Chapter Twelve.
Not at Home!
After due consultation, Mr and Mrs Rendell decided to sanction a private engagement between Lilias and Ned Talbot for a year to come, with the understanding that if the young people remained of the same mind, no objection would then be put in the way of their speedy marriage; and as they would be allowed to correspond, and to meet as often as opportunity offered, the decision was received with satisfaction by the lovers. Lilias complacently settled to be married in fifteen months’ time, and was resigned to a probation sweetened by the receipt of constant letters, presents, and adulation; while Ned, with characteristic honesty, confessed in his own heart that he had no very deep acquaintance with his beloved’s character, and that he could not be better employed than in the study of the same. Lilias’s exquisite girlish beauty had so dazzled his senses, that he had been shy and ill at ease in her presence, and their conversations together had been of the lightest, most impersonal nature. It would be an entrancing occupation to discover all the hidden charms possessed by this sweetest of created beings; for, like most young men, Ned was convinced that a lovely body must needs be an index to a lovely mind, and that beauty of face was but a reflection from the soul within. Every month that passed would draw Lilias and himself more closely together, as each came to know and understand the depths of the other’s nature. So Ned told himself happily, as he came down to Thurston House for his first visit in the new character, a week after the all-important interview.
Lilias met him at the door, and led him into the drawing-room, all fragrant with spring flowers and plants. She looked like a flower herself, with her soft pink and white colouring, and to the last day of his life Ned Talbot could never inhale the fragrance of a narcissus or a hyacinth without a spasm of painful remembrance. It brought back so vividly the intoxicating joy of that meeting. They talked together in lover-like fashion, Lilias alternately shy and reticent, and queening it over him with absurd little airs of authority, at which he laughed with a lover’s delight, until presently a tap came to the door, and Agatha’s face peeped round the corner to announce that tea had been taken out to the garden, and to ask if the lovers would rather come out, or, have it sent to them indoors.
“Here, please,” said Lilias.
“Oh, we’ll come out certainly,” cried Ned in the same moment, and then turned to her with a smile of apology.
“If you don’t mind, dear! I want to see Maud. She was out when I left the other day, you remember, and I can’t feel that I am really received into the family until Maud has given me her blessing.”
“Just as you wish, of course. It does seem a pity to stay indoors when the weather is so glorious!” assented Lilias readily. Though inwardly annoyed that she should have appeared more anxious than Ned for an extension of their tête-à-tête, she was far too proud to show her vexation. Nothing could have appeared more ready or more natural than the manner in which she rose from her seat and slipped her hand through Agatha’s arm; but even while she smiled and chatted she was registering a vow to punish Mr Ned on the first opportunity.
Out in the garden Maud sat, busying herself with the teacups and nerving herself to face the dreaded moment, as footsteps approached nearer and nearer her seat.
“Maud!” cried Ned, and gripped her hand with affectionate fervour, “I was longing to see you. It seemed too bad going away without a word from you the other day. We have so much to say to one another!”
“Yes, indeed; but meantime I must pour out the tea! Are you going to make yourself useful and hand round the cups?” replied a laughing, self-possessed voice, which Maud hardly recognised as her own. It was easier to play a part than she had expected: the looking forward had been worse than the reality; and, as she met her mother’s smile and Nan’s approving glance, she even began to feel a dreary pride in her own composure. Lilias had seated herself between two of her sisters, an intentional revenge for the slight which she considered herself to have received, and Ned was therefore left free to devote himself to his old friend.
“Of course you saw—you knew what was coming,” he whispered confidentially, when the general conversation made it possible to exchange a quiet remark. “I realised that I gave myself away by my awkwardness and stupidity whenever she was present, but I was powerless to prevent it. And you were so good to me, Maud, always doing your best to help and make things easy. I can never be grateful enough for your friendship. I am so thankful to feel that you are at home still. It seems an assurance of safety; for you’ll look after her, and see that she gets into no danger through all this long year of waiting.”
