Chapter Twelve.
A Novel Experience.
Down the winding path, the visitors, as they walked together, came upon masses of daffodils, standing up erect and golden from the carpet of dead leaves which covered the ground. Not the ordinary common or garden daffodil, charming as it is, but named varieties of every description—white trumpeted Horsefieldi, stately yellow Emperors, Bari Conspicui with its dainty outline of orange; these, and a dozen others were growing in patches, not in dozens or scores, but in literal hundreds, beneath the budding trees. There were violets, too; and white and purple and golden saxifrages peeping out between the stones which bordered the trickling stream—a scene of enchantment, indeed, for City eyes accustomed to gaze only on bricks and mortar. The girls were wild with delight, and flitted about gathering specimens of the different flowers; while the two young men were content to watch them with an air of masculine superiority.
“What is the use of burdening yourselves with all those things at the very beginning of our walk?”
“They aren’t a burden, they are a joy. Hold them for me, please, while I get some more,” replied Mollie, laying a stack of long-stemmed beauties in Jack’s arms, regardless of his look of dismay. “Don’t crush them; I want them kept quite fresh.”
“What are you going to do with them, if I might ask? There are plenty in the house. It’s a pity to cut them just to waste.”
“I wouldn’t waste them for the world, the beautiful darlings! I’m going to send them home to mother. We will pack them in a box, and take them down to the post-office this afternoon. It will provide honest work for the afternoon,” retorted Mollie.
She was too happy, too supremely happy, to be stiff and formal. As she darted from one flower-bed to another she looked like an incarnation of the bright spring morning. There was no room in her mind for doubts and fears. The future simply did not exist; the present was all-sufficient.
From the gardens the quartette strolled onwards past the lake, and across the wide park to the further gates; then, returning, paid a visit to the stables. The groom greeted them with a smile, which showed that he had anticipated their coming; and, like the other servants, hailed with delight a return to livelier days.
“The horses will get some work now, I hope, ma’am,” he said, touching his forehead as he addressed himself to Ruth, as the head of the party. (“The Farrell eyebrows again!” said Mollie to herself.)
“They have had it far too easy for a long time back. The master’s fond of horses, and we need a good many for driving up these steep hills, as everything has to be brought up from the station; but it’s regular gentle exercise as suits ’em best. I’ve a nice little mare as would carry you, if you’d care to try her. She’s in this box. Fanny, we call her. Whoa! Fanny, old girl, come and show yourself! Nice gentle creature, you see, miss: no temper in her.”
“But I don’t ride,” began Ruth, smiling. “I should like to very much; and I don’t think I should be nervous, but—”
“Oh, I’d love to ride! Is there a horse for me, too? And would you teach us—would you? Could we come down every day and have a lesson?” interrupted Mollie impetuously.
And the groom wheeled round to face her, and touched his forehead again, his face one smile of delight.
“Ay, would I, miss! Proud to do it. Many’s the one I’ve taught to ride in my time. You settle any hour you like, and I’ll have the horses ready for you, and take you a turn across the park. There’s some old side-saddles put away in the loft. I’ll have ’em down, and put in order for ye. And the gentlemen? You’ll not be needing any lessons, I’m thinking.”
“Oh no! I think I can manage to sit any horse you have here,” replied Victor in a slightly superior tone.
Jack, however, shook his head, and said—
“No use for me. I can’t ride, and it’s no use beginning. I’m only here for a week.”
The groom looked the surprise he was too well trained to express.
“Indeed, sir. Well, I can give you a mount if you change your mind. It wouldn’t take long to get your seat; and it’s pleasant exercise these spring days. The carriages are round this way, miss. There’s a pretty little cart you might like to drive yourself.”
He led the way forward; but while the others followed, Mollie hung behind, blocking Jack’s way. Something prompted her to speak, an impulse too strong to be resisted.
“Do learn!” she cried entreatingly. “Learn with us. Why won’t you? It would be such fun. You said you hated to be idle. It wouldn’t be wasted time if you learnt a useful accomplishment.”
“Hardly useful to me, I am afraid, Miss Mollie. I have no money for horses. My only acquaintance with them is from the top of a City omnibus.”
“But you can’t tell what might happen. We might go to war again, and you might want to volunteer. You might grow rich. Besides, you volunteered to come and stay with the ‘Chosen,’ and then you will certainly find it useful. So you will join us, won’t you?”
