Kitabı oku: «Scenes and Characters, or, Eighteen Months at Beechcroft», sayfa 16
CHAPTER XXIV
LOVE’S LABOUR LOST
‘And well, with ready hand and heart,
Each task of toilsome duty taking,
Did one dear inmate take her part,
The last asleep, the earliest waking.’
In the course of the afternoon Lord Rotherwood and Florence called, to see Eleanor, inquire after Ada, and make the final arrangements for going to a morning concert at Raynham the next day. Lady Rotherwood was afraid of the fatigue, and Florence therefore wished to accompany her cousins, who, as Eleanor meant to stay at home, were to be under Mrs. Weston’s protection. Lady Florence and her brother, therefore, agreed to ride home by Broomhill, and mention the plan to Mrs. Weston, and took their leave, appointing Adam’s shop as the place of rendezvous.
Next morning Emily, Lilias, and Jane happened to be together in the drawing-room, when Mr. Mohun and Claude came in, the former saying to Lily, ‘Here is the mason’s account for the gravestone which you wished to have put up to Agnes Eden; it comes to two pounds. You undertook half the expense, and as Claude is going to Raynham, he will pay for it if you will give him your sovereign.’
‘I will,’ said Lily, ‘but first I must ask Emily to pay me for the London commissions.’
Emily repented not having had a private conference with Lily.
‘So you have not settled your accounts,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘I hope Lily has not ruined you, Emily.’
‘I thought her a mirror of prudence,’ said Claude.
‘Well, Emily, is the sovereign forthcoming? I am going directly, for Frank has something to do at Raynham, and William is going to try his gray in the phaeton.’
‘I am afraid you will think me very silly,’ said Emily, after some deliberation, ‘but I hope Lily will not be very angry when I confess that seven shillings is the sum total of my property.’
‘Oh, Emily,’ cried Lily, in dismay, ‘what has become of your five pounds?’
‘I gave them as a subscription for a clergyman’s widow in distress,’ said Emily; ‘it was the impulse of a moment, I could not help it, and, dear Lily, I hope it will not inconvenience you.’
‘If papa will be kind enough to wait for this pound till Michaelmas,’ said Lily.
‘I would wait willingly,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘but I will not see you cheated. How much does she owe you?’
‘The commissions came to six pounds three,’ said Lily, looking down.
‘But, Lily,’ said Jane, ‘you forget the old debt.’
‘Never mind,’ whispered Lily; but Mr. Mohun asked what Jane had said, and Claude repeated her speech, upon which he inquired, ‘What old debt?’
‘Papa,’ said Emily, in her most candid tone, ‘I do not know what I should have done but for Lily’s kindness. Really, I cannot get on with my present allowance; being the eldest, so many expenses come upon me.’
‘Then am I to understand,’ replied Mr. Mohun, ‘that your foolish vanity has led you to encroach on your sister’s kindness, and to borrow of her what you had no reasonable hope of repaying? Again, Lily, what does she owe you?’
Emily felt the difference between the sharp, curious eyes with which Jane regarded her, and the sorrowful downcast looks of Lily, who replied, ‘The old debt is four pounds, but that does not signify.’
‘Well,’ resumed her father, ‘I cannot blame you for your good-nature, though an older person might have acted otherwise. You must have managed wonderfully well, to look always so well dressed with only half your proper income. Here is the amount of the debt. Is it right? And, Lily, one thing more; I wish to thank you for what you have done towards keeping this house in order. You have worked hard, and endured much, and from all I can gather, you have prevented much mischief. Much has unfairly been thrown upon you, and you have well and steadily done your duty. For you, Emily, I have more to say to you, but I shall not enter on it at present, for it is late. You had better get ready, or you will keep the others waiting.’
‘I do not think I can go,’ sighed Emily.
‘You are wanted,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘I do not think your aunt would like Florence to go without you.’
Lily had trembled as much under her father’s praise as Emily under his blame. She did not feel as if his commendation was merited, and longed to tell him of her faults and follies, but this was no fit time, and she hastened to prepare for her expedition, her spirits scarcely in time for a party of pleasure. Jane talked about the 30th, and asked questions about London, all the way to Raynham, and both Emily and Lily were glad to join in her chatter, in hopes of relieving their own embarrassment.
