Awfully Jolly
When life becomes a spasm,
And history a whiz,
If that is not sensation,
I don't know what it is.--LEWIS CARROLL
"Is Lady Rosamond at home?"
"No, ma'am."
"Nor Mrs. Charnock?"
"No, ma'am; they are both gone down to the Rectory."
"Would you ask whether Mrs. Poynsett would like to see me?"
"I'll inquire, ma'am, if you will walk in," said Mr. Jenkins moved
by the wearied and heated looks of Miss Vivian, who had evidently
come on foot at the unseasonable visiting hour of 11.15 a.m.
The drawing-room was empty, but, with windows open on the shady
side, was most inviting to one who had just become unpleasantly
aware that her walking capacity had diminished under the stress of a
London season, and that a very hampering one. She was glad of the
rest, but it lasted long enough to be lost in the uncomfortable
consciousness that hers was too truly a morning call, and she would
have risen and escaped had not that been worse.
At last the door of communication opened, and to her amazement Mrs.
Poynsett was pushed into the room by her maid in a wheeled chair.
"Yes, my dear," she said, in reply to Eleonora's exclamation of
surprise and congratulation, "this is my dear daughters'
achievement; Rosamond planned and Anne contrived, and they both
coaxed my lazy bones."
"I am so very glad! I had no notion I should see you out of your
room."
"Such is one's self-importance! I thought the fame would have
reached you at least."
"Ah, you don't know how little I see of any one I can hear from!
And now I am afraid I have disturbed you too early."
"Oh no, my dear; it was very good and kind, and I am only grieved
that you had so long to wait; but we will make the most of each
other now. You will stay to luncheon?"
"Thank you, indeed I am afraid I must not: papa would not like it,
for no one knows where I am."
"You have taken this long walk in the heat, and are going back! I
don't like it, my dear; you look fagged. London has not agreed with
you."
Mrs. Poynsett rang her little hand-bell, and ordered in biscuits and
wine, and would have ordered the carriage but for Lenore's urgent
entreaties to the contrary, amounting to an admission that she
wished her visit to be unnoticed at home. This was hardly settled
before there was a knock at the door, announcing baby's daily visit;
and Miss Julia was exhibited by her grandmamma with great
satisfaction until another interruption came, in a call from the
doctor, who only looked in occasionally, and had fallen on this
unfortunate morning.
"Most unlucky," said Mrs. Poynsett. "I am afraid you will doubt
about coming again, and I have not had one word about our Frankie."
"He is very well. I saw him at a party the night before we left
town. Good-bye, dear Mrs. Poynsett."
"You will come again?"
"If I can; but the house is to be full of visitors. If I don't, you
will know it is because I can't."
"I shall be thankful for whatever you can give me. I wish I could
save you that hot walk in the sun."
But as Mrs. Poynsett was wheeled into her own room some compensation
befell Eleonora, for she met Julius in the hall, and he offered to
drive her to the gates of Sirenwood in what he called 'our new
plaything, the pony carriage,' on his way to a clerical meeting.
"You are still here?" she said.
"Till Tuesday, when we go to the Rectory to receive the two De
Lancey boys for the holidays."
"How Mrs. Poynsett will miss you."
"Anne is a very efficient companion," said Julius, speaking to her
like one of the family; "the pity is that she will be so entirely
lost to us when Miles claims her."
"Then they still mean to settle in Africa?"
"Her heart has always been there, and her father is in treaty for a
farm for him, so I fear there is little hope of keeping them. I
can't think what the parish will do without her. By the bye, how
does Joe Reynolds get on with his drawings?"
"I must show them to you. He is really very clever. We sent him to
the School of Art twice a week, and he has got on wonderfully. I
begin to believe in my academician."
"So you don't repent?"
"I think not. As far as I can judge he is a good boy still. I make
him my escort to church, so that I am sure of him there. Renville
would have taken him for a boy about his studio, and I think he will
go there eventually; but Camilla thinks he may be an attraction at
the bazaar, and is making him draw for it."
"I was in hopes that the bazaar would have blown over, but the
Bishop has been demanding of Fuller and his churchwardens how soon
they mean to put the building in hand, and this seems to be their
only notion of raising money."
"I am very glad of this opportunity of asking what you think I had
better do about it. Your wife takes no part in it?"
"Certainly not; but I doubt whether that need be a precedent for
you. I am answerable for her, and you could hardly keep out of it
without making a divided household."
"I see the difference, and perhaps I have made myself quite
unpleasant enough already."
"As the opposition?"
"And Camilla has been very kind in giving me much more freedom than
I expected, and pacifying papa. She let me go every Friday evening
to help Lady Susan Strangeways at her mothers' meeting."
"Lady Susan Strangeways! I have heard of her."
