Wych Hazel

by Susan Warner; Anna Bartlett Warner

CHAPTER XIV.

HOLDING COURT.

She was scarcely within the door when Mr. Falkirk met her, put her arm within his and led her into the drawing-room. For a few minutes there the impression was merely of a flutter of gauzes, a shifting scene of French bonnets, a show of delicately gloved hands, and a general breeze of compliments and gratulations, in those soft and indeterminate tones that stir nothing. Mme. Lasalle it was, with a bevy of ladies, older and younger, among whom it was impossible at first to distinguish one from the other. So similar was in every case the display of French flowers, gloves and embroidery; so accordant the make of every dress and the modulation of every tone. Mme. Lasalle herself was, however, prominent, having a pair of black eyes which once fairly seen were for ever after easily recognizable. Fine eyes, too; bright and merry, which made themselves quite at home in your face in half a minute. She was overflowing with graciousness. Her nephew, the gentleman of the roses, the only cavalier of the party, kept himself in a modest background.

'I have been longing to see you at home, my dear,' said Mme. Lasalle. 'All in good time; but I always am impatient for what I want. And then we have all wanted you; the places of social comfort in the neighbourhood are so few that we cannot afford to have Chickaree shut up. This beautiful old house! I am so delighted to be in it again. But I hope you have met with no accident this morning? You have not?'

'Accident?—O no!'

'You have surely not been thrown,' said another lady.

'No, ma'am.' The demure face was getting all alight with secret fun.

'But how was it?' pursued Mme. Lasalle, with an air of interest. 'We saw you walk up to the door—what had become of your horse?'

'He walked to another door.'

'And you have really been taking foot exercise this morning,' said the lady, in whose eyes and the lines of her face might be seen a slight shadow. Miss Kennedy then had been on foot of choice, and so accompanied! And Wych Hazel was too inexperienced to notice—but her guardian was not—that Mr. Nightingale, to whom he had been talking, paused in his attention and turned to catch the answer.

'I have been finding out that my woods need attention,' said Miss Kennedy, who never chose to be catechised if she could help it. 'It is astonishing that they can have grown so much in these years when I have grown so little!'

'You have got to make acquaintance with a great many other things here besides your trees. Do you know any of your neighbours? or is it all unbroken ground?'

'I do not even know how much there is to break.'

'How delicious!' remarked a languid lady. 'Think of coming into a region where all is new! Things get so tiresome when you know them too well.'

'People and all!' said Mr. Falkirk.

'Well, yes—don't you think they do? When there is nothing more to be found out about them.'

'I don't agree with you,' said another lady. 'I think it's so tiresome to find them out. When you once know them, then you give up being disappointed.'

'My dear Clara!' said Mme. Lasalle, 'what a misanthropical sentiment! Miss Kennedy, I know by her face, will never agree with you. Were you ever disappointed, my dear, in your life? There! I know you were not.'

'Not often, I think.' What were they talking about,—these people who looked so gay and spoke so languidly? Miss Kennedy rang for refreshments, hoping to revive them a little.

'But, my dear, how far have you walked in this hot sun? You see, you quite dismay us country people. Do tell us! How far have you walked?'

'The miles are as unknown to me as the inhabitants,' she said gayly. 'But we brown people are never afraid of the sun.'

'Miles!' said Mme. Lasalle looking round her. 'Imagine it!'
Then as the lady took a piece of cake, she remarked casually:

'I think I saw an old acquaintance of mine with you—Dane
Rollo, was it not?'

'Mr. Rollo? Yes.'

'He has not been to see me since he came home—I shall quarrel
with him. I wonder if he has been to Mrs. Powder's. Mr.
Falkirk, don't you think Dane had a great penchant for one of
Mrs. Powder's beautiful daughters before he went abroad?'

'I am not in the confidence of either party, madam,' replied
Mr. Falkirk.

'If he had he would have taken her with him,' said another of the party.

'O that don't follow, you know. Maybe her mother thought she was too young—or he, perhaps. She is a beautiful girl.'

'Not my style of beauty,' said the languid lady with an air of repulsion.

'What has he been doing in Europe all this time?' pursued Mme.
Lasalle. 'Been to Norway, hasn't he?'

'I believe he went there.'

'He has relations there, Dr. Maryland told me.'

'Dr. Maryland knows,' said Mr. Falkirk.

'Perhaps he will settle in Norway.'

'Perhaps he will.'

'But how dreadful for his wife! Mrs. Powder would not like that. He's a great favourite of mine, Dane is; but I am afraid he has rather a reputation for breaking ladies' hearts. What do you think, Mr. Falkirk? He is welcome everywhere. Maybe it's Norwegian fashion; but I think Dr. Maryland is very imprudent to let him come into his house again—if he does. Do you know the Marylands, my dear?' turning to Wych Hazel again.

