CHAPTER XXXIII.
It is a most unfortunate and ever-to-be-lamented thing that the fairies have quitted England. How it happened I do not know, nor is the period of their departure exactly ascertained; but I cannot help thinking that it was about the time of the Great Rebellion, when the whole people of the country were so busy about other things that they had hardly time to eat their breakfasts, and none to knock holes in the bottoms of their egg-shells, so that the fairies had a fleet of little ships ready prepared for them to cross the Channel when they thought fit. Nor is it at all wonderful that they should choose that time for going, with the Fairy of Order at their head; for every one knows that the good little people are strongly averse to anarchy and confusion, and dissension of every kind; so that, when Oberon and Titania quarrel, I have it upon good authority, the whole of the royal train, except Puck, who stands by and laughs, hide themselves away under harebells and columbines, and only peep out with one eye to see when the storm has blown over.
However, certain it is that they are all gone--left our shores, I fear, for ever. Nothing can be done by magic now. The milk remains unchurned; and no more is seen before the fire,
Stretched at his length, the lubbard fiend.
All the business of the world goes on at a jog-trot, and that trot is very often a slow one.
So Lady Anne Mellent found it at Milford, for the people were not at all accustomed to work fast or obey promptly; and they did not believe the stories told by the servant whom she had left behind, in regard to her impatience of disobedience and delay. Early in the morning, a whole host of servants, headed by the butler and housekeeper, arrived at Milford Castle; but when Lady Anne herself appeared, with good Mrs. Brice, her former governess, she found everything in the most woeful state of confusion. There was no end of embarrassments. Almost all the servants were congregated in the great hall, waiting for her coming, and all were full of complaints of Mrs. Grimes and the steward.
"I never saw such neglect in my life, my lady," said the tall, stately housekeeper, dressed in a quaker-coloured silk, shot with amethyst and green. "This good woman, this Mrs. Grimes, tells me that she used almost all the coals in the house last night and this morning, and that there are heaven knows how many miles to send for more."
"There is not a bit of charcoal in the house, my lady," said the cook, advancing in his white nightcap and apron; "and Mrs. Barker here says it is my fault for not bringing it in the fourgon: now, I could not lumber the fourgon all the way from London with charcoal."
"Where are the toilet-covers for my lady's room, Mrs. Barker?" said Lady Anne's maid, addressing the housekeeper in a loud tone, aside.
"I declare," said one of the footmen, in an audible tone, just behind the butler's back, "I don't think that either oil or candles were remembered."
"Nor blacking," said another.
"Nor soap," said a very broad housemaid.
"The meat is all fresh-killed," grumbled the cook.
"And the poultry has been sent in with all the feathers on," added the kitchen-maid, with a sort of hysterical scream at the thought of the eternity of plucking before her and the scullion.
Lady Anne burst into a fit of laughter, which no sense of dignity could restrain. It was evident that there were no fairies there to favour her; though, heaven knows, if there had been one in the island, he or she would have been there with counsel to support the gay-hearted, good-humoured lady of the castle.
Seeing that her merriment was becoming infectious, Lady Anne made a great effort to suppress it, and was turning away towards the drawing-room, telling the housekeeper to follow her, when a girl ran in exclaiming, apparently in reference to something which had passed just before the lady's arrival--
"Butter! they say there's not a pound of butter within twenty miles!"
It was too much for human endurance; and, making the best of her way into the drawing-room, Lady Anne sat down and wiped the merry tears from her eyes, while the housekeeper stood before her, looking exceedingly rueful.
"Let me have my writing-desk," said the young lady, at length. "Now, Mrs. Barker," she said, "have the goodness to let me know everything that is wanting in your department and the cook's."
"Oh, my lady, I can't manage the cook," exclaimed the housekeeper, in a tone of spiteful dignity; "he has been raging like a wild beast all the morning. I am sure I was very glad when your ladyship came, for I thought he would have eaten some of us up."
"Cooked you, I suppose you mean," replied her lady: "I will very soon manage him, if you cannot. Go and make me out a list then of what you want yourself, and remember that it be complete. Send the butler here."
The butler, when he entered, received nearly the same orders; and then the cook, being introduced, made his complaint in formal terms in regard to the state of everything in the house. The very pots, pans, and kettles, were not according to his mind. The meat was all new-killed; no fish had yet appeared; butter was not to be had; eggs were scanty; and the vegetables which the garden produced had been out of season in London for a full month.