"She has been my comforter and help all this time. She is all
kindness and heartiness,--elbow-deep in everything good. She got up
at five o'clock to finish the decorations at St. Maurice's, and to-
day she is taking five hundred school-children to Windsor forest."
"Is she the mother of the young man at Backsworth?"
"Yes," said Eleonora, in rather a different tone. "Perhaps she goes
rather far; and he has flown into the opposite extreme, though they
say he is improving, and has given up the turf, and all that sort of
thing."
"Was he at home? I heard he was on leave."
"He was said to be at home, but I hardly ever saw him. He was
always out with his own friends when I was there."
"I should not suppose Lady Susan's pursuits were much in his line.
Is not one of the daughters a Sister?"
"Yes, at St. Faith's. She was my great friend. The younger ones
are nice girls, but have not much in them. Camilla is going to have
them down for the bazaar."
"What, do they patronize bazaars?"
"Everything that is _doing_ they patronize. I have known them be
everywhere, from the Drawing-room to a Guild-meeting in a back slum,
and all with equal appetite. That is one reason why I fear I shall
not see much of your mother; they are never tired, and I shall never
get out alone. The house is to be full of people, and we are to be
very gay."
She spoke with a tone that betrayed how little pleasure she
expected, though it strove to be uncomplaining; and Julius, who had
learnt something of poor Frank's state of jealous misery, heartily
wished the Strangeways family further, regarding the intimacy as a
manoeuvre of Lady Tyrrell's, and doubting how far all Eleonora's
evident struggles would keep her out of the net; and though while
talking to her he had not the slightest doubt of her sincerity, he
had not long set her down at the lodge before he remembered that she
was a Vivian.
Meantime Rosamond, carrying some medicament to old Betty Reynolds,
found the whole clan in excitement at the appearance of Joe in all
his buttons, looking quite as honest and innocent, though a good
deal more civilized, than when he was first discovered among the
swine.
"Only to think," said his great-grandmother, "that up in London all
they could gie to he was a bad penny."
"It is the bronze medal, my lady," said Joshua, with a blush; "the
second prize for crayons in our section."
"Indeed," cried Rosamond. "You are a genius, Joe, worthy of your
namesake. There are many that would be proud to have the grandson
you have, Betty."
"Tubby sure," added an aunt-in-law, "'tis cheap come by. Such
things to make a young lad draught. They ought to be ashamed of
themselves, they did oughter. Shut it up, Josh; don't be showing it
to the lady--'tis nothing but the bare back of a sweep."
"My lady and Miss Vivian have seen it," said Joshua, blushing.
"'Tis torso, my lady, from a cast from the museum."
"A black-looking draught," repeated the grandmother. "I tells Joe
if he drawed like King Geaarge's head up at Wil'sbro' on the sign,
with cheeks like apples, and a gould crown atop, he'd arn his
bread."
"All in good time, Betty. He can't colour till he can draw. I'm
glad to see him looking so well."
"Yes, my lady, he do have his health torrablish, though he lives in
a underground sort of a place; and they fine servants puts upon he
shameful."
"Granny!" muttered Joshua, in expostulation.
"He's a brave boy, and does not mind roughing it, so he can get on,"
said Rosamond.
"And the ladies are very good to me," said the boy.
"Show Lady Rosamond the draught you did of Miss Vivian, like a
hangel," suggested the aunt.
The rising artist coloured, saying, "Please, my lady, don't name it
to no one. I would not have shown it, but little Bess, she pulled
down all my things on the floor when I was not looking. It is from
memory, my lady, as she looks when she's doing anything for Sir
Harry."
It was a very lovely sketch--imperfect but full of genius, and
wonderfully catching, the tender, wistful look which was often on
Eleonora's face, as she waited on her father. Rosamond longed that
Frank should see it; but the page was very shy about it, and his
grandmother contrasted it with the performances of the painter 'who
had draughted all the farmers' wives in gould frames for five pound
a head; but satin gownds and gold chains was extry.'
But Joe had brought her a pound of tea, and an 'image' for her
mantelpiece, which quite satisfied her, though the image, being a
Parian angel of Thorwaldsen's, better suited his taste than its
surroundings.
The whole scene served Rosamond for a narrative in her most lively
style for Mrs. Poynsett's amusement that evening. There was the
further excitement of a letter from Miles, and the assurance that he
would be at home in November. Anne had become far less chary of
communications from his letters than she had at first been, but of
this one she kept back so large a portion in public, that the
instant Mrs. Poynsett had bidden them good night and been wheeled
away, Rosamond put a hand on each shoulder, and looking into her
face, said, "Now, Anne, let us hear! Miles has found Archie
Douglas. It is no use pretending. Fie, Mrs. Anne, why can't you
tell me?"
"I was not to tell any one but Julius."
"Well, I'm Julius. Besides, wasn't I at the very bottom of the
tracing him out? Haven't I the best right to know whether it is bad
or good?"
