Peter's Mother

by Mrs. Henry De La Pasture

CHAPTER XX

Lady Tintern was pleased to leave Paddington by a much earlier train than could have been expected. She hired a fly, and a pair of broken-kneed horses, at Brawnton, and once more took her relations at Hewelscourt by surprise. On this occasion, however, she was not fortunate enough to find her invalid niece at play in the stable-yard, though she detected her at luncheon, and warmly congratulated her upon her robust appearance and her excellent appetite.

Her journey had, no doubt, been undertaken with the very intentions Sarah had described; but another motive also prompted her, which Sarah had not divined.

Much as she desired to marry her grand-niece to Lord Avonwick, she was not blind to the young man's personal disadvantages, which were undeniable; and which Peter had rudely summed up in a word by alluding to his rival as an ass. He was distinguished among the admirers of Miss Sarah's red and white beauty by his brainlessness no less than by his eligibility.

Nevertheless, Lady Tintern had favoured his suit. She knew him to be a good fellow, although he was a simpleton, and she was very sure that he loved Sarah sincerely.

"Whoever the girl marries, she will rule him with a rod of iron. She had better marry a fool and be done with it. So why not an eligible and titled and good-natured fool?" the old lady had written to Mrs. Hewel, who was very far from understanding such reasoning, and wept resentfully over the letter.

Why should Lady Tintern snatch her only daughter away from her in order to marry her to a fool? Mrs. Hewel was of opinion that a sensible young man like Peter would be a better match. She supposed nobody would call Sir Peter Crewys of Barracombe a fool; and as for his being young, he was only a few months younger than Lord Avonwick, and Sarah would have just as pretty a title, even if her husband were only a baronet instead of a baron. Thus she argued to herself, and wrote the gist of her argument to her aunt. Why was Sarah to go hunting the highways and byways for titled fools, when there was Peter at her very door,—a young man she had known all her life, and one of the oldest families in Devon, and seven thousand acres of land only next week, when he would come of age, and could marry whomever he liked? Though, of course, Sarah must not go against her aunt, who had promised to do so much for her, and given her so many beautiful things, whether young girls ought to wear jewellery or not.

This was the distracted letter which was bringing Lady Tintern to Hewelscourt. She had been annoyed with Sarah for refusing Lord Avonwick, and thought it would do the rebellious young lady no harm to return for a time to the bosom of her family, and thus miss Newmarket, which Sarah particularly desired to attend, since no society function interested her half so much as racing.

The old lady had not in the least objected to Sarah's friendship for young Sir Peter Crewys. Sarah, as John had truly said, was a star with many satellites; and among those satellites Peter did not shine with any remarkable brilliancy, being so obviously an awkward country-bred lad, not at home in the surroundings to which her friendship had introduced him, and rather inclined to be surly and quarrelsome than pleasant or agreeable.

Lady Tintern had not taken such a boy's attentions to her grand-niece seriously; but if Sarah were taking them seriously, she thought she had better inquire into the matter at once. Therefore the energetic old woman not only arrived unexpectedly at Hewelscourt in the middle of luncheon, but routed her niece off her sofa early in the afternoon, and proposed that she should immediately cross the river and call upon Peter's mother.

"I have never seen the place except from these windows; perhaps I am underrating it," said Lady Tintern. "I've never met Lady Mary Crewys, though I know all the Setouns that ever were born. Never mind who ought to call on me first! What do I care for such nonsense? The boy is a cub and a bear—that I know—since he stayed in my house for a fortnight, and never spoke to me if he could possibly help it. He is a nobody! Sir Peter Fiddlesticks! Who ever heard of him or his family, I should like to know, outside this ridiculous place? His name is spelt wrong! Of course I have heard of Crewys, K.C. Everybody has heard of him. That has nothing to do with it. Yes, I know the young man did well in South Africa. All our young men did well in South Africa. Pray, is Sarah to marry them all? If that is what she is after, the sooner I take it in hand the better. Lunching by herself on the moors indeed! No; I am not at all afraid of the ferry, Emily. If you are, I will go alone, or take your good man."

