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(frontis)
BY THE AUTHOR OF "SCENES AND CHARACTERS," "KINGS OF ENGLAND," ETC.
(verso)
LONDON: PRINTED BY JOSEPH MASTERS AND CO., ALDERSGATE
STREET.
Less patient was the sole occupant of the carriage, a maiden of about
sixteen years of age, whose shady dark grey eyes, parted lips, and flushed
complexion, were all full of the utmost eagerness, as every two or three
minutes she looked up from the book which she held in her hand to examine
the clock over the station door, compare it with her watch, and study the
countenances of the by-
standers to see whether they expressed any anxiety respecting the non-arrival of the train. All, however, seemed quite at their ease, and after a time the arrival of the railway omnibus and two or three other carriages, convinced her that the rest of the world only now began to consider it to be due. At last the ringing of a bell quickened everybody into a sudden state of activity, and assured her that the much-desired moment was come. The cloud of smoke was seen, the panting of the engine was heard, the train displayed its length before the station, men ran along tapping the doors of the carriages, and shouting a word which bore some distant resemblance to "Teignmouth," and at the same moment various travellers emerged from the different vehicles.
Her eye eagerly sought out one of these arrivals, who on his side, after
a hasty greeting to the servant who met him on the platform, hurried to the
carriage, and sprang into it. The two faces, exactly alike in form,
complexion, and features, were for one moment pressed together, then
withdrawn, in the consciousness of the publicity of the scene, but the
hands remained locked together, and earnest was the tone of the
"Well, Fred!" "Well, Henrietta!" which formed the
greeting of the twin brother and sister.
"And was not mamma well enough to come?" asked Frederick, as
the carriage turned away from the station.
"She was afraid of the heat. She had some business letters to
write yesterday, which teased her, and she has not
recovered from them yet; but she has been very well, on
the whole, this summer. But what of your school affairs, Fred? How did the
examination go off?"
"I am fourth, and Alex Langford fifth. Every one says the prize
will lie between us next year."
"Surely," said Henrietta, "you must be able to beat
him then, if you are before him now."
"Don't make too sure, Henrietta," said Frederick,
shaking his head, "Langford is a hard-working fellow, very
exact and accurate; I should not have been before him now if it had not
been for my verses."
"I know Beatrice is very proud of Alexander," said
Henrietta, "she would make a great deal of his success."
"Why of his more than of that of any other cousin?" said
Frederick with some dissatisfaction.
"O you know he is the only one of the Knight Sutton cousins whom
she patronizes; all the others she calls cubs and bears and Osbaldistones.
And indeed, Uncle Geoffrey says he thinks it was in great part owing to her
that Alex is different from the rest. At least he began to think him worth
cultivating from the time he found him and Busy Bee perched up together in
an apple-tree, she telling him the story of Alexander the Great. And
how she always talks about Alex when she is here."
"Is she at Knight Sutton?"
"Yes, Aunt Geoffrey would not come here, because she did not wish
to be far from London, because old Lady Susan has not been well. And only
think, Fred, Queen Bee says there is a very nice house to be let close to
the village, and they went to look at it with grandpapa, and he kept on
saying how well it would do for us."
"O, if we could but get mamma there!" said Fred. "What
does she say?"
"She knows the house, and says it is a very pleasant one,"
said Henrietta; "but that is not an inch--no, not the hundredth
part of an inch--towards going there!"
"It would surely be a good thing for her if she
could but be brought to believe so," said Frederick. "All her attachments are there--her own home; my father's home."
"There is nothing but the sea to be attached to, here," said
Henrietta. "Nobody can take root without some local interest, and as
to acquaintance, the people are always changing."
"And there is nothing to do," added Fred; "nothing
possible but boating and riding, which are not worth the misery which they
cause her, as Uncle Geoffrey says. It is very, very--"
"Aggravating," said Henrietta, supplying one of the numerous
stock of family slang words.
"Yes, aggravating," said he with a smile, "to be
placed under the necessity of being absurd, or of annoying her!"
"Annoying! O, Fred, you do not know a quarter of what she goes
through when she thinks you are in any danger. It could not be worse if you
were on the field of battle! And it is very strange, for she is not at all
a timid person for herself. In the boat, that time when the wind rose, I am
sure Aunt Geoffrey was more afraid than she was, and I have seen it again
and again that she is not easily frightened."
"No: and I do not think she is afraid for you."
"Not as she is for you, Fred; but then boys are so much more
precious than girls, and besides they love to endanger themselves so much,
that I think that is reasonable."
"Uncle Geoffrey thinks there is something nervous and morbid in
it," said Fred: "he thinks that it is the remains of the
horror of the sudden shock--"
"What? Our father's accident?" asked Henrietta.
"I never knew rightly about that. I only knew it was when we were but
a week old."
"No one saw it happen," said Fred; "he went
out riding, his horse came home without him, and he was lying by the side of the road."
"Did they bring him home?" asked Henrietta, in the same low
thrilling tone in which her brother spoke.
"Yes, but he never recovered his senses: he just said
'Mary,' once or twice, and only lived to the middle of the
night!"
"Terrible!" said Henrietta, with a shudder. "O! how
did mamma ever recover it?--at least, I do not think she has recovered
it now,--but I meant live, or be even as well as she is."
"She was fearfully ill for long after," said Fred,
"and Uncle Geoffrey thinks that these anxieties for me are an effect
of the shock. He says they are not at all like her usual character. I am
sure it is not to be wondered at."
"O no, no," said Henrietta. "What a mystery it has
always seemed to us about papa! She sometimes mentioning him in talking
about her childish days and Knight Sutton, but if we tried to ask any more,
grandmamma stopping us directly, till we learned to believe we ought never
to utter his name. I do believe, though, that mamma herself would have
found it a comfort to talk to us about him, if poor dear grandmamma had not
always cut her short, for fear it should be too much for her."
"But had you not always an impression of something dreadful about
his death?"
"O yes, yes; I do not know how we acquired it, but that I am sure
we had, and it made us shrink from asking any questions, or even from
talking to each other about it. All I knew I heard from Beatrice. Did Uncle
Geoffrey tell you this?"
"Yes, he told me when he was here last Easter, and I was asking
him to speak to mamma about my fishing, and saying how horrid it was to be
kept back from everything. First he laughed, and said it
was the penalty of being an only son, and then he entered upon this history, to show me how it is."
"But it is very odd that she should have let you learn to ride,
which one would have thought she would have dreaded most of all."
"That was because she thought it right, he says. Poor mamma, she
said to him, 'Geoffrey, if you think it right that Fred should begin
to ride, never mind my folly.' He says that he thinks it cost her as
much resolution to say that as it might to be martyred. And the same about
going to school."
"Yes, yes; exactly," said Henrietta, "if she thinks it
is right, bear it she will, cost her what it may! O there is nobody like
mamma. Busy Bee says so, and she knows, living in London and seeing so many
people as she does."
"I never saw anyone so like a queen," said Fred. "No,
nor anyone so beautiful, though she is so pale and thin. People say you are
like her in her young days, Henrietta; and to be sure, you have a decent
face of your own, but you will never be as beautiful as mamma, not if you
live to be a hundred."
"You are afraid to compliment my face because it is so like your
own, Master Fred," retorted his sister; "but one comfort is,
that I shall grow more like her by living to a hundred, whereas you will
lose all the little likeness you have, and grow a grim old
Black-beard! But I was going to say, Fred, that, though I think
there is a great deal of truth in what Uncle Geoffrey said, yet I do
believe that poor grandmamma made it worse. You know she had always been in
India, and knew less about boys than mamma, who had been brought up with
papa and my uncles, so she might really believe that everything was
dangerous; and I have often seen her quite as much alarmed, or more
perhaps, about you--her consolations just showing that she
was in a dreadful fright, and making mamma twice as bad."
"Well," said Fred, sighing, "that is all over now, and
she thought she was doing it all for the best."
"And," proceeded Henrietta, "I think, and Queen Bee
thinks, that this perpetual staying on at Rocksand was more owing to her
than to mamma. She imagined that mamma could not bear the sight of Knight
Sutton, and that it was a great kindness to keep her from thinking of
moving--"
"Ay, and that nobody can doctor her but Mr. Clarke," added
Fred.
"Till now, I really believe," said Henrietta, "that
the possibility of moving has entirely passed out of her mind, and she no
more believes that she can do it than that the house can."
"Yes," said Fred, "I do not think a journey occurs to
her among events possible, and yet without being very fond of this
place."
"Fond! O no! it never was meant to be a home, and has nothing
homelike about it! All her affections are really at Knight Sutton, and if
she once went there, she would stay and be so much happier among her own
friends, instead of being isolated here with me. In grandmamma's time
it was not so bad for her, but now she has no companion at all but me.
Rocksand has all the loneliness of the country without its
advantages."
"There is not much complaint as to happiness, after all,"
said Fred.
"No, O no! but then it is she who makes it delightful, and it
cannot be well for her to have no one to depend upon but me. Besides, how
useless one is here. No opportunity of doing anything for the poor people,
no clergyman who will put one into the way of being useful. O how nice it
would be at Knight Sutton!"
"And perhaps she would be cured of her fears," added Fred;
"she would find no one to share them, and be convinced by seeing that
the cousins there come to no harm. I wish Uncle Geoffrey would recommend
it!"
"Well, we will see what we can do," said Henrietta. "I
do think we may persuade her, and I think we ought; it would be for her
happiness and for yours, and on all accounts I am convinced that it ought
to be done."
And as Henrietta came to this serious conclusion, they entered the steep
straggling street of the little town of Rocksand, and presently were within
the gates of the sweep which led to the door of the verandahed Gothic
cottage, which looked very tempting for summer's lodging, but was
little fitted for a permanent abode.
In spite of all the longing wishes expressed during the drive, no
ancestral home, beloved by inheritance, could have been entered with more
affectionate rapture than that with which Frederick Langford sprung from
the carriage, and flew to the arms of his mother, receiving and returning
such a caress as could only be known by a boy conscious that he had done
nothing to forfeit home love and confidence.
Turning back the fair hair that hung over his forehead, Mrs. Langford
looked into his eyes, saying, half-interrogatively,
half-affirmatively, "All right, Fred? Nothing that we need be
afraid to tell Uncle Geoffrey? Well, Henrietta, he is grown, but he has not
passed you yet. And now, Freddy, tell us about your examination,"
added she, as fondly leaning on his arm, she proceeded into the
drawing-room, and they sat down together on the sofa, talking
eagerly and joyously.