'They knew me, long ago,' she said. 'I have been here but two days now.'

'The daughter—this daughter—is a singular girl, is she not?'

'I do not know—I like her,' said Wych Hazel.

'Oh she's very queer,' said another young lady.

'I have no doubt she is good,' Mme. Lasalle went on; 'no doubt at all. But I have heard she lives in a strange way—among children and poor people—going about preaching and making clothes. A little of that is all very well; I suppose we might all do more of it, and not hurt ourselves; but is not Miss Maryland quite an enthusiast?'

Wych Hazel was getting very much amused.

'She was not enthusiastic over me,' she said, 'and I have not seen her tried with anything else. Where does she preach?'

'You will find her out. Wait till you know her a little better. She will preach to you, I have no doubt. Prudentia, Mrs. Coles, is very different. She is really a charming woman. But my dear Miss Kennedy, we have been here a length of time that it will not do to talk about. We have had no mercy upon Mr. Falkirk, for we were determined to see you. Now you must come and spend the day with me to-morrow, and I'll tell you everything. We are going on a fishing expedition up the Arrow; and we want you. And you must come early; for we must take the cool of the morning to go and the cool of the afternoon to come back. I'll see you home safe. Come! say yes.'

'I will if Mr. Falkirk does, ma'am, very gladly.'

'Let her go!' whispered another member of the party, who had been using her eyes more than her tongue.

'Give her a loose rein now, Mr. Falkirk, and hold her in when
Kitty Fisher comes.'

'Pshaw! she isn't under guardianship at that rate,' said Mme.
Lasalle. 'Mr. Falkirk, isn't this lady free yet?'

'I am afraid she never will be, madam.'

'What do you mean by that? But does she have to ask your leave for everything she does?'

'No one acquainted with the wisdom of Miss Kennedy's general proceedings would do me so much honour as to think the wisdom all came from me!' said Mr. Falkirk dryly.

'Well, you'll let her come to Moscheloo?'

'Certainly.'

The lady looked at Wych Hazel. The laughing eyes had grown suddenly quiet. It was with a very dignified bend of the head that she repeated Mr. Falkirk's assent.

'I shall not ask you,' said the lady to Miss Kennedy's guardian; 'it is a young party entirely, and must mot have too much wisdom, you understand. I'll bring her home.'

'I am no sportsman, madam,' said Mr. Falkirk with a smile; 'and my wisdom will probably be busy to-morrow in Miss Kennedy's plantations.'

With that, the train of ladies swept away, with renewed soft words of pleasure and hope and congratulation. They rustled softly through the hall, gently spoke ecstasies at the hall door, mounted upon their horses and got into their carriages, and departed. Mr. Falkirk came back to his ward in the hall.

'Now that to-morrow is provided for,' he said, 'I should be glad to hear, Miss Hazel, the history of yesterday. It is quite impossible to know a story from Dingee's telling of it. And do you think you could give me some luncheon?'

'Certainly, sir.' She was just disposing of hat and whip upon a particular pair of chamois horns on the wall. They hung a little high for her, and she was springing to reach them like any airiest creature that ever made a spring. 'Perhaps you will be so kind as to be seated, Mr. Falkirk?—in the dining room—for a moment. Dingee!'—her voice rang softly out clear as an oriole. 'Luncheon at once—do you hear, Dingee? Don't keep Mr. Falkirk waiting.'

Mr. Falkirk stood still looking at all this, and waiting with an unmoved face.

'Will you excuse my habit, sir? as you are in haste. And am I to give you the "history" here, all standing?'

'Go! but come,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'We have met only one division of the enemy yet, my dear.'

She glanced at him, and went off, and was back; all fresh and dainty and fragrant with the sweet briar at her belt. Then silently made herself busy with the luncheon; creamed Mr. Falkirk's chocolate; then suddenly exclaimed:

'Could you make nothing of my version, sir?'

'Not much. Where were you going?'

'I was coming home.'

'From Dr. Maryland's?'

'Not at all, sir. I should have said, I was on my way home,— and the storm began, and I took a cross road to expedite matters—and then I grew desperate, and ran into an unknown, open door, and so found myself at Dr. Maryland's.'

'Very intelligible. My question looked to the beginning of your expedition.'

'Well, sir—I would rather—but it does not signify. There came a small Bohemian here in the morning to get help for her sick mother; and I went. That is all.'

'Who is the mother, Miss Hazel? Where does she live?'

'I don't know her name. And her habitation only when I see it.
All places are alike to me here yet, you know.'

'My dear,' said Mr. Falkirk gravely, 'you must see that, being so ignorant of people and things in this region, you had better not make sudden expeditions without taking me into your confidence. Dingee said you rode the little black mare?'

'True, sir.'

'You did not like her well enough to ride her home?'

'Quite well enough, sir.'