"The colonel is out shooting, as you know, and won't be back till tea-time," said Mrs. Hewel, becoming more and more flurried under this torrent of lively scolding.

"The colonel! Why don't you say Tom? Colonel indeed!" said Lady
Tintern. "Very well, I shall go alone."

But this Mrs. Hewel would by no means allow. She reluctantly abandoned the effort to dissuade her aunt, put on her visiting things with as much speed as was possible to her, and finally accompanied her across the river to pay the proposed visit to Barracombe House.

Lady Mary received her visitors in the banqueting hall, an apartment which excited Lady Tintern's warmest approval. The old lady dated the oak carving in the hall, and in the yet more ancient library; named the artists of the various pictures; criticized the ceilings, and praised the windows.

Mrs. Hewel feared her outspokenness would offend Lady Mary, but she could perceive only pleasure and amusement in the face of her hostess, between whom and the worldly old woman there sprang up a friendliness that was almost instantaneous.

"And you are like a Cosway miniature yourself, my dear," said Lady Tintern, peering out of her dark eyes at Lady Mary's delicate white face. "Eh—the bright colouring must be a little faded—all the Setouns have pretty complexions—and carmine is a perishable tint, as we all know."

"Sarah has a brilliant complexion," struck in Mrs. Hewel, zealously endeavouring to distract her aunt from the personalities in which she preferred to indulge.

"Sarah looks like a milkmaid, my love," said the old lady, who did not choose to be interrupted, "And when she can hunt as much as she wishes, and live the outdoor life she prefers, she will get the complexion of a boatwoman." She turned to Lady Mary with a gracious nod. "But you may live out of doors with impunity. Time seems to leave something better than colouring to a few Heaven-blessed women, who manage to escape wrinkles, and hardening, and crossness. I am often cross, and so are younger folk than I; and your boy Peter—though how he comes to be your boy I don't know—is very often cross too."

"You have been very kind to Peter," said Lady Mary, laughing. "I am sorry you found him cross."

"No; I was not kind to him. I am not particularly fond of cross people," said the old lady. "It is Sarah who has been kind," and she looked sharply again at Lady Mary.

"I am getting on in years, and very infirm," said Lady Tintern, "and I must ask you to excuse me if I lean upon a stick; but I should like to take a turn about the garden with you. I hear you have a remarkable view from your terrace."

Lady Mary offered her arm with pretty solicitude, and guided her aged but perfectly active visitor through the drawing-room—where she stopped to comment favourably upon the water colours—to the terrace, where John was sitting in the shade of the ilex-tree, absorbed in the London papers.

Lady Mary introduced him as Peter's guardian and cousin.

"How do you do, Mr. Crewys? Your name is very familiar to me," said the old lady. "Though to tell you the truth, Sir Peter looks so much older than his age that I forgot he had a guardian at all."

"He will only have one for a few days longer," said John, smiling. "My authority will expire very shortly."

"But you are, at any rate, the very man I wanted to see," said Lady Tintern, who seldom wasted time in preliminaries. "I would always rather talk business with a man than with a woman; so if Mr. Crewys will lend me his arm to supplement my stick, I will take a turn with him instead of with you, my dear, if you have no objection."

"Did you ever hear anything like her?" said poor Mrs. Hewel, turning to Lady Mary as soon as her aunt was out of hearing. "What Mr. Crewys must think of her, I cannot guess. She always says she had to exercise so much reticence as an ambassadress, that she has given her tongue a holiday ever since. But there is only one possible subject they can have to talk about. And how can we be sure her interference won't spoil everything? She is quite capable of asking what Peter's intentions are. She is the most indiscreet person in the world," said Sarah's mother, wringing her hands.

"I think Peter has made his intentions pretty obvious," said Lady
Mary. She smiled, but her eyes were anxious.