Mrs. Frederick Henry Langford, to give her her proper style, was in
truth one whose peculiar love-
liness of countenance well deserved the admiration expressed by her son. It was indeed pale and thin, but the features were beautifully formed, and had that expression of sweet placid resignation which would have made a far plainer face beautiful. The eyes were deep dark blue, and though sorrow and suffering had dimmed their brightness, their softness was increased; the smile was one of peace, of love, of serenity; of one who, though sorrow-stricken, as it were, before her time, had lived on in meek patience and submission, almost a child in her ways, as devoted to her mother, as little with a will and way of her own, as free from the cares of this work-a-day world. The long luxuriant dark brown hair, which once, as now with Henrietta, had clustered in thick glossy ringlets over her comb and round her face, was in thick braids beneath the delicate lace cap which suited with her plain black silk dress. Her figure was slender, so tall that neither her well-grown son nor daughter had yet reached her height, and, as Frederick said, with something queenlike in its unconscious grace and dignity.
As a girl she had been the merriest of the merry, and even now she had
great playfulness of manner, and threw herself into the occupation of the
moment with a life and animation that gave an uncommon charm to her
manners, so that how completely sorrow had depressed and broken her spirit
would scarcely have been guessed by one who had not known her in earlier
days.
Frederick's account of his journey and of his school news was
heard and commented on, a work of time extending far into the dinner; the
next matter in the regular course of conversation on the day of arrival was
to talk over Uncle and Aunt Geoffrey's proceedings, and the Knight
Sutton affairs.
"So, Uncle Geoffrey has been in the North?" said Fred.
"Yes, on a special retainer," said Mrs. Langford, "and
very much he seems to have enjoyed his chance of seeing York
Cathedral."
"He wrote to me in court," said Fred, "to tell me what
books I had better get up for this examination, and on a bit of paper
scribbled all over one side with notes of the evidence. He said the
Cathedral was beautiful beyond all he ever imagined."
"Had he never seen it before?" said Henrietta.
"Lawyers seem made to travel in their vacations."
"Uncle Geoffrey could not be spared," said her mamma;
"I do not know what Grandmamma Langford would do if he cheated her of
anymore of his holidays than he bestows upon us. He is far too valuable to
be allowed to take his own pleasure."
"Besides, his own pleasure is at Knight Sutton," said
Henrietta.
"He goes home just as he used from school," said Mrs.
Langford. "Indeed, except a few grey hairs and
'crowsfeet,' he is not in the least altered from those days;
his work and play come in just the same way."
"And, as his daughter says, he is just as much the home
pet," added Henrietta, "only rivalled by Busy Bee
herself."
"No," said Fred, "according to Aunt Geoffrey, there
are two suns in one sphere: Queen Bee is grandpapa's pet, Uncle
Geoffrey grandmamma's. It must be great fun to see them."
"Happy people!" said Mrs. Langford.
"Henrietta says," proceeded Fred, "that there is a
house to be let at Knight Sutton."
"The Pleasance; yes, I know it well," said his mother:
"it is not actually in the parish, but close to the borders, and a
very pretty place."
"With a pretty little stream in the garden, Fred, "said
Henrietta, "and looking into that beautiful Sussex coom, that there
is a drawing of in mamma's room."
"What size is it?" added Fred.
"The comparative degree," said Mrs. Langford, "but my
acquaintance with it does not extend beyond the recollection of a
pretty-looking drawing-room with French windows, and a lawn
where I used to be allowed to run about when I went with Grandmamma
Langford to call on the old Miss Drakes. I wonder your Uncle Roger does not
take it, for those boys can scarcely, I should think, be wedged into Sutton
Leigh when they are all at home."
"I wish some one else would take it," said Fred.
"Some one," added Henrietta, "who would like it of all
things, and be quite at home there."
"A person," proceeded the boy, "who likes Knight
Sutton and its inhabitants better than anything else."
"Only think," joined in the young lady, "how
delightful it would be. I can just fancy you, mamma, sitting out on this
lawn you talk of, on a summer's day, and nursing your pinks and
carnations, and listening to the nightingales, and Grandpapa and Grandmamma
Langford, and Uncle and Aunt Roger, and the cousins coming walking in at
any time without ringing at the door! And how nice to have Queen Bee and
Uncle and Aunt Geoffrey all the vacation!"
"Without feeling as if we were robbing Knight Sutton," said
Mrs. Langford. "Why, we should have you a regular little country
maid, Henrietta, riding shaggy ponies, and scrambling over hedges, as your
mamma did before you."
"And being as happy as a queen," said Hen-
rietta; "and the poor people, you know them all, don't you, mamma?"
"I know their names, but my generation must have nearly passed
away. But I should like you to see old Daniels the carpenter, whom the boys
used to work with, and who was so fond of them. And the old schoolmistress
in her spectacles. How she must be scandalized by the introduction of a
noun and a verb!"
"Who has been so cruel?" asked Fred. "Busy Bee, I
suppose."
"Yes," said Henrietta, "she teaches away with all her
might; but she says she is afraid they will forget it all while she is in
London, for there is no one to keep it up. Now, I could do that nicely. How
I should like to be Queen Bee's deputy."
"But," said Fred, "how does Beatrice manage to make
grandmamma endure such novelties? I should think she would disdain them
more than the old mistress herself."
"Queen Bee's is not merely a nominal sovereignty,"
said Mrs. Langford.
"Besides," said Henrietta, "the new Clergyman approves
of all that sort of thing; he likes her to teach, and puts her in the way
of it."
A removal would in fact have been impossible during the latter years of
Mrs. Vivian's life: but she had now been dead about eighteen
months, her daughter had recovered from the first grief of her loss, and
there was a general impression throughout the family that now was the time
for her to come amongst them again. For herself, the possibility was but
beginning to dawn upon her; just at first she joined in building castles
and imagining scenes at Knight Sutton, without thinking of their being
realized, or that it only depended upon her, to find
herself at home there; and when Frederick and Henrietta, encouraged by this manner of talking, pressed it upon her, she would reply with some vague intention of a return some time or other, but still thinking of it as something far away, and rather to be dreaded than desired.
It was chiefly by dint of repetition that it fully entered her mind that
it was their real and earnest wish that she should engage to take a lease
of the Pleasance, and remove almost immediately from her present abode; and
from this time it might be perceived that she always shrank from entering
on the subject in a manner which gave them little reason to hope.
"Yet, I think," said Henrietta to her brother one afternoon
as they were walking together on the sands; "I think if she once
thought it was right, if Uncle Geoffrey would tell her so, or if grandpapa
would really tell her that he wished it, I am quite sure that she would
resolve upon it."
"But why did he not do so long ago?" said Fred.
"O! because of grandmamma, I suppose," said Henrietta;
"but he really does wish it, and I should not at all wonder if the
Busy Bee could put it into his head to do it."
"Or if Uncle Geoffrey would advise her," said Fred;
"but it never answers to try to make him propose anything to her. He
never will do it; he always says he is not the Pope, or something to that
effect."
"If I was not fully convinced that it was right, and the best for
all parties, I would not say so much about it," said Henrietta, in a
tone rather as if she was preparing for some great sacrifice, instead of
domineering over her mother.
To domineering, her temptation was certainly great. With all her good
sense and ability, Mrs.
Langford had seldom been called upon to decide for herself, but had always relied upon her mother for counsel; and during her long and gradual decline had learnt to depend upon her brother-in-law, Mr. Geoffrey Langford, for direction in great affairs, and in lesser ones upon her children. Girls are generally older of their age than boys, and Henrietta, a clever girl and her mother's constant companion, occupied a position in the family which amounted to something more than prime minister. Some one person must always be leader, and thus she had gradually attained, or had greatness thrust upon her; for justice requires it to be stated, that she more frequently tried to know her mamma's mind for her, than to carry her own point, though perhaps to do so always was more than could be expected of human nature at sixteen. The habit of being called on to settle whether they should use the britska or the pony carriage, whether satin or silk was best, or this or that book should be ordered, was, however, sufficient to make her very unwilling to be thwarted in other matters of more importance, especially in one on which were fixed the most ardent hopes of her brother, and the wishes of all the family.
Their present abode was, as she often said to herself, not the one best
calculated for the holiday sports of a boy of sixteen, yet Frederick,
having been used to nothing else, was very happy, and had tastes formed on
their way of life. The twins, as little children, had always had the same
occupations, Henrietta learning Latin, marbles, and trap-ball, and
Frederick playing with dolls and working cross-stitch; and even now
the custom was so far continued, that he gave lessons in Homer and Euclid
for those which he received in Italian and music. For present amusement
there was no reason to complain; the neighbourhood supplied many
beautiful walks, while longer expeditions were made with Mrs. Langford in the pony carriage, and sketching, botanizing, and scrambling, were the order of the day. Boating too was a great delight, and had it not been for an occasional fretting recollection that he could not go out sailing without his mamma, and that most of his school fellows were spending their holidays in a very different manner, he would have been perfectly happy. Fortunately he had not sufficient acquaintance with the boys in the neighbourhood for the contrast to be often brought before him.
Henrietta did not do much to reconcile him to the anxious care with
which he was guarded. She was proud of his talents, of his accomplishments,
of his handsome features, and she would willingly have been proud of his
excellence in manly sports, but in lieu of this she was proud of the spirit
which made him long for them, and encouraged it by her full and entire
sympathy. The belief that the present restraints must be diminished at
Knight Sutton, was a moving spring with her, as much as her own wish for
the scenes round which imagination had thrown such a brilliant halo. Of
society they had hitherto seen little or nothing; Mrs. Langford's
health and spirits had never been equal to visiting, nor was there much to
tempt her in the changing inhabitants of a watering-place. Now and
then, perhaps, an old acquaintance or distant connexion of some part of the
family came for a month or six weeks, and a few calls were exchanged, and
it was one of these visits that led to the following conversation.
"By the by, mamma," said Fred, "I meant to ask you
what that foolish woman meant about the St. Legers, and their not having
thoroughly approved of Aunt Geoffrey's marriage."
"About the most ill-placed thing she could have
said, Freddy," replied Mrs. Langford, "considering that I was always accused of having made the match."
"Made the match! O tell us, mamma; tell us all about it. Did you
really?"
"Not consciously, Fred, and Frank St. Leger deserves as much of
the credit as I do."
