'I CRAVE YOUR MAJESTY'S PARDON WITH ALL MY HEART.' Page [266].
THE
OAK STAIRCASE
A Narrative of the Times of James II.
BY
M. AND C. LEE
AUTHORS OF
'JOACHIM'S SPECTACLES' 'ROSAMOND FANE' ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY J. AYTON SYMINGTON
GRIFFITH FARRAN BROWNE & CO. LIMITED
35 BOW STREET, COVENT GARDEN
LONDON
PREFACE.
In the following narrative we have made use of two entirely distinct anecdotes: the history of the 'Maids of Taunton'—which is a well-known episode in the record of the Duke of Monmouth's Rebellion—and the romantic story of the marriage between Lord Sunderland's daughter and the Earl of Clancarty. But although these incidents have in reality no connection with each other whatever, we have ventured to combine the two, and found upon them the adventures of the young Lord Desmond and Frances Dalrymple.
M. AND C. LEE.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
[LADY GREENSLEEVES' STORY (CONTINUED)]
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
THE OAK STAIRCASE.
CHAPTER I.
A WET HALF-HOLIDAY.
It was the opinion of Robin Dalrymple that Mangnall was a humbug. Such, at least, was the fact that he announced, in tones both loud and decided, as he closed a somewhat battered copy of that author's works with a tremendous clap, and tossed it contemptuously on the table. Lessons were over in the schoolroom at Horsemandown; and Miss Gregory, at the writing-table in her own peculiar corner, was doing her best to be deaf for a few moments to her pupils' clamour, while she tried to finish a letter in time for the post. Now the Horsemandown schoolroom was hardly the place one would choose for the purpose of writing a letter at any time—much less at four o'clock in the afternoon, when the operation of 'clearing away' was taking place. Fortunately, however, Miss Gregory was used to it; and her pen continued to scratch away valiantly, in spite of the opening and shutting of drawers, the tumbling of books or slates on the floor, the heavy bang of the piano lid, and the uproar of shrill voices that almost drowned the rest of the clatter around her. 'Yes,' repeated Robin, taking up a perilous position on the table between two inkstands: 'Mangnall is a humbug! Silvia, don't you agree with me?'
But Silvia was busily engaged with a sponge and a gallipot of water, generally known in the family as 'the schoolroom jam-pot;' and as she never could answer when appealed to suddenly, she was obliged to pause in her occupation of washing the slates, and lean both elbows on the table in order to meditate. Whereupon Sydney burst in: 'Humbug, of course! All lessons are humbug, except perhaps geography. That's the only one that has something like sense in it.'
Robin raised his eyebrows incredulously. 'Sense in geography! Why, Syd, if there is a thing that's utterly abominable and senseless, that's it. To have to remember what's the capital of what, and where rivers "take their source," and to find out the latitude and longitude of wretched places where one never goes, and never wants to go!'
'But that is the very thing,' said Sydney. 'I do want to go there; and, what is more, I mean to go some day when I'm a sailor, and sail round the world. I want to go to China and India and South America—Egypt, of course (not Europe. I don't care for stupid, civilised places).'
'Oh Syd!' interrupted Silvia's deliberate little voice. 'Not care to see Edinburgh or Rome! Think of Horatius. Don't you care to see places where things happened long ago, or where celebrated people used to live? I did so like going over the Tower last year, and seeing where the poor little princes were murdered, and where Sir Walter Raleigh was imprisoned, and putting my hand on the very same stone that perhaps his had been on.'
'But why?' asked Sydney. 'It makes no difference. The stone looks just the same, whether he touched it or not.'
Silvia could not tell why. She could only knit her brows, and repeat in a meditative tone her favourite phrase, 'Somehow—I don't know,' till Sydney grew tired of waiting for an answer, and began again.
'Well, all that I can say is, that I don't care a farthing for the Tower of London, or Horatius, or Sir Walter Raleigh, or any of those people. I never can remember which is which, or what they did. I want to travel, and discover new countries, and fight wild beasts and savages, and see all sorts of extraordinary plants and animals, and forests full of poisonous snakes and fire-flies, and tremendously big ferns, and humming-birds, and get into all sorts of dangers, and go where no one has ever been before. Oh, that would be glorious!'
'Somehow,' began Silvia, rousing herself from a reverie, and going on rather languidly with her slate-cleaning duties—'I don't know—(well, you needn't laugh whenever I open my mouth, Sydney). I mean to say, I should like to have the "goloshes of fortune."'
'What! Like the people in Robin's fairy-book?' said little Dolly.
'Yes: who always got whatever they wished for, directly they put the goloshes on. I should like to jump back into the Middle Ages, like the old Professor.'
'But you know, Silvia,' Robin remarked, with a very sagacious look in his round brown eyes: 'you know how much the Professor hated the Middle Ages when he got into them.'