"Not bad, I am sure," said Julius, quickly and anxiously.
"Oh, no, not bad," answered Anne. "He has seen him--had him on
board for a night."
"Where?"
"Off Durban. But this whole sheet about it is marked 'Private--only
for Julius,' so I could say nothing about it before your mother. I
have hardly glanced at it myself as yet, but I think he says Mr.
Douglas made him promise not to tell her or Joanna Bowater."
"Not tell Jenny!" cried Rosamond. "And you said it was not bad. He
must have gone and married!"
"I do not think that is it," said Anne; "but you shall hear. Miles
says:--'I have at last seen our poor Cousin Archie. I told you I
was following up your brother Sandie's hint about the agents for the
hunters; and at last I fell in with a merchant, who, on my inquiry,
showed me an invoice that I could have sworn to as in Archie's hand,
and described his white hair. It seems he has been acting as
manager on an ostrich farm for the last three years, far up the
country. So I lost no time in sending up a note to him, telling
him, if he had not forgotten old times, to come down and see me
while I was lying off Durban Bay. I heard no more for ten days, and
had got in the stores and was to sail the next day, thinking he had
given us all up, when a boat hailed us just come over the bar. I
saw Archie's white head, and in ten minutes I had him on deck. 'For
Heaven's sake--am I cleared, Miles?' was the first thing he said;
and when I could not say that he was, it went to my heart to see how
the eager look sank away, and he was like a worn-down man of fifty.
Poor fellow, I found he had ridden two hundred miles, with the hope
that I had brought him news that his innocence was proved, and the
revulsion was almost more than he could bear. You see, he had no
notion that we thought him dead, and so he took the entire absence
of any effort to trace him as acquiescence in his guilt; and when he
found out how it was, he laid me under the strongest injunctions to
disclose to no one that he is living--not that he fears any results,
but that he says it would only disturb every one and make them
wretched--"
"He must have gone and married. The wretch!" broke in Rosamond.
"No, oh no!" cried Anne. "Only hear the rest. 'I told him that I
could not see that at all, and that there was a very warm and tender
remembrance of him among us all, and he nearly broke down and said,
'For Heaven's sake then, Miles, let them rest in that! There's more
peace for them so.' I suppose I looked--I am sure I did not speak--
as though I were a little staggered as to whether he were ashamed to
be known; for he drew himself up in the old way I should have known
anywhere, and told me there was no reason I should fear to shake
hands with him; however his name might be blasted at home, he had
done nothing to make himself unworthy of his mother and Jenny--and
there was a sob again. So I let him know that up to my last letters
from home Jenny was unmarried. I even remembered those descriptive
words of yours, Nannie, 'living in patient peacefulness and
cheerfulness on his memory.'"
"I was called on deck just then, so I gave him my home photograph-
book, and left him with it. I found him crying like a child over it
when I came back; I was obliged to strip it of all my best for him,
for I could not move him. We went through the whole of the old
story, to see if there were any hope; and when he found that Tom
Vivian was dead, and George Proudfoot too, without a word about him,
he seemed to think it hopeless. He believes that Proudfoot at
least, if not Moy, was deeply in debt to Vivian, though not to that
extent, and that Vivian probably incited them to 'borrow' from my
mother's letter. He was very likely to undertake to get the draft
cashed for them, and not to account for the difference. It may have
helped to hasten his catastrophe. Moy I never should have
suspected; Archie says he should once have done so as little; but he
was a plausible fellow, and would do things on the sly, while all
along appearing to old Proudfoot as a mentor to George. Archie
seemed to feel his prosperity the bitterest pill of all--reigning
like one of the squirearchy at Proudfoot Lawn--a magistrate
forsooth, with his daughter figuring as an heiress. One thing worth
note--Archie says, that when it was too late, he remembered that the
under-clerk, Gadley, might not have gone home, and might have heard
him explain that the letter had turned up.'"
"Gadley? Why that's the landlord of the 'Three Pigeons!'" exclaimed
Rosamond. "It is Mr. Moy's house, and he supports him through thick
and thin."
"Yes," said Julius, "the magistrates have been on the point of
taking away his license, but Moy always stands up for him. There is
something suspicious in that."
"I heard Miss Moy, with my own ears, tell Mrs. Duncombe that he was
the apple of her father's eye," cried Rosamond.
"He's bribed! he's bribed! Oh, I see it all. Well, go on, Anne.