Lady Anne listened to him with the utmost patience; but when he had done, she said in a grave tone--
"Monsieur Hacker, I wonder to hear you speak in this way. I had always thought that a man of your great skill could, out of an ox's head or foot, produce at least three courses. It is in emergencies such as the present that the genius of a great man appears. Go, sir, and out of such materials as you have show me what your art can do. I shall dine at eight. But in the mean time, as there will be servants going both to Bedford and Wooler, you can make out a list of all that is absolutely necessary, and send it to both places. Gradually we shall get what is required from London; but at present remember, I expect to see a triumph of art."
"My lady, you shall not be disappointed," said the cook, laying his hand upon his heart: "it is only that Mrs. Barker enrages me with her inepties."
"Very well," replied Lady Anne; "see that she does not enrage you any more, lest your lady's service should suffer."
The man retired; and with a gay glance to poor Mrs. Brice, who had been confounded at the symptoms of rebellion she had witnessed, Lady Anne gave way to another burst of merriment, which she had repressed in the man's presence, in order to treat him with that dignified consideration which is especially required by men-cooks, the vainest of all creatures upon earth, not even excepting dancing-masters, romance-writers, and poets.
Some degree of order in the proceedings of the household was soon re-established. The lists were made out--very formidable, it must be confessed, in length and details; and a copy of each was sent off to Wooler and Belford. Some fine trout were brought in, in the course of the morning, and also a salmon. It was found just possible, when people set about it willingly, to obtain butter and coals within a less distance than twenty miles; and although, from, time to time, during the rest of the day, a fresh want was discovered, and a little noise was made about it, like an occasional roar of thunder after a storm has passed by, all went on very tolerably considering, till at length, about five o'clock, a cart was seen wending towards the house, the driver of which bore a note to Lady Anne.
"My Dear Child" (it ran)--"I saw very clearly yesterday that you know not Northumberland, that you forgot Milford has not been regularly inhabited for more than ten years, and that 'tis in somewhat of a remote district. I have, therefore, sent you over some of the produce of my farms to supply deficiencies for to-day; and to-morrow I shall come and dine with you, and inquire what can be done to render you service, by your faithful servant and admirer,
"Charles Hargrave."
Columbus, when he first discovered the shores of a new continent, hardly felt as much satisfaction as Mons. Hacker when he saw the contents of that cart--the well-fed, well-fattened, well-kept mutton--the fine river and sea fish--the white poultry, the fat pigeons, the ducklings, the guinea-fowls, the eggs, the butter, the green goose, the fine vegetables, the hot-house fruit. Everything was there that could be thought of; and he went from one article to another, murmuring, "Cotelettes à-la-braise--en compottes--matelottes--rôtis aux cressons à-la-Celestine. Mon Dieu! if we had truffles, it would be complete!"
And the heart of the cook rejoiced with a pure and high devotion for the honour of his art and of his mistress; for he knew that on that day Lady Fleetwood and Maria Monkton were expected to dine at Milford; and for the latter lady he entertained that reverent affection which all really chivalrous cooks feel towards beauty. His last and severest trial was to discover that nothing but brown bread was to be procured in the neighbourhood, for which there was no remedy; but, nevertheless, that was not his fault; and when, about half-past seven o'clock, the rush of wheels was heard, and Maria's carriage drove up to the gates, he felt a proud satisfaction at the odours which were rising up around him, as an incense which had not risen from the altars of Milford for many a long year.
The dinner was laid in the great dining-hall, for Lady Anne had determined to make the first impression of her ancestral castle as imposing as possible upon her young friend.