'That,' rejoined Silvia, 'was because he managed so badly. He didn't know he was in the Middle Ages at all. I should know where I was, and not be surprised at everything looking different and odd. I should keep wishing myself first in one century and then in another, I think——'
'Yes. And only imagine,' said Sydney, 'how Queen Elizabeth would open her eyes when you told her about railways, and the penny post, and balloons, and photographs, and velocipedes!'
'Oh, Syd, I wish you wouldn't! As if I should tell her anything about those stupid things! Of course I shouldn't talk about what wasn't invented—then-a-days,' finished Silvia, after pausing in vain for a suitable expression.
'Well, do you know,' announced Robin, putting his hands in his pockets, and nodding his head emphatically, 'I think the "goloshes of fortune" would be awfully wasted on you two. Such stupid things to wish! I know what would be much jollier than journeying back into the Middle Ages among all those ridiculous people in Mangnall; or going to places where one never can find their latitude or longitude.'
'My dear Robin,' cried Christie, 'your grammar is getting perfectly wild.'
'Pooh! Bother grammar. Because Christie happens to be twelve, she is always setting-up to be as clever as Miss Gregory. As if one could worry one's self about grammar out of school hours. Now, Silvia, I'll tell you where I'd go if I had those goloshes: I'd go right into fairy-land, and see all the people in the Arabian Nights and the Midsummer Night's Dream, and Hans Andersen's stories. They would be much better worth seeing than your Sir Walter Raleighs and Horatiuses and Syd's savages. I shouldn't care to see real people; they would put me so in mind of Mangnall.'
'I don't much like Mangnall,' Silvia confessed. 'But I tell you what: it would be rather nice to be put into it one's self when one is grown up. I mean to write books some day; and then, perhaps, I might be put into the British Biographies!'
'Oh Silvia, and have a portrait like this!' cried Robin, opening the ill-used book at a page where Miss Mitford was depicted in company with other worthies, whose heads had been adorned by Sydney with cocked hats, and whose eyes had been altered by Robin to a size and blackness appalling to behold.
'Come, boys,' said Christie, after there had been a general laugh at Silvia's ambition, 'make haste and finish putting away, and then we'll go and have some fun in the long garret.'
This suggestion cleared the room very speedily; for the long garret was much esteemed by the young Dalrymples, on a wet afternoon like the present, as a capital substitute for the garden or the park. Here they had a long and exciting game of hide-and-seek; and it was not till the autumn afternoon was near its close, and twilight was gradually creeping on and filling the corners of the garret with gloom, that Silvia, the least active of the party, and tired of the sport, stole away by herself to one of her favourite haunts. This was the top step of the fine old oak staircase, which formed one of the chief beauties of the house of Horsemandown. From there she could peep through the carved, twisted bannisters, and watch whatever went on in the hall below. Sometimes it was Sir Bernard Dalrymple's brown setter and Robin's little rough terrier romping on the mat by the hall door which engaged her attention; sometimes it was her mother watering the flowers, that seemed to bloom perpetually in the sunny hall window; and sometimes it was Sydney and Christie having one of their most exciting games of battledore, which were really worth looking at, so well did they both play.
When these amusements failed, and the hall was deserted, as was the case at present, Silvia found plenty of companions in the pictures, which covered the walls around her. Beyond the fact that they were most of them portraits of her own ancestors, she knew very little about them. But that did not matter, for she used to find names for them all out of whatever book she was reading. These names generally had nothing to do with their style of dress, which Silvia considered a matter of no consequence: she only cared for some imaginary likeness of feature or expression. Thus, a tall, thin, dark-eyed gentleman with a Vandyke beard had been christened by turns 'Hamlet,' 'Prince Giglio,' or 'Osmond de Centeville,' according to whether Silvia was absorbed in Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare, The Rose and the Ring, or The Little Duke; while a severe-looking dame, with powdered hair and an unmistakable hoop, did duty with equal faithfulness for 'The Lady of Branksome Tower,' or the Witch Aunt in Mrs Leicester's School.
On the present occasion Silvia was not left long in undisturbed possession of her favourite nook, for on the dispersion of the garret-party she was joined by Robin; who, after remarking with a yawn that prisoners'-base indoors was decidedly slow, tried to get rid of his superfluous energy by sliding down the bannisters to the bottom of the staircase. Silvia felt obliged to put down her book, and watch him as he climbed slowly up again outside the railing, and felt much relieved when he appeared at the top.
'What book are you poring over now?' he inquired with some contempt, peeping over his sister's shoulder. 'History! Oh Silvia, how can you—in play-time?'
'It's not history; it's a story,' said Silvia indignantly; 'at least it is just like a story. And it is so interesting.'
'But it's all true?' said Robin, with a face of great disgust.
'Well, it is just as nice as if it wasn't,' replied his sister. 'And besides, I think I rather like books to be true, or, at any rate, to think that they might be true. I can't think why you hate all the people in history so, Robin!'