Jack laughed and hesitated, looking down at the flushed, eager face. It seemed a very trifling matter. He could not tell that with the acceptance or refusal of this light request the whole of his future destiny was involved. He only thought that Mollie was a charmingly pretty girl, and that it would be amusing to practise riding by her side.
“Well! since you put it like that, I can’t refuse,” he answered laughingly. “We will learn together, Miss Mollie, and good luck to our efforts.”
“But what about the riding-habits?” asked Ruth.
“We must get them,” said Mollie.
“Where?” asked Ruth.
“At a tailor’s,” said Mollie. “Bond Street, for choice; only it would be difficult to arrange about fitting. I’m not at all sure that we shan’t have to pay a visit to town on this matter of clothes. For the present I mean to consult that maid, and see what can be done until we can get habits well made for us. And—who knows?—there may be some old things stored away somewhere which will come in handy. Anyway, I’m going to begin lessons to-morrow, habit or no habit. You can do as you like.”
As there was no time to be lost, the maid was summoned only to proclaim her inability to manufacture riding attire in the space of twenty-four hours, or to produce the same from the household treasures.
“There is the mistress’s habit, of course, but that was locked away with her other clothes; and even if I could get at it I wouldn’t dare to use it. Mr Farrell keeps everything she wore, and nobody touches them but himself. There’s a very good tailor at Bexham, miss—only half an hour’s rail from here. Many of the ladies go to him for their things.”
“But we want something now—at once! Something to wear to-morrow. Surely you can think of something? Mr Farrell said we were to ask you for everything we wanted, and this is the first thing we have asked for. You must suggest something!” cried Mollie imperiously.
Thus adjured, Emma pursed up her lips, and wrinkled her forehead, leant her head on one side, and stared at the ceiling for inspiration. Presently it came, for the frown disappeared, the lips relaxed into a smile.
“Well, miss,” she said, “there’s the parson’s young ladies; they are nearly as big as you, though they are still at school. They ride with the father in the holiday, for the squire let’s them have a mount from the stables whenever they send up. Their habits will be at home, lying idle. They are not much for style, of course, but for a few days, until you have time to get fitted yourself—”
“Emma, you are an angel! It’s a splendid idea! Mrs Thornton begged us to let her help in any way she could. We’ll call this very afternoon, when we go down to post off the flowers, and I’m sure she will be delighted to lend them. Now we can have our first lesson to-morrow. That’s glorious! I do hate to wait when I have planned anything nice.”
At luncheon Mr Farrell made his appearance, and listened with polite indifference to the history of the morning’s doings as volunteered by his guests. He asked no questions, made no suggestions, and retired into the library the moment the meal was over for his daily perusal of the Times. Here for the first time he discovered the inconvenience of the novel interruption to his solitude, for the newspaper was missing from its accustomed place, and, on ringing to make inquiries, he was informed that Mr Melland had carried it off to the billiard-room.
“Tell Mr Melland, with my compliments, I should be obliged if he would allow me to have it for the next hour—and order two copies for the future,” he said grimly.
And five minutes later Jack appeared in person the bearer of the newspaper and frank apologies.
“I’m really awfully sorry! I did not know you had not seen it. Would you care for me to read aloud any article? I should be glad to be of use.”
“Thank you. My eyes are still quite useful. I prefer to read for myself.”
Jack had the good sense to depart without further protest, and Mr Farrell stretched himself on his big chair with a sigh of relief. He took no pleasure in his guests, whose bright young presence depressed him by reviving memories of happier days. If it had not been for the necessity of choosing an heir, he would have cherished his solitude as his dearest possession. He congratulated himself, however, that by reserving one room for his own use he could be still safe from interruption, and, turning to a leading article, read the first few paragraphs with leisurely enjoyment. The writing was excellent, the views irreproachable, in that they exactly coincided with his own. He turned with anticipatory pleasure to the article next in order, when the sound of a light tap-tap came to the door, and Ruth appeared upon the threshold, blushing shyly.
“Uncle Bernard, Mrs Wolff says that you always read the Times after luncheon... Would it be any help if I read aloud what you wish to hear? Sometimes, when pater is tired—”
“I am obliged to you. I require no help of the sort. Is there any other subject on which you wished to speak to me?”