"And you are sure you don't mind, dear Lady Mary? For who can depend on Lady Tintern, after all? She is supposed to be going to do so much for Sarah, but if she takes it into her head to oppose the marriage, I can do nothing with her. I never could."

"I am very far from minding," said Lady Mary. "But it is Sarah on whom everything depends. What does she say, I wonder? What does she want?"

"It's no use asking me what Sarah wants," said Mrs. Hewel, plaintively. "Time after time I have told her father what would come of it all if he spoilt her so outrageously. He is ready enough to find fault with the boys, poor fellows, who never do anything wrong; but he always thinks Sarah perfection, and nothing else."

"Sarah is very fortunate, for Peter has the same opinion of her."

"Fortunate! Lady Mary, if I were to tell you the chances that girl has had—not but what I had far rather she married Peter—though she might have done that all the same if she had never left home in her life."

"I am not so sure of that," said Peter's mother.

Lady Tintern's turn took her no further than the fountain garden, where she sank down upon a bench, and graciously requested her escort to occupy the vacant space by her side.

"I started at an unearthly hour this morning, and I am not so young as I was," she said; "but I am particularly desirous of a good night's rest, and I never can sleep with anything on my mind. So I came over here to talk business. By-the-by, I should have come over here long ago, if any one had had the sense to give me a hint that I had only to cross a muddy stream, in a flat-bottomed boat, in order to see a face like that—" She nodded towards the terrace.

John's colour rose slightly. He put the nod and the smile, and the sharp glance of the dark eyes together, and perceived that Lady Tintern had drawn certain conclusions.

"There is some expression in her face," said the old lady, musingly, "which makes me think of Marie Stuart's farewell to France. I don't know why. I have odd fancies. I believe the Queen of Scots had hazel eyes, whereas this pretty Lady Mary has the bluest eyes I ever saw—quite remarkable eyes."

"Those blue eyes," said John, smiling, "have never looked beyond this range of hills since Lady Mary's childhood."

The old lady nodded again. "Eh—a State prisoner. Yes, yes. She has that kind of look." Then she turned to John, with mingled slyness and humour, "On va changer tout cela?"

"As you have divined," he answered, laughing in spite of himself. "Though how you have divined it passes my poor powers of comprehension."

Lady Tintern was pleased. She liked tributes to her intelligence as other women enjoy recognition of their good looks.

"It is very easy, to an observer," she said. "She is frightened at her own happiness. Yes, yes. And that cub of a boy would not make it easier. By-the-by, I came to talk of the boy. You are his guardian?"

"For a week."

"What does it signify for how long? Five minutes will settle my views. Thank Heaven I did not come later, or I should have had to talk to him, instead of to a man of sense. You must have seen what is going on. What do you think of it?"

"The arrangement suits me so admirably," said John, smiling, "that I am hardly to be relied upon for an impartial opinion."

"Will you tell me his circumstances?"

John explained them in a few words, and with admirable terseness and lucidity; and she nodded comprehensively all the while.

"That's capital. He can't make ducks and drakes of it. All tied up on the children. I hope they will have a dozen. It would serve Sarah right. Now for my side. Whatever sum the trustees decide to settle upon Sir Peter's wife, I will put down double that sum as Sarah's dowry. Our solicitors can fight the rest out between them. The property is much better than I had been given any reason to suspect. I have no more to say. They can be married in a month. That is settled. I never linger over business. We may shake hands on it." They did so with great cordiality. "It is not that I am overjoyed at the match," she explained, with great frankness. "I think Sarah is a fool to marry a boy. But I have observed she is a fool who always knows her own mind. The fancies of some girls of that age are not worth attending to."

"Miss Sarah is a young lady of character," said John, gravely.

"Ay, she will settle him," said Lady Tintern. Her small, grim face relaxed into a witchlike smile.

"The lad is a good lad. No one has ever said a word against him, and he is as steady as old Time. I believe Miss Sarah's choice, if he is her choice, will be justified," said John.

