Scenes and Characters Read online

  'Redgie,' said she, 'you can do me a great kindness.'

  'If it is not a bore,' returned Reginald.

  'I only want you to walk with me to South End.'

  'Eh?' said Reginald; 'I thought the little Misses were too delicate to put their dear little proboscises outside the door.'

  'That is the reason I ask you; I do not think Emily or Jane would like it, and it is too far for Claude. Those poor old Martins have not got their broth, and there is no one to fetch it for them.'

  'Then do not be half an hour putting on your things.'

  'Thank you; and do not run off, and make me spend an hour in hunting for you, and then say that I made you wait.'

  'I will wait fast enough. You are not so bad as Emily,' said Reginald, while Lily ran upstairs to equip herself. When she came down, she was glad to find her escort employed in singeing the end of the tail of the old rocking-horse at the fire in the hall, so that she was not obliged to seek him in the drawing-room, where her plans would probably have met with opposition. She had, however, objections to answer from an unexpected quarter. Reginald was much displeased when she took possession of the pitcher of broth.

  'I will not walk with such a thing as that,' said he, 'it makes you look like one of the dirty girls in the village.'

  'Then you ought, like the courteous Rinaldo, to carry it for me,' said Lily.

  'I touch the nasty thing! Faugh! Throw it into the gutter, Lily.'

  He made an attempt to dispose of it in that manner, which it required all Lily's strength to withstand, as well as an imploring 'Now, Redgie, think of the poor old people. Remember, you have promised.'

  'Promised! I never promised to walk with a greasy old pitcher. What am I to do if we meet Miss Weston?'

  Lily contrived to overcome Reginald's refined notions sufficiently to make him allow her to carry the pitcher; and when he had whistled up two of the dogs, they proceeded merrily along the road, dirty and wet though it was. Their walk was not entirely without adventures; first, they had to turn back in the path by the river side, which would have saved them half a mile, but was now flooded. Then, as they were passing through a long lane, which led them by Edward Gage's farm, a great dog rushed out of the yard, and fell upon the little terrier, Viper. Old Neptune flew to the rescue, and to the great alarm of Lily, Reginald ran up with a stick; happily, however, a labourer at the same time came out with a pitchfork, and beat off the enemy. These two delays, together with Reginald's propensity for cutting sticks, and for breaking ice, made it quite late when they arrived at South End. When there, they found that a kind neighbour had brought the old people their broth in the morning, and intended to go for her own when she came home from her work in the evening. It was not often that Lily went to South End; the old people were delighted to see her, and detained her for some time by a long story about their daughter at service, while Reginald looked the picture of impatience, drumming on his knee, switching the leg of the table, and tickling Neptune's ears. When they left the cottage it was much later and darker than they had expected; but Lily was unwilling again to encounter the perils of the lane, and consulted her brother whether there was not some other way. He gave notice of a cut across some fields, which would take them into the turnpike road, and Lily agreeing, they climbed over a gate into a pathless turnip field. Reginald strode along first, calling to the dogs, while Lily followed, abstaining from dwelling on the awkward circumstance that every step she took led her farther from home, and rejoicing that it was so dark that she could not see the mud which plastered the edge of her petticoats. After plodding through three very long fields, they found themselves shut in by a high hedge and tall ditch.

  'That fool of a farmer!' cried Reginald.

  'What is to be done?' said Lily, disconsolately.

  'There is the road,' said Reginald. 'How do you propose to get into it?'

  'There was a gap here last summer,' said the boy.

  'Very likely! Come back; try the next field; it must have a gate somewhere.'

  Back they went, after seeing the carrier's cart from Raynham pass by.

  'Redgie, it must be half-past five! We shall never be in time. Aunt Rotherwood coming too!'

  After a desperate plunge through a swamp of ice, water, and mud, they found themselves at a gate, and safely entered the turnpike road.

  'How it rains!' said Lily. 'One comfort is that it is too dark for any one to see us.'