The reader may ask, Why? and may say, Was it like her--so gay, so joyous, so thoughtless, so careless of show, ceremony, or parade? Nevertheless it was so. She had laid it all out. She had even condescended to a little trickery. Although, at that season of the year, there was light enough remaining in the sky, at a quarter past eight, when they began their dinner, to proceed with the first course at least with no aid but from the beams of heaven, yet she had ordered two windows at the side to be shut up, leaving unclosed only the large oriel window at the end, filled with deep-coloured stained glass. Over the table, which looked almost like a speck in the centre of the great hall, hung an old-fashioned but richly-ornamented silver chandelier, with eight branches lighted; but yet the beams only illumined the table; and a sort of uncertain twilight pervaded the remoter parts of the hall, except where a sideboard loaded with ancient plate appeared, lighted by several old candlesticks. Lady Anne had so contrived it that, in coming from the great drawing-room to the hall, the little party passed through several other rooms but faintly lighted; and in so doing, Lady Anne managed that Maria should occupy the middle place, between her and Lady Fleetwood. As they entered the hall, too, she looked up in her young friend's face, while her eyes ran over the fine old chamber--which, with its lights in the centre, its mysterious gloom at the end, the richly-covered table and sideboard, the number of servants in their handsome liveries, the large antique chandelier of silver and its silver chain, the tall stained glass oriel at the end, and the evening light faintly streaming through, only just sufficiently to throw long lines of yellow, purple, blue, and even red, upon the floor and ceiling, and those three graceful women entering arm-in-arm--looked more like some painter's dream of the ancient time than anything that is seen in our own stiff and tinselled days.
"What a beautiful hall!" exclaimed Lady Fleetwood, looking round. "Isn't it cold?"
And at the same moment her foot passed from the rim of marble which ran round the whole chamber, and took the first step on the ocean of Turkey carpet with which seven-eighths of the floor was covered.
"I think not," answered Lady Anne: "at all events, I shall try, dear Lady Fleetwood, to keep it warm and gay while I am here. Isn't it a fine hall, Maria?"
"It is indeed," replied Maria: "the span of the vault is so great, it makes me feel as if I were in Westminster Hall."
"Oh, no, no!" cried Lady Anne--"not amongst lawyers in black gowns. But come, Maria: you take that end of the table, and be mistress of the house. I will act master for the present; and Lady Fleetwood shall be our guest. Do you know, dear lady," she continued, seating herself, "I intend to be very gay while you are all here, and to have a grand ball, and a number of dinner-parties, and that we shall amuse ourselves all the morning, and sing and dance and flirt all the night, and have all the great people of the county who will come. Won't that be very delightful, Maria?"
"Very splendid indeed," said Maria, with a smile.
"Like the splendour of a sky-rocket when it bursts," said Lady Anne, quite gravely. "But why did you call it splendid, Maria? Why did you not say, pleasant--charming--delightful?"
"Because I am sure I should like Milford quite as well without any such gaieties," replied Maria Monkton. "You know I am not particularly fond of large parties, Anne; and, although one must mingle with them, and some of them are pleasant enough, yet I hardly think they deserve the epithet of charming or delightful."
"Cynic!" said Lady Anne Mellent, and proceeded to eat her dinner, with a somewhat pouting air, as if she were hardly well pleased. She was soon as gay again as ever; and when they returned to the drawing-room she opened the window, and gazed out with Maria upon the starry sky, which looked almost misty with its innumerable lights, and upon the wide-spread park with its undulating slopes, and the tall dark masses of the trees cutting black upon the luminous heaven.
They had been silent for some time, while Lady Fleetwood sat at the other end of the room, netting one of the innumerable purses which had afforded her a grand source of occupation through life.
But suddenly Lady Anne's lips moved; and she said aloud, as her eyes remained fixed upon one spot of the sky, thronged with stars--
"Oh, ye bright and glorious wanderers of the night! had you voices, as men dreamed in days of old, to tell the fate of those born under your influence, how gladly would I ask the destiny of those who here stand and gaze upon you! Say, Arcturus!--wilt thou take me in thy car, and let me see the storms and tempests that wait my onward course and that of the dear girl beside me? Or thou, planet of love and hope, just climbing the hill of heaven!--wilt thou tell me whether the seeds which have been sown in our hearts under thine influence will bud and blossom into the flowers we dream of? Shall we go on hand in hand together, even unto the end, as hitherto we have lived, in deep affection? Shall the ties which bind us in nearer kindred unite our hearts still more closely? or, shall the love that knows no sharer wean us of our youthful tenderness towards each other? I ask not to hear what will be the frowns or smiles of Fortune--whether the dull earth's wealth will be augmented or diminished--whether we shall meet reverse, accident, or care--ay, or even poverty or early death. I only ask, shall we love and be beloved? for surely that is to know enough of fate;" and turning away towards Maria, she leaned her brow upon her fair friend's shoulder.
For a moment or two Maria was silent; and then she said, in a low tone--
"If the stars could have answered you, would you have asked them, Anne?"
