The Cuckoo in the Nest, v. 2/2

by Mrs. Oliphant

Upon what rule it was that old Sir Francis, rather a severe old gentleman to most people, had become grandpapa to Osy, while Colonel Piercey remained only, as of old, Cousin Colonel, is too subtle a question to enter into; but it was so to the perfect satisfaction of the two persons chiefly involved. And thus for the second time Osy cheered for Patty with the delighted readiness of an unbiassed soul.

Mrs. Piercey left Greyshott shortly after this, having left everything in the most perfect good order, and all the servants in the house, without saying a word of any new arrangements, though I need not say they had all read that paragraph in the newspapers. She went to London, where she spent a few weeks very pleasantly, and ordered a great many new dresses. Here she dismissed Jerningham, who carried away with her a number of black and white gowns, and the best recommendations. Patty plunged into pinks and blues with the zest of a person who has long been deprived of such indulgences, and the world learned by the newspapers that, on the 20th of August, Patience, widow of the late Gervase Piercey, Esq., of Greyshott, was married at St. George’s, Hanover Square, to Roger Pearson, Esq., of Canterbury House. The happy pair went abroad for their honeymoon, but did not enjoy the Continent, only entering into full and perfect bliss when they returned to the glistening glories of their new house. There had been various storms between them before the question of Greyshott had been decided, and it had required all Roger’s power and influence to carry his scheme to a successful conclusion. His determination not to sit down by another man’s fireside, and to have nothing to say to the old house, which he declared gave him the shivers to look at, were answered by many a scornful request to take himself off then, if he didn’t like it, and leave it to those who did.

“That’s just what I want—to leave it to those that like it: you don’t, Patty, and never will!” cried the bold lover. “How do I know? Oh, I know! You’ve gone through a lot, and you think you’ll have something for it, anyhow. Well, so you shall have something for it. Wait till you see the ’ouse that is just waiting till you say the word—ten times better an ’ouse, and folks all about us will be delighted to see you, and as much fun as you can set your face to!” Oh, how powerful and how sweet these arguments were! But to give Greyshott back was a bitter pill to Patty.

“I’ll sell it, then,” she said; “it’ll bring in a deal of money;” and this was what Miss Hewitt, who was almost mad with opposition, advised, arguing and beseeching till the foam flew from her mouth.

But Roger was obstinate. He declared that he would not be instrumental in taking any man’s home from him. “Money’s a different thing,” he said. “One sovereign’s just like another, but one ’ouse ain’t like another.” The telling argument, however, was one which Roger had the cleverness to pick up from a cricket reporter on a daily paper, to whom he had confided his romance.

“By George!” cried the journalist, “what a paragraph for my paper!” He said “par,” no doubt, but Patty would not have understood what this meant. When she did take up the idea, and understood that her praises were to be sung and her generosity extolled in every paper, and that the Pierceys would be made to sing small before her, Patty was overcome at last. Her heart swelled as if it would burst with triumph and a sense of greatness when she read that paragraph. She felt it to be altogether just and true. If they had not prosecuted, there was no telling what magnanimity she might not have been equal to, and she accepted the praise as one who had deserved it to the very utmost.

“They’ve been in it hundreds and hundreds of years,” she said to the new friends to whom her bridegroom introduced her in London—among whom were several newspaper men, and one who insisted upon getting her portrait for an illustrated paper—“as we have been in the Seven Thorns. Being of an old family myself, I have always felt for them.” This was reported in the little biographical notice which was appended to Mrs. Piercey’s portrait in the illustrated paper, where it was also told that she had been known far and wide as the Lily of the Seven Thorns, and had been carried off by the Squire’s son from many competitors. It made up for much, even for the fact, still bitter to her, that she had been cheated out of her title, and would never be Lady Piercey,—a loss and delusion which sometimes brought tears into her eyes long after she was Roger Pearson’s wife.

But when Patty settled down in her own ’Andsome ’Ouse, it was soon proved that Roger had not said a word too much. The cricketing world rallied round him. He ceased to be a professional, and became a gentleman cricketer and a member of the M.C.C. The cricket pitch within the grounds of Canterbury House was admirable, and matches were played there, in which not only the honour of the county, but the honour of England, was involved. Patty gave cricket luncheons and even cricket dinners, to which the golden youth of England came gladly, and where even great ladies, watching the cricket for one side or another, were content to be entertained. Patty drove her two spanking horses over the county, calling at the best houses; while even Lady Hartmore, after the restitution as she called it, paid her a visit of ceremony, which Mrs. Roger Pearson, swelling with pride and triumph, never returned. Not to have returned Lady Hartmore’s visit was almost as great a distinction as to have received one from the Queen. And all the lesser ladies in the county envied Patty the strength of mind which made her capable of such a proof of independence.

Colonel Piercey and his wife became shortly afterwards the inhabitants of Greyshott, which suited Sir Francis better than to have his long-accustomed quiet permanently disturbed. “Though I’d like to keep the boy,” he said. It cost a good deal to Colonel Pierce’s pride, but it lay with his father to decide, and there was nothing more to say. They were not rich, for Greyshott was a difficult place to keep up on a limited income; but it was something, no doubt, after the shock of the restoration, to have the old house still.

And Patty flourishes and spreads like a green baytree. She is not so careful of etiquette, so anxious to be always correct and do what other ladies do. She is beginning to grow stout; her colour is high; her nursery is full; and she is, beyond all question, a much happier woman than she ever could have been in Greyshott, even had Lady Hartmore called and all gone well—now that she and her husband live in continual jollity in their own ’Andsome ’Ouse.