“THE AUNTS.”
THE following evening Evelyn fulfilled her engagement, and punctually
at eight o’clock arrived at the Duchess’s apartments, where, according
to promise, she was introduced to the Miss Hazelhursts. These ladies
were the sisters of the late, and aunts of the present Squire of
Hazelhurst, in the beautiful Weald of Kent. They were now very old,
and were passing a happy and serene old age, honoured and beloved by
all who knew them. The Miss Hazelhursts were twins; but as Miss Grace
had come into the world some three minutes before her sister, Miss
Apollonia, it was settled between them that the former should on all
occasions have the precedence, and be considered as the possessor of
all the rights and privileges of primogeniture. The two old sisters
loved each other tenderly, and in fact their only rivalry was in acts
of kindness and in works of charity. It was “as good as a play” to
hear Miss Apollonia ascribing all the attributes of maturer wisdom to
Miss Grace, and to see Miss Grace deferring to the more youthful and
vigorous intellect of Miss Apollonia. In person the Miss Hazelhursts
were, like most twins, almost exactly alike, but, unlike most twins,
who commonly take a malicious and hateful pleasure in confounding
and mystifying their acquaintances, they made a point of dressing in
distinct colours; thus Miss Grace (the elder) had always about her a
ribbon or something of a pale flame-colour, while Miss Apollonia (the
younger) wore trimmings of sea-green. This was done, doubtless, from
a true ladylike wish to give as little trouble as possible to others.
By friends, as well as by those to whom they actually stood in that
near relationship, the twins were known far and wide as “the Aunts,”
and in every act of their life they studied to justify that name of
respect and affection. The old ladies would have been rich, but they
had in their souls the royal gift of generosity to so great an extent,
that they were compelled at times to curtail their personal expenses.
No poor relation (and they had many) ever visited them without
departing with a substantial proof of their liberality; no schoolboy
ever bid them farewell untipped, and for friends and relatives alike
they seemed to have an inexhaustible stock of beautiful gifts of old
china, antique lace, pieces of ancient jewellery, and other choice
and valuable nick-nacks. In politics the sisters were high Tories of
the old pre-d’Israeli school, but no one had a tenderer love or more
sisterly compassion for the poor than they had; and when, years ago, it
was proposed to admit the public to the Palace gardens upon Sundays, it
was the refusal of the Miss Hazelhursts to sign a memorial to the Queen
against that humane and salutary reform, which went far to confer that
priceless boon upon the working classes of the slums of London.
The Miss Hazelhursts greeted Evelyn with the utmost kindness, and said
they had already intended to call upon her the following day, and that
the Chaplain, Mr. fforester, had asked leave to accompany them. When
Evelyn answered that she would be delighted to see them, the old ladies
said how fortunate they were in having such a quiet, sensible, and wise
man for their Chaplain as Mr. fforester, and then the Duchess warned
her to be careful to respect that good man’s one weakness, which was
his resentment at having his name spelt with a large F; for, like
the ffiendses, and the ffaringdons, and the ffolkeses, Mr. fforester
took it as a personal affront to be addressed without the small ff’s,
which, rightly or wrongly, he held to be the right way of spelling
his name. “We,” he always added, when the subject was mentioned--“we
belong to the original family, you know, while the Foresters are mere
modern upstarts, who may indeed claim a common origin, but of whom we
fforesters know nothing whatsoever. Still I have no reason to doubt
that they are respectable.”
When the four ladies, after an excellent dinner--for the Duchess
studied perfection in all things, small as well as great--had returned
to the drawing-room, and were seated before the fire, the door was
suddenly thrown open, and a handsome young man, bursting into the
room, threw himself into the arms of the Duchess, whom he kissed
affectionately.
“My dear mother,” he cried, “I am so glad to see you; and how are the
Aunts?” he added, shaking hands heartily with the two old ladies,
“plotting, I suppose, as usual, to kill some one with kindness;
I----good heavens! I beg pardon, mother, but I thought you and the
Aunts were alone!”
This last exclamation was caused by the young Duke’s suddenly catching
sight of Evelyn, who, seated in a low easy chair behind a screen, had
hitherto escaped his notice.