"I didn't think he was a murderer or a drunkard," said Lady Tintern, cheerfully. Her phraseology was often startling to strangers. "But he is absolutely devoid of—what shall I say? Chivalry? Yes, that is it. Few young men have much nowadays, I am told. But Sir Peter has none—absolutely none."

"It will come."

"No, it will not come. It is a quality you are born with or without. He was born without. Sarah knows all about it. It won't hurt her; she has the methods of an ox. She goes direct to her point, and tramples over everything that stands in her way. If he were less thick-skinned she would be the death of him; but fortunately he has the hide of a rhinoceros."

"I think you do them both a great deal less than justice," said John; but he was unable to help laughing.

"Oh, you do, do you? I like to be disagreed with." Her voice shook a little. "You must make allowances—for an old woman—who is—disappointed," said Lady Tintern.

John said nothing, but his bright hazel eyes, looking down on the small, bent figure, grew suddenly gentle and sympathetic.

"It is a pleasure to be able to congratulate somebody," she said, returning his look. "I congratulate you—and Lady Mary."

"Thank you."

"Most of all, because there is nothing modern about her. She has walked straight out of the Middle Ages, with the face of a saint and a dreamer and a beautiful woman, all in one. I am an old witch, and I am never deceived in a woman. Men, I am sorry to say, no longer take the trouble to deceive me. Now our business is over, will you take me back?"

She took the arm he offered, and tottered back to the terrace.

"Bring her to see me in London, and bring her as soon as you can," said. Lady Tintern. "She is the friend I have dreamed of, and never met. When is it going to be?"

"At once," said John, calmly.

"You are the most sensible man I have seen for a long time," said Lady
Tintern.

* * * * *

Peter and Sarah hardly exchanged a word during their return journey from the moors after the unlucky picnic; and at the door of Happy Jack's cottage in Youlestone village she commanded her obedient swain to deposit the luncheon basket, and bade him farewell.

The aged road-mender, to his intense surprise and chagrin, had one morning found himself unable to rise from his bed. He lay there for a week, indignant with Providence for thus wasting his time.

"There bain't nart the matter wi' I! Then why be I a-farced to lie thic way?" he said faintly. "If zo be I wor bod, I cude understand, but I bain't bod. There bain't no pain tu speak on no-wheres. It vair beats my yunderstanding."

"Tis old age be the matter wi' yu, vather," said his mate, a young fellow of sixty or so, who lodged with him.

"I bain't nigh so yold as zum," said Happy Jack, peevishly. "Tis a nice way vor a man tu be tuke, wi'out a thing the matter wi' un, vor the doctor tu lay yold on."

Dr. Blundell soothed him by giving his illness a name.

"It's Anno Domini, Jack."

"What be that? I niver yeard till on't befar," he said suspiciously.

"It's incurable, Jack," said the doctor, gravely.

Happy Jack was consoled. He rolled out the word with relish to his next visitor.

"Him's vound it out at last. 'Tis the anny-dominy, and 'tis incurable. You'm can't du nart vor I. I got tu go; and 'taint no wonder, wi' zuch a complaint as I du lie here wi'. The doctor were vair beat at vust; but him worried it out wi' hisself tu the last. Him's a turble gude doctor, var arl he wuden't go tu the war."

Sarah visited him every day. He was so frail and withered a little object that it seemed as though he could waste no further, and yet he dwindled daily. But he suffered no pain, and his wits were bright to the end.

This evening the faint whistle of his voice was fainter than ever, and she had to bend very low to catch his gasping words. He lay propped up on the pillows, with a red scarf tied round the withered scrag of his throat, and his spotless bed freshly arrayed by his mate's mother, who lived with them and "did for" both.

"They du zay as Master Peter be carting of 'ee, Miss Zairy," he whispered. "Be it tru?"

"Yes, Jack dear, it's true. Are you glad?"

"I be glad if yu thinks yu'll git 'un," wheezed poor Jack. "'Twude be a turble gude job var 'ee tu git a yusband. But doan't 'ee make tu shar on 'un, Miss Zairy. 'Un du zay as him be turble vond on yu, and as yu du be playing vast and loose wi' he. That's the ways a young maid du go on, and zo the young man du slip thru' 'un's vingers."