'You did not do it?'

'No,' said Wych Hazel—'that Norwegian pirate took her for his own use, and I walked.'

'Wouldn't let you ride her, eh?' and a curious gleam came into
Mr. Falkirk's eyes.

' "Wanted to try her first"—and was "bound to be afraid, though I was not"—and "couldn't answer it to you"—and so forth and so forth. A man can generally find words enough.'

'Depend upon it, my dear, he generally borrows them of a woman.' Mr. Falkirk's face relaxed slightly, and he took a turn across the room; then stood still. 'Why didn't you ride the cob home?—he is there still, isn't he?'

'I did not choose, sir. I should, if I had been asked properly.'

'Were you not asked?'

'No, except by having my saddle put on that horse and then not taking it off.'

'You made the demand?'

'Of course. That is, I told the groom to do it.'

Mr. Falkirk smiled and then laughed, or came as near to laughing as he often did.

'So you wouldn't ask him into the house? But did you see anybody else in your yesterday's expedition, my dear?'

She glanced up at him, evidently growing restive under this cross-questioning.

'I saw Mr. Nightingale.'

'Nightingale!' echoed Mr. Falkirk. 'Where did you see Mr.
Nightingale, Miss Kennedy?'

'In the woods.'

'And what the——. My dear, what were you doing in the woods?'

'Won't you finish your first sentence first, sir? I like to take things in order.'

Mr. Falkirk's brows drew together; he looked down and then looked up, awaiting his answer.

'I was doing nothing in the woods, sir, but finding my way home.'

'How came he to be there? Did he speak to you?'

'Yes, sir, he spoke to me.'

'What did he say?' said Mr. Falkirk, looking very gravely intent.

'Before we go any further, Mr. Falkirk,' said the girl, steadily, though she coloured a good deal, 'is it to be your pleasure in future to know every word that may be said to me? Because in that case, it will be needful to engage a reporter. You must see, sir, that I should never be equal to it.'

'My dear,' said Mr. Falkirk slowly, 'we are embarked on a search after fortune;—which always embraced on my part an earnest purpose to avoid misfortune.'

'You sit there,' she went on, scarce heeding him, 'and ask me "where I was" and "where I was going" and "what I said"—as if I would forget myself among strange people in this strange place!—And then you take for granted that I would be rude to one person whom I do know, just because he had vexed me! I did ask him in, and he wouldn't come. I am unpractised—wild, maybe—but am I so unwomanly, Mr. Falkirk? Do you think I am?' It was almost pitiful, the way the young eyes scanned his face. If Mr. Falkirk had not been a guardian! But he was steel.

Yet even steel will give forth flashes, and one of those flashes came from under Mr. Falkirk's brows now. His answer was very quiet.

'My dear, I think you no more unwomanly than I think a rose unlovely—but the rose has thorns which sometimes prick the hands that would train it out of harm's way. And it might occur even to your inexperience that when a gentleman who does not know you presumes to address you, he can have nothing to say which it would not be on several accounts proper for me to hear.'

Again the colour bloomed up.

'You would know, if you were a woman, Mr. Falkirk, how it feels to have a man sit and question you with such an air. Ah,' she said, dashing off the tears which had gathered in her eyes, 'if you really think I can take no better care of myself than that, you should not have said I might go with those people to-morrow!—A rose's thorns are for protection, sir!'— And away she went, out of the room and up the stairs; and Mr. Falkirk heard no more till Dingee entered with fruit and biscuits.

'Missee Hazel hope you'll enjoy yours, sar,—she take her's upstairs.'

Mr. Falkirk put on his hat and walked down to his house.

It was a slight fiction on the part of Dingee, to say that Miss Hazel was taking her fruit upstairs; indeed the whole message was freely translated from her—

'Dingee, attend to Mr. Falkirk's lunch, I don't want any.'

Presently now came Dingee to her with another message.

'Massa Morton—he 'most dyin' to see Miss Hazel—but he wait till she done had her lunch.'

And she flashed down upon Mr. Morton's eyes, like a prism- caught-sunbeam. By this time there were two pairs of eyes to be dazzled. Mr. Dell had made his appearance on the stage.

Mr. Dell was a clergyman, of a different denomination, who like Mr. Maryland had a church to take care of at Crocus. Mr. Dell's was a little church at the opposite corner of the village and society. He himself was a good-hearted, plain man, with no savour of elegance about him, though with more than the usual modicum of sense and shrewdness. Appearance conformable to character. Mr. Morton was not very far from Mr. Falkirk's range of years, though making more attempts to conceal the fact. Rich, well educated, well mannered, a little heavy, he had married very young; and now a widower of twenty years standing, the sight of Wych Hazel had suggested to him what a nice thing it would be to be married again. The estates too suited each other, even touched at one point. With this gentleman Wych Hazel had some slight acquaintance, and he introduced Mr. Dell; thinking privately to himself how absurd it was for such men to come visiting such women.