  'Not very dark, either,' said Reginald; 'I believe there is a moon if one could see it. Ha! here comes some one on horseback. It is a gray horse; it is William.'

  'Come to look for us,' said Lily. 'Oh, Redgie!'

  'Coming home from Raynham,' said Reginald. 'Do not fancy yourself so important, Lily. William, is that you?'

  'Reginald!' exclaimed William, suddenly checking his horse. 'Lily, what is all this?'

  'We set out to South End, to take the broth to the old Martins, and we found the meadows flooded, which made us late; but we shall soon be at home,' said Lily, in a make-the-best-of-it tone.

  'Soon? You are a mile and a half from home now, and do you know how late it is?'

  'Half-past five,' said Lily.

  'Six, at least; how could you be so absurd?' William rode quickly on; Reginald laughed, and they plodded on; at length a tall dark figure was seen coming towards them, and Lily started, as it addressed her, 'Now what is the meaning of all this?'

  'Oh, William, have you come to meet us? Thank you; I am sorry-'

  'How were you to come through the village in the dark, without some one to take care of you?'

  'I am taking care of her,' said Reginald, affronted.

  'Make haste; my aunt is come. How could you make the people at home so anxious?'

  William gave Lily his arm, and on finding she was both tired and wet, again scolded her, walked so fast that she was out of breath, then complained of her folly, and blamed Reginald. It was very unpleasant, and yet she was very much obliged to him, and exceedingly sorry he had taken so much trouble.

  They came home at about seven o'clock. Jane met them in the hall, full of her own and Lady Rotherwood's wonderings; she hurried Lily upstairs, and-skilful, quick, and ready-she helped her to dress in a very short time. As they ran down Reginald overtook them, and they entered the drawing-room as the dinner-bell was ringing. William did not appear for some time, and his apologies were not such as to smooth matters for his sister.

  Perhaps it was for this very reason that Mr. Mohun allowed Lily to escape with no more than a jesting reproof. Lord Rotherwood wished to make his cousin's hardihood and enterprise an example to his sister, and, in his droll exaggerating way, represented such walks as every-day occurrences. This was just the contrary to what Emily wished her aunt to believe, and Claude was much diverted with the struggle between her politeness to Lord Rotherwood and her desire to maintain the credit of the family.

  Lady Florence, though liking Lilias, thought this walk extravagant. Emily feared Lilias had lost her aunt's good opinion, and prepared herself for some hints about a governess. It was untoward; but in the course of the evening she was a little comforted by a proposal from Lady Rotherwood to take her and Lilias to a ball at Raynham, which was to take place in January; and as soon as the gentlemen appeared, they submitted the invitation to their father, while Lady Rotherwood pressed William to accompany them, and he was refusing.

  'What are soldiers intended for but to dance!' said Lord Rotherwood.

  'I never dance,' said William, with a grave emphasis.

  'I am out of the scrape,' said the Marquis. 'I shall be gone before it takes place; I reserve all my dancing for July 30th. Well, young ladies, is the Baron propitious?'

  'He says he will consider of it,' said Emily.

  'Oh then, he will let you go,' said Florence, 'people never consider when they mean no.'

  'No, Florence,' said her brother, 'Uncle Mohun's "consider of it" is equivalent to Le Roi's "avisera."'

  'What is he saying?' asked Lily, turning
to listen. 'Oh, that my wig is in no ball-going condition.'

  'A wreath would hide all deficiencies,' said Florence; 'I am determined to have you both.'

  'I give small hopes of both,' said Claude; 'you will only have Emily.'

  'Why do you think so, Claude?' cried both Florence and Lilias.

  'From my own observation,' Claude answered, gravely.

  'I am very angry with the Baron,' said Lord Rotherwood; 'he is grown inhospitable: he will not let me come here to-morrow-the first Christmas these five years that I have missed paying my respects to the New Court sirloin and turkey. It is too bad-and the Westons dining here too.'

  'Cousin Turkey-cock, well may you be in a passion,' muttered Claude, as if in soliloquy.