If Archie isn't at home before he is a year older--"
Anne went on. "'He allowed that he would have done more wisely in
facing it out and standing his trial; but he said, poor fellow, that
he felt as if the earth had given way under him. There was not a
soul near who believed him; they brought his father's history
against him, and moreover he had been at the races, and had been
betting, though in fact he had won, and not lost, and the 201. he
had become possessed of was his capital, besides the little he could
draw out of the bank
"'If he could only have seen Jenny in London she would have turned
him back. Indeed, that first stage was to consult her, but he
fancied he saw the face of the Wil'sbro' Superintendent in a cab,
and the instinct of avoiding arrest carried him to Southampton,
where he got a steerage berth in a sailing vessel, and came out to
the Cape. He has lived hard enough, but his Scots blood has stood
him in good stead, and he has made something as an ivory-hunter, and
now has a partnership in an ostrich farm in the Amatongula country.
Still he held to it that it was better he should continue dead to
all here, since Mr. Bowater would never forgive him; and the
knowledge of his existence would only hinder Jenny's happiness. You
should have seen the struggle with which he said that! He left me
no choice, indeed; forbade a word to any one, until I suggested that
I had a wife, and that my said wife and Julius had put me on the
scent. He was immensely struck to find that my sweet Nan came from
Glen Fraser. He said the evenings he spent there had done more to
renew his home-sickness, and made him half mad after the sight or
sound of us, than anything else had done, and I got him to promise
to come and see us when we are settled in the bush. What should you
say to joining him in ostrich-hatching? or would it be ministering
too much to the vanities of the world? However, I'll do something
to get him cleared, if it comes to an appeal to old Moy himself,
when I come home. Meantime, remember, you are not at liberty to
speak a word of this to any one but Julius, and, I suppose, his
wife. I hope--' There, Rose, I beg your pardon."
"What does he hope?" asked Rosamond.
"He only hopes she is a cautious woman."
"As cautious as his Nan, eh? Ah, Anne! you're a canny Scot, and
maybe think holding your tongue as fine a thing as this Archie does;
but I can't bear it. I think it is shocking, just wearing out the
heart of the best and sweetest girl in the world."
"At any rate," said Julius, "we must be silent. We have no right to
speak, however we may feel."
"You don't expect it will stay a secret, or that he'll go and pluck
ostriches like geese, with Miles and Anne, and nobody know it?
'Twould be taking example by their ostriches, indeed!"
"I think so," said Julius, laughing; "but as it stands now, silence
is our duty by both Miles and Archie, and Anne herself. We must not
make her repent having told us."
"It's lucky I'm not likely to fall in with Jenny just yet," said
Rosamond. "Don't leave me alone with her, either of you; if you do,
it is at your peril. It is all very well to talk of honour and
secrets, but to see the look in her eyes, and know he is alive,
seems to me rank cruelty and heartlessness. It is all to let Miles
have the pleasure of telling when he comes home."
"Miles is not a woman, nor an Irishwoman," said Julius.
"But he's a sailor, and he's got a feeling heart," said Rosamond;
"and if he stands one look of Jenny, why, I'll disown him for the
brother-in-law I take him for. By the bye, is not Raymond to know?"
"No," said Anne; "here is a postscript forbidding my telling him or
Mrs. Poynsett."
"Indeed! And I suppose Herbert knows nothing?"
"Nothing. He was a boy at school at the time. Say nothing to him,
Rose."
"Oh, no; besides, his brain is all run to cricket."
It was but too true. When the sun shone bright in April, and the
wickets were set up, Herbert had demonstrated that his influence was
a necessity on the village green; and it was true that his goodly
and animated presence was as useful morally to the eleven as it was
conducive to their triumphs; so his Rector suppressed a few sighs at
the frequency of the practices and the endless matches. Compton had
played Wil'sbro' and Strawyers, Duddingstone and Woodbury; the choir
had played the school, the single the married; and when hay and
harvest absorbed the rustic eleven, challenges began among their
betters. The officers played the county--Oxonians, Cantabs--
Etonians, Harrovians--and wherever a match was proclaimed, that
prime bowler, the Reverend Herbert Bowater, was claimed as the
indispensable champion of his cause and country.
If his sister had any power to moderate his zeal, she had had little
chance of exercising it; for Mrs. Bowater had had a rheumatic fever
in March, and continued so much of an invalid all the summer that
Jenny seldom went far from home, only saw her brother on his weekly
visits to the sick-room, and was, as Rosamond said, unlikely to
become a temptation to the warm heart and eager tongue.
* * * * *
The week-day congregation were surprised one August morning at eight
o'clock by the entrance of three ladies in the most recent style of
fashionable simplicity, and making the most demonstrative tokens of
reverence. As the Rector came out he was seized upon at once by the
elder lady.
"Mr. Charnock! I must introduce myself; I knew your dear mother so
well when we were both girls. I am so delighted to find such a
church--quite an oasis; and I want to ascertain the best hour for
calling on her. Quite an invalid--I was so shocked to hear it.
Will the afternoon suit her? I am only here for three days to
deposit these two girls, while I take the other on a round of
visits. Three daughters are too great an affliction for one's
friends, and Bee and Conny are so delighted to be near their brother
and with dear Lena Vivian, that I am very glad above all, since I
find there are real church privileges--so different from the Vicar
of Wil'sbro'. Poor man; he is a great trial."