On arriving at the place of meeting they found Lady Florence watching for them.
‘I am glad you are come,’ said she, ‘Rotherwood will always set out either too soon or too late, and this time it was too soon, so here we have been full a quarter of an hour, but he does not care. There he is, quite engrossed with his book.’
Lord Rotherwood was standing by the counter, reading so intently that he did not see his cousins’ arrival. When they entered he just looked up, shook hands, asked after Ada, and went on reading. Lily began looking for some books for the school, which she had long wished for, and was now able to purchase; Emily sat down in a melancholy, abstracted mood, and Florence and Jane stood together talking.
‘You know you are all to come early,’ said the former, ‘I do not know how we should manage without you. Rotherwood insists on having everything the same day—poor people first, and gentry and farmers altogether. Mamma does not like it, and I expect we shall be dreadfully tired; but he says he will not have the honest poor men put out for the fashionables; and you know we are all to dance with everybody. But Jenny, who is this crossing the street? Look, you have an eye for oddities.’
‘Miss Fitchett, the subscription-hunter,’ said Jane.
‘She is actually coming to hunt us. I believe I have my purse. Oh! Emily is to be the first victim.’
Miss Fitchett advanced to Emily, and saying that she believed she had the honour to address Miss Mohun, began to tell her that her friend having been prematurely informed of her small efforts, had with a noble spirit of independence begged that the subscription might not be continued, and that what had already been given might be returned, and she rejoiced in this opportunity of making the explanation. But Miss Fitchett could not bear to relinquish the five-pound note, and added, that perhaps Miss Mohun might not object to apply her subscription to some other object, the Dorcas Society for instance.
‘Thank you, I have no interest in the Dorcas Society,’ said Emily; a reply which brought upon her a full account of all its aims and objects; and as still her polite looks spoke nothing of assent, Miss Fitchett went on with a string of other societies, speaking the louder and the more eagerly in the hope of attracting the attention of the young marquis and his sister. Emily was easily overwhelmed with words, and not thinking it lady-like to claim her money, yet feeling that none of these societies were fit objects for it, she stood confused and irresolute, unwilling either to consent or refuse. Jane, perceiving her difficulty, turned to Lord Rotherwood, and rousing him from his book, explained Emily’s distress in a few words, and sent him to her rescue. He stepped forward just as Miss Fitchett, taking silence for consent, was proceeding to thank Emily; ‘I think you misunderstand Miss Mohun,’ said he. ‘Since her subscription is not needed by the person for whom it was intended, she would be glad to have it restored. She does not wish to encourage any unauthorised societies.’
Boy as he was, in appearance still more than in age, there was a dignity in his manner which, together with the principle on which he spoke, overawed Miss Fitchett even more than his rank. She only said, ‘Oh! my lord, I beg your pardon. Certainly, only—’
The note was placed in Emily’s hands, and with a bow from Lord Rotherwood, she retreated, murmuring to herself the remonstrance which she had not courage to bestow upon the Marquis.
‘Thank you, thank you, Rotherwood,’ said Emily; ‘you have done me a great service.’
‘Well done, Rotherwood,’ said Florence; ‘you have given the old lady something to reflect upon.’
‘Made a public announcement of principle,’ said Lily.
‘I was determined to give her a reason,’ said the Marquis, laughing, ‘but I assure you I felt like the stork with its head in the wolf’s mouth, I thought she would give me a screed of doctrine. How came you to let your property get unto her clutches, Emily?’
‘It was a subscription for Mrs. Aylmer,’ said Emily.
‘Our curate’s wife!’ cried he with a start; ‘how was it? Florence, did you know anything? I thought she was in London. Why were we in the dark? Tell me all.’
‘All I know is that she is living somewhere in Raynham, and last week there was a paper here to say that she was in want of the means of fitting out her son for India.’
‘Yes, yes, Johnny, I know my father did get a promise for him—well!’
‘That is all I know, except that she does not choose to be a beggar.’