He looked at her appealingly, and she gave a forced little laugh.
“Oh yes, I’ll ward off the beasts of prey. There are so many, you know, roving about this sleepy place. She will meet so many dangers!”
“Don’t laugh at me! I can’t help being anxious. She is so young and child-like, and there are dangers everywhere. Illness, accident, infection. I shall think of them when I am far away, and worry myself to death. But you are a bulwark of strength, Maud, and if you will take her in charge—”
Maud laughed again. It seemed so ridiculous to think of any of her sisters promising to take Lilias in charge! Lilias, the most cool-headed, independent, and self-confident member of the family. She was infinitely more capable of taking care of the whole family than the family was of influencing her movements; but Ned could not be expected to realise as much, and he was obviously wounded by the absence of expected sympathy.
An exclamation from Christabel, calling attention to Kitty Maitland’s figure crossing the lawn, came as a welcome interruption, and Ned took the opportunity to cross to a seat on the other side of the group, while Maud watched his departure with mingled relief and concern.
“He thinks I am hard and prosaic, and is disappointed in me. Well, better so! He won’t confide his rhapsodies in my ear any more, and that would be really more than I could bear. The old days are over, and he must look elsewhere for sympathy.”
Meantime Kitty had seated herself on the grass, and was proceeding to account for her appearance.
“Please I hope you don’t object to my coming back so soon! Mummy has gone with father to call on Mr Vanburgh, and I walked with them to the Grange, and came in here to wait until she comes out. She put on all her new things, and looks a perfect duck. I expect he will like her awfully, and I told her to introduce my name into the conversation as often as possible. ‘My daughter likes this’; ‘My daughter likes that’; ‘As my little girl says to me’;—that sort of thing, don’t you know, just to attract his attention. Perhaps he will tell her to bring me with her next time she calls, or even ask me to tea by myself. He may have nieces or grandchildren who will come to stay, and then it would be useful to know a girl in the neighbourhood. I think he is certain to ask me—”
“Mother!” interrupted Chrissie shrilly; and her voice was so sharp with distress that every one stopped talking, to listen to what she had to say. “Mother, Mrs Maitland has gone to see Mr Vanburgh before you! I asked you to go! I had set my heart on your being the first caller; and now it’s too late, and you can only be second. I told you so! I said how it would be!”
Mrs Rendell lifted her brows with the little surprised air of reproof which Chrissie knew so well.
“I regret to have disappointed you, my dear,” she replied, with elaborate politeness; “but I fear I should hardly have been the first caller, even if I had gone the day after my return, and I have been too much occupied this week to pay outside visits. I am sure you will be delighted to hear Mrs Maitland’s report, and will not grudge Kitty the pleasure, if she makes Mr Vanburgh’s acquaintance before yourself.”
Chrissie collapsed into silence; but, veiled by her thickly-flowing hair, she grimaced to herself and scowled at her friend, who was regarding her with that air of enjoyment which it is impossible not to feel when a companion receives a nice little snub for her pains!
Agatha and Elsie had already begun to invent forecasts of the news which Mrs Maitland would have to tell, when, to the amazement of all, who should appear round the corner of the house but that lady herself! She carried her card-case in her hand, and waved her hand in greeting; but, for once in their lives, the girls were too much overcome with surprise to respond.
Back already, when she had barely had time to go up to the door and retrace her steps! What did it mean? Not at home? But Mr Vanburgh was always at home. According to report, his farthest expedition was into the garden, where surely he would be able to receive a visitor on a bright spring afternoon. Surprise held them dumb, until Mrs Maitland had reached speaking distance, when, with one accord, they deafened her with inquiries, to which she did her best to reply after the first greetings were over.
