“Aunt Kezia!” came, I think, from us all—indignantly from Sophy, sorrowfully from Fanny, petulantly from Hatty, and from me in sheer astonishment.
“I suppose he has his reasons,” said my Aunt Kezia; “but that being so, I think Sophy had better go home for a while with the Bracewells, and Hatty, too. You, Cary, may go with Flora instead, if you like. Fanny, of course, is arranged for already, as she will be married by then, and will only have to stop at home.”
I thought I would very much rather go with Flora.
“I have had a letter from your Aunt Dorothea lately,” my Aunt Kezia went on, “in which she asks for Cary to pay her a visit next June. But now we are only in March. So, as Cary must be somewhere between times, and I think she would be better out of the way, she will go to Abbotscliff with Flora—unless, my dear,” she added, turning to me, “you would rather be at Bracewell Hall? You may, if you like.”
“I would rather be at Abbotscliff, very much, Aunt Kezia,” said I; and I think Aunt Kezia was pleased.
“Aunt Kezia, don’t send me away!” pleaded Sophy. “Do let me stay and help you to settle at Fir Vale. I should hate to stay at Bracewell, and I should just like bustling about and helping you in that way. Won’t you let me?”
“Well, my dear, we will see,” said my Aunt Kezia; and I think she was pleased with Sophy too. Hatty declared that Bracewell would just suit her, and she would not stay at any price, if she had leave to choose. So it seems to be settled in that way. Fanny will be married on the 30th,—that is three weeks hence; and the week after, Hatty goes with the Bracewells, and I with Flora, to their own homes; and my Aunt Kezia and Sophy will remain here, and only leave the house on the evening before the marriage.
It seems very odd that Father should have wished not to have us at his wedding. Was it Cecilia who did not wish it? But I am not to call her Cecilia any more.
When my cousins came in for tea, they were told too. Charlotte cried, “Well, I never!” for which piece of vulgarity she was sharply pulled up by my Aunt Kezia. Amelia fanned herself—she always does, whatever time of year it may be—and languidly remarked, “Dear!” Angus said, “Castor and Pollux!” for which he also got rebuked. And after a sort of “Oh!” Flora said nothing, but looked very sorrowfully at us. Cec—I mean Miss Osborne—did not appear at all until tea was nearly over, and then she came in from the garden, and Mr Parmenter with her, that everlasting eyeglass stuck in his eye. I do so dislike the man.
Father never comes to tea. He says it is only women’s rubbish, and laughs at Ephraim Hebblethwaite because he says he likes it. I fancy few men drink tea. My Uncle Charles never does, I know; but my Aunt Dorothea says she could not exist a day without tea and cards.