Scenes and Characters, or, Eighteen Months at Beechcroft

by Charlotte M. Yonge

He hastened them to the drawing-room, where they found Miss Aylmer, a sensible, lady-like looking person, and two brothers, of about fifteen and thirteen.

‘Well, Miss Aylmer, I have brought you two old friends; so old, that they think you have forgotten them—my cousin Lilias, and my sister Florence.’

‘We have not forgotten you, Miss Aylmer,’ said Florence, warmly shaking hands with her. ‘You seem so entirely to belong to Hetherington that I scarcely knew the place without you.’

There was something that particularly pleased Lily in the manner in which Miss Aylmer answered. Florence talked a little while, and then proposed to adjourn to the supplementary drawing-room—the lawn—where the company were already assembling.

Florence was soon called off to receive some other guest, and Lilias spent a considerable time in sitting under a tree talking to Miss Aylmer, whom she found exceedingly pleasant and agreeable, remembering all that had happened during their former intercourse, and interested in everything that was going on. Lily was much amused when her companion asked her who that gentleman was—‘that tall, thin young man, with dark hair, whom she had seen once or twice speaking to Lord Rotherwood?’

The tall gentleman advanced, spoke to Miss Aylmer, told Lily that the world was verging towards the tent, and giving one arm to her and the other to Miss Aylmer, took that direction. In the meantime Phyllis had been walking about with her eldest sister, and wondering what had become of all the others. In process of time she found herself seated on a high bench in the tent, with a most beautiful pink-and-white sugar temple on the table before her. She was between Eleanor and Frank. All along one side of the table was a row of faces which she had never seen before, and she gazed at them in search of some well-known countenance. At last Mr. Weston caught her eye, and nodded to her. Next to him she saw Marianne, then Reginald; on the other side Alethea and William. A little tranquillised by seeing that every one was not lost, she had courage to eat some cold chicken, to talk to Frank about the sugar temple, and to make an inventory in her mind of the smartest bonnets for Ada’s benefit. She was rather unhappy at not having found out when grace was said before dinner, and she made Eleanor promise to tell her in time to stand up after dinner. She could not, however, hear much, though warned in time, and by this time more at ease and rather enjoying herself than otherwise. Now Eleanor told her to listen, for Cousin Rotherwood was going to speak. She listened, but knew not what was said, until Mr. Hawkesworth told her it was Church and Queen. What Church and Queen had to do with Cousin Rotherwood’s birthday she could not imagine, and she laid it up in her mind to ask Claude. The next time she was told to listen she managed to hear more. By the help of Eleanor’s directions, she found out the speaker, an aged farmer, in a drab greatcoat, his head bald, excepting a little silky white hair, which fell over the collar of his coat. It was Mr. Elderfield, the oldest tenant on the estate, and he was saying in a slow deliberate tone that he was told he was to propose his lordship’s health. It was a great honour for the like of him, and his lordship must excuse him if he did not make a fine speech. All he could say was, that he had lived eighty-three years on the estate, and held his farm nearly sixty years; he had seen three marquises of Rotherwood besides his present lordship, and he had always found them very good landlords. He hoped and believed his lordship was like his fathers, and he was sure he could do no better than tread in their steps. He proposed the health of Lord Rotherwood, and many happy returns of the day to him.

The simplicity and earnestness of the old man’s tones were appreciated by all, and the tremendous cheer, which almost terrified Phyllis, was a fit assent to the hearty good wishes of the old farmer.

‘Now comes the trial!’ whispered Claude to Lilias, after he had vehemently contributed his proportion to the noise. Lilias saw that his colour had risen, as much as if he had to make a speech himself, and he earnestly examined the coronet on his fork, while every other eye was fixed on the Marquis. Eloquence was not to be expected; but, at least, Lord Rotherwood spoke clearly and distinctly.

‘My friends,’ said he, ‘you must not expect much of a speech from me; I can only thank you for your kindness, say how glad I am to see you here, and tell you of my earnest desire that I may not prove myself unworthy to be compared with my forefathers.’ Here was a pause. Claude’s hand shook, and Lily saw how anxious he was, but in another moment the Marquis went on smoothly. ‘Now, I must ask you to drink the health of a gentleman who has done his utmost to compensate for the loss which we sustained nine years ago, and to whom I owe any good intentions which I may bring to the management of this property. I beg leave to propose the health of my uncle, Mr. Mohun, of Beechcroft.’

Claude was much surprised, for his cousin had never given him a hint of his intention. It was a moment of great delight to all the young Mohuns when the cheer rose as loud and hearty as for the young lord himself, and Phyllis smiled, and wondered, when she saw her papa rise to make answer. He said that he could not attempt to answer Lord Rotherwood, as he had not heard what he said, but that he was much gratified by his having thought of him on this occasion, and by the goodwill which all had expressed. This was the last speech that was interesting; Lady Rotherwood’s health and a few more toasts followed, and the party then left the tent for the lawn, where the cool air was most refreshing, and the last beams of the evening sun were lighting the tops of the trees.