‘Poor Mrs. Aylmer! shameful neglect! she shall not be ill-used any longer, I will find her out this instant. Don’t wait for me.’
And after a few words to Mr. Adams, off he went, walking as fast as he could, and leaving the young ladies not without fear of another invasion. Soon, however, the brothers came in, and presently after Mrs. Weston appeared. It was agreed that Lord Rotherwood should be left to his own devices, and they set out for the concert-room. Poor Florence lost much pleasure in disappointment at his non-appearance, but when the concert was over they found him sitting in the carriage, reading. As soon as they appeared he sprang out, and came to meet them, pouring rapidly out a history of his adventures.
‘Then you have found them, and what can be done for them?’
‘Everything ought to be done, but Mrs. Aylmer has a spirit of independence. That foolish woman’s advertisement was unknown to her till Emily’s five pounds came in, so fine a nest-egg that she could not help cackling, whereupon Mrs. Aylmer insisted on having every farthing returned.’
‘Can she provide the boy’s outfit?’
‘She says so, or rather that her daughter can, but I shall see about that. It is worth while to be of age. Imagine! That bank which failed was the end of my father’s legacy. They must have lived on a fraction of nothing! Edward went to sea. Miss Aylmer went out as a governess. Now she is at home.’
‘Miss Aylmer!’ exclaimed Miss Weston, ‘I know she was a clergyman’s daughter. Do you know the name of the family she lived with?’
‘Was it Grant?’ said William. ‘I remember hearing of her going to some Grants.’
‘It was,’ said Alethea; ‘she must be the same. Is she at home?’
‘Yes,’ said Lord Rotherwood, ‘and you may soon see her, for I mean to have them all to stay at the castle as soon as our present visitors are gone. My mother and Florence shall call upon them on Friday.’
‘Now,’ said Claude, ‘I have not found out what brought them back to Raynham.’
‘Have you lived at Beechcroft all your life, and never discovered that there is a grammar-school at Raynham, with special privileges for the sons of clergymen of the diocese?’
A few more words, and the cousins parted; Emily by no means sorry that she had been obliged to go to Raynham. She tendered the five-pound note to her father, but he desired her to wait till Friday, and then to bring him a full account of her expenditure of the year. Her irregular ways made this almost impossible, especially as in the present state of affairs she wished to avoid a private conference with either Lily or Jane. She was glad that an invitation to dine and sleep at the castle on Wednesday would save her from the peril of having to talk to Lily in the evening. Reginald came home on Tuesday, to the great joy of all the party, and especially to that of Phyllis. This little maiden was more puzzled by the events that had taken place than conscious of the feeling which she had once thought must be so delightful. She could scarcely help perceiving that every one was much more kind to her than usual, especially Claude and Lily, and Lord Rotherwood said things which she could not at all understand. Her observation to Reginald was, ‘Was it not lucky I had a cough on Twelfth Day, or Claude would not have told me what to do about gunpowder?’
Reginald troubled Phyllis much by declaring that nothing should induce him to kiss his nephew, and she was terribly shocked by the indifference with which Eleanor treated his neglect, even when it branched out into abuse of babies in general, and in particular of Henry’s bald head and turned-up nose.
In the evening of Wednesday Phyllis was sitting with Ada in the nursery, when Reginald came up with the news that the party downstairs were going to practise country dances. Eleanor was to play, Claude was to dance with Lily, and Frank with Jane, and he himself wanted Phyllis for a partner.
‘Oh!’ sighed Ada, ‘I wish I was there to dance with you, Redgie! What are the others doing?’
‘Maurice is reading, and William went out as soon as dinner was over; make haste, Phyl.’
‘Don’t go,’ said Ada, ‘I shall be alone all to-morrow, and I want you.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Reginald, ‘do you think she is to sit poking here all day, playing with those foolish London things of yours?’
‘But I am ill, Redgie. I wish you would not be cross. Everybody is cross to me now, I think.’
‘I will stay, Ada,’ said Phyllis. ‘You know, Redgie, I dance like a cow.’
‘You dance better than nothing,’ said Reginald, ‘I must have you.’