"Who was he? a brother of Aunt Geoffrey's?"
"O yes, Fred," said Henrietta, "to be sure you knew
that. You have heard how mamma came home from India with General St. Leger
and his little boy and girl. But by the by, mamma, what became of their
mother?"
"Lady Beatrice? She died in India just before we came home. Well,
I used to stay with them after we came back to England, and of course
talked to my friend--"
"Call her Beatrice, mamma, and make a story of it."
"I talked to her about my Knight Sutton home, and cousins, and on
the other hand, then, Frank was always telling her about his school friend
Geoffrey Langford. At last Frank brought him home from Oxford one Easter
vacation. It was when the general was in command at --, and Beatrice
was in the midst of all sorts of gaieties, the mistress of the house,
entertaining everybody, and all exactly what a novel would call
brilliant."
"Were you there, mamma?"
"Yes, Beatrice had made a point of our coming to stay with her,
and very droll it was to see how she and Geoffrey were surprised at each
other; she to find her brother's guide, philosopher, and friend, the
Langford who had gained every prize, a boyish-looking,
boyish-mannered youth, very shy at first, and afterwards, excellent
at giggling and making giggle; and he to find one with the exterior of a
fine gay lady, so really simple in tastes and habits."
"Was Aunt Geoffrey ever pretty?" asked Fred.
"She is just what she was then, a little brown thing with no
actual beauty but in her animation and in her expression. I never saw a
really handsome person who seemed to me nearly as charming. Then she had,
and indeed has now, so much air and grace, so much of what, for want of a
better word, I must call fashion in her appearance, that she was always
very striking."
"Yes," said Henrietta, "I can quite see that; it is
not gracefulness, and it is not beauty, nor is it what she ever thinks of,
but there is something distinguished about her. I should look twice at her
if I met her in the street, and expect her to get into a carriage with a
coronet. And then and there they fell in love, did they?"
"In long morning expeditions with the ostensible purpose of
sketching, but in which I had all the drawing to myself, while the others
talked either wondrous wisely or wondrous drolly. However, you must not
suppose that anything of the novel kind was said then; Geoffrey was only
twenty, and Beatrice seemed as much out of his reach as the king's
daughter of Hongarie."
"O yes, of course," said Henrietta, "but that only
makes it more delightful! Only to think of Uncle and Aunt Geoffrey having a
novel in their history."
"That there are better novels in real life than in stories, is a
truth or a truism often repeated, Henrietta," said her mother with a
soft sigh, which she repressed in an instant, and proceeded:
"Poor Frank's illness and death at Oxford brought them together
the next year in a very different manner. Geoffrey was one of his chief
nurses to the last, and was a great comfort to them all; you may suppose
how grateful they were to him. Next time I saw him, he seemed quite to have
buried his youthful spirits in his studies: he was read-
ing morning, noon, and night, and looking ill and overworked."
"O, Uncle Geoffrey! dear good Uncle Geoffrey," cried
Henrietta, in an ecstasy; "you were as delightful as a knight of old,
only as you could not fight tournaments for her, you were obliged to read
for her; and pining away all the time and saying nothing about
it."
"Nothing beyond a demure inquiry of me when we were alone
together, after the health of the General. Well, you know how well his
reading succeeded; he took a double first class, and very proud of him we
were."
"And still he saw nothing of her," said Fred.
"Not till some time after he had been settled in his chambers at
the Temple. Now you must know that General St. Leger, though in most
matters a wise man, was not by any means so in money matters: and by
some unlucky speculation which was to have doubled his daughter's
fortune, managed to lose the whole of it, leaving little but his
pay."
"Capital!" cried Frederick, "that brings her down to
him."
"So it did," said his mother, smiling; "but the
spectators did not rejoice quite so heartily as you do. The general's
health was failing, and it was hard to think what would become of Beatrice;
for Lord St. Leger's family, though very kind, were not more
congenial than they are now. As soon as all this was pretty well known,
Geoffrey spoke, and the general, who was very fond of him, gave full
consent. They meant to wait until it was prudent, of course, and were well
contented; but just after it was all settled, the general had a sudden
seizure, and died. Geoffrey was with him, and he treated him like a son,
saying it was his great comfort to know that her happiness was in his
hands. Poor Beatrice, she went first to the St.
Legers, stayed with them two or three months, then I would have her to be my bridesmaid, though"--and Mrs. Langford tried to smile, while again she strangled a sobbing sigh--"she warned me that her mourning was a bad omen. Well, she stayed with my mother while we went abroad, and on our return went with us to be introduced at Knight Sutton. Everybody was charmed, Mrs. Langford and Aunt Roger had expected a fine lady or a blue one, but they soon learnt to believe all her gaiety and all her cleverness a mere calumny, and grandpapa was delighted with her the first moment. How well I remember Geoffrey's coming home and thanking us for having managed so well as to make her like one of the family, while the truth was that she had fitted herself in, and found her place from the first moment. Now came a time of grave private conferences. A long engagement which might have been very well if the general had lived, was a dreary prospect now that Beatrice was without a home; but then your uncle was but just called to the bar, and had next to nothing of his own, present or to come. However, he had begun his literary works, and found them answer so well, that he believed he could maintain himself till briefs came in, and he had the sort of talent which gives confidence. He thought, too, that even in the event of his death she would be better off as one of us, than as a dependent on the St. Legers; and at last by talking to us, he nearly persuaded himself to believe it would be a very prudent thing to marry. It was a harder matter to persuade his father, but persuade him he did, and the wedding was at Knight Sutton that very summer."
"That's right," cried Fred, "excellent and
glorious! A farthing for all the St. Legers put together."
"Nevertheless, Fred, in spite of your disdain,
we were all of opinion that it was a matter of rejoicing that Lord St. Leger and Lady Amelia were present, so that no one had any reason to say that they disapproved. Moreover, lest you should learn imprudence from my story, I would also suggest that if your uncle and aunt had not been a couple comme il-y-en a peu, it would neither have been excellent nor glorious."
"Why, they are very well off," said Fred; "he is quite
at the head of his profession. The first thing a fellow asks me when he
hears my name is, if I belong to Langford the barrister."
"Yes, but he never would have been eminent, scarcely have had
daily bread, if he had not worked fearfully hard, so hard that without the
buoyant school-boy spirit, which can turn from the hardest toil like
a child to its play, his health could never have stood it."
"But then it has been success and triumph," said Fred;
"one could work like a galley-slave with encouragement, and
never feel it drudgery."
"It was not all success at first," said his mother;
"there was hard work, and disappointment, and heavy sorrow too; but
they knew how to bear it, and to win through with it."
"And were they very poor?" asked Henrietta.
"Yes: but it was beautiful to see how she accommodated
herself to it. The house that once looked dingy and desolate, was very soon
pretty and cheerful, and the
wirtschaft so well ordered and
economical, that Aunt Roger was struck dumb with admiration. I shall not
forget Lady Susan's visit the last morning we spent with her in
London, how amazed she was to find 'poor Beatrice' looking so
bright and like herself, and how little she guessed at her morning's
work, the study of shirt-making, and the copying out a review of her
husband's, full of Greek quotations."
"Well, the poverty is all over now," said Henrietta;
"but still they live in a very quiet way, considering Aunt
Geoffrey's connexions and the fortune he has made."
"Who put that notion into your head, my wise daughter?" said
Mrs. Langford.
Henrietta blushed, laughed, and mentioned Lady Matilda St. Leger, a
cousin of her aunt Geoffrey's of whom she had seen something in the
last year.
"The truth is," said Mrs. Langford, "that your aunt
had display and luxury enough in her youth to value it as it deserves, and
he could not desire it except for her sake. They had rather give with a
free hand, beyond what any one knows or suspects."
"Ah! I know among other things that he sends Alexander to
school," said Fred.
"Yes, and the improvements at Knight Sutton," said
Henrietta, "the school, and all that grandpapa wished but could never
afford. Well, mamma, if you made the match, you deserve to be congratulated
on your work."
"There's nobody like Uncle Geoffrey, I have said, and shall
always maintain," said Fred.
His mother sighed, saying, "I don't know what we should have
done without him!" and became silent. Henrietta saw an expression on
her countenance which made her unwilling to disturb her, and nothing more
was said till it was discovered that it was bed time.
"A headache," answered Henrietta, "and a
palpitation."
"A bad one?"
"Yes, very; and I am afraid it is our fault, Freddy; I am
convinced it will not do, and we must give it up."
"How do you mean? The going to Knight Sutton? What has that to do
with it? Is it the reviving old recollections that is too much for
her?"
"Just listen what an effect last evening's conversation had
upon her. Last night, after I had been asleep a long time, I woke up, and
there I saw her kneeling before the table with her hands over her face.
Just then it struck one, and soon after she got into bed. I did not let her
know I was awake, for speaking would only have made it worse, but I am sure
she did not sleep all night, and this morning she had one of her most
uncomfortable fits of palpitation. She had just fallen asleep, when I
looked in after dressing, but I do not think she will be fit to come down
to-day."
"And do you think it was talking of Uncle and Aunt Geoffrey that
brought it on?" said Fred, with much concern; "yet it did not
seem to have much to do with my father."
"O but it must," said Henrietta. "He must have been
there all the time mixed up in everything. Queen Bee has told me how they
were always together when they were children."
"Ah! perhaps; and I noticed how she spoke about her
wedding," said Fred. "Yes, and to compare how differently it
has turned out with Aunt Geoffrey and with her, after they had been young
and happy together. Yes, no doubt it was he who persuaded the people at
Knight Sutton into letting them marry!"
"And their sorrow that she spoke of must have been his
death," said Henrietta. "No doubt the going over those old
times renewed all those thoughts."
"And you think going to Knight Sutton might have the same effect.
Well, I suppose we must give it up," said Fred, with a sigh.
"After all, we can be very happy here!"
"O yes! that we can. It is more on your account than mine, that I
wished it," said the sister.
"And I should not have thought so much of it, if I had not thought
it would be pleasanter for you when I am away," said Fred.
"And so," said Henrietta, laughing yet sighing, "we
agree to persuade each other that we don't care about it."
Fred performed a grimace, and remarked that if Henrietta continued to
make her tea so scalding, there would soon be a verdict against her of
fratricide; but the observation, being intended to conceal certain feelings
of disappointment and heroism, only led to silence.