'I don't hate them all,' said Robin, after pondering the subject with a very grave face. 'I like them when they do something uncommonly jolly; and, besides, there certainly are some that I want to know about very much indeed. One's own relations, I mean. I know they are in history books—that is, some of them: relations who lived a long time ago. What do you call them?'
'Ancestors do you mean?' said Silvia. 'I want to know about them too; for Uncle Algernon once told me that there were some very curious stories about the pictures in this house, especially those on the staircase.'
'Did he?' said Robin. 'Then that's what papa meant when I asked who that boy was.' (Robin pointed, as he spoke, to a picture that hung on the wall opposite.) 'He said I must ask Uncle Algernon, for he was a namesake of his, and knew all about him. I always call him "Bluecoat," and I want to know about him more than any of them.'
Silvia surveyed the picture in question with a great deal of interest. It represented a boy of about Robin's age, with dark, bright eyes, handsome features and chestnut curls, which hung down as low as the rich lace scarf which was tied round his neck. He wore lace ruffles at his wrists, and the blue velvet coat which had earned him Robin's nickname was adorned with the most elaborate embroidery.
'I wonder when he lived,' said Silvia thoughtfully. 'But, Robin, I should like to know still better about that little girl next him. Do you think she is his sister?'
'They are not a bit alike,' pronounced her brother. 'Oh Silvia, she's got regular green sleeves, don't you see, like that old woman in Granny's Wonderful Chair?'
'Yes; I found that out long ago. I always call her "Lady Greensleeves,"' replied Silvia.
'She is very pretty, I think, in spite of that funny dress. But she looks very proud and dignified.'
'I suppose she was some grand lady. How she stares at one!' added Silvia, hastily turning her eyes away, but only to meet the gaze of other generations of Dalrymples, who frowned or smiled on her in all directions. 'It is very odd that they should look at one so hard, isn't it?' she said in a half-whisper to Robin. 'I always notice it, especially when I am coming up to bed.'
'Yes,' replied her brother, 'It was Bluecoat staring at me so, that first made me notice him; and now I don't mind it a bit, but always nod to him and say good-night when I come up-stairs. I wish I knew all about him. Now, if we had but the goloshes of fortune, Silvia, what fun it would be! We would make all the pictures tell us their stories.'
'How would it be if I was to ask them?' said a voice just above the children.
Silvia started and looked round. Some one was leaning over the balustrade in the passage behind them.
'Why, Uncle Algernon!' exclaimed Robin after a pause of surprise; 'you haven't heard all we have been saying?'
'Well, I don't know about all,' said Uncle Algernon, laughing; 'but I heard about Bluecoat and Lady Greensleeves and the goloshes of fortune. So you want the portraits to tell you their stories, do you, Silvia?'
'Oh Uncle Algernon, do you think us very silly? But papa says you know their stories. Do you really? And how did you find them out?'
'How do you know that I haven't a pair of those goloshes hidden away in that cupboard in my dressing-room?'
'I wish you had!' sighed Silvia, looking wistfully at Lady Greensleeves' mischievous brown eyes and rosy smiling mouth.
'Well, but if you do know the stories, why shouldn't you tell them to us?' suggested Robin. 'It would be almost as jolly as if the pictures were to speak themselves; wouldn't it, Silvia?'
'Not quite, I think,' Silvia said, with a doubtful glance at Uncle Algernon. 'You see, it would be so nice to hear all that they used to think, and how Horsemandown looked in those days,—all in their own words, you know, Robin.'
'Ah, but then they would talk in an old way, like the people in history books,—"hath," and "natheless," and "by my halidome." I can't bear coming to those kind of words in Mrs. Markham.'
'Well, Silvia, what do you say to this?' said Uncle Algernon after a moment's silence, during which he had seated himself between his nephew and niece on the broad step. 'Lady Greensleeves and I are very old friends. I am going to take down her portrait to-night and clean it in my dressing-room. Now, suppose I were to ask her, as a very particular favour, to tell her story to you and Robin in her own words.'
'Oh uncle!' cried both children at once; 'how delightful! Will you really? But what do you mean? How can she, in her own words?'
'Never mind,' quoth Uncle Algernon, nodding significantly. 'As I said before, she is a very old friend of mine, and I have a strong persuasion that she won't refuse me this; besides, you forget the goloshes of fortune. Nothing can be refused to one, you know, when one has those goloshes on.'
'But, uncle, how can you make her tell it us?'
'Never mind,' said Uncle Algernon again, 'you will see all in good time. Only come to my dressing-room to-morrow when lessons are finished,—you and Robin, nobody else,—and I'll tell you what comes of my interview with her ladyship.'
The dinner-bell rang at this moment, whereupon Uncle Algernon jumped up and beat a hasty retreat into the said dressing-room.
'How does he mean to do it?' asked Silvia, after pondering for a whole minute without speaking.