The tone was so suggestive of concealed wrath that Ruth quailed before it, and the faltering “No” was hardly audible across the room. Mr Farrell lifted the paper from his knee so that his face was hidden from view.
“Then you will forgive my remarking that I prefer to be undisturbed. We shall meet in the drawing-room for tea.”
Ruth shut the door, advanced a few steps into the hall, and stamped her foot violently upon the floor. The thick Turkey carpet reduced the noise to the faintest echo, but an answering laugh sounded from behind a screen, and Jack Melland’s eyes looked quizzically into her flushed face.
“Allow me to sympathise. I was sent about my business a few minutes ago. Took back the Times by request, and ventured to offer to read aloud—”
“Oh, so did I! His eyes looked so tired, that I long to do something! It’s like living in an hotel, to take everything and do nothing in return, but if he is so cross and glares like that I shall never dare to offer again. Do you suppose it will go on like this all the time? Will he avoid us entirely except at meal-times? Shall we never get to know him really? If it is like that, I don’t think I can stand it. I shall run away and go home!”
Jack looked down at her with a kindly sympathy.
“Ah, well, it’s early days to judge! I don’t think it would be consistent with Mr Farrell’s plans to remain a stranger. Opportunities are bound to arise as the days pass by. Don’t worry about it, but enjoy yourself while you can.—I am going to sit out on the terrace. Will you come, too? It will be quite warm so long as the sun lasts.”
They strolled away together, to make acquaintance in a quiet tête-à-tête, while once more interruption approached the library in the shape of Mollie, primed for battle. She rapped at the door, received a low growl by way of reply, and had no sooner crossed the threshold than an infuriated voice startled her ears.
“I tell you no! I want no help. I can read without assistance. Am I stone-blind that I cannot be left in peace to read my paper, as I have done these forty years? How many times over have I to answer the same question?”
“But—but—I haven’t asked you anything yet!” gasped Mollie blankly. Eyes and lips alike were wide with amazement, but instead of retiring at full speed, as the other two visitors had done before her, she shut the door carefully and advanced towards the fire. “What did you think I was going to say?”
“I have already had two interruptions in the last half-hour; two offers to have my news read aloud—a thing I detest. I conclude you have come on the same mission?”
“No!” Mollie shook her head, half penitent, half amused. “Indeed such a thing never entered my mind. I was selfish enough to be thinking of myself—not you. Something is worrying me. May I sit down and talk to you about it, Uncle Bernard?”
She drew forward a chair even as she spoke, and Mr Farrell made no objection. The Times lay on his lap, his thin hands crossed above it, while his sunken eyes were fixed upon the girl’s face with a curious scrutiny.
“If it is any argument about going or staying, I have already explained—”
“Ah, but it isn’t! I am going to stay. I love staying! I don’t know when I have been so happy in my life as I’ve been to-day, wandering about this sweet old place. It was the most curious feeling this morning before you were down—like living in an enchanted castle where the owner had disappeared! When I gathered the flowers I felt quite like Beau—” She drew herself up sharply—“They were such lovely flowers!”
A short laugh proved that the interruption had come too late.
“As I said before, Miss Mary, you are not overburdened with modesty! I am obliged for my part of the simile!”
But the speaker’s eyes were twinkling with quite the most amiable expression Mollie had yet seen, and she laughed unabashed.
“Ah, well, one description is as exaggerated as the other. I didn’t mean to say it; it just popped out. You know that I didn’t mean to be rude. I wanted to speak to you about something very important—to us, at least. Ruth will be scandalised, but it’s bound to come out sooner or later, and I want to understand our position... We told you this morning that we proposed to learn riding.”
“You did.”
“And you made no objection.”
“On the contrary, I quite approved. It is almost essential for your own comfort and convenience it you wish to enjoy a country life.”
“Yes! so we thought. But there is one great objection. We have no habits.”
“Indeed!”
“No; of course, we have never ridden at home.”
“I presume not.”
“And we cannot ride without habits. Emma, the maid, suggested that Mrs Thornton might lend us her daughters’ just for a few days; but we cannot keep them long.”
“Certainly not!”
Mr Farrell made his remarks with an air of polite indifference, which was peculiarly baffling. It was evident that no lead was to be expected from him, and that Mollie would have to put her request in the plainest possible words. Her lips were pressed together in a momentary hesitation between embarrassment and laughter; then she thought of the lecture she would receive from Ruth if her errand ended in failure, and grew strong again. Her eyes met those of Uncle Bernard still fixed intently on her face.