"Yes, yes," eagerly replied Lady Anne. "Would not you, Maria?"
"I think so," answered Maria; "yet sometimes, perhaps, it were better not to know our fate."
"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Lady Anne; "doubt is always horrible."
"Yes; but there may be trust without knowledge, faith without comprehension," replied her fair friend. "I have both, although the future is very dark and impenetrable to me just now."
"Oh, it shall be bright!" cried Lady Anne. "Mine shall be the voice of those brilliant stars, which, rolling millions of miles above all earthly things, may well see, stretched out beneath their eyes of living light, the past, the present, and the future of each existing thing. Oh, yes; it shall be bright, Maria! For you the future hours are weaving a many-blossomed wreath. First is the early bud of love, now full-blossomed to a rose; and then the clustering lily-of-the-vale, to speak domestic happiness and peace; the passionate violet, hiding its intense blue eyes in the shade, and spreading rapture's perfume round; and the proud imperial lily, portrait of high station and the world's esteem: the pansy, too, imaging the sunshine of the breast, and pure, enduring faith; and the linked hyacinth with its many buds. All, all are there, sweet sister, for you and him you love: and the wandering seasons, as they pass along, shall not unfold a flower or ripen a fruit that shall not fall into your hand----"
"If your wishes can command fate," said Maria, "it is the voice of hope and not of the stars you speak, dear Anne."
"Nay, nay--I am a prophetess just now," replied Lady Anne. "Beware how you doubt Cassandra, lest she predict woes as well as blessings. I see a little cloud coming, and the stars tell me it is very near. It sweeps over the face of the moon; but the moon scatters it, and the blue sky drinks it up."
"Dear me! is the moon risen?" exclaimed Lady Fleetwood from the other side of the room; and Lady Anne's fanciful visions were gone in a moment.
"Oh, dear!" she said to Maria, with a low voice and a sigh, "I forgot we were in this world, but always something brings us back to it. No, she is not risen yet, dear Lady Fleetwood."
"I thought you said you saw her," said Lady Fleetwood.
"I was only romancing," replied Lady Anne: "this is an age when our young women dream dreams, but now I'll talk sober sense. You know, Lady Fleetwood, that I am going to have three gentlemen to stay with me to-morrow; and you must act quite the lady of the house, for decorum's sake--be a very discreet chaperon, and not take the slightest notice if I choose to flirt most desperately with Mr. Winkworth or any one else. I'll do the same, and not take any notice when you flirt with any one--or Maria either."
"I am sure, dear Lady Anne, Maria never flirts," said Lady Fleetwood, in the most matter-of-fact way in the world.
"Bless her heart! then she shall do it for once, just to keep me in countenance," exclaimed Lady Anne; "but remember you are to be chaperon, Lady Fleetwood, and to look as demure as possible."
"But where is Mrs. Brice?" said Lady Fleetwood: "I haven't seen her since we came."
"Oh, dear me! I forgot Mrs. Brice," said Lady Anne. "Well, she will do quite as well for a chaperon, and so you shall have leave to flirt too; but the truth is, she's so tired with her journey, and so frightened with the desolation we found reigning in these halls, that she said she would not come down to-night, and dined in her own room. To-morrow she will be as brisk as ever, I dare say, and that will just do; for I expect Mr. Hargrave, whom I am in love with, and intend to marry, to dine with us also."
"Mr. Hargrave!" "Intend to marry!" exclaimed Lady Fleetwood and Maria, both together.
"Certainly," said Lady Anne: "he is the dearest, cleverest, most beautiful old man in the world, in a velvet coat, embroidered waistcoat, and black velvet breeches; just like a fine piece of Dresden china well preserved. He is, moreover, the soul of honour and the spirit of good judgment. If I had the most difficult and delicate thing in the world to do, I would entrust it to Mr. Hargrave."
"I have seen him," said Lady Fleetwood; "I remember him quite well in poor Sir John's lifetime, but Sir John did not like him."
"My dear father did," replied Lady Anne, "and consulted him on all his affairs; so you see I could not do better than marry him, for I am sure I want some one to manage me. Don't I, dear lady?"
Maria smiled; but Lady Fleetwood expressed a general opinion that all young women ought to marry, especially if they had lost their parents; and after some more conversation of the same rambling kind, they separated and betook themselves to their beds.