All this was said between the church and the lych-gate, and almost
took Julius's breath away; but Mrs. Poynsett was prepared to welcome
her old friend with some warmth and more curiosity.
Lady Susan Strangeways was a high-bred woman, but even high breeding
could not prevent her from being overwhelming, especially as there
was a great deal more of her than there had been at the last meeting
of the friends, so that she was suggestive of Hawthorne's inquiry,
whether a man is bound to so many more pounds of flesh than he
originally wedded. However, it was prime condition, and activity
was not impeded, but rather received impetus. She had already,
since her matutinal walk of more than a mile and back, overhauled
the stores for the bazaar, inspected the town-hall, given her
advice, walked through the ruins for the church, expressed herself
strongly on the horrors of the plan, and begun to organize shilling
cards, all before Sir Harry had emerged from his room.
She was most warm-hearted and good-natured, and tears glistened in
her honest gray eyes as she saw her old friend's helpless state.
"You don't know how much I have improved," said Mrs. Poynsett; "I
feel quite at liberty in this chair, all owing to my good daughters-
in-law."
"Ah! I have so pitied you for having no girls! My dear daughters
have been so entirely one with me--such a blessing in all I have
gone through."
Mrs. Poynsett of course declared her complete comfort in her five
sons, but Lady Susan was sure that if she had had as many boys,
instead of one son and four daughters, she should have been worn
out. Lorimer was a dear, affectionate fellow. Those he loved could
guide him with a leash of gossamer, but young men in his position
were exposed to so many temptations! There ensued a little sighing
over the evils of wealth; and to see and hear the two ladies, no one
would have thought that Julia Poynsett had married a young man for
love--Susan Lorimer an old man for independence.
Possibly with her present principles she would not have done so; but
through the vista of a long and prosperous widowhood deficiencies in
the courtship were easily forgotten; and perhaps there was the more
romance and sentiment now because she had been balked of it in her
youth. She had freely allowed her eldest daughter to enter a
sisterhood from the purest, most unselfish motives, but there was
compensation in talking of her Margaret as a Sister of Mercy.
And ere long she was anxiously inquiring Mrs. Poynsett's opinion of
Eleonora Vivian, and making confidences somewhat trying to the
mother of the young lady's ardent lover.
She was quite aware that as to fortune there could hardly be a worse
match than Miss Vivian; but she was sensible enough to see that her
son had a sufficiency, and generous enough to like the idea of
redeeming the old estate. Her husband had spent his latter years in
a vain search for a faultless property, and his wealth was waiting
for Lorimer's settling down. She had always regretted the having no
vassals rightfully her own, and had felt the disadvantages of being
Lady Bountiful only by tenant right. To save an old estate from
entirely passing out of a family, and relieve 'a noble old wreck,'
like Sir Harry, seemed to her so grand a prospect that she could not
but cast a little glamour over the manner of the shipwreck. Still,
to do her justice, her primary consideration was the blessing such a
woman as Lenore might be to her son.
She had not fathomed Lady Tyrrell. No woman could do so without
knowing her antecedents, but she understood enough to perceive that
Eleonora was not happy with her, and this she attributed to the
girl's deep nature and religious aspirations. Rockpier was an
ecclesiastical paradise to Lady Susan, and a close bond with Lenore,
to whom in London she had given all the facilities that lay in her
power for persevering in the observances that were alien to the gay
household at home. She valued this constancy exceedingly, and
enthusiastically dilated on the young lady's goodness, and
indifference to the sensation she had created. "Lorimer allows he
never saw her equal for grace and dignity."
Allows! Fancy Frank _allowing_ any perfection in his Lenore! Was
it not possible that a little passing encomium on unusual beauty was
being promoted and magnified by the mother into a serious
attachment? But Lady Tyrrell was playing into her hands, and
Lenore's ecclesiastical proclivities were throwing her into the arms
of the family!
It hardly seemed fair to feign sympathy, yet any adverse hint would
be treason, and Mrs. Poynsett only asked innocently whether her
friend had seen her son Frank.
"Oh yes, often; the handsomest of all your sons, is he not?"
"Perhaps he is _now_."
"My girls rave about his beautiful brown eyes, just as you used to
do, Julia, five-and-thirty years ago."
Mrs. Poynsett was sure that whatever she had thought of Miles
Charnock's eyes five-and-thirty years ago, she had never raved about
them to Susan Lorimer, but she only said, "All my boys are like
their father except Charlie."
"But Master Frank has no eyes for any one but Miss Vivian. Oh yes,
I see the little jealousies; I am sorry for him; but you see it
would be a shocking bad thing for a younger son like him; whereas
Lory could afford it, and it would be the making of him."