After sleeping for some hours, Mrs. Langford awoke refreshed, and got
up, but did not leave her room. Frederick and Henrietta went to take a walk
by her desire, as she declared that she preferred being alone, and on their
return they found her lying on the sofa.
"Mamma has been in mischief," said Fred. "She did not
think herself knocked up enough already, so she has been doing it more
thoroughly."
"Oh, mamma!" was Henrietta's reproachful exclamation,
as she looked at her pale face and red swollen eyelids.
"Never mind, my dears," said she, trying to smile, "I
shall be better now this is done, and I have it off my mind." They
looked at her in anxious interrogation, and she smiled outright with lip
and eye. "You will seal that letter with a good will,
Henrietta," she said. "It is to ask Uncle Geoffrey to make
inquiries about the Pleasance."
"Mamma!" and they stood transfixed at a decision beyond
their hopes: then Henrietta exclaimed--
"No, no, mamma, it will be too much for you; you must not think of
it."
"Yes," said Fred; "indeed we agreed this morning that
it would be better not. Put it out of your head, mamma, and go on here in
peace and comfort. I am sure it suits you best."
"Thank you, thank you, my dear ones," said she, drawing them
towards her, and fondly kissing them, "but it is all settled, and I
am sure it is better for you. It is but a dull life for you
here."
"O no, no, no, dearest mamma: nothing can be dull with
you," cried Henrietta, wishing most sincerely to undo her own work.
"We are, indeed we are, as happy as the day is long. Do not fancy we
are discontented; do not think we want a change."
Mrs. Langford replied by an arch though subdued smile.
"But we would not have you to do it on our account," said
Fred. "Pray put it out of your head, for we do very well here, and it
was only a passing fancy."
"You will not talk me out of it, my dears," said Mrs.
Langford. "I know it is right, and it shall be done. It is only the
making up my mind that was the struggle, and I shall look forward to it as
much as either of you, when I know it is to be done. Now walk off, my
dears, and do not let that letter be too late for the post."
"I do not half like it," said Fred, pausing at the door.
"I have not many fears on that score," said she, smiling.
"No, do not be uneasy about me, my dear Fred, it is my proper place,
and I must be happy there. I shall like to be near the Hall, and to see all
the dear old places again."
"O, mamma, you cannot talk about them without your voice
quivering," said Henrietta. "You do not know how I wish you
would give it up!"
"Give it up! I would not for millions," said Mrs. Langford.
"Now go, my dears, and perhaps I shall go to sleep again."
The spirits of the brother and sister did not just at first rise enough
for rejoicing over the decision. Henrietta would willingly have kept back
the letter, but this she could not do; and sealing it as if she were doing
wrong, she sat down to dinner, feeling subdued and remorseful, something
like a tyrant between the condemnation and execution of his victim. But by
the time the first course was over, and she and Frederick had begun to
recollect their long-cherished wishes, they made up their minds to
be happy, and fell into their usual strain of admiration of the unknown
haven of their hopes,
and of expectations that it would in the end benefit their mother.
The next morning she was quite in her usual spirits, and affairs
proceeded in the usual manner; Frederick's holidays came to an end,
and he returned to school with many a fond lamentation from the mother and
sister, but with cheerful auguries from both that the next meeting might be
at Knight Sutton.
"Here, Henrietta," said her mother, as they sat at breakfast
together a day or two after Frederick's departure, turning over to
her the letter of which she had first broken the seal, while she proceeded
to open some others. It was Uncle Geoffrey's writing, and Henrietta
read eagerly:
"MY DEAR MARY,--I would not write till I could give
you some positive information about the Pleasance, and that could not be
done without a conference with Hardy, who was not at home. I am heartily
glad that you think of coming among us again, but still I should like to
feel certain that it is you that feel equal to it, and not the young ones
who are set upon the plan. I suppose you will indignantly refute the
charge, but you know I have never trusted you in that matter. However, we
are too much the gainers to investigate motives closely, and I cannot but
believe that the effort once over, you would find it a great comfort to be
among your own people, and in your own country. I fully agree with you also
in what you say of the advantage to Henrietta and Fred. My father is going
to write, and I must leave him to do justice to his own cordiality, and
proceed to business."
Then came the particulars of freehold and copyhold, purchase or lease,
repair or disrepair, of which Henrietta knew nothing, and cared less; she
knew that her mamma was considered a great heiress, and
trusted to her wealth for putting all she pleased in her power: but it was rather alarming to recollect that Uncle Geoffrey would consider it right to make the best terms he could, and that the house might be lost to them while they were bargaining for it.
"O, mamma, never mind what he says about
its being dear," said she, "I dare say
it will not ruin us."
"Not exactly," said Mrs. Langford, smiling, "but
gentlemen consider it a disgrace not to make a good bargain, and Uncle
Geoffrey must be allowed to have his own way."
"O but, mamma, suppose some one else should take it."
"A village house is not like these summer lodgings, which are
snapped up before you can look at them," said Mrs. Langford; "I
have no fears but that it is to be had." But Henrietta could not help
fancying that her mother would regard it somewhat as a reprieve, if the
bargain was to go off independently of any determination of hers.
Still she had made up her mind to look cheerfully at the scheme, and
often talked of it with pleasure, to which the cordial and affectionate
letters of her father-in-law and the rest of the family,
conduced not a little. She now fully perceived that it had only been from
forbearance, that they had not before urged her return, and as she saw how
earnestly it was desired by Mr. and Mrs. Langford, reproached herself as
for a weakness for not having sooner resolved upon her present step.
Henrietta's work was rather to keep up her spirits at the prospect,
than to prevent her from changing her purpose, which never altered,
respecting a return to the neighbourhood of Knight Sutton, though whether
to the house of the tempting name, was a question which remained in
agitation during the rest of the autumn, for as surely as Rome was not
built in a day, so surely cannot a house be bought or sold in a day, especially when a clever and cautious lawyer acts for one party.
Matters thus dragged on, till the space before the Christmas holidays
was reckoned by weeks, instead of months, and as Mrs. Frederick Langford
laughingly said, she should be fairly ashamed to meet her boy again at
their present home. She therefore easily allowed herself to be persuaded to
accept Mr. Langford's invitation to take up her quarters at the Hall,
and look about her a little before finally deciding upon the Pleasance.
Christmas at Knight Sutton Hall had the greatest charms in the eyes of
Henrietta and Frederick; for many a time had they listened to the
descriptions given con amore
by Beatrice Langford, to whom that place had ever been a home, perhaps the
more beloved, because the other half of her life was spent in London.
It was a great disappointment, however, to hear that Mrs. Geoffrey
Langford was likely to be detained in London by the state of health of her
aunt, Lady Susan St. Leger, whom she did not like to leave, while no other
of the family was at hand. This was a cruel stroke, but she could not bear
that her husband should miss his yearly holiday, her daughter lose the
pleasure of a fortnight with Henrietta, or Mr. and Mrs. Langford be
deprived of the visit of their favourite son: and she therefore
arranged to go and stay with Lady Susan, while Beatrice and her father went
as usual to Knight Sutton.
Mr. Geoffrey Langford offered to escort his sister-in-law
from Devonshire, but she did not like his holidays to be so wasted. She had
no merely personal apprehensions, and new as railroads were to her,
declared herself perfectly willing and able to manage with no companions
but her daughter
and maid, with whom she was to travel to his house in London, there to be met in a day or two by the two school-boys, Frederick and his cousin Alexander, and then proceed all together to Knight Sutton.
Henrietta could scarcely believe that the long-wished-for
time was really come, packing up actually commencing, and that her waking
would find her under a different roof from that which she had never left.
She did not know till now that she had any attachments to the place she had
hitherto believed utterly devoid of all interest; but she found she could
not bid it farewell without sorrow. There was the old boatman with his
rough kindly courtesy, and his droll ways of speaking; there was the rocky
beach where she and her brother had often played on the verge of the ocean,
watching with mysterious awe or sportive delight the ripple of the
advancing waves, the glorious sea itself, the walks, the woods, streams,
and rocks, which she now believed, as mamma and Uncle Geoffrey had often
told her, were more beautiful than anything she was likely to find in
Sussex. Other scenes there were, connected with her grandmother, which she
grieved much at parting with, but she shunned talking over her regrets,
lest she should agitate her mother, whom she watched with great
anxiety.
She was glad that so much business was on her hands, as to leave little
time for dwelling on her feelings, to which she attributed the calm
quietness with which she went through the few trying days that immediately
preceded their departure. Henrietta felt this constant employment so great
a relief to her own spirits, that she was sorry on her own account, as well
as her mother's, when every possible order had been given, every box
packed, and nothing was to be done, but to sit opposite to each other, on
each side of the fire, in the idleness
which precedes candle-light. Her mother leant back in silence, and she watched her with an anxious gaze. She feared to say anything of sympathy with what she supposed her feeling, lest she should make her weep. An indifferent speech would be out of place even if Henrietta herself could have made it, and yet to remain silent was to allow melancholy thoughts to prey upon her. So thought the daughter, longing at the same time that her persuasions were all unsaid.
"Come here, my dear child," said her mother presently, and
Henrietta almost started at the calmness of the voice, and the serenity of
the tranquil countenance. She crossed to her mother, and sat down on a low
footstool, leaning against her. "You are very much afraid for
me," continued Mrs. Langford, as she remarked upon the anxious
expression of her face, far different from her own, "but you need not
fear, it is all well with me; it would be wrong not to be thankful for
those who are not really lost to me as well as for those who were given to
me here."
All Henrietta's consideration for her mother could not prevent her
from bursting into tears. "O mamma, I did not know it would be so
like going away from dear grandmamma."
"Try to feel the truth, my dear, that our being near to her
depends on whether we are in our duty or not."
"Yes, yes, but this place is so full of her! I do so love it! I
did not know it till now!"
"Yes, we must always love it, my dear child; but we are going to
our home, Henrietta, to your father's home in life and death, and it
must be good for us to be there. With your grandfather, who has wished for
us. Knight Sutton is our true home, the one where it is right for us to
be."
Henrietta still wept bitterly, and strange it
was that it should be she who stood in need of consolation, for the fulfilment of her own most ardent wish, and from the very person to whom it was the greatest trial. It was not, however, self-reproach that caused her tears, that her mother's calmness prevented her from feeling, but only attachment to the place she was about to leave, and the recollections, which she accused herself of having slighted. Her mother, who had made up her mind to do what was right, found strength and peace at the moment of trial, when the wayward and untrained spirits of the daughter gave way. Not that she blamed Henrietta, she was rather gratified to find that she was so much attached to her home and her grandmother, and felt so much with her; and after she had succeeded in some degree in restoring her to composure, they talked long and earnestly over old times and deeper feelings.