‘But you are not ill, Redgie,’ said Phyllis.
He went down in displeasure, and was forced to consider Sir Maurice’s picture as his partner, until presently the door opened, and Phyllis appeared. ‘So you have thought better of it,’ cried he.
‘No,’ said Phyllis, ‘I cannot come to dance, but Ada wants you to leave off playing. She says the music makes her unhappy, for it makes her think about to-morrow.’
‘Rather selfish, Miss Ada,’ said Claude.
‘Stay here, Phyllis, now you are come,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I will go and speak to Ada.’
Phyllis was now captured, and made to take her place opposite to Reginald; but more than once she sighed under the apprehension that Ada was receiving a lecture. This was the case; and very little did poor Ada comprehend the change that had taken place in the conduct of almost every one towards her; she did not perceive that she was particularly naughty, and yet she had suddenly become an object of blame, instead of a spoiled pet. Formerly her little slynesses had been unnoticed, and her overbearing ways towards Phyllis scarcely remarked, but now they were continually mentioned as grievous faults. Esther, her especial friend and comforter, was scarcely allowed to come into the same room with her; Hannah treated her with a kind of grave, silent respect, far from the familiarity which she liked; little Henry’s nurse never would talk to her, and if it had not been for Phyllis, she would have been very miserable. On Phyllis, however, she repaid herself for all the mortifications that she received, while the sweet-tempered little girl took all her fretfulness and exactions as results of her illness, and went on pitying her, and striving to please her.
When Phyllis came up to wish her good-night, she was received with an exclamation at her lateness in a peevish tone: ‘Yes, I am late,’ said Phyllis, merrily, ‘but we had not done dancing till tea-time, and then Eleanor was so kind as to say I might sit up to have some tea with them.’
‘Ah! and you quite forgot how tiresome it is up here, with nobody to speak to,’ said Ada. ‘How cross they were not to stop the music when I said it made me miserable!’
‘Claude said it was selfish to want to stop five people’s pleasure for one,’ said Phyllis.
‘But I am so ill,’ said Ada. ‘If Claude was as uncomfortable as I am, he would know how to be sorry for me. And only think—Phyl, what are you doing? Do not you know I do not like the moonlight to come on me. It is like a great face laughing at me.’
‘Well, I like the moon so much!’ said Phyllis, creeping behind the curtain to look out, ‘there is something so white and bright in it; when it comes on the bed-clothes, it makes me go to sleep, thinking about white robes, oh! and all sorts of nice things.’
‘I can’t bear the moon,’ said Ada; ‘do not you know, Maurice says that the moon makes the people go mad, and that is the reason it is called lunacy, after la lune?’
‘I asked Miss Weston about that,’ said Phyllis, ‘because of the Psalm, and she said it was because it was dangerous to go to sleep in the open air in hot countries. Ada, I wish you could see now. There is the great round moon in the middle of the sky, and the sky such a beautiful colour, and a few such great bright stars, and the trees so dark, and the white lilies standing up on the black pond, and the lawn all white with dew! what a fine day it will be to-morrow!’
‘A fine day for you!’ said Ada, ‘but only think of poor me all alone by myself.’
‘You will have baby,’ said Phyllis.
‘Baby—if he could talk it would be all very well. It is just like the cross people in books. Here I shall lie and cry all the time, while you are dancing about as merry as can be.’
‘No, no, Ada, you will not do that,’ said Phyllis, with tears in her eyes. ‘There is baby with all his pretty ways, and you may teach him to say Aunt Ada, and I will bring you in numbers of flowers, and there is your new doll, and all the pretty things that came from London, and the new book of Fairy Tales, and all sorts—oh! no, do not cry, Ada.’
‘But I shall, for I shall think of you dancing, and not caring for me.’
‘I do care, Ada—why do you say that I do not? I cannot bear it, Ada, dear Ada.’
‘You don’t, or you would not go and leave me alone.’
‘Then, Ada, I will not go,’ said Phyllis; ‘I could not bear to leave you crying here all alone.’