Mrs. Poynsett held her peace, and was not sorry that her visitor was
called away while she was still deliberating whether to give a hint
of the state of the case.
Lady Susan was, however, more aware of it than she knew; Lady
Tyrrell had 'candidly' given her a hint that there had been 'some
nonsense about Frank Charnock,' but that he could never afford such
a marriage, even if his mother would allow it, all which she never
would. Besides, he had not fallen into a satisfactory set in
London--why, it was not needful to tell.
When, after the drive, Lady Tyrrell, fairly tired out by her
visitor's unfailing conversation and superabundant energy, had gone
to lie down and recruit for the evening, Lady Susan pressed on
Eleonora a warm invitation to the house in Yorkshire which she was
renting, and where Lorimer would get as much shooting as his colonel
would permit. The mention of him made Lenore blush to the ears, and
say, "Dear Lady Susan, you are always so kind to me that I ought to
be open with you. Don't fancy--"
"I understand, I understand, my dear," broke in Lady Susan. "You
shall not be teased. Do not the girls and I care for you for your
own sake?"
"I hope so."
The elder lady sprang up and embraced her. Affection was very
pleasant to the reserved nature that could do so little to evoke
caresses. Yet Eleonora clasped her Rockpier charm in her hand, and
added, "I must tell you that so far as I can without disobedience, I
hold myself engaged to Frank Charnock."
"To Frank Charnock?" repeated Lady Susan, startled at this positive
statement. "My dear, are you quite sure of his ways?--since he has
been in town I mean."
"I know him, and I trust him."
"I'm sure he is a fine-looking young man, and very clever, they say;
dear Julia Poynsett's son too, and they have all turned out so
well," said honest Lady Susan; "but though you have been used to it
all your life, my dear, a taste for horses is very dangerous in a
young man who can't afford to lose now and then, you know."
"I have seriously made up my mind never to marry a man who has
anything to do with the turf," said Eleonora.
"Ah, my poor dear, I can understand that," said Lady Susan, aware
how ill this told for her Lory. "May I ask, does he know it?"
"It would insult him to say it. None of the Charnocks ever meddle
with those things. Ah! I know your son saw him on the Derby-day;
but he went down with his eldest brother and his wife--and _that_ is
a very different thing! I stayed at home, you remember--papa had a
fit of the gout."
"My dear, I don't want to accuse him. Don't bristle up; only I am
sorry, both for my own little plan of having you for my _very_ own,
and because I fear there is trouble in store for you. It can't be
palatable." Here Eleonora shook her head, and her worn, wearied
look went to the good-natured heart. "Dear child, you have gone
through a great deal. You shan't be worried or fretted about
anybody or anything at Revelrig."
"I should be very glad," said Lenore, who had no fears of Lory
personally, though she could not be invited on false pretences.
"You had better come when Bee and Conny meet me. Let me see--will
the retreat be over by that time? Are you going to it? You are an
associate of St. Faith."
"Yes, but I don't see how I could go to the retreat. Oh, what a
relief it would be to have such a week!"
"Exactly what I feel," said Lady Susan, somewhat to her surprise.
"It strengthens and sets me right for the year. Dr. Easterby
conducts this one. Do you not know him? Is not Rood House near
Backsworth?"
"Yes on the other side, but he is utterly out of my reach. Julius
Charnock looks up to him so much; but his name--even more than St.
Faith's--would horrify my father."
"You could not go direct there," said Lady Susan; "but when once you
are with me you are my charge, and I could take you."
She considered a little. Both she and her friend knew that all her
religious habits were alien to Sir Harry, and that what he had
freely permitted, sometimes shared at Rockpier, was now only winked
at, and that if he had guessed the full extent of her observances he
would have stormily issued a prohibition. Could it be wrong to
spend part of her visit to Lady Susan with her hostess in a
sisterhood, when she had no doubt as to attending services which he
absolutely never dreamt of, and therefore did not forbid? The
sacred atmosphere and holy meditations, without external strife and
constant watchfulness, seemed to the poor girl like water to the
thirsty; and she thought, after all the harass and whirl of the
bazaar and race week, she might thus recruit her much-needed
strength for the decisive conflicts her majority would bring.
Lady Susan had no doubts. The 'grand old wreck' was in his present
aspect a hoary old persecutor, and charming Lady Tyrrell a worldly,
scheming elder sister. It was as much an act of charity to give
their victim an opportunity of devotion and support as if she had
been the child of abandoned parents in a back court in East London.
Reserve to prevent a prohibition was not in such cases treachery or
disobedience; and she felt herself doing a mother's part, as she
told her daughters, with some enjoyment of the mystery. Eleonora
made no promise, hoping to clear her mind by consideration, or to
get Julius's opinion. He and his wife dined at Sirenwood, and found
Joe Reynolds's drawings laid out for inspection, while Lady Susan
was advising that, instead of selling them, there should be an
industrial exhibition of all curiosities of art and nature to be
collected in the neighbourhood, and promising her own set of foreign
photographs and coloured costumes, which had served such purposes
many and many a time.