The next day was spent by the two Mrs. Langfords in quiet together,
while Henrietta was conducted through a rapid whirl of sight-seeing
by Beatrice and Uncle Geoffrey, the latter of whom, to his niece's
great amazement, professed to find almost as much novelty in the sights as
she did. A short December day, though not what they would have chosen, had
this advantage, that the victim could not be as completely fagged and worn
out as in a summer's day, and Henrietta was still fresh and in high
spirits when they drove home and found to their delight that the two
schoolboys had already arrived.
Beatrice met both alike as old friends and almost brothers, but
Alexander, though returning her greeting with equal cordiality, looked
shyly at the
new aunt and cousin, and as Henrietta suspected, wished them elsewhere. She had heard much of him from Beatrice, and knew that her brother regarded him as a formidable rival; and she was therefore surprised to see that his broad honest face expressed more good humour than intellect, and his manners wanted polish. He was tolerably well-featured, with light eyes and dark hair, and though half a year older than his cousin, was much shorter, more perhaps in appearance than reality, from the breadth and squareness of his shoulders, and from not carrying himself well.
Alexander was, as ought previously to have been recorded, the third son
of Mr. Roger Langford, the heir of Knight Sutton, at present living at
Sutton Leigh, a small house on his father's estate, busied with
farming, sporting, and parish business; while his active wife contrived to
make a narrow income feed, clothe, and at least half educate their endless
tribe of boys. Roger, the eldest, was at sea; Frederick, the second, in
India; and Alexander owed his more learned education to Uncle Geoffrey, who
had been well recompensed by his industry and good conduct. Indeed his
attainments had always been so superior to those of his brothers, that he
might have been considered as a prodigy, had not his cousin Frederick been
always one step before him.
Fred had greater talent, and had been much better taught at home, so
that on first going to school, he took and kept the higher place; but this
was but a small advantage in his eyes, compared with what he had to endure
out of school during his first half-year. Unused to any training or
companionship save of womankind, he was disconsolate, bewildered, derided
in that new rude world; while Alex, accustomed to fight his way among rude
brothers, instantly found his level, and even
extended a protecting hand to his cousin, who requited it with little gratitude. Soon overcoming his effeminate habits, he grew expert and dexterous, and was equal to Alex in all but main bodily strength; but the spirit of rivalry once excited, had never died away, and with a real friendship and esteem for each other, their names or rather their nicknames had almost become party words among their schoolfellows.
Nor was it probable that this competition would be forgotten on this
first occasion of spending their holidays together. Fred felt himself open
to that most galling accusation of want of manliness, on account at once of
his ignorance of country sports, and of his knowledge of accomplishments;
but he did not guess at the feeling which made Alexander on his side regard
those very accomplishments with a feeling which, if it were not jealousy,
was at least very nearly akin to it.
Beatrice Langford had not the slightest claim to beauty. She was very
little, and so thin that her papa did her no injustice when he called her
skin and bones; but her thin brown face, with the aid of a pair of very
large deep Italian-looking eyes, was so full of brilliant
expression, and showed such changes of feeling from sad to gay, from
sublime to ridiculous, that no one could have wished one feature otherwise.
And if instead of being "like the diamond bright," they had
been "dull as lead," it would have been little matter to Alex.
Beatrice had been, she was still, his friend, his own cousin, more than
what he could believe a sister to be if he had one,--in short his own
little Queen Bee. He had had a monopoly of her; she had trained him in all
the civilization which he possessed, and it was with considerable
mortification that he thought himself lowered in her eyes by comparison
with his old rival, as old a friend of
hers, with the same claim to cousinly affection; and instead of understanding only what she had taught him, familiar with the tastes and pursuits on which she set perhaps too great a value.
Fred did not care nearly as much for Beatrice's preference:
it might be that he took it as a matter of course, or perhaps that having a
sister of his own, he did not need her sympathy, but still it was a point
on which he was likely to be sensitive, and thus her favour was likely to
be secretly quite as much a matter of competition as their school studies
and pastimes.
For instance, dinner was over, and Henrietta was admiring some choice
books of prints, such luxuries as Uncle Geoffrey now afforded himself, and
which his wife and daughter greatly preferred to the more costly style of
living which some people thought befitted them. She called to her brother
who was standing by the fire, "Fred, do come and look at this
beautiful Albert Durer of Sintram."
He hesitated, doubting whether Alexander would scorn him for an
acquaintance with Albert Durer, but Beatrice added, "Yes, it was an
old promise that I would show it to you. There now, look, admire, or be
pronounced insensible."
"A wonderful old fellow was that Albert," said Fred,
looking, and forgetting his foolish false shame in the pleasure of
admiration. "Yes; O how wondrously the expression on Death's
face changes as it does in the story! How easy it is to see how
Fouqué must have built it up! Have you seen it, mamma?"
His mother came to admire. Another print was produced, and another, and
Fred and Beatrice were eagerly studying the elaborate engravings of the old
German, when Alex, annoyed at finding her too much engrossed to have a word
for him, came to
share their occupation, and took up one of the prints with no practised hand. "Take care, Alex, take care," cried Beatrice, in a sort of excruciated tone; "don't you see what a pinch you are giving it! Only the initiated ought to handle a print: there is a pattern for you," pointing to Fred.
She cut right and left: both looked annoyed, and retreated from
the table. Fred thinking how Alex must look down on fingers which possessed
any tenderness; Alex provoked at once and pained. Queen Bee's black
eyes perceived their power, and gave a flash of laughing triumph.
But Beatrice was not quite in her usual high spirits, for she was very
sorry to leave her mother; and when they went up stairs for the night, she
stood long over the fire talking to her, and listening to certain parting
cautions.
"How I wish you could have come, mamma! I am so sure that
grandmamma in her kindness will tease Aunt Mary to death. You are the only
person who can guard her without affronting grandmamma. Now
I--"
"Had better let it alone," rejoined Mrs. Geoffrey Langford.
"You will do more harm than by letting things take their course.
Remember, too, that Aunt Mary was at home there long before you or I knew
the place."
"Oh, if that tiresome Aunt Amelia would but have had some
consideration! To go out of town and leave Aunt Susan on our hands just
when we always go home!"
"We have lamented that often enough," said her mother
smiling. "It is unlucky, but it cannot be too often repeated, that
wills and wishes must sometimes bend."
"You say that for me, mamma," said Beatrice. "You
think grandmamma and I have too much will for
each other."
"If you are conscious of that, Bee, I hope that you will bend that
wilful will of yours."
"I hope I shall," said Beatrice, "but .... Well, I
must go to bed. Good night, mamma."
And Mrs. Geoffrey Langford looked after her daughter anxiously, but she
well knew that Beatrice knew her besetting fault, and she trusted to the
many fervent resolutions she had made against it.
The next morning the party bade adieu to Mrs. Geoffrey Langford, and set
out on their journey to Knight Sutton. They filled a whole railroad
carriage, and were a very cheerful party. Alexander and Beatrice sat
opposite to each other, talking over Knight Sutton delights with animation,
Beatrice ever and anon turning to her other cousins with explanations, or
referring to her papa, who was reading the newspaper and talking with Mrs.
Frederick Langford.
The day was not long enough for all the talk of the cousins, and the
early winter twilight came on before their conversation was exhausted, or
they had reached the Allonfield station.
"Here we are!" exclaimed Beatrice, as the train stopped, and
at the same moment a loud voice called out, "All right! where are
you, Alex?" upon which Alexander tumbled across Henrietta to feel for
the handle of the carriage-door, replying, "Here, old fellow,
let us out. Have you brought Dumpling?" And Uncle Geoffrey and
Beatrice exclaimed, "How d'ye do, Carey?"
When Alexander had succeeded in making his exit, Henrietta beheld him
shaking hands with a figure not quite his own height, and in its rough
great-coat not unlike a small species of bear. Uncle Geoffrey and
Fred handed out the ladies, and sought their appurtenances in the dark, and
Henrietta began to give Alex credit for a portion
of that which maketh man, when he shoved his brother, admonishing him that there was Aunt Mary, upon which Carey advanced, much encumbered with sheepish shyness, presented a great rough driving-glove, and shortly and bluntly replied to the soft tones which kindly greeted him, and inquired for all at home.
"Is the Hall carriage come?" asked Alex, and, receiving a
gruff affirmative, added, "then, Aunt Mary, you had better come to it
while Uncle Geoffrey looks after the luggage," offered his arm with
tolerable courtesy, and conducted her to the carriage. "There,"
said he, "Carey has driven in our gig, and I
suppose Fred and I had better go back with him."
"Is the horse steady?" asked his aunt, anxiously.
"Dumple? To be sure! Never does wrong! do you, old fellow?"
said Alex, patting his old friend.
"And no lamps?"
"O, we know the way blindfold, and you might cross Sutton Heath a
dozen times without meeting anything but a wheelbarrow-full of
peat."
"And how is the road now? It used to be very bad in my
time."
"Lots of ruts," muttered Carey to his brother, who
interpreted it, "A few ruts this winter, but Dumpling knows all the
bad places."
By this time Uncle Geoffrey came up, and instantly perceiving the state
of things, said, "I say, Freddy, do you mind changing places with me?
I should like to have a peep at Uncle Roger before going up to the house,
and then Dumpling's feelings won't be hurt by passing the turn
to Sutton Leigh."
Fred could not object, and his mother rejoiced in the belief that Uncle
Geoffrey would take the reins,
nor did Beatrice undeceive her, though, as the vehicle rattled past the carriage at full speed, she saw Alexander's own flourish of the whip, and knew that her papa was letting the boys have their own way. She had been rather depressed in the morning on leaving her mother, but as she came nearer home her spirits mounted, and she was almost wild with glee. "Aunt Mary, do you know where you are?"
"On Sutton Heath, I presume, from the absence of
landmarks."
"Yes, that we are. You dear old place, how d'ye do? You
beginning of home! I don't know when it is best coming to you:
on a summer's evening, all glowing with purple heath, or a frosty
star-light night like this. There is the Sutton Leigh turn! Hurrah!
only a mile further to the gate."
"Where I used to go to meet the boys coming home from
school," said her aunt, in a low tone of deep feeling. But she would
not sadden their blithe young hearts, and added cheerfully, "Just the
same as ever, I see: how well I know the outline of the bank
there!"
