The Hall and the Grange: A Novel

by Archibald Marshall

To Miss Baldwin, watching the progress of that story in real life which she found even more absorbing than her favourite fiction, it seemed that complicating influences were coming into play, as summer passed into autumn and autumn into winter. The story was made the more interesting, but that happy ending which she rigidly exacted from all stories that should earn her approbation, became increasingly obscured to her vision. In a written story, you know—if you dealt with fiction of the sort that you could trust—that the happy ending would come, and previous troubles to be passed through only threw it into greater relief when it did come. But in a story of real life you could not be so sure. In real life things sometimes went wrong and remained wrong, which was one reason for turning for relief to the right sort of fiction.

Fred Comfrey, upon whose suit, it will be remembered, Miss Baldwin was inclined to look with favour, went away, rather suddenly. Watching Pamela with sharp but sympathetic eyes, she questioned whether "something" hadn't happened. There was some talk about Fred at breakfast and luncheon, which were Miss Baldwin's opportunities for getting into touch with family views. He was taking up a career in which he had already attained some success; and a still greater measure of success was expected of him now that he was ready to throw himself into it again. Colonel Eldridge seemed to believe in him, and to like him. Miss Baldwin could not interpret anything he said as a sign that he had any suspicion of Fred's hopes of winning Pamela. His references to the young man were hardly to be labelled as patronizing, but there was always a sense of difference in them; or so it seemed to Miss Baldwin, who was alive to such shades. She did not herself attach much social value to the Comfreys. The Vicar was the Vicar, ex-officio on an equality with her employers, and so treated by them, but he was obviously of a different clay from the Vicar of Blagrove, for instance, who with his family were of the intimates among the country neighbours. Mrs. Comfrey seemed hardly to consider herself, and certainly Miss Baldwin didn't consider her, on an equality with Mrs. Eldridge. If Fred were to be viewed only in the light of his origin, it would not be surprising that the idea of his aspiring to Pamela had not yet so much as entered the head of Pamela's father.

But love takes small heed of such reckonings; otherwise, what would have become of half the stories that Miss Baldwin so much enjoyed? The strong devoted young man who was to fight his arduous way to an eminence which he might fitly invite the lady of his choice to share with him, would be greatly encouraged in his ascent if that lady's sympathies were with him. And they might be; for she would see in him from the beginning something of what he had it in him to become.

Were Pamela's sympathies with Fred in his coming endeavours? Certainly they were. She agreed with everything that was said about the merit shown by a man with no initial advantages in making his way in the world by his own efforts and character. But there was no least little sign of a personal interest in the result. If there had been, Miss Baldwin could hardly have missed it. There seemed to be, instead, a tendency to close the subject, whenever it was opened, with some general or even platitudinous observation which, with other signs, persuaded Miss Baldwin that Pamela had acquired some distaste for Fred Comfrey. But she had been markedly friendly to him right up till the time he went away; so what could the reason be but that he had "said something to her?"

Out of her expert knowledge of such subjects, Miss Baldwin had no difficulty in conjecturing what that "something" had been, or in interpreting the slight indications afforded by Pamela as proof of what she had always supposed. Pamela had given Fred her friendship, but never in the smallest degree her love, and the premature declaration of his love for her had come as an unpleasant shock to her.

The effect of these conclusions upon Miss Baldwin herself was that from the moment she formed them her sympathies began to depart from Fred. This is easily explicable. Up until now he had been selected by her as the suitor towards whose success the story was directing itself. One allowed oneself those castings forward in the early stages of a story. But, when indications began to be dropped that a particular suitor was not intended for the prize, one put oneself upon the side of whoever else seemed likely to win it, thus preparing for full participation in the author's ultimate design. She had piled upon Fred virtues that were not too apparent as long as there seemed reasonable hope of his success; but now that Pamela, if she read her aright, had rejected the idea of him and his virtues, they seemed much less to her. He was not, unless Pamela chose to reckon him so, in any way to be considered her equal. He might, indeed, if the story should so run, quite adequately play some sort of villain's part, such as— But it was too early to cast forward in that direction. The story was still progressing in its main lines, with another suitor to be observed, and an evident awareness on the part of all the characters who came within her view of what was going on.

She had her opportunity with the rest of taking occasion to watch the trend of events, for Lady Crowborough, coming over to Hayslope on a day of early September to announce herself as the giver of an elaborate picnic entertainment, had graciously included Miss Baldwin, who happened to come within range of her vision, in the general invitation. Miss Baldwin hardly supposed that she would enjoy herself, when she accepted it; but she did, and not only because of the opportunities it gave her for observation. The whole affair was like a scene in a story—a story of high life—and her description of it, in letters to relatives were full, and within due limits enthusiastic.

The numerous guests, drawn from the houses large and small within a fairly wide radius, assembled at the Castle at about eleven o'clock of a golden morning. They came mostly in cars of their own, but some driving, some riding bicycles, and a few on horseback. The horses seemed to give the expedition something of the flavour of a past time, though there were hardly enough of them to deserve the style of cavalcade, such as must often have set out from Pershore Castle in days not long gone by. Pamela rode on a horse provided for her from the Pershore stables, and so did young Lord Horsham. So did a niece of Lady Crowborough's staying in the house, who was the life and soul of the party, and seemed to be responsible for many of the arrangements. She had taken particular notice of Miss Baldwin herself, and arranged for her to drive in a carriage with an extremely nice clergyman and his wife and invalid daughter, who were spending their holidays at a farmhouse near.

There were refreshments provided at the Castle before the start was made. Miss Baldwin described the Castle, as it had presented itself to her—one of the stately homes of England, of which she had been promised a more extended exploration at a future date. The noble owners had also struck her favourably, as true representatives of the aristocracy of our favoured land—stately, too, especially the Countess, but of the most courteous manner, and without a touch of condescension.

The scene of the picnic was a tract of primeval forest some ten miles away. There were ancient gnarled trees of immense girth, with little secret lawns, and stretches of deep bracken; a purling stream, and an outcrop of rugged rocks, where the picnic feast was held. After having feasted and strolled, the party returned to the Castle, and then broke up, at a comparatively early hour. A simple entertainment, but quite delightful experience, with most of the best-known people in that part of the County attending and all expressing themselves as having obtained the acme of enjoyment from it.