After dinner the good dame tried to talk to Rosamond on what she
deemed the most congenial subjects; but my Lady Rose had no notion
of 'shop' at a dinner-party, so she made languid answer that she
'left all that to the curates,' and escaped to a frivolous young
matron on the other side of the room, looking on while her husband
was penned in and examined on his services, and his choir, and his
system, and his decorations, and his classes, and his schools, for
all or any of which Lady Susan pressed on him the aid of the two
daughters she was leaving at Sirenwood; and on his hint that this
was beyond his parish, she repeated her strong disapproval of the
Vicar of Wil'sbro', whom she had met at dinner the night before, and
besides, the school there had numerous Sunday teachers.
Julius assented, for he had no redundance of the article, and his
senior curate had just started on a vacation ramble with a brother;
but a sort of misgiving crossed him as he heard Herbert Bowater's
last comic song pealing out, and beheld the pleasingly plain face of
a Miss Strangeways on either side of him. Had he not fought the
Eton and Harrow match over again with one of them at dinner? and had
not a lawn tennis challenge already passed?
For Lady Tyrrell and Mrs. Charnock Poynsett were to have garden-
parties on alternate Wednesdays, and the whole neighbourhood soon
followed suit.
"You'll find nobody at home, Jenny," said Julius, coming out of a
cottage opposite, as she rode up to Mrs. Hornblower's, on one of the
last days of August. "Nobody--that is, but my mother. Can you come
up and see her?"
"With all my heart; but I must get down here; I'm sent for one of
Herbert's shirts. The good boy lets mamma and aunty manage them
still! I believe their hearts would break outright if he took to
shop ones, like the rest of them. Hush, Tartar, for shame! don't
you know me? Where's your master?"
"At a garden-party at Duddingstone. Your mother is better, I see."
"Yes, thank you--out driving with papa. Good Rollo!" as the
dignified animal rose from the hearthrug to greet her, waving his
handsome tail, and calmly expelled a large tabby cat from the easy-
chair, to make room for his friends. "Well done, old Roll! Fancy a
cat in such company."
"Herbert's dogs partake his good-nature."
"Mungo seems to be absent too."
"Gone with him no doubt. He is the great favourite with one of the
Miss Strangeways."
"Which--Herbert or Mungo?"
"Both! I might say, I know the young ladies best by one being
rapturous about Tartar and the other about Mungo. Rollo treats both
with equally sublime and indifferent politeness, rather as Raymond
does."
"What sort of girls are they? Herbert calls them 'awfully jolly.'"
"I'm sorry to say I never can think of any other epithet for them.
For once it is really descriptive."
"Is it either of them in particular?"
"Confess, Joan, that's what brought you over."
"Perhaps so. Edith heard some nonsense at Backsworth, and mamma
could not rest till she had sent me over to see about it; but would
there be any great harm in it if it were true? Is not Lady Susan a
super-excellent woman?"
"You've hit it again, Jenny. Couple the two descriptions."
"I gather that you don't think the danger great."
"Not at present. The fascination is dual, and is at least a
counteraction to the great enchantress."
"That _is_ well! It was not wholesome!"
"Whereas, these two are hearty, honest, well-principled girls, quite
genuine."
"Yet you don't say it with all your heart."
"I own I should like to find something they had left undone."
"What, to reduce them to human nature's daily food?"
"Daily indeed! There's just no escaping them. There they are at
matins and evensong."
"How shocking! What, gossip afterwards?"
"Ask Rollo whether Mungo and Tartar don't stand at the lych-gate,
and if he finds it easy to put an end to the game at play."
"Oh! and he said they never missed a Sunday service, or the school.
Do they distract him?"
"Whom would it not distract to see two figures walking in with
hunches on their backs like camels, and high-heeled shoes, and hats
on the back of their heads, and chains and things clattering all
over them?"
"Aren't they lady-like?"
"Oh! they are quite that. Rose says it is all the pink of fashion--
only coming it strong--I declare they are infectious!"
"I believe so. I never heard so many nibbles at slang from any of
you five, as from the Rector of Compton in the last five minutes. I
gather that he is slightly bothered."
"There's so much of it. We are forced to have them to all the meals
on Sunday, and their lectures on functions have nearly scared poor
Anne to the Pilgrim level again. They have set upon me to get up a
choir-concert and a harvest-feast; but happily no one has time for
the first at this season, and as to the other, I doubted whether to
make this first start after such a rainy summer, and they decide me
against it. To have them decorating the church!"
"Awfully jolly," suggested Jenny.