"Ay, it is your fatherland, too, Aunt Mary! Is there not something
inspiring in the very air? Come, Fred, can't you get up a little
enthusiasm?"
"Oceans, without getting it up," replied Fred. "I
never was more rejoiced in my whole life," and he began to hum
Domum.
"Sing it, sing it; let us join in chorus as homage to Knight
Sutton," cried Henrietta.
And the voices began, "Domum, Domum, dulce Domum;" even Aunt
Mary herself caught the feelings of her young companions, felt herself
coming to her own beloved home and parents, half forgot how changed was her
situation, and threw herself into the delight of returning.
"Now, Fred," said Henrietta, "let us try those
verses that you found a tune for, that begin 'What is home?'"
This also was sung, and by the time it was finished they had reached a
gate leading into a long drive through dark beech woods. "This is the
beautiful wood of which I have often told you, Henrietta," said Mrs.
Frederick Langford.
"The wood with glades like cathedral aisles," said
Henrietta. "O, how delightful it will be to see it come out in
leaf!"
"Which I have never seen," said Beatrice. "I tell papa
he has made his fortune, and ought to retire, and he says he is too young
for it."
"In which I fully agree with him," said her aunt. "I
should not like to see him with nothing to do."
"O, mamma, Uncle Geoffrey would never be anywhere with nothing to
do," said Henrietta.
"No," said her mother, "but people are always happier
with work made for them, than with what they make for themselves. Besides,
Uncle Geoffrey has too much talent to be spared."
"Ay," said Fred, "I wondered to hear you so devoid of
ambition, little Busy Bee."
"It is only Knight Sutton and thinking of May flowers that makes
me so," said Beatrice. "I believe after all, I should break my
heart if papa did retire without--"
"Without what, Bee?"
"Being Lord Chancellor, I suppose," said Henrietta very
seriously. "I am sure I should."
"His being in Parliament will content me for the present,"
said Beatrice, "for I have been told too often that high principles
don't rise in the world, to expect any more. We can be just as proud
of him as if he was."
"You are in a wondrously humble and philosophic mood, Queen
Bee," said Henrietta; "but
where are we now?" added she, as a gate swung back.
"Coming into the paddock," said Beatrice; "don't
you see the lights in the house? There, that is the drawing-room
window to the right, and that large one the great hall window. Then
upstairs, don't you see that red fire-light? That is the south
room, which Aunt Mary will be sure to have."
Henrietta did not answer, for there was something that subdued her in
the nervous pressure of her mother's hand. The carriage stopped at
the door, whence streamed forth light, dazzling to eyes long accustomed to
darkness; but in the midst stood a figure which Henrietta could not but
have recognized in an instant, even had not old Mr. Langford paid more than
one visit to Rocksand. Tall, thin, unbent, with high bald forehead, clear
eye, and long snowy hair; there he was, lifting rather than handing his
daughter-in-law from the carriage, and fondly kissing her
brow; then he hastily greeted the other occupants of the carriage, while
she received the kiss of Mrs. Langford.
They were now in the hall, and turning again to his
daughter-in-law, he gave her his arm, and led her into the
drawing-room, where he once more embraced her, saying, "Bless
you, my own dear Mary!" She clung to him for a moment as if she
longed to weep with him, but recovering herself in an instant, she gave her
attention to Mrs. Langford, who was trying to administer to her comfort
with a degree of bustle and activity which suited well with the alertness
of her small figure and the vivacity of the black eyes which still
preserved their brightness, though her hair was perfectly white.
"Well, Mary, my dear, I hope you are not tired. You had better sit
down and take off your furs, or will you go to your room? But where is
Geoffrey?"
"He went with Alex and Carey, round by Sutton Leigh," said
Beatrice.
"Ha! ha! my little Queen, are you there?" said grandpapa,
holding out his arms to her. "And," added he, "is not
this your first introduction to the twins, grandmamma? Why you are grown as
fine a pair as I would wish to see on a summer's day. Last time I saw
you I could hardly tell you apart, when you both wore straw hats and white
trousers. No mistake now though. Well, I am right glad to have you
here."
"Won't you take off some of your wraps, Mary?"
proceeded Mrs. Langford, and her daughter-in-law, with a soft
"Thank you," passively obeyed. "And you too, my
dear," she added to Henrietta.
"Off with that bonnet, Miss Henrietta," proceeded grandpapa.
"Let me see whether you are as like your brother as ever. He has your
own face, Mary."
"Do not you think his forehead like--" and she looked
to the end of the room where hung the portraits of two young children, the
brothers Geoffrey and Frederick. Henrietta had often longed to see it, but
now she could attend to nothing but her mamma.
"Like poor dear Frederick?" said grandmamma. "Well, I
can't judge by firelight, you know, my dear, but I should say they
were both your very image."
"You can't be the image of any one I should like
better," said Mr. Langford, turning to them cheerfully, and taking
Henrietta's hand. "I wish nothing better than to find you the
image of your mamma inside and out."
"Ah, there's Geoffrey!" cried Mrs. Langford, springing
up and almost running to meet him.
"Well, Geoffrey, how d'ye do?" added his father with
an indescribable tone and look of heartfelt delight. "Left all your
cares behind you?"
"Left my wife behind me," said Uncle Geoffrey, making a
rueful face.
"Ay, it is a sad business that poor Beatrice cannot come,"
said both the old people, "but how is poor Lady Susan?"
"As usual, only too nervous to be left with none of the family at
hand. Well, Mary, you look tired."
Overcome, Uncle Geoffrey would have said, but he thought the other
accusation would answer the same purpose and attract less attention, and it
succeeded, for Mrs. Langford proposed to take her up stairs. Henrietta
thought that Beatrice would have offered to save her the trouble, but this
would not have been at all according to the habits of grandmamma or
granddaughter, and Mrs. Langford briskly led the way to a large
cheerful-looking room, talking all the time and saying she supposed
Henrietta would like to be with her mamma. She nodded to their maid, who
was waiting there, and gave her a kindly greeting, stirred the already
bright fire into a blaze, and returning to her
daughter-in-law who was standing like one in a dream, she
gave her a fond kiss, saying, "There, Mary, I thought you would like
to be here."
"Thank you, thank you, you are always kind."
"There now, Mary, don't let yourself be overcome. You would
not bring him back again, I know. Come, lie down and rest. There--that
is right--and don't think of coming down stairs. You think your
mamma had better not, don't you?"
"Much better not, thank you, grandmamma," said Henrietta, as
she assisted in settling her mother on the sofa. "She is tired and
overcome now, but she will be herself after a rest."
"And ask for anything you like, my dear. A glass of wine or a cup
of coffee; Judith will get you one in a moment. Won't you have a cup
of coffee, Mary, my dear?"
"Thank you, no thank you," said Mrs. Frederick Langford,
raising herself. "Indeed I am sorry--it is very foolish."
Here the choking sob came again, and she was forced to lie down. Grandmamma
stood by, warming a shawl to throw over her, and pitying her in audible
whispers. "Poor thing, poor thing! it is very sad for her. There! a
pillow, my dear? I'll fetch one out of my room. No? Is her head high
enough? Some sal-volatile? Yes, Mary, would you not like some
sal-volatile?"
And away she went in search of it, while Henrietta, excessively
distressed, knelt by her mother, who, throwing her arms round her neck,
wept freely for some moments, then laid her head on the cushions again,
saying, "I did not think I was so weak!"
"Dearest mamma," said Henrietta, kissing her and feeling
very guilty.
"If I have not distressed grandmamma!" said her mother
anxiously. "No, never mind me, my dear, it was fatigue
and--"
Still she could not finish, so painfully did the familiar voices, the
unchanged furniture, recall both her happy childhood and the bridal days
when she had last entered the house, that it seemed as it were a new thing,
a fresh shock to miss the tone that was never to be heard there again. Why
should all around be the same, when all within was altered? But it had been
only the first few moments that had overwhelmed her, and the sound of Mrs.
Langford's returning footsteps recalled her habit of
self-control; she thanked her, held out her quivering hand, drank
the sal-volatile, pronounced herself much better, and asked pardon
for having given so much trouble.
"Trouble? my dear child, no such thing! I
only wish I could see you better. No doubt it is too much for you, this coming home the first time; but then you know poor Fred is gone to a better--Ah! well, I see you can't bear to speak of him, and perhaps after all quiet is the best thing. Don't let your mamma think of dressing and coming down, my dear."
There was a little combat on this point, but it ended in Mrs. Frederick
Langford yielding, and agreeing to remain upstairs. Grandmamma would have
waited to propose to her each of the dishes that were to appear at table,
and hear which she thought would suit her taste; but very fortunately, as
Henrietta thought, a bell rang at that moment, which she pronounced to be
"the half-hour bell," and she hastened away, telling her
granddaughter that dinner would be ready at half-past five, and
calling the maid outside the door to giver her full directions where to
procure anything that her mistress might want.
"Dear grandmamma! just like herself!" said Mrs. Frederick
Langford. "But Henrietta, my dear," she added with some alarm,
"make haste and dress: you must never be too late in this
house!"
Henrietta was not much accustomed to dress to a moment, and she was too
anxious about her mamma to make speed with her whole will, and her hair was
in no state of forwardness when the dinner-bell rang, causing her
mamma to start and hasten her with an eager, almost alarmed manner.
"You don't know how your grandmamma dislikes being kept
waiting," said she.
At last she was ready, and running down, found all the rest assembled,
evidently waiting for her. Frederick, looking anxious, met her at the door
to receive her assurances that their mother was better; the rest inquired,
and her apologies were cut short
by grandmamma calling them to eat her turkey before it grew cold. The spirits of all the party were perhaps damped by Mrs. Frederick Langford's absence and its cause, for the dinner was not a very lively one, nor the conversation very amusing to Henrietta and Frederick, as it was chiefly on the news of the country neighborhood, in which Uncle Geoffrey showed much interest.
As soon as she was released from the dining-room, Henrietta ran
up to her mamma, whom she found refreshed and composed. "But, O
mamma, is this a good thing for you?" said Henrietta, looking at the
red case containing her father's miniature, which had evidently been
only just closed on her entrance.
"The very best thing for me, dearest," was the answer, now
given in her own calm tones. "It does truly make me happier than
anything else. No, don't look doubtful, my Henrietta; if it were
repining it might hurt me, but I trust it is not."