'I don't know, I can't think, unless he means to write a story about her. You know he does write books; so perhaps——'
But at this juncture the discussion came to an end, for the lamp blazed up in the hall below, and Christie came rushing along the gallery, crying, 'Silvia, Robin, have you really been sitting here in the dark all this time? Why, the tea-bell rang a quarter of an hour ago. There are muffins; and Sydney is eating all the blackberry jam!'
The next morning Lady Greensleeves had disappeared from the staircase. Uncle Algernon had a passion for cleaning oil-paintings, and one or other of the family portraits was always to be found in his room whenever he came to stay at Horsemandown.
Not a moment was lost by Robin and Silvia when four o'clock struck that afternoon, and lessons were over, in rushing to the bright, pleasant room which was always called Uncle Algernon's dressing-room, and held sacred to him, even when he was away on his travels on the other side of the world.
There he sat in the midst of his books and drawings, and cases of stuffed birds and curiosities, brought from all parts of the globe. He was in a big arm-chair on one side of the fire-place, and the sofa was drawn up on the other. The portrait of Lady Greensleeves was in the room too, looking much fresher and brighter than she had done ever since the children could remember.
'Well, Silvia, here we are, you see, both at your service,' said Uncle Algernon as they entered. 'Make yourselves comfortable on the sofa; only, first allow me to introduce you to her ladyship, Frances Countess of Desmond, the wife of your old friend Bluecoat; or rather, to give him his proper name and title, Algernon Carey Earl of Desmond.'
'His wife!' ejaculated Robin, staring with a puzzled air, first at Uncle Algernon, and then at Lady Greensleeves' picture. 'But she is a little girl!'
'Oh, Robin,' said Silvia reproachfully, 'don't you know people used to marry when they were children long ago? Don't you remember about Jeanne D'Albret?'
'Used they?' asked Robin vaguely. 'Oh well, I never remember about people in history, so I daresay they did. But, Uncle Algernon, I thought Lady Greensleeves was an ancestor of ours, and that her name was Dalrymple?'
'So it was, before she married,' replied his uncle. 'But you shall hear all about it if you will sit down and listen. She has graciously consented to your wish, that she should tell you her history in her own words, but——'
'Oh, Uncle Algernon! Not really. I can't believe it. What do you mean?' cried Silvia, jumping upon her uncle's knee and putting both hands on his shoulders, while she gazed into his eyes to see if he were laughing or not.
'Are you in fun, Uncle Algernon?' said Robin, looking doubtfully from his uncle to Lady Greensleeves.
'No, indeed I am quite in earnest. Lady Greensleeves is going to tell you her history, only through me; for, you see, she only condescends to speak directly to a very old intimate friend like myself; so she has dictated it to me, and I will tell it in her own words exactly as she said it.'
'Oh, I understand!' exclaimed Robin, clapping his hands. 'It will be an I story, you know, Silvia—as if she had written it herself, like Robinson Crusoe.'
'Exactly,' said Uncle Algernon, laughing. 'And at my special request she has addressed it to you and Silvia, and has kindly consented to bring in as little of "natheless" and "by my halidome" and "in good sooth" as she can possibly help.'
'Oh, thank you, Uncle Algernon, how nice it will be! Please go on.'
And with Silvia on his knee, and Robin on the sofa opposite, Uncle Algernon began the story of Lady Greensleeves.
CHAPTER II.
LADY GREENSLEEVES' STORY.
In the year 1674 (nearly two hundred years ago, my dears), I was born in this house. My name, as you now know, was not Lady Greensleeves or Lady anything then, but plain Mistress Frances Dalrymple. My father, Sir Bernard, was the third baronet of our house. You know his portrait in the mulberry-coloured coat and fair periwig over the dining-room chimney-piece; my mother's hangs opposite, just as it did when I first remember it. Well, as I said just now, I was born in this house, and till I was ten years old I never left it for a single night. You know we could not rush about in my time as you do now: as for going to the sea-side in the summer, such an idea never entered our heads. I suppose we were stronger than you modern people. At all events, doctors never ordered us change of air; and we did very well without it. Besides, we didn't care much about the sea in those days. I daresay you would hardly believe me if I told you that I never even saw it till I was past twenty, and then the sight was anything but pleasant to me. But this was the fact, nevertheless; and I do not think it ever occurred to any of us that we should like to stay by the shore and build castles in the sand, and hunt for shells and pebbles, as children do in these days.
