Volume One—Chapter Thirteen.
The Clearing of a Doubt.
“My dear boy, yes—of course I will; and we’ll have a nice affair of it! Edgington’s people shall fit up a tent and a kiosk, and we’ll try and do the thing nicely. You’re giving me great pleasure in this, Charley—you are indeed!”
“Am I, father?” said Charley, whose heart smote him as he spoke, telling himself the while that he was deceiving the generous old man, with whom he had hitherto been open as the day.
“Yes, my dear boy—yes, of course you are! It’s just what I wanted, Charley, to see you a little more inclined for society. You’ll have quite a large party, of course?”
“Well, no, father,” said Charley; “I think not. Your large affairs are never so successful as the small ones.”
“Just so, my dear boy; I think you are right. Well, have it as you please, precisely, only give your orders. Slave of the lamp, you know, Charley—slave of the lamp: what shall I do first?”
“Well, dad,” said Charley, flushing slightly, “I thought, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind doing a little of the inviting for me.”
“Of course not, my dear boy. Whom shall I ask first?”
“Well, suppose you see the Brays,” said Charley, whose face certainly wore a deeper hue than usual.
“To be sure, Charley!” said the old gentleman, smiling.
“They’ve been very kind, and asked me there several times, so you’ll ask them all?”
“Decidedly!” said the old gentleman.
“We must have Max,” said Charley; “for he keeps hanging about here still.”
“O, of course!” said Sir Philip.
“And Laura, I suppose,” said Charley, feeling more and more conscience-stricken.
“By all means, my dear boy!” laughed the father.
“And then there are the three girls, and the governess,” said Charley.
“Should you ask them?” said Sir Philip.
“O yes, decidedly!” said Charley. “I’m very fond of that second girl, Nelly; she’s only a child, but there’s something nice and frank and open about her. She will be sure to make up for the unpleasantry of having Max.”
“Very good, Charley—very good!” said Sir Philip.
“I wouldn’t be put off with any of them,” said Charley, in a curious hesitating way. “Perhaps they’ll say that they had better not all come; but they can’t refuse you anything, so insist upon them bringing the children and Miss Bedford.”
“Miss who?” said Sir Philip.
“Miss Bedford—the governess,” said Charley, who coughed as if something had made him husky. “I particularly wish for them all to come.”
“It shall be just as you like, my dear boy,” said Sir Philip gaily; “only let’s do the thing well, and not let them go away and find fault afterwards.”
Charley Vining left his father ill at ease and dissatisfied, for he felt that he was deceiving the old man; but, like many more, he crushed down the obtrusive thoughts, and, going round to the stable, he mounted his mare as soon as it could be got ready, and rode slowly and thoughtfully away.
“What’s come to the young governor?” said one of the stablemen.
“O, the old game!” said another. “He’s been betting heavy on the Derby, and lost, and the old gentleman won’t pay his debts. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if as soon as he comes in for the place, he’ll make the money fly.”
“Don’t think it’s that,” said the other. “But he never takes a bit of notice of his ’orses now; if they look well, they do, and if they don’t look well, they don’t; but he’s never got a word to say about them. There’s something wrong, safe.”
There was a good deal of truth in the remarks of the servants; for the Charley Vining of the present was certainly not the Charley Vining of a month before. Since the night of the croquet-party he had several times met Laura Bray, who, like himself, had endeavoured to ignore entirely their encounter in the conservatory, speaking in the most friendly manner, and endeavouring to the best of her ability to bring Charley more to her side. In fact, so completely was the past evaded, that Charley called several times, meeting a warmer welcome at every visit; but not once did he encounter Ella. He was very little more fortunate during his rides: once he pressed forward his horse upon seeing her at some distance down a lane with the “children;” but suddenly Max Bray made his appearance, as if by magic, and fixing upon him, kept by his side for quite an hour; another time Max was walking with his sisters and their governess; while upon a third occasion Max was coming in the other direction, as if purposely to meet them, and as Charley rode away his brow grew dark, and he asked himself what it meant.