‘Thank you, dear good Phyl, but I think you will not have much loss. You know you do not like dancing, and you cannot do it well, and they will be sure to laugh at you.’
‘And I daresay Redgie and Marianne will tell us all about it,’ said Phyllis, sighing. ‘I should rather like to have seen it, but they will tell us.’
‘Then do you promise to stay?—there’s a dear,’ said Ada.
‘Yes,’ said Phyllis. ‘Cousin Robert is coming in, and that will be very nice, and I hope he will not look as he did the day the gunpowder went off—oh, dear!’ She went back to the window to get rid of her tears unperceived. ‘Ah,’ cried she, ‘there is some one in the garden!’
‘A man!’ screamed Ada—‘a thief, a robber—call somebody!’
‘No, no,’ said Phyllis, laughing, ‘it is only William; he has been out all the evening, and now papa has come out to speak to him, and they are walking up and down together. I wonder whether he has been sitting with Cousin Robert or at Broomhill! Well, good-night, Ada. Here comes Hannah.’
CHAPTER XXV
THE THIRTIETH OF JULY
‘The heir, with roses in his shoes,
That night might village partner choose.’
The 30th of July was bright and clear, and Phyllis was up early, gathering flowers, which, with the help of Jane’s nimble fingers, she made into elegant little bouquets for each of her sisters, and for Claude.
‘How is this?’ said Mr. Hawkesworth, pretending to look disconsolate, ‘am I to sing “Fair Phyllida flouts me,” or why is my button-hole left destitute?’
‘Perhaps that is for you on the side-table,’ said Lily.
‘Oh! no,’ said Phyllis, ‘those are some Provence roses for Miss Weston and Marianne, because Miss Weston likes those, and they have none at Broomhill. Redgie is going to take care of them. I will get you a nosegay, Frank. I did not know you liked it.’
She started up. ‘How prudent, Phyllis,’ said Eleanor, ‘not to have put on your muslin frock yet.’
‘Oh! I am not going,’ said Phyllis.
‘Not going!’ was the general outcry.
‘No, poor Ada cries so about being left at home with only baby, that I cannot bear it, and so I promised to stay.’
Away went Phyllis, and Reginald exclaimed, ‘Well, she shall not be served so. I will go and tell Ada so this instant.’
Off he rushed, and putting in his head at the nursery door, shouted, ‘Ada, I am come to tell you that Phyl is not to be made your black-a-moor slave! She shall go, that is settled.’
Down he went with equal speed, without waiting for an answer, and arrived while Eleanor was saying that she thought Ada was provided with amusement with the baby, her playthings, and books, and that Mr. Devereux had promised to make her a visit.
‘Anybody ought to stay at home rather than Phyllis,’ said Lily; ‘I think I had better stay.’
‘No, no, Lily,’ said Jane, ‘you are more wanted than I am; you are really worth talking to and dancing with; I had much better be at home.’
‘I forgot!’ exclaimed William. ‘Mrs. Weston desired me to say that she is not going, and she will take care of Ada. Mr. Weston will set her down at half-past ten, and take up one of us.’
‘I will be that one,’ said Reginald, ‘I have not seen Miss Weston since I came home. I meant to walk to Broomhill after dinner yesterday, only the Baron stopped me about that country-dance. Last Christmas I made her promise to dance with me to-day.’
Lily had hoped to be that one, but she did not oppose Reginald, and turned to listen to Eleanor, who was saying, ‘Let us clearly understand how every one is to go, it will save a great deal of confusion. You and Jane, and Maurice, go in the phaeton, do not you? And who drives you?’
‘William, I believe,’ said Lily. ‘Claude goes earlier, so he rides the gray. Then there is the chariot for you and Frank, and papa and Phyllis.’
So it was proposed, but matters turned out otherwise. The phaeton, which, with a promoted cart-horse, was rather a slow conveyance, was to set out first, but the whole of the freight was not ready in time. The ladies were in the hall as soon as it came to the door, but neither of the gentlemen were forthcoming. Reginald, who was wandering in the hall, was sent to summon them; but down he came in great wrath. Maurice had declared that he was not ready, and they must wait for him till he had tied his neckcloth, which Reginald opined would take three quarters of an hour, as he was doing it scientifically, and William had said that he was not going in the gig at all, that he had told Wat Greenwood to drive, and that Reginald must go instead of Maurice.