'I was very happy here at Horsemandown running about with my three brothers—playing with the dogs, and attending to our chickens, our tame animals, our hawks, and goats, and rabbits. Ah, those were merry days! (jolly, I suppose you would say). Such games of hide-and-seek we used to have in the garden and park! There were about three times as many trees in the park in those days: one old hollow oak there was, a splendid hiding-place, but in which nobody ever thought of hiding, because it was always there that the seekers first came to search. Old Shad (Shadrach was his proper name), my father's falconer, used to call it Merlin's Oak. He knew an endless stock of stories about King Arthur and his knights, and Merlin, and all those people; and we used firmly to believe that King Arthur lived at Horsemandown, and that the great table inlaid with brass in my mother's grand withdrawing-room must have been the original round-table. As to Merlin, old Shad had not the smallest doubt that he was charmed to sleep in our favourite oak, and we thought of course that Shad knew all about it. I remember little Roger, the youngest of us all, asking Shad if he had ever been out hawking with King Arthur. Roger had very odd ideas about age. He thought nobody ever had been, or ever could be, older than Shad; and told Mrs. Rebecca, my mother's tirewoman (I beg your pardon, lady's-maid), that she was what he considered an elderly person. If she had been thirty-two instead of twenty-two, I don't think she would have laughed till she cried, or have taken the pains to chase Roger round the room for a kiss. My brothers were all younger than myself. Oliver came next to me. Poor Oliver, how fond I was of him! But so indeed I was of Miles and Roger. The same tutor taught us all; and the only lesson that I had apart from them was needlework. That hour which I spent every morning, doing silk embroidery under my mother's superintendence, was the time that I hated more than all the rest of the day. My mother was very skilful in this obnoxious embroidery, and indeed in all kinds of work; but in other respects she was not an accomplished woman. So, as she and our tutor, Master Waynefleet, were my only teachers till I was more than ten years old, I could neither dance nor sing, nor play upon the harp, as a well-educated young lady ought to have done. I don't think my mother considered these accomplishments necessary. At all events, she did not take my ignorance then much to heart. My father would sometimes look at me with a doubtful, critical sort of expression, and ask me an abrupt question, generally about my studies; sometimes he would inquire what I had been doing with myself all day, and my answers never seemed to please him. He would raise his eyebrows, and give a peculiar whistle, or a short laugh, which always made me feel very uncomfortable, and very much ashamed of myself, though I did not exactly know why. However, it was not very often that this happened, for I saw very little of my father; and, to say the truth, this did not much distress me. Children in these days can have no idea how dreadfully afraid of him I used to be; and yet I was by no means a shy or timid child. Rather the contrary. I was not afraid of my mother, nor of Master Nicholas Waynefleet; though I certainly never dreamed of treating him in the familiar way that you would treat your elders now-a-days. Not that I should have been any better if I had been born in this century. Dear me, no! I should probably have been the most pert and disrespectful of you all; but when I try to imagine myself romping with my father, and asking him questions, or answering him, as you do your papa and mamma, it really makes me quite cold and shaky. Ah! even mamma, though I loved her with all my heart (and no mother could be fonder of her daughter than she was of me), would have been rather astonished if I had plunged into her arms and given her one of those rough, unceremonious hugs and kisses that I so often see inflicted on the present Lady Dalrymple of Horsemandown. Why, she always taught me to courtesy when I entered or left a room, even if no one was there but herself; and I very seldom called her anything but madam. I daresay this seems frightfully cold and stiff to you, but it was as natural to me as it is to you to address your governess as "Miss Gregory," instead of using her Christian name. Mamma and I were a good deal together. I being the only girl, and papa being very seldom at home, I was her only companion, and my time was spent pretty equally between her and my brothers. My father, as I have said, was not often at Horsemandown. Some part of the year he was, of course, obliged to be in London to attend Parliament; but at other times he would be constantly away from home. He was a good deal at the court; for my father was a great favourite of King Charles II., and both he and my grandfather had been among those gentlemen who were sent over to Holland to bring home the King at the Restoration in 1660. He never took my mother with him either to London or to the court, and I do not think she had any more wish to go than he had to take her. His whole mind was wrapped up in politics, and she took not the slightest interest in them; neither did she care for the court and its gaieties. She used to tell me that she had had enough of court life when she first married, and hoped that, if ever I did go to Whitehall, I might be as glad to leave it as she had been. All her interest now was in me and my brothers, and in the affairs of the household and estate. She was an extremely brisk, active person, always busied about something. I was very proud of helping her in the garden, the still-room, and the kitchen; for she always superintended the making of preserves, pickles, and home-made wines, etc. We used to go about the