“Miss Manwaring,” said the Duchess, “let me present to you my son;
Frank,” she added, “you will find in Miss Manwaring the sister of an
old and dear friend, to whom you have often told me you owe a deep debt
of gratitude.”
“I am sure, Miss Manwaring,” said the young man, as they shook hands,
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance; and do you know, if you will
allow me to say so, there is a strong likeness between you and my late
dear friend? I am so astonished and so glad to see you.”
Evelyn’s great eyes filled with tears, and she could scarcely find
voice sufficient to respond to the young Duke’s salutation. But she
felt very glad to see one who had loved and who had been loved by her
late brother. She would have known the Duke anywhere, for, in point
of fact, she possessed several photographs of him in the book which
Wilfred had left behind him when banished from Holmcastle, and for this
reason she did not look on him as a stranger.
“And now, my dear boy,” said his mother, “to what are we indebted for
this sudden invasion?”
“Why, the fact is, mother, I came over to-day to call on Conger and
Sprattles of the ----th, who are both right good fellows; and when I
had taken pot-luck with them at the barracks, I felt I couldn’t go back
to Town without coming to see how my dear old mother’s bronchitis was
getting on. Now let me sit down, and give me a cup of tea, for I must
be off in a few minutes, the last train on this stupid South Western
line starts at ten.” So saying, the Duke threw himself down on an
ottoman beside Miss Manwaring, and the two were soon engaged in close
and animated conversation.
When at last the young man rose to depart, which he did apparently with
much reluctance, his mother followed him into the corridor. “Where on
earth, mother, did you pick up Miss Manwaring?” said he. “It’s a most
extraordinary thing that I should find her here.”
“Not at all extraordinary,” answered the Duchess, “considering that she
has just come to reside in poor Lady Glengriskin’s apartments. She is
sister to that wonderful Captain Lionel Manwaring, you know.”
“Well, I never was more astonished; why, she’s the living image of her
brother Wilfred; I hope I shall see her again soon. Now, mother, kiss
me, and say good-night;” and then, after giving his mother a great
hug, the young man was gone.
“Lieutenant Sprattles was at the dingy little station to see the Duke
off. By the way, Duke,” he said, “have you seen our new Beauty?”
The Duke objected to this use of the possessive pronoun, but he
answered calmly--“Well, I believe I have. I imagine I met her at my
mother’s ten minutes ago. Do you know Miss Manwaring?”
“Yes; and what did you think of her?”
“I think she’s the prettiest girl I ever saw in my life,” answered
the Duke, lighting his cigar, and getting into an empty first-class
carriage; “but pretty’s not the word--she’s something more than
that--she’s perfectly lovely. Now good-night, Sprattles, and thank you
for coming to see me off.”
Francis, Duke of Ribblesdale, had a very sensitive and impressionable
nature, and he was much affected and delighted by his unexpected
meeting with the sister of the friend he had so dearly loved, and
had never ceased to regret. He was charmed, too, with the young lady
herself, and as he smoked and thought, it came to pass that before he
reached Waterloo, which “the slow South Western” always makes a long
business, he had come to a determination, and that determination was
that he would change regiments--in order to be near his mother, and in
addition to this----But what the young man’s further resolve was will
appear hereafter.
Truth to tell, for some time past, the Duke of Ribblesdale had been but
ill at ease. He was tired of the “trivial round” of fashionable London
life. He wished he had gone into a regiment on foreign service, instead
of into the household troops. He longed for a more active life. He had
had ideas of cutting the army altogether, and of buying a yacht, and
going off to the Faröe Isles, or the Isles of Greece, or, in short,
anywhere to get away from Town, until the following year, when he would
come of age. Now, another and greater idea had struck him, and it will
be seen hereafter whether he was able to carry it out. Anyhow, the Duke
felt it was something to have got a new idea at all, and when he jumped
into a hansom at Waterloo, he felt in better spirits than he had done
for some months past.
Let us thank Providence that “the Jeunesse Dorée” of England are not
yet like those of some other countries, and especially like those of
the Bourgeois Empire of Napoleon the Little, or of the “one-horse”
Republic, as the Yankees have it, which has succeeded his tyrannical
and debasing rule.