"Even so. They are, if you understand me, technically reverent;
they have startled the whole place with their curtsies and crossings
in church; but they gabble up to the very porch; and the familiarity
with which they discuss High Mass, as they are pleased to call it!
I was obliged to silence them, and I must say they took it nicely."
"How do they suit Lena?"
"She likes them. Lady Susan was a great help to her in London, and
she feels the comfort of their honesty. They brought her to church
with them one or two mornings, but it knocked her up to walk so
early. Insensibly, I think they do Lady Tyrrell's work in shutting
her up from any of us."
"Spite of croquet, which seems perpetual."
"Chronic and sporadic parties make it so. There are few days
without that or something else. Cricket or the band at the
barracks."
"People say the neighbourhood has never been so gay since Camilla
Vivian's marriage. I sometimes wonder whether anything can be going
to happen," said Jenny with a sigh, not guessing at what Julius was
thinking of; then changing her tone: "Surely Herbert does not go to
it all, and leave you alone? O, Julius! you should not let him."
"Never mind, Jenny, there's no more work now in the holidays than I
am sufficient for; and for him, it is quite as guileless play as
ever he had twenty years ago. It will soon be over, or I should
take it more seriously."
"But it is at such a time!"
"Yes, that is the worst of it. I have thought it over; but while he
is in this mood, the making him feel victimized and interfered with
has a worse effect than the letting him have his swing."
"What is he doing now, I wonder? Here's his sermon-paper on the
table, and a Greek Testament, and Hints on Decorating Churches, with
'Constance Strangeways' on the first leaf--no other book. How long
will this saturnalia last?"
"Up to the Ordination, I fear. You know the good people have
contrived to put bazaar, races, and ball, all into the Ember Week,
and they are the great object of the young ladies' visit. Could you
have him home for a quiet week first?"
"It would not be a quiet week; Edith is in the way of most of these
affairs; besides, to open fire about these young ladies might just
be putting nonsense into an innocent head. Now, I've not seen your
Rectory!"
The said Rectory was in a decided state of fresh, not to say raw,
novelty outside, though the old trees and garden a little softened
its hard grays and strong reds; but it promised to look well when
crumbling and weather-stain had done their work. At the door they
met the pretty young nurse, with a delicate sea-green embroidered
cashmere bundle in her arms.
"Little Lady Green Mantle," exclaimed Jenny.
"Erin-go-bragh," said Julius. "Rose clung to her colours in spite
of all predictions about 'the good people.' Asleep of course," as
Jenny took her and uncovered her face. "She won't exhibit her eyes,
but they are quite _proper_ coloured."
"Yes, I see she is like Raymond!"
"Do you? They all say she is a perfect Charnock, though how they
know I can't guess. There," after a little more baby-worship, "you
may take her Emma."
"Is that the under-nurse?" asked Jenny, rather surprised by her
juvenility.
"The sole one. My mother and Susan are rather concerned, but Rose
asserts that experience in that department is always associated with
gin; and she fell in love with this girl--a daughter of John
Gadley's, who is much more respectable than he of the 'Three
Pigeons.' I suppose it is not in the nature of things for two women
to have the same view of nursery matters, unless one have brought up
the other."
"Or even if she have. Witness mamma's sighs over Mary's nurses."
"I thought it was the common lot. You've not seen the dining-room."
And the full honours were done. They were pleasant rooms, still
unpapered, and the furniture chiefly of amber-coloured varnished
deal; the drawing-room, chiefly with green furniture, with only a
few brighter dashes here and there, and a sociable amount of
comfortable litter already. The study was full of new shelves and
old books, and across the window-sill lay a gray figure, with a book
and a sheet of paper.
"You here, Terry! I thought you were gone with Rose," said Julius,
as the boy rose to greet Miss Bowater.
"She said I need not, and I hate those garden-parties," said Terry;
and they relieved him of their presence as soon as Jenny had paid
her respects to the favourite prints and photographs on the walls.
"He has a passion for the history of Poland just now," said Julius.
"Sobieski is better company than he would meet at Duddingstone, I
suspect--poor fellow! Lord Rathforlane has been so much excited by
hearing of Driver's successes as a coach, as to desire Terry to read
with him for the Royal Engineers. The boys must get off his hands
as soon as possible, he says, and Terry, being cleverest, must do so
soonest; but the boy has seen the dullest side of soldiering, and
hates it. His whole soul is set on scholarship. I am afraid it is
a great mistake."
"Can't you persuade him?"
"We have both written; but Rose has no great hopes of the result. I
wish he could follow his bent."
"Yes," said Jenny, lingering as she looked towards Church-house,
"the young instinct ought not to be repressed."
Julius knew that she was recollecting how Archie Douglas had
entreated to go to sea, and the desire had been quashed because he
was an only son. His inclination to speak was as perilous as if he
had been Rosamond herself, and he did not feel it unfortunate that
Jenny found she must no longer stay away from home.