'I see with pleasure that you have quite recovered from the fatigues of your journey, Miss Kennedy. A day's rest will often do wonders.'

'Yes, sir. Especially if you spend a good piece of it on horseback, as I did.'

'On horseback!' said Mr. Morton, looking doubtful—(he hoped she was not going to turn out one of those riding damsels, who went rough shod over all his ideas of propriety.) 'Did you go out so soon to explore the country?'

'No, sir. I went out on business.'

'Ah!'—(how admirable in so young a person.)

'There is business enough in city or country,' said straightforward Mr. Dell—'if you are disposed to take hold of it. Even our little Crocus will give you plenty.'

'All the year round, sir?—or does Crocus go to sleep in the winter like most other bulbs?'

'It is another species from any that you are acquainted with, I am afraid,' said the clergyman, looking at her with mingled curiosity and admiration. 'Bulbs when they go to sleep require no attention, I believe; but our Crocus wants most of all in the cold season. We want lady gardeners too,' said Mr. Dell, following the figure.

'It is a most healthful exercise,' said Mr. Morton, 'and the slight disadvantages of dress, etc., rather form a pleasant foil, I think, to the perfection of attire at other times. Are you fond of gardening, Miss Kennedy?'

'Very fond!' said Miss Kennedy, demurely. 'But that is one of the times when I like to be particularly perfect in my attire, Mr. Norton. Why, Mr. Dell, the bulbs must be kept from freezing, you know, if they are asleep. Isn't Miss Maryland one of your successful gardeners?'

'Miss Maryland does all she can, madam,' said Mr. Dell, earnestly. 'She has been the good angel of the village for five years past.'

'That is just what she looks like,' said Wych, with a glow of pleasure. 'And I'm going to help her all I can.'

'But do you not think,' said Mr. Morton, with the dubious look again—'you are talking, I imagine, of Miss Maryland's visits among the lower classes,—do not you think they make a young lady too prominent—too public—Mr. Dell? They bring her among very rough people, Miss Kennedy, I assure you.'

'But, sir, one would not lose the chance of being a good angel for the fear of being prominent.'

'Or for the fear of anything else,' said Mr. Dell.

'Truly not,' said Mr. Morton. 'But we gentlemen think, Miss Kennedy, that ladies of a certain stamp can scarcely fail of so desirable a position.'

'Ah, but I want a pair of bona fide wings!' said Wych Hazel, and she looked so comically innocent and witch-like that Mr. Morton forgot all else in admiration; and Mr. Dell looked at her with all his eyes as he remarked,—

'Not to fly away from the poor and needy—as many of Mr.
Morton's angels do.'

'Do they?' said Wych Hazel,—'where do they fly to? Mr. Morton, what becomes of your angels?'

'My angels,' said Mr. Morton with some emphasis on the pronoun, 'would never be in the majority. When I said "ladies of a certain stamp," I by no means intended to say that the class was a large one.'

'No, sir, of course not. If the class were large, I should suppose the stamp would become very uncertain. Mr. Dell, what does Crocus want most, just now?'

'I should say—angels,' said Mr. Dell. He spoke with a smile, but with a shrewd and sensible eye withal. He was not a beauty, but he had mettle in him.

'That's a bad want in the present state of the case, as set forth by Mr. Morton. Are gold angels good for anything as a substitute?'

'Good for very little. When I said angels, I spoke of what the world most wants, as well as Crocus; angels in human form, I mean, or rather, in their human state of initiation. There is no substitute. Gold will do something; but nothing of what a good man or a good woman will do—anywhere.'

'Miss Kennedy,' said Mr. Morton, rising, 'I regret much that a business appointment calls me away. But if you will indulge me, I will call again the day after to-morrow, in the afternoon, and perhaps I may hope for your company on a drive. You must make acquaintance with this fine region.'

'Thank you'—Wych Hazel hesitated, looking for some retreat, finally took shelter behind her guardian. 'Thank you, sir, I will ask Mr. Falkirk.'

'Miss Kennedy,' said Mr. Morton, extending his hand, 'you must allow me to express my admiration! I wish other young ladies were so thoughtful and prudent. But if they were, it would not make your conduct less remarkable.' And Mr. Morton departed, while Wych Hazel, turning a sharp pirouette on one toe, dropped into her chair like a thistle down. But all that appeared to the eyes of Mr. Dell was a somewhat extensive flutter of muslin. He had no time to remark upon it nor upon anything else, as there immediately succeeded a flutter of muslin in another direction, just entering in by the door; which secondary flutter was furnished by the furbelows of Mrs. Fellows, the lawyer's wife, and the scarf of Mrs. Dell, the mother of the clergyman himself. There was no more question about angels.