"And does this really comfort you, mamma?" said Henrietta,
as she pressed the spring, and gazed thoughtfully on the portrait.
"O, I cannot fancy that! the more I think, the more I try to realize
what it might have been, think what Uncle Geoffrey is to Beatrice, till
sometimes, O mamma, I feel quite rebellious!"
"You will be better disciplined in time, my poor child,"
said her mother, sadly. "As your grandmamma said, who could be so
selfish as to wish him here?"
"And can you bear to say so, mamma?"
She clasped her hands and looked up, and Henrietta feared she had gone
too far. Both were silent for some little time, until at last the daughter
timidly asked, "And was this your old room, mamma?"
"Yes: look in that shelf in the corner; there are
all our old childish books. Bring that one," she added, as Henrietta took one out, and opening it, she showed in the fly-leaf the well-written "F.H. Langford," with the giver's name; and below in round hand, scrawled all over the page, "Mary Vivian, the gift of her cousin Fred." "I believe that you may find that in almost all of them," said she. "I am glad they have been spared from the children at Sutton Leigh. Will you bring me a few more to look over, before you go down again to grandmamma?"
Henrietta did not like to leave her, and lingered while she made a
selection for her among the books, and from that fell into another talk, in
which they were interrupted by a knock at the door, and the entrance of
Mrs. Langford herself. She sat a little time, and asked of health,
strength, and diet, until she bustled off again to see if there was a good
fire in Geoffrey's room, telling Henrietta that tea would soon be
ready.
Henrietta's ideas of grandmammas were formed on the placid Mrs.
Vivian, naturally rather indolent, and latterly very infirm, although
considerably younger than Mrs. Langford; and she stood looking after in
speechless amazement, her mamma laughing at her wonder. "But, my dear
child," she said, "I beg you will go down. It will never do to
have you staying up here all the evening."
Henrietta was really going this time, when as she opened the door, she
was stopped by a new visitor. This was an elderly
respectable-looking maid-servant, old Judith, whose name was
well known to her. She had been nursery-maid at Knight Sutton at the
time "Miss Mary" arrived from India, and was now, what in a
more modernized family would have been called ladies'-maid or
housekeeper, but here was a nondescript office, if anything, upper
housemaid. How she was loved
and respected is known to all who are happy enough to possess a "Judith."
"I beg your pardon, miss," said she, as Henrietta opened the
door just before her, and Mrs. Frederick Langford, on hearing her voice,
called out, "O Judith! is that you? I was in hopes you were coming to
see me."
She advanced with a courtesy, at the same time affectionately taking the
thin white hand stretched out to her. "I hope you are better,
ma'am. It is something like old times to have you here
again."
"Indeed I am very glad to be here, Judith," was the answer,
"and very glad to see you looking like your own dear self."
"Ah! Miss Mary; I beg your pardon, ma'am; I wish I could see
you looking better."
"I shall, I hope, to-morrow, thank you, Judith. But you
have not been introduced to Henrietta, there."
"But I have often heard of you, Judith," said Henrietta,
cordially holding out her hand. Judith took it, and looked at her with
affectionate earnestness. "Sure enough, miss," said she,
"as Missus says, you are the very picture of your mamma when she went
away; but I think I see a look of poor Master Frederick too."
"Have you seen my brother, Judith?" asked Henrietta, fearing
a second discussion on likenesses.
"Yes, Miss Henrietta; I was coming down from Missus's room,
when Mr. Geoffrey stopped me to ask how I did, and he said
'Here's a new acquaintance for you, Judith,' and there
was Master Frederick. I should have known him anywhere, and he spoke so
cheerful and pleasant. A fine young gentleman he is, to be sure."
"Why, we must be like your grandchildren!" said Henrietta;
"but O! here comes Fred."
And Judith discreetly retreated as Fred entered bearing a summons to his
sister to come down to tea, saying that he could scarcely prevail on
grandmamma to let him take the message instead of coming herself.
They found Queen Bee perched upon the arm of her grandpapa's
chair, with one hand holding by his collar. She had been coaxing him to say
Henrietta was the prettiest girl he ever saw, and he was teazing her by
declaring he should never see anything like Aunt Mary in her girlish days.
Then he called up Henrietta and Fred, and asked them about their home
doings, showing so distinct a knowledge of them, that they laughed and
stood amazed. "Ah," said grandpapa, "you forgot that I
had a Queen Bee to enlighten me. We have plenty to tell each other, when we
go buzzing over the ploughed fields together on a sunny morning,
haven't we, Busy, Busy Bee?"
Here grandmamma summoned them all to tea. She liked every one to sit
round the table, and put away work and book, as for a regular meal, and it
was rather a long one. Then, when all was over, grandpapa called out,
"Come, young ladies, I've been wearying for a tune these three
months. I hope you are not too tired to give us one."
"O no, no, grandpapa!" cried Beatrice, "but you must
hear Henrietta. It is a great shame of her to play so much better than I
do, with all my London masters too."
And in music the greater part of the evening was passed away. Beatrice
came to her aunt's room to wish her good-night, and to hear
Henrietta's opinions, which were of great delight, and still greater
wonder--grandmamma so excessively kind, and grandpapa, O, he was a
grandpapa to be proud of!
"Geoffrey, my dear," began Mrs. Langford, as soon as the
greetings and congratulations were over, "will you see what is the
matter with the lock of this tea-chest?--it has been out of
order these three weeks, and I thought you could set it to
rights."
While Uncle Geoffrey was pronouncing on its complaints, Atkins, the old
servant, put in his head.
"If you please, sir, Thomas Parker would be glad to speak to Mr.
Geoffrey about his son on the railway."
Away went Mr. Geoffrey to the lower regions, where Thomas Parker awaited
him, and as soon as he returned was addressed by his father:
"Geoffrey, I put those papers on the table in the study, if you will
look over them when you have time, and tell me what you think of the
turnpike trust."
A few moments after the door was thrown wide open, and in burst three
boys, shouting with one voice--"Uncle Geoffrey, Uncle Geoffrey,
you must come and see which of Vixen's puppies are to be
saved!"
"Hush, hush, you rogues, hush!" was Uncle Geoffrey's
answer; "don't you know that you are come into civilized
society? Aunt Mary never saw such wild men of the woods."
"All crazy at the sight of Uncle Geoffrey," said grandmamma.
"Ah, he spoils you all! but, come here, Johnny, come and speak to
your aunt. There, this is Johnny, and here are Richard and Willie,"
she added, as they came up and awkwardly gave their hands to their aunt and
cousins.
Henrietta was almost bewildered by seeing so many likenesses of
Alexander. "How shall I ever know them apart?" said she to
Beatrice.
"Like grandmamma's nest of teacups, all alike, only each one
size below another," said Beatrice. "However, I don't
require you to learn them all at once; only to know Alex and Willie from
the rest. Here, Willie, have you nothing to say to me? How are the
rabbits?"
Willie, a nice-looking boy of nine or ten years old, of rather
slighter make than his
brothers, and with darker eyes and hair, came to Queen Bee's side, as
if he was very glad to see her, and only slightly discomposed by
Henrietta's neighbourhood.
John gave the information that papa and Alex were only just behind, and
in another minute they made their appearance. "Good morning sir; good
morning, ma'am," were Uncle Roger's greetings, as he came
in. "Ah, Mary, how d'ye do? glad to see you here at last; hope
you are better.--Ah, good morning, good morning," as he quickly
shook hands with the younger ones. "Good morning, Geoffrey; I told
Martin to take the new drill into the outfield, for I want your opinion
whether it is worth keeping."
And thereupon the three gentlemen began a learned discussion on drills,
during which Henrietta studied her uncle. She was at first surprised to see
him look so young--younger, she thought, than Uncle Geoffrey; but in a
moment or two she changed her mind, for though mental labour had thinned
and grizzled Uncle Geoffrey's hair, paled his cheek, and traced lines
of thought on his broad high brow, it had not quenched the light that
beamed in his eyes, nor subdued the joyous merriment that often played over
his countenance, according with the slender active figure that might have
belonged to a mere boy. Uncle Roger was taller, and much more robust and
broad; his hair still untouched with grey, his face ruddy brown, and his
features full of good nature, but rather heavy. In his plaid shooting coat
and high gaiters, as he stood by the fire, he looked the model of a country
squire; but there was an indescribable family likeness, and something of
the same form about the nose and lip, which recalled to Henrietta the face
she loved so well in Uncle Geoffrey.
The drill discussion was not concluded when Mrs. Langford gave the
signal for the ladies to leave the breakfast table. Henrietta ran up stairs
for her mother's work, and came down again laughing. "I am
sure, Queenie," said she, "that your papa
chose his trade rightly. He may well be called a great counsel. Besides all the opinions asked of him at breakfast, I have just come across a consultation on the stairs between him and Judith about--what was it?--some money in a savings' bank."
"Yes," said Beatrice, "Judith has saved a sum that is
wondrous in these degenerate days of maids in silk gowns, and she is wise
enough to give 'Master Geoffrey' all the management of it. But
if you are surprised now, what will you be by the end of the day? See if
his advice is not asked in at least fifty matters."
"I'll count," said Henrietta: "what have
we had already?" and she took out pencil and
paper--"Number one, the tea-chest; then the poor man, and
the turnpike trust--"
"Vixen's puppies and the drill," suggested her
mamma.
"And Judith's money," added Henrietta. "Six
already--"
"To say nothing of all that will come by the post, and we shall
not hear of," said Beatrice; "and look here, what I am going to
seal for him, one, two, three--eight letters."
"Why! when could he possibly have written them?"
"Last night after we were gone to bed. It shows how much more
grandmamma will let him do than any one else, that she can allow him to sit
up with a candle after eleven o'clock. I really believe that there is
not another living creature in the world who could do it in this house.
There, you may add your own affairs to the list, Henrietta, for he is going
to the Pleasance to meet some man of brick and mortar."
"O, I wish we could walk there!"
"I dare say we can. I'll manage. Aunt Mary,
should you not like Henrietta to go and see the Pleasance?"
"Almost as much as Henrietta would like it herself, Busy
Bee," said Aunt Mary; "but I think she should walk to Sutton
Leigh to-day."
"Walk to Sutton Leigh!" echoed old Mrs. Langford, entering
at the moment; "not you, surely, Mary?"
"O no, no, grandmamma," said Beatrice, laughing; "she
was only talking of Henrietta's doing it."