  Lord Rotherwood and Lilias both caught the sound, and laughed, but Emily, unwilling that Florence should see what liberties they took with her brother, asked quickly why he was not to come.

  'I think we are much obliged to him,' said Florence, 'it would be too bad to leave mamma and me to spend our Christmas alone, when we came to the castle on purpose to oblige him.'

  'Ay, and he says he will not let me come here, because I ought to give the Hetherington people ocular demonstration that I go to church,' said Lord Rotherwood.

  'Very right, as Eleanor would say,' observed Claude.

  'Very likely; but I don't care for the Hetherington folks; they do not know how to make the holly in the church fit to be seen, and they will not sing the good old Christmas carols. Andrew Grey is worth all the Hetherington choir put together.'

  'Possibly; but how are they to mend, if their Marquis contents himself with despising them?' said Claude.

  'That is too bad, Claude. When you heard how submissively I listened to the Baron, and know I mean to abide by what he said, you ought to condole with me a little, if you have not the grace to lament my absence on your own account. Why, I thought myself as regular a part of the feast as the mince-pies, and almost as necessary.'

  Here a request for some music put an end to his lamentations. Lilias was vexed by the uncertainty about the ball, and was, besides, too tired to play with spirit. She saw that Emily was annoyed, and she felt ready to cry before the evening was over; but still she was proud of her exploit, and when, after the party was gone, Emily began to represent to her the estimate that her aunt was likely to form of her character, she replied, 'If she thinks the worse of me for carrying the broth to those poor old people, I am sure I do not wish for her good opinion.'

  Mr. Mohun was not propitious when the question of Lily's going to the ball was pressed upon him. He said that he thought her too young for gaieties, and, besides, that late hours never agreed with her, and he advised her to wait for the 30th of July.

  Lilias knew that it was useless to say any more. She was much disappointed, and at the same time provoked with herself for caring about such a matter. Her temper was out of order on Christmas Day; and while she wondered why she could not enjoy the festival as formerly, with thoughts fitted to the day, she did not examine herself sufficiently to find out the real cause of her uncomfortable feelings.

  The clear frost was only cold; the bright sunshine did not rejoice her; the holly and the mistletoe seemed ill arranged; and none of the pleasant sights of the day could give her such blitheness as once she had known.

  She was almost angry when she saw that the Westons had left off their mourning, declaring that they did not look like themselves; and her vexation came to a height when she found that Alethea actually intended to go to the ball with Mrs. Carrington. The excited manner in which she spoke of it convinced Mr. Mohun that he had acted wisely in not allowing her to go, since the very idea seemed to turn her head.

  CHAPTER XV: MINOR MISFORTUNES

  'Loving she is, and tractable though wild.'

  In a day or two Lady Rotherwood and her daughter called at the New Court. On this occasion Lilias was employed in as rational and lady-like a manner as could be desired-in practising her music in the drawing-room; Emily was reading, and Ada threading beads.

  Lady Rotherwood greeted her nieces very affectionately, gave a double caress to Adeline, stroked her pretty curls, admired her beadwork, talked to her about her doll, and then proceeded to invite the whole family to a Twelfth-Day party, given for their especial benefit. The little Carringtons and the Weston girls were also to be asked. Emily and Lilias were eagerly expressing their delight when suddenly a trampling, like a charge of horse, was heard in the hall; the door was thrown back, and in rushed Reginald and Phyllis, shouting, 'Such fun!-the pigs are in the garden!'

  At the sight of their aunt they stopped short, looking aghast, and certainly those who beheld them partook of their consternation. Reginald was hot and gloveless; his shoes far from clean; his brown curls hanging in great disorder from his Scotch cap; his handkerchief loose; his jacket dusty-but this was no great matter, since, as Emily said, he was 'only a boy.' His bright open smile, the rough, yet gentleman-like courtesy of his advance to the Marchioness, his comical roguish glance at Emily, to see if she was very angry, and to defy her if she were, and his speedy exit, all greatly amused Lady Florence, and made up for what there might have been of the wild schoolboy in his entrance.