garden together, cutting off the dead roses, gathering saffron, lavender, and camomile flowers, and spreading them out to dry in the sunny window-seats of the still-room,—into the dairy to watch the four apple-cheeked dairy-maids churning away at the butter, and pressing the cheese; and we used to attend to the poultry too; and to the bees; and to walk to any cottage on the estate where a sick person had been heard of, carrying sundry draughts, compounded by my mother's own hand. Well! I always like to remember those days. I think they were the best, or if not quite the best, at least they were some of the happiest days of my life. However, I daresay you would rather hear about my unhappiest days. That quiet, comfortable kind of life that one really enjoys most one's self, is not half so amusing to other people as one's misfortunes; but I am coming to a more interesting part of my story now. One morning (it was in December 1684, when I was between ten and eleven years old) Oliver and I were going out hunting with old Shad. He had begun to teach us to ride, almost before we could walk; and I must say I think we did him great credit. This was the first winter we had been ever allowed to hunt. Mamma had long given it up, though she was an excellent horsewoman. She had no time for it now, she said; but she never minded trusting us to Shad's care. And, after every gallop across country, Oliver and I used to nearly tease the life out of the poor old fellow till he promised to take us again. It was a fresh wind this morning, with some bursts of sunshine from time to time, as the clouds flew across the sky. Oliver and I would insist on racing one another through the park, heedless of poor Shad, who jogged behind at a sober pace, shouting to us imploringly not to tire the horses so early in the day. We were flying along in this way, both in mad spirits, down a rough, winding lane that skirted the park, both bent upon seeing who should first leap a little brook that crossed the path, when suddenly what should appear running towards us but a rough grey Irish staghound, the sight of which made Oliver exclaim, "Larry! and my father!" When his master went from home, Larry was seldom left behind. They both had been away for more than a month, staying with Sir Harry Mountfort at New Court, and my father had sent us no notice of his intended return. Oliver, when he saw Larry followed by two mounted figures advancing very carefully and deliberately over the stones and ruts of the narrow lane, immediately turned and trotted back to the side of the ill-used Shad, and I had a strong inclination to do the same; but my little mare Hebe was going at a pace somewhat too headlong to be checked in a moment, and I was over the brook almost before I had time to think about it. I had shot right between the two horsemen before I could pull up, and was not surprised to hear a loud exclamation of mingled wrath and astonishment as I flew past. A very strong exclamation it was,—not quite what your papa would like his little girl to hear; but gentlemen in those times were not scrupulous as to their language, even before their wives and daughters. When at length I managed to bring Mrs. Hebe to a standstill, my father had dismounted, and striding up to me, took hold of the bridle and turned her head. Not a word did he say to me till he had examined Hebe all over with an anxious and critical eye; then, patting her glossy neck soothingly, he turned his mind to me. I suppose I looked in a terrible fright. I certainly felt as if my cheeks were crimson, and my hands shook so that I dropped the reins. My father put them into my hand again with one of his sarcastic laughs, and then asked, less angrily than I expected:
'"And now, Mistress Frances, where might you be going to in such a hurry?"
'"We were going out with Mr. Atherley's hounds," I faltered out, finding it very hard to keep from bursting into tears.
'"Oh, indeed! Are you in the habit of following Mr. Atherley's hounds all by yourself?"
'"No, sir; Shad is taking me and Oliver. We have only been once before." And as I spoke, I saw, to my great relief, Shad and my brother emerging from a bend in the lane.
'"And pray, what does Shad mean by letting you start at this break-neck pace, and down this lane too,—full of holes like fish-pools, and flints as sharp as the point of my rapier? Out upon him! If you had thrown down Hebe! That old fool Shad shall be taken to account for this."
'In spite of the awe that I felt for my father, I could not sit silently and hear dear old Shad abused, especially when I knew my brother and I were alone to blame with regard to the "break-neck pace."
'"Indeed, sir," I cried eagerly, "it was not Shad's fault at all. He called to us the whole way not to gallop; but we wouldn't stop, because we wanted to run races."
'"Faith! but she's a spirited little damsel," said my father's companion, laughing. "Come, Dalrymple, as Hebe's knees, luckily, are not broken, you must forgive her this time. You won't have the trouble of keeping her in order much longer, you know. It will be somebody else's business to scold her soon."
'Somebody else! What could he mean? I dared not ask, for he had not spoken to me; so I could only glance curiously, first at him, then at my father. There was not much to be gathered from their faces, however. That of the latter was stern, and a little anxious, while his friend's expressed nothing but amusement.
'"There, there! A truce to that for the present, Mountfort," my father said as he caught my eye. "As you say, Hebe's knees are, luckily, not broken—(no thanks to her mistress, though); so we will say no more about it now. Frances, this is my friend, Sir Harry Mountfort. Give him your hand; and don't look sheepish, like a little country maiden who has never seen a gentleman in her life before."