"Well, and so do, my dears; it will be a very nice thing, if you
go this morning before the frost goes off. Your Aunt Roger will like to see
you, and you may take the little pot of black currant jelly that I wanted
to send over for poor Tom's sore mouth."
Beatrice looked at Henrietta and made a face of disgust as she asked,
"Have they no currant jelly themselves?"
"O no, they never can keep anything in the garden. I don't
mean that the boys take the fruit; but between tarts and puddings and
desserts, poor Elizabeth can never make any preserves."
"But," objected Queen Bee, "if one of the children is
ill, do you think Aunt Roger will like to have us this morning? and the
post girl could take the jelly."
"O nonsense, Bee," said Mrs. Langford, somewhat angrily;
"you don't like to do it, I see plain enough. It is very hard
you can't be as good-natured to your own little cousin as to
one of the children in the village."
"Indeed, grandmamma, I did not mean that."
"O no, no, grandmamma," joined in Henrietta, "we shall
be very glad to take it. Pray let us."
"Yes," added Beatrice, "if it is really to be of any
use, no one can be more willing."
"Of any use?" repeated Mrs. Langford. "No! never mind.
I'll send some one."
"No, pray do not, dear grandmamma," eagerly exclaimed
Henrietta; "I do beg you will let us take it. It will be making me at
home directly to let me be useful."
Grandmamma was pacified. "When will you set out?" she asked;
"you had better not lose this bright morning."
"We will go directly," said Queen Bee; "we will go by
the west turning, so that Henrietta may see the Pleasance."
"My dear! the west turning will be a swamp, and I won't have
you getting wet in your feet and catching cold."
"O, we have clogs; and besides, the road does not get so dirty
since it has been mended. I asked Johnny this morning."
"As if he knew, or cared anything about it!--and you will be
late for luncheon. Besides, grandpapa will drive your aunt there the first
day she feels equal to it, and Henrietta may see it then. But you will
always have your own way."
Henrietta had seldom been more uncomfortable than during this
altercation; and but for reluctance to appear more obliging than her
cousin, she would have begged to give up the scheme. Her mother would have
interfered in another moment, but the entrance of Uncle Geoffrey gave a
sudden turn to affairs.
"Who likes to go to the Pleasance?" said he, as he entered.
"All whose curiosity lies that way may prepare their
seven-leagued boots."
"Here are the girls dying to go," said Mrs. Langford, as
well pleased as if she had not been objecting the minute before.
"Very well. We go by Sutton Leigh: so make haste,
maidens." Then, turning to his mother,
"Didn't I hear you say you had something to send to Elizabeth, ma'am?"
"Only some currant jelly for little Tom; but if--"
"O grandmamma, that is my charge; pray don't cheat
me," exclaimed Henrietta. "If you will lend me a basket, it
will travel much better with me than in Uncle Geoffrey's
pocket."
"Ay, that will be the proper division of labour," said Uncle
Geoffrey, looking well pleased with his niece; "but I thought you
were off to get ready."
"Don't keep your uncle waiting, my dear," added her
mamma; and Henrietta departed, Beatrice following her to her room, and
there exclaiming, "If there is a thing I can't endure, it is
going to Sutton Leigh when one of the children is poorly! It is always bad
enough--"
"Bad enough! O, Busy Bee!" cried Henrietta, quite unprepared
to hear of any flaw in her paradise.
"You will soon see what I mean. The host of boys in the way; the
wooden bricks and black horses spotted with white wafers that you break
your shins over, the marbles that roll away under your feet, the whips that
crack in your ears, the universal air of nursery that pervades the house.
It is worse in the morning, too; for one is always whining
over sum, es, est, and another
over his spelling. O, if I had eleven brothers in a small house, I should
soon turn misanthrope. But you are laughing instead of getting
ready."
"So are you."
"My things will be on in a quarter of the time you take.
I'll tell you what, Henrietta, the Queen Bee allows no drones, and I
shall teach you to 'improve each shining hour;' for nothing
will get you into such dire disgrace here as to be always behind time.
Besides, it is a great shame to waste
papa's time. Now, here is your shawl ready folded, and now I will trust you to put on your boots and bonnet by yourself."
In five minutes the Queen Bee flew back again, and found Henrietta still
measuring the length of her bonnet strings before the glass. She hunted her
down stairs at last, and found the two uncles and grandpapa at the door,
playing with the various dogs, small and great, that usually waited there.
Fred and the other boys had gone out together some time since, and the
party now set forth, the three gentlemen walking together first. Henrietta
turned as soon as she had gone a sufficient distance that she might study
the aspect of the house. It did not quite fulfil her expectations; it was
neither remarkable for age nor beauty; the masonry was in a sort of
chessboard pattern, alternate squares of freestone and of flints, the
windows were not casements as she thought they ought to have been, and the
long wing, or rather excrescence, which contained the drawing-room,
was by no means ornamental. It was a respectable, comfortable mansion, and
that was all that was to be said in its praise, and Beatrice's
affection had so embellished it in description, that it was no wonder that
Henrietta felt slightly disappointed. She had had some expectation, too, of
seeing it in the midst of a park, instead of which the
carriage-drive along which they were walking, only skirted a rather
large grass field, full of elm trees, and known by the less dignified name
of the paddock. But she would not confess the failure of her expectations
even to herself, and as Beatrice was evidently looking for some expressions
of admiration, she said the road must be very pretty in summer.
"Especially when this bank is one forest of foxgloves," said
Queen Bee. "Only think! Uncle Roger and the farmer faction wanted
grandpapa to
have this hedge row grubbed up, and turned into a plain dead fence; but I carried the day, and I dare say Aunt Mary will be as much obliged to me as the boys who would have lost their grand preserve of stoats and rabbits. But here are the outfield and the drill."
And going through a small gate at the corner of the paddock, they
entered a large ploughed field, traversed by a footpath raised and
gravelled, so as to be high and dry, which was well for the two girls, as
the gentlemen left them to march up and down there by themselves, whilst
they were discussing the merits of the brilliant blue machine which was
travelling along the furrows. It was rather a trial of patience, but
Beatrice was used to it, and Henrietta was in a temper to be pleased with
anything.
At last the inspection was concluded, and Mr. Langford came to his
granddaughters, leaving his two sons to finish their last words with
Martin.
"Well, young ladies," said he, "this is fine drilling,
in patience at least. I only wish my wheat may be as well drilled with
Uncle Roger's new-fangled machines."
"That is right, grandpapa," said Queen Bee; "you hate
them as much as I do, don't you now?"
"She is afraid they will make honey by steam," said
grandpapa, "and render bees a work of supererogation."
"They are doing what they can towards it," said Beatrice.
"Why, when Mr. Carey took us to see his hives, I declare I had quite
a fellow-feeling for my poor subjects, boxed up in glass, with all
their privacy destroyed. And they won't even let them swarm their own
way--a most unwarrantable interference with the liberty of the
subject."
"Well done, Queenie," said Mr. Langford, laughing; "a
capital champion. And so you don't look forward to the time when we
are to have our
hay made by one machine, our sheep washed by another, our turkeys crammed by a third--ay, and even the trouble of bird-starving saved us?"
"Bird-starving!" repeated Henrietta.
"Yes; or keeping a few birds, according to the mother's
elegant diminutive," said Beatrice, "serving as live
scarecrows."
"I should have thought a scarecrow would have answered the
purpose," said Henrietta.
"This is one that is full of gunpowder, and fires off every ten
minutes," said grandpapa; "but I told Uncle Roger we would have
none of them here unless he was prepared to see one of his boys blown up at
every third explosion."
"Is Uncle Roger so very fond of machines?" said
Henrietta.
"He goes about to cattle shows and agricultural meetings, and
comes home with his pockets crammed with papers of new inventions, which I
leave him to try as long as he does not empty my pockets too
fast."
"Don't they succeed, then?" said Henrietta.
"Why--ay--I must confess we get decent crops enough. And
once we achieved a prize ox,--such a disgusting overgrown beast, that
I could not bear the sight of it; and told Uncle Roger I would have no more
such waste of good victuals, puffing up the ox instead of the
frog."
Henrietta was not quite certain whether all this was meant in jest or
earnest; and perhaps the truth was, that though grandpapa had little liking
for new plans, he was too wise not to adopt those which possessed manifest
advantage, and only indulged himself in a good deal of playful grumbling,
which greatly teased Uncle Roger.
"There is Sutton Leigh," said grandpapa, as they came in
sight of a low white house among farm buildings. "Well, Henrietta,
are you pre-
pared for an introduction to an aunt and half-a-dozen cousins, and Jessie Carey into the bargain?"
"Jessie Carey!" exclaimed Beatrice in a tone of dismay.
"Did you not know she was there? Why they always send Carey over
for her with the gig if there is but a tooth-ache the matter at
Sutton Leigh."
"Is she one of Aunt Roger's nieces?" asked
Henrietta.
"Yes," said Beatrice. "And--O! grandpapa,
don't look at me in that way. Where is the use of being your pet, if
I may not tell my mind?"
"I won't have Henrietta prejudiced," said Mr.
Langford. "Don't listen to her, my dear: and I'll
tell you what Jessie Carey is. She is an honest, good-natured girl
as ever lived; always ready to help every one, never thinking of trouble,
without an atom of selfishness."
"Now for the but, grandpapa,"
cried Beatrice. "I allow all that, only grant me
the but."
"But Queen Bee, chancing to be a conceited little Londoner, looks
down on us poor country folks as unfit for her most refined and
intellectual society."
"O grandpapa, that is not fair! Indeed, you don't really
believe that. O, say you don't!" And Beatrice's black
eyes were full of tears.
"If I do not believe the whole, you believe the half, Miss
Bee," and he added, half whispering, "take care some of us do
not believe the other half. But don't look dismal on the matter, only
put it into one of your waxen cells, and don't lose sight of it. And
if it is any comfort to you, I will allow that perhaps poor Jessie is not
the most entertaining companion for you. Her vanity maggots are not of the
same sort as yours."
They had by this time nearly reached Sutton Leigh, a building little
altered from the farm-house it had originally been, with a small
garden in front,
and a narrow footpath up to the door. As soon as they came in sight there was a general rush forward of little boys in brown holland, all darting on Uncle Geoffrey, and holding him fast by legs and arms.
"Let me loose, you varlets," he cried, and disengaging one
hand, in another moment drew from his capacious pocket a be