  Poor Phyllis had neither the excuse of being a schoolboy nor the good-humoured fearlessness that freed her brother from embarrassment, and she stood stock-still, awkward and dismayed, not daring to advance; longing to join in the pig-chase, yet afraid to run away, her eyes stretched wide open, her hair streaming into them, her bonnet awry, her tippet powdered with seeds of hay, her gloves torn and soiled, the colour of her brown holland apron scarcely discernible through its various stains, her frock tucked up, her stockings covered with mud, and without shoes, which she had taken off at the door.

  'Phyllis,' said Emily, 'what are you thinking of? What makes you such a figure? Come and speak to Aunt Rotherwood.'

  Phyllis drew off her left-hand glove, and held out her hand, making a few sidelong steps towards her aunt, who gave her a rather reluctant kiss. Lily bent her bonnet into shape, and pulled down her frock, while Florence laughed, patted her cheek, and asked what she had been doing.

  'Helping Redgie to chop turnips,' was the answer.

  Afraid of some further exposure, Emily hastily sent her away to be made fit to be seen, and Lady Rotherwood went on caressing Ada and talking of something else. Emily had no opportunity of explaining that this was not Phyllis's usual condition, and she was afraid that Lady Rotherwood would never believe that it was accidental. She was much annoyed, especially as the catastrophe only served to divert Mr. Mohun and Claude. Of all the family William and Adeline alone took her view of the case. Ada lectured Phyllis on her 'naughtiness,' and plumed herself on her aunt's evident preference, but William was not equally sympathetic. He was indeed as fastidious as Emily herself, and as much annoyed by such misadventures; but he maintained that she was to blame for them, saying that the state of things was not such as it should be, and that the exposure might be advantageous if it put her on her guard in future.

  It appeared as if poor Phyllis was to be punished for the vexation which she had caused, for in the course of her adventures with Reginald she caught a cold, which threatened to prevent her from being of the party on Twelfth-Day. She had a cough, which did not give her by any means as much inconvenience as the noise it occasioned did to other people. Every morning and every evening she anxiously asked her sisters whether they thought she would be allowed to go. Another of the party seemed likely to fail. On the 5th of January Claude came down to breakfast later even than usual; but he had no occasion to make excuses, for his heavy eyes, the dark lines under them, his pale cheeks, and the very sit of his hair, were sure signs that he had a violent headache. He soon betook himself to the sofa in the drawing-room, attended by Lily, with pillows, cushions, ether, and lavender. Late in the afternoon the pain diminished a little, and he fell asleep, to the great joy of his sister, who sat watching him, scarcely daring to move.

 
Suddenly a frightful scream and loud crash was heard in the room above them. Claude started up, and Lily, exclaiming, 'Those tiresome children!' hurried to the room whence the noise had come.

  Reginald, Phyllis, and Ada, all stood there laughing. Reginald and Phyllis had been climbing to the top of a great wardrobe, by means of a ladder of chairs and tables. While Phyllis was descending her brother had made some demonstration that startled her, and she fell with all the chairs over her, but without hurting herself.

  'You naughty troublesome child,' cried Lily, in no gentle tone. 'How often have you been told to leave off such boyish tricks! And you choose the very place for disturbing poor Claude, with his bad headache, making it worse than ever.'

  Phyllis tried to speak, but only succeeded in giving a dismal howl. She went on screaming, sobbing, and roaring so loud that she could not hear Lily's attempts to quiet her. The next minute Claude appeared, looking half distracted. Reginald ran off, and as he dashed out of the room, came full against William, who caught hold of him, calling out to know what was the matter.

  'Only Phyllis screaming,' said Lily. 'Oh, Claude, I am very sorry!'

  'Is that all?' said Claude. 'I thought some one was half killed!'

  He sank into a chair, pressing his hand on his temples, and looking very faint. William supported him, and Lily stood by, repeating, 'I am very sorry-it was all my fault-my scolding-'

  'Hush,' said William, 'you have done mischief enough. Go away, children.'