In fact, watch as carefully as he would for a meeting, his efforts seemed in vain; while the more he was disappointed, the more eager he became.
It was upon one of these occasions that he had drawn up his horse by a hedge-side, gazing angrily after the distant party, consisting of Ella, two of the children, and Max, when, angry and disappointed, he was considering whether he should canter up after them or turn back.
“Why should I bother myself?” he muttered. “If she likes that donkey dangling after her, I’m quite convinced that she would not approve of rough unpolished me. I’ll give up. Max shall have the field to himself, and I’ll go back and ask the governor to let me live in peace. I’ve only been making a mistake, and neglecting everything for the sake of a pleasant-looking face. Hallo!”
“Ha, ha, ha!” rang out a merry laugh.
“Look at Sir Dismal, pausing thoughtfully beneath the trees.”
Charley looked up, to see peering down upon him, from between the bushes on the high bank, the bright merry face of Nelly, with her hair tangled, her straw hat bent of brim, and a general aspect about her hot face and tumbled clothes of having been tearing through a wood.
“What, my little dryad!” laughed out Charley, brightening in an instant. “How is the little wood-nymph?”
“O, so jolly hot and tired, Charley! I’ve cut away from them, run up the bank, and scampered through Bosky Dell, and tore my dress ever so many times. But I wasn’t going to stay; at least, I ought to have stayed,” she added thoughtfully, “but I felt as if I couldn’t, for old Max would have made me ill—he would, bai Jove!” she laughed, mocking her brother’s drawl with all accuracy which delighted Charley.
“Been having a walk?” he said.
“Walk, yes,” exclaimed Nelly; “and one can’t stir without stupid old Max coming boring after us, bothering Miss Bedford to death with his drawling nonsense. She hates him, and he will follow us about, because he has grown so fond of his little sisters. But, I say, Charley Vining, do give me—no, not give, lend me sixpence to buy some sweets. We spent every halfpenny, and it isn’t pocket-money till to-morrow night.”
“I never give money to beggars at the roadside,” laughed Charley, who seemed somehow to be brightening up under his young friend’s revelations.
“Now don’t be a nuisance,” laughed Nelly, “or I’ll tease you. I know why you were looking down the lane so miserably; it was because Max was along with—”
“Hold your tongue, do, you saucy puss!” roared Charley, with flaming face. “How dare you!”
“There! I knew I was right,” laughed the girl. “I’m not a bit afraid of you, Charley Vining. But, I say, such a game: there, hold your arms, and I could jump down from here right on to the dear old mare just before you, and you could hold me tight, and we’d play at you being young Lochinvar, and gallop off with me. Wouldn’t it be fun?”
“But there’s no bridegroom to dandle his bonnet and plume,” laughed Charley.
“There’s an ungallant cavalier!” said Nelly, with her wicked eyes dancing with glee. “Now, if it had been Miss Bed—ha, ha, ha!” she shrieked, as Charley made a dash at her by forcing his mare half-way up the bank. “Don’t you do that, Charley, or you’ll go down again, and have to be carried on a gate—and I don’t want you to be hurt any more,” she said seriously. “But there, I must go back and save my poor dear darling Miss Bedford from being bored to death by old stupid. I’m glad I’ve seen you, though; it’s done me ever so much good. I say, Charley Vining, isn’t Miss Bedford nice?”
“I daresay she is; but I know very little of her,” said Charley coolly.
“O, there’s a story!” exclaimed downright Nelly. “I know you think ever so much of her, or else you would not stop looking miserable after her. There, I’ve done, and I won’t tease you any more; but I do want to borrow sixpence. Old Max wouldn’t lend me one if I was starving. Thank you! O, a shilling!” exclaimed Nelly, actively catching the coin he threw. “Now I’m going; but, I say, do come and see us. You would like my Miss Bedford so!”
Before Charley Vining could answer, Nelly had dashed off, taking a short cut, and he saw her no more; but from that day Charley’s spirits rose; and when once or twice more he encountered the walking party, he did not feel so troubled of heart, but rode gaily up, saluting all, taking the first opportunity of frowning and shaking his head at merry laughing Nelly.