In confirmation of the startling fact Wat, who had had a special invitation from the Marquis, was sitting in the phaeton in his best black velvet coat. Jane only hoped that Emily would not look out of the window, or she would certainly go into fits on seeing them arrive with the old phaeton, the thick-legged cart-horse, and Wat Greenwood for a driver; and Reginald, after much growling at Maurice, much bawling at William’s door, and, as Jane said, romping and roaring in all parts of the house, was forced to be resigned to his fate, and all the way to Hetherington held a very amusing conversation with his good-natured friend the keeper.
They were overtaken, nodded to, and passed by the rest of their party. Maurice had been reduced to ride the pony, William came with the Westons, and the chariot load was just as had been before arranged.
Claude came out to meet them at the door, saying, ‘I need not have gone so early. What do you think has become of the hero of the day? Guess, I will just give you this hint,
“Though on pleasure he was bent, he had no selfish mind.”’
‘Oh! the Aylmers, I suppose,’ said Lilias.
‘Right, Lily, he heard something at dinner yesterday about a school for clergymen’s sons, which struck him as likely to suit young Devereux Aylmer, and off he set at seven o’clock this morning to Raynham, to breakfast with Mrs. Aylmer, and talk to her about it. Never let me hear again that he is engrossed with his own affairs!’
‘And why is he in such a hurry?’ asked Lily.
‘’Tis his nature,’ said Claude, ‘besides Travers, who mentioned this school, goes away to-morrow. My aunt is in a fine fright lest he should not come back in time. Did not you hear her telling papa so in the drawing-room?’
‘There he is, riding up to the door,’ said Phyllis, who had joined them in the hall. Lord Rotherwood stopped for a few moments at the door to give some directions to the servants, and then came quickly in. ‘Ah, there you are!—What time is it? It is all right, Claude—Devereux is just the right age. I asked him a few questions this morning, and he will stand a capital examination. Ha, Phyl, I am glad to see you.’
‘I wish you many happy returns of the day, Cousin Rotherwood.’
‘Thank you, Phyl, we had better see how we get through one such day before we wish it to return. Are the rest come?’
He went on into the drawing-room, and hastily informing his mother that he had sent the carriage to fetch Miss Aylmer and her brothers to the feast, called Claude to come out on the lawn to look at the preparations. The bowling-green was to serve as drawing-room, and at one end was pitched an immense tent where the dinner was to be.
‘I say, Claude,’ said he in his quickest and most confused way, ‘I depend upon you for one thing. Do not let the Baron be too near me.’
‘The Baron of Beef?’ said Claude.
‘No, the Baron of Beechcroft. If you wish my speech to be radara tadara, put him where I can imagine that he hears me.’
‘Very well,’ said Claude, laughing; ‘have you any other commands?’
‘No—yes, I have though. You know what we settled about the toasts. Hunt up old Farmer Elderfield as soon as he comes, and do not frighten him. If you could sit next to him and make him get up at the right time, it would be best. Tell him I will not let any one propose my health but my great-grandfather’s tenant. You will manage it best. And tell Frank Hawkesworth, and Mr. Weston, or some of them, to manage so that the gentry may not sit together in a herd, two or three together would be best. Mind, Claude, I depend on you for being attentive to all the damsels. I cannot be everywhere at once, and I see your great Captain will be of no use to me.’
Here news was brought that the labourers had begun to arrive, and the party went to the walnut avenue, where the feast was spread. It was pleasant to see so many poor families enjoying their excellent dinner; but perhaps the pleasantest sight was the lord of the feast speaking to each poor man with all his bright good-natured cordiality. Mr. Mohun was surprised to see how well he knew them all, considering how short a time he had been among them, and Lilias found Florence rise in her estimation, when she perceived that the inside of the Hetherington cottages were not unknown to her.
‘Do you know, Florence,’ said she, as they walked back to the house together, ‘I did you great injustice? I never expected you to know or care about poor people.’