'Now, however sheepish one may feel, one does not like to be called so before a stranger; so I held up my head, and made a tremendous effort to look dignified and self-possessed, as became Mistress Frances Dalrymple of Horsemandown. Sir Harry shook hands good-naturedly; asked me about my hunting; said I sat my horse admirably, and wished me a good day's sport; but I could hardly answer him properly, because I was trying all the time to hear what my father was saying to Shad and Oliver. He did not take Shad to task, as he had threatened to do, but merely told him to go on with Oliver, and to take the horses gently down the lane. But what was my dismay when he said, "Mistress Frances will not hunt this morning. I shall take her home with me!" I really could not keep the tears out of my eyes this time, it was such a terrible disappointment. I looked ruefully at Sir Harry, with a faint hope that he might remonstrate on my behalf, as he had done before. But no: he evidently did not mean to do any such thing; so I was obliged to keep my vexation to myself, and watch Shad and Oliver with longing eyes, as they vanished from view down the lane. I could not understand whether my father was still angry with me or not, but thought he must have put a stop to my hunting as a punishment for my carelessness in risking Hebe's knees. What other reason he could have, I tried in vain to imagine. He had never before cared to have me with him,—never before introduced me to any of the friends who from time to time he brought to Horsemandown. At all events, whatever his motive might be, I thought it very hard to be obliged to ride soberly home by my father's side, when I might have been galloping over the fields, leaping hedges and ditches,—chattering at my ease to Oliver, with no one to control us but poor, dear, old Shad, who let us do almost anything we chose; and whom in return, I am afraid, we teased without mercy. We rode slowly back up the lane, and through the park; and though I kept on crying to myself, I contrived to choke back the sobs that rose in my throat. But tears would roll faster and faster down my cheeks. I thought of my last day's hunting, when I had outstripped all the ladies of the party, not to mention Oliver and Shad,—when the master of the hounds had praised my horsemanship, and I had struck Miles and Roger with awe and admiration by bringing home the brush in my hat. How proud I was of my exploits that day! and how much I had been bent upon gaining even more praise this morning! Dear me! I am afraid I must have been a vain little girl in those days, and a very foolish one too, to make such a fuss about a little disappointment. A year later I had learned to be wiser; for the more of the world we see, the less important we think ourselves; and when once we know by experience what real trouble is, little everyday vexations seem much easier to bear. For some time my father and Sir Harry were too much wrapped up in their own conversation to take any notice of me or my tears. I daresay I should have listened too, and forgotten my grievance, if I could have understood what they were saying; but, unfortunately, they spoke French; and though I used to read French and make translations every day with Master Waynefleet, that was quite a different thing to being able to follow it when people chose to speak in very fast and eager undertones. Now and then I caught my own name, but that only made me feel more aggrieved at not understanding anything else. So I cried on like a silly child, "because I'd nothing else to do" (as that Irish song says, that Christie is always singing when she goes up and down stairs). At last Sir Harry turned his head to ask me whether I thought mamma would give him a night's lodging, and looked somewhat astonished at the sight of my dolorous face.
'"Why, Dalrymple!" cried he; "here's a melancholy state of things. Your daughter is weeping out those bright eyes of hers, by way of giving us a welcome to Horsemandown."
'"What's the matter now, Frances?"
'My father's glance of cold surprise, and the tone of annoyance with which he asked this, checked my tears in a moment.
'"Well!" he repeated when I hesitated, thoroughly ashamed of having behaved so childishly before a stranger. "Oh, is that all?" he said when I murmured something about hunting; and he looked at Sir Harry with a laugh, and an expressive shrug of the shoulders. "Don't be a baby, child! I expected to find you more of a woman."
'This was humiliating. I would have given up two or three days' hunting now not to have cried.
'"Never mind, Mistress Frances," said good-natured Sir Harry; "you can go a-hunting when I am gone, you know. I shall be off to-morrow morning, so you only have to-day to make my acquaintance; and you and I are going to be great friends, I am sure." And so we were, before many minutes had passed. My tears dried in the wind, and in a little while I found myself talking and laughing with Sir Harry Mountfort as if I had known him all my life, and much more at my ease then I had ever ventured to be with my father. Sir Harry asked me all sorts of questions, paid me all sorts of compliments, and said the most absurd things with the gravest of faces; and my father, too, talked more pleasantly than he had ever talked to me before, and laughed at his friend's ridiculous speeches as much as I did myself. I began to think Sir Harry the kindest man I had ever seen, and yet every now and then there was something in his eyes that gave me a suspicion that he was what Robin would call "chaffing me." All the time, I had a vague sort of feeling that my mother would dislike him, though I could not feel sure why. As we rode up to the house, Miles and Roger came tearing out of the poultry-yard to see who we were, but, upon closer inspection, tore back again, and, by the time we had dismounted, reappeared walking demurely one on each side of mamma, who wore her great black garden hood, and had her apron filled with eggs. However she was dressed, mamma could not look anything but a thorough lady, and a very beautiful woman too; still my father, as he greeted her and introduced Sir Harry Mountfort, was evidently a little bit distressed at her costume, and, I could see, was particularly scandalized at the exhibition of the eggs. "So you have brought back Frances!" she said, looking anxiously at my face, which still showed signs of my crying fit.
'"Nothing has happened? She has had no accident with Hebe?"