"Yes, Jack," said Sarah, with unwonted meekness.

She looked round the little unceiled room, open on one side to the wooden staircase which led to the kitchen below; at the earth-stained corduroys hanging on a peg; at the brown mug which held Happy Jack's last meal, and all he cared to take—a thin gruel.

"'Twude be a grand marriage vor the likes o' yu, Miss Zairy, vor the Crewys du be the yoldest vambly in all Devonsheer, as I've yeard tell; and yure volk bain't never comed year at arl befar yure grandvather's time. Eh, what a tale there were tu tell when old Sir Timothy married Mary Ann! 'Twas a vine scandal vor the volk, zo 'twere; but I wuden't niver give in tu leaving Youlestone. But doan't 'ee play the vule wi' Master Peter, Miss Zairy. Take 'un while yu can git 'un, will 'ee? And be glad tu git 'un. Yu listen tu I, vor I be a turble witty man, and I be giving of yu gude advice, Miss Zairy."

"I am listening, Jack, and you know I always take your advice."

"Ah! if 'twerent' for the anny-dominy, I'd be tu yure wedding," sighed
Happy Jack, "zame as I were tu Mary Ann's. Zo I wude."

She took his knotted hand, discoloured with the labour of eighty years, and bade him farewell.

"Thee be a lucky maid," said Happy Jack, closing his eyes.

* * * * *

The tears were yet glistening on Sarah's long lashes, when she met the doctor on his way to the cottage she had just quitted.

She was in no mood for talking, and would have passed him with a hasty greeting, but the melancholy and fatigue of his bearing struck her quick perceptions.

She stopped short, and held out her hand impulsively.

"Dr. Blunderbuss," said Sarah, "did you very much want Peter to find out that—that he could live without his mother?"

"Has anything happened?" said the doctor; his thin face lighted up instantly with eager interest and anxiety.

"Only that" said Sarah. "You trusted me, so I'm trusting you. Peter's found out everything. And—and he isn't going to let her sacrifice her happiness to him, after all. I'll answer for that. So perhaps, now, you won't say you're sorry you told me?"

"For God's sake, don't jest with me, my child!" said the doctor, putting a trembling hand on her arm. "Is anything—settled?"

"Do I ever jest when people are in earnest? And how can I tell you if it's settled?" said Sarah, in a tone between laughing and weeping. "I—I'm going there to-night. I oughtn't to have said anything about it, only I knew how much you wanted her to be happy. And—she's going to be—that's all."

The doctor was silent for a. moment, and Sarah looked away from him, though she was conscious that he was gazing fixedly at her face. But she did not know that he saw neither her blushing cheeks, nor the groups of tall fern on the red earth-bank beyond her, nor the whitewashed cob walls of Happy Jack's cottage. His dreaming eyes saw only Lady Mary in her white gown, weeping and agitated, stumbling over the threshold of a darkened room into the arms of John Crewys.

"You said you wished it," said Sarah.

She stole a hasty glance at him, half frightened by his silence and his pallor, remembering suddenly how little the fulfilment of his wishes could have to do with his personal happiness.

The doctor recovered himself. "I wish it with all my heart," he said. He tried to smile. "Some day, if you will, you shall tell me how you managed it. But perhaps—not just now."

"Can't you guess?" she said, opening her eyes in a wonder stronger than discretion.

How was it possible, she thought, that such a clever man should be so dull?

The doctor shook his head. "You were always too quick for me, little Sarah," he said. "I am only glad, however it happened, that—she—is to be happy at last." He had no thoughts to spare for Sarah, or any other. As she lingered he said absently, "Is that all?"

She looked at him, and was inspired to leave the remorseful and sympathetic words that rushed to her lips unsaid.

"That is all," said Sarah, gently, "for the present."

Then she left him alone, and took her way down to the ferry.