“How do you do, Mrs Rendell? Good afternoon, Mr Talbot. I am one of the privileged few who have been told your secret, and I wish you every happiness, and dear Lilias also. I tell every engaged couple I meet that I hope they may only be as happy as I am. My dear children, don’t pull me to pieces; this is my very best dress! I’ll tell you all about it in a minute. I am so glad to have this opportunity of seeing you all together, for I was longing to come over. May I sit here? Well, then, to begin at the beginning...”
She put her card-case on her lap, and clasped her hands together in preparation, and the girls watched her with approving eyes, for Mrs Maitland was a most satisfactory story-teller. She began at the beginning—the very smallest possible beginning—instead of halfway through the narrative, as other grown-up people had a habit of doing, and went straight through to the end, noticing every detail, and describing it in racy, picturesque language.
“Well, we went up to the door and rang the bell. It is not an ordinary everyday bell, but a quaint, wrought-iron handle, hanging on a chain from a sort of signpost arrangement, and I could hear it pealing away in most melodious fashion inside the house. The curtain inside the glass panels of the door was caught slightly back, and I could get a peep into the vestibule. The oak has been left untouched, and there are palms on either side sunk into great pots of copper with snakes and dragons and all kinds of uncanny animals standing out in relief. I was still peering through when the inner door was thrown open, and the butler appeared, upon which I straightened myself at once, and tried to look stately and dignified. I had just one minute to take in the inner hall, so cannot tell you much about it, except that it is a perfect museum of wonderful and beautiful things—pieces of tapestry hung on the walls, carved oak cabinets full of curios, a figure of a knight in armour, and curious Eastern-looking lamps burning dimly in the distance; but the butler looked so very solemn and imposing that I dared not stare as much as I should have liked. ‘Is Mr Vanburgh at home?’ I asked; and he inclined his head in a gracious bow. ‘He is at home, madam, but is not receiving visitors.’ I drew out my cards, and said, ‘I am sorry to miss seeing him. I hope he is not more unwell than usual to-day?’ He bowed again, like a mechanical figure, and said, ‘Mr Vanburgh charges me to say, madam, that as he is unable to return visits, he must deprive himself of the pleasure of receiving them while in Waybourne.’ I never felt so small in my life. Dismissed on the doorstep, and sent away like a child! I don’t know how I looked, or what I said. My one idea was to get out of the man’s sight as quickly as possible; and the door had no sooner closed on him than I began dreading Kit’s disappointment. It was a most trying experience! Father has gone for a walk, and I came in to break the news to you!”
She looked appealingly at Kitty as she finished, and met a glance of blackest gloom. This was indeed a blow. Not only were there no Miss Vanburghs, but the only Vanburgh who was left refused to open his door to visitors!
“Piteous!” cried Chrissie; and Agatha struck her hands together in despair.
“There ought to be a law about it—a law to prevent hermits from buying the best houses in a neighbourhood. Does he mean to say that he will see nobody?” she cried. “Perhaps he didn’t know who you were, Mrs Maitland. He takes an interest in us, we know, for we have seen him staring across. Perhaps if he had known you belonged to Kitty, it might have been different. Mother, you will go all the same, won’t you? You won’t give up without trying?”
Mrs Rendell shrugged her shoulders.
“I am not particularly anxious to be turned away from the door, and I see no reason why I should be treated better than Mrs Maitland. The servant is evidently entrusted with a general message. I think the best thing will be to send father across on Saturday afternoon, to see if the rule applies to ladies only. If Mr Vanburgh really wants to be quiet, we can’t force ourselves upon him. I am sorry the Grange is not let to more interesting people, but we must make the best of it. It has evidently been chosen as a museum in which to store a collection of art treasures, and, after all, you must remember it is no more closed to us now than it has been for years past.”
“Dear me, no! We can live without the Grange, I hope. Let the poor old dear shut himself up if he likes. He will be the loser, not we!” cried Mrs Maitland, laughing. That was the worst of grown-up people! They were so aggravatingly reasonable and resigned!