying much for John," and
she pouted her lips with an air of disdain.
"This is my sister Anne, Miss Neville," said Julia, introducing them,
"and so this," and she pointed to the hoe still in her sister's hand,
"is your morning's amusement, Anne?"
"Yes," said she, carelessly, "I was thoroughly miserable at first,
stalking about after John, and pretending to be amused with him, but
all the time looking towards the house out of the corners of my eyes; I
am sure they ache now," and she rubbed them, "but all to no purpose, not
a vestige of a man have I seen, not even the coat tail of one of them. I
was, as I say, miserable until I spied John's hoe, and then a bright
thought struck me, and I have been acting upon it ever since, and should
have cleared the walk by this time, if you had not interrupted me."
"Pray go on," said Julia, "it is very cold standing talking here, and I
have no doubt John is delighted to have such efficient aid."
"Now Mag, that is a little piece of jealousy on your part, because
perhaps you have not been spending the morning so pleasantly. But there
is the gong sounding for luncheon, come away," and she threw down the
hoe; "let us go and tidy ourselves; I am sure you want it," and she
pointed to her sister's hair; then went with a bounding, elastic step
towards the house.
"Good-bye, Miss Neville; I must not increase my cousin's bad temper by
being late. My sister Anne is a strange girl, but I think you will like
her by-and-by, she is so thoroughly good natured."
Amy watched Julia's light graceful figure as she went up the walk, then
turned and retraced her steps round the Shrubbery.