‘No more I did till this winter,’ said Florence; ‘I could not do anything, you know, before. Indeed, I do not do much now, only Rotherwood has made me go into the school now and then; and when first we came, he made it his especial request that whenever a poor woman came to ask for anything I would go and speak to her. And so I could not help being interested about those I knew.’
‘How odd it is that we never talked about it,’ said Lily.
‘I never talk of it,’ said Florence, ‘because mamma never likes to hear of my going into cottages with Rotherwood. Besides, somehow I thought you did it as a matter of duty, and not of pleasure. Oh! Rotherwood, is that you?’
‘The Aylmers are come,’ said Lord Rotherwood, drawing her arm into his, ‘and I want you to come and speak to them, Florence and Lily; I can’t find any one; all the great elders have vanished. You know them of old, do not you, Lily?’
‘Of old? Yes; but of so old that I do not suppose they will know me. You must introduce me.’
He hastened them to the drawing-room, where they found Miss Aylmer, a sensible, lady-like looking person, and two brothers, of about fifteen and thirteen.
‘Well, Miss Aylmer, I have brought you two old friends; so old, that they think you have forgotten them—my cousin Lilias, and my sister Florence.’
‘We have not forgotten you, Miss Aylmer,’ said Florence, warmly shaking hands with her. ‘You seem so entirely to belong to Hetherington that I scarcely knew the place without you.’
There was something that particularly pleased Lily in the manner in which Miss Aylmer answered. Florence talked a little while, and then proposed to adjourn to the supplementary drawing-room—the lawn—where the company were already assembling.
Florence was soon called off to receive some other guest, and Lilias spent a considerable time in sitting under a tree talking to Miss Aylmer, whom she found exceedingly pleasant and agreeable, remembering all that had happened during their former intercourse, and interested in everything that was going on. Lily was much amused when her companion asked her who that gentleman was—‘that tall, thin young man, with dark hair, whom she had seen once or twice speaking to Lord Rotherwood?’
The tall gentleman advanced, spoke to Miss Aylmer, told Lily that the world was verging towards the tent, and giving one arm to her and the other to Miss Aylmer, took that direction. In the meantime Phyllis had been walking about with her eldest sister, and wondering what had become of all the others. In process of time she found herself seated on a high bench in the tent, with a most beautiful pink-and-white sugar temple on the table before her. She was between Eleanor and Frank. All along one side of the table was a row of faces which she had never seen before, and she gazed at them in search of some well-known countenance. At last Mr. Weston caught her eye, and nodded to her. Next to him she saw Marianne, then Reginald; on the other side Alethea and William. A little tranquillised by seeing that every one was not lost, she had courage to eat some cold chicken, to talk to Frank about the sugar temple, and to make an inventory in her mind of the smartest bonnets for Ada’s benefit. She was rather unhappy at not having found out when grace was said before dinner, and she made Eleanor promise to tell her in time to stand up after dinner. She could not, however, hear much, though warned in time, and by this time more at ease and rather enjoying herself than otherwise. Now Eleanor told her to listen, for Cousin Rotherwood was going to speak. She listened, but knew not what was said, until Mr. Hawkesworth told her it was Church and Queen. What Church and Queen had to do with Cousin Rotherwood’s birthday she could not imagine, and she laid it up in her mind to ask Claude. The next time she was told to listen she managed to hear more. By the help of Eleanor’s directions, she found out the speaker, an aged farmer, in a drab greatcoat, his head bald, excepting a little silky white hair, which fell over the collar of his coat. It was Mr. Elderfield, the oldest tenant on the estate, and he was saying in a slow deliberate tone that he was told he was to propose his lordship’s health. It was a great honour for the like of him, and his lordship must excuse him if he did not make a fine speech. All he could say was, that he had lived eighty-three years on the estate, and held his farm nearly sixty years; he had seen three marquises of Rotherwood besides his present lordship, and he had always found them very good landlords. He hoped and believed his lordship was like his fathers, and he was sure he could do no better than tread in their steps. He proposed the health of Lord Rotherwood, and many happy returns of the day to him.