“I wanted to ask you what we were to do about them, and about clothes altogether! You know we are very poor. Ruth and I have fifteen pounds a year to dress on. You have never been a girl, so you don’t understand what that means; but though we can get along on that at home and could look respectable for a few days’ visit, we can’t manage as we are for three whole months, especially when you wish us to go about, and have parties here, and meet your friends on their own terms. We have only those black evening-dresses which you saw last night, and girls can’t always wear the same things, as a man does his dress suit.”
“I suppose not.”
“No they can’t. So—”
“So?”
Mollie’s cheek flushed with a dawning impatience.
“Uncle Bernard, don’t you think you make it very hard for me? After all, it was your wish that we should stay, and we cannot put the pater to more expense. You said we were to have carte blanche. I want to know if that applies to clothes also?”
“I must say I had not anticipated anything of the sort when I made my remark.”
“Well then, are you content to have us as we are? It won’t be easy or pleasant, but I suppose we could rub along if you don’t object. People would make remarks, and as they are your friends—”
“It is a great many years since I have troubled my head about what people say. That argument has no weight with me; but, as you say, you remain here and go into society at my invitation, and it is therefore only reasonable that I should make it possible for you to do so in comfort. I am in ignorance as to what is required. What sum, may I ask, would you consider sufficient to make up deficiencies?”
Mollie’s smile of rapture was a sight to behold. The victory was won, and won so easily that there had been no fight worthy the name. Her mind flew to Ruth, picturing the scene between them when she retold the conversation; then turned at a tangent to gloat over the thought of fineries to come.
“Ah-ah! That’s a difficult question to answer. We shall need riding-habits, and summer things, and evening-dresses, and hosts of etceteras. I could make myself look respectable for twenty pounds; I could look smart for fifty; I could be a vision for a hundred!” cried Mollie, clasping her hands ecstatically, while once again a faint twinkle showed itself in Mr Farrell’s eyes. His words were, however, as a rule, decidedly damping in tone.
“That is interesting to know, but something less bewildering than visions might be more in keeping with ordinary life. Very well, then, Miss Mary, order what you please, and tell your sister to do the same, and let the bills come in to me. You can run up to town for the day whenever it is necessary, and no doubt you will enjoy the variety. Is there anything more you wish to say?”
He took up the newspaper in sign of dismissal, but Mollie sat her ground, flushing and knitting her brows.
“Uncle Bernard, you are an angel, and I’m ever so much obliged, but please mightn’t we have a fixed sum? It would be so much more comfortable! If it is left like this, we should not know what you would think reasonable or extravagant!”
“And in the other case, I should not know it of you! No; it must be left entirely to your discretion. Get what you please, and as much as you please. I make no restrictions. As I have said before, money is no object to me, but it is my great aim at present to understand your position as to it.”
“I understand, but it’s very awkward!” sighed Mollie. Her forehead was puckered with thought; she stroked her soft little chin in thoughtful fashion. “I should like to please you, but I am so completely in the dark. A man’s ideas are so different from a girl’s. If I get all I think necessary, you may think me extravagant!”
“Very possibly I may.”
“And if I get less than the best, you might think me mean.”
“Very possibly again.”
Mollie made an involuntary gesture of impatience, then laughed and tossed her head.
“Uncle Bernard, it is hopeless to try to understand you. There is only one thing to be done; since I don’t know how to please you, I must take extra good care to please myself.”
“A most sensible conclusion! I congratulate you upon it. I have, however, one request to make. It is my wish that you and your sister should be independent of each other; each acting exactly as she thinks fit, without reference to the other’s wishes. Is there anything more that you wish to say? If not, may I suggest that I am generally left free from interruption after lunch?”
“I’ll never come again—I promise I won’t, but there is a lot I should like to say if you would let me. I’d like to thank you and tell you how much fun and happiness we shall get out of your generosity; but, I suppose, if I did you would hate it, and call it gush. The best thing I can do is to go away at once; but you can’t prevent me thanking you in my heart.”
She looked at him half smiling, half wistful, longing for some sign of softening which might break down the barrier between them, but Mr Farrell did not even meet her glance. His eyes had already strayed towards his newspaper; he was settling himself in his chair and preparing to resume the interrupted reading. Mollie turned with a sigh and left the room.