'"No, sweetheart," replied my father, with a tinge of impatience in his voice; "I wanted the child at home to-day. Surely when I come home, after being absent for so long, my daughter might be content to spend a few hours with me without grudging." Then, as I ran away to change my habit and tell my adventures to the boys, I heard him add in a lower key: "I must have a little conversation with you about Frances, Sir Harry and I have——"
'The rest of the sentence I lost, but I had heard enough to throw me into a state of extreme curiosity and excitement. Something must be going to happen to me,—there could be no doubt about that; but was it to be something agreeable or disagreeable? I felt half frightened, yet at the same time in tremendously high spirits, as I pondered over this mysterious something, and made all sorts of wild guesses as to what it could be. How I longed for Oliver to come home, that I might talk it over with him! But I knew he would not return till late in the afternoon; and Miles and Roger were so little. Besides, Roger was always making odd remarks, and saying just the thing one did not want him to say. There was no telling what he might repeat before Sir Harry or my father; for Roger never knew what it was to be afraid of anybody, and he had a way of looking at you solemnly, with his head first on one side and then on the other, and then coming out suddenly, in his slow grave voice, with some observation that from any of the rest of us would have sounded most impertinent, but which, from him, only sent people into fits of laughter. No! it would not do, I decided, to consult Miles and Roger. I must keep my conjectures to myself till I could be alone with mamma. She might perhaps tell me something, if there was anything to tell. I saw nothing of her, however, till dinner, which was in the middle of the day, not at eight o'clock in the evening: that was our supper-hour. We generally dined all together, even when my father was at home; but now that Sir Harry was in the house, I was rather afraid that we should be condemned to have dinner in the nursery. That might be all very well for the little boys; but for me, the eldest of the family, mamma's companion, to be classed with them, would be too humiliating. So I fussed and fidgeted, snapped at my brothers, and made nurse quite angry, and good-humoured Rebecca almost cross, by perpetually teasing them to know whether they thought I should be allowed to dine down-stairs. At length a man's step was heard on the staircase, and, when the door opened, who should be seen but my father! Nurse jumped up as if she thought the house must be on fire; Rebecca upset her work-basket and knocked down the fire-irons; and Miles and I stopped in the middle of a furious quarrel about a drum, which he wanted to turn into a cage for dormice. No wonder my father created such a sensation in the nursery; for never before had he been seen there, since I could remember, except once, when Oliver had swallowed a bullet, and was supposed to be dying. "Come down with me, Frances," said he, not deigning to observe the commotion he had excited. He held out his hand, and I sprang towards him, casting a triumphant glance at Miles and Roger as I did so. But my father, instead of taking me at once down-stairs, surveyed me all over so critically that I hung down my head and blushed crimson, painfully conscious of a large hole recently torn in my dress, and of hair which might have been brushed that morning, but which looked as if it had not been touched for a week.
'"Go and tell nurse to make you fit to be seen, child," said he in his usual cold, measured tones; "and then you can come with me."
'Of course nurse was excessively elaborate in her proceedings after this injunction. I thought she never would have done combing and curling my unfortunate locks, or arranging and smoothing each plait and fold of my best dress. But at last it was over, and I suppose the result was satisfactory; for though my father led me away without a word, Sir Harry Mountfort turned to my mother when we entered the dining-room, and said something about "a sweet little bride," and "hoping to see a coronet on those pretty dark tresses,"—remarks which, while they puzzled me exceedingly, caused me to hold up my head and colour with surprise and pleasure.
'I had never heard so many compliments before, and felt rather vexed that mamma only smiled very faintly, and immediately began to talk about something else—about a certain Earl Desmond, in whom both she and my father appeared to be greatly interested, though I, who had never heard his name before, could not care about him. So I let my thoughts wander off to all kinds of subjects. I wondered what sort of a day's sport Oliver and Shad were having,—whether Hebe was as sorry as I was, to be cheated of her day with the hounds; and then I wondered afresh what Sir Harry's mysterious words could mean. Perhaps it would be as well to listen to what was going on, in case I might be able to glean something from the conversation about myself. So I turned my eyes away with an effort from the sunny slope of green, swelling down, on which they were gazing (you know the view from the window of the oak parlour), and fixed them on Sir Harry just as he was saying:
'"Ah, your daughter will have a splendid position at court one day, I doubt not, madam. The Earl of Desmond's ancient title and large estates must give him a good deal of political influence, even if he does not turn out, as I think he will, a man with a pretty strong character of his own."
'The Earl of Desmond still! But what could he have to do with me? And how, oh how, was I to have a splendid position at court through his means? I did not dare to ask, as one of you would have done; for to speak in the company of one's elders, without being spoken to, was a proceeding unthought of in those days. I could only glance from Sir Harry's to my mother's face, and then for the first time I noticed how sad and anxious it looked. Her eyes, too, had a red rim round them, as if she had been crying. What could be the reason?
'"That she may be good and happy, sir, is all I desire for her," replied she; "and that I trust she may be, in whatever position she is placed."
'"With such a mother, she cannot be otherwise than good," replied Sir Harry, with a little bow. "And as for happiness, she will have all that people covet most, to give it her,—rank, wealth, beauty."
'And here, I suppose, Sir Harry caught sight of me gazing at him with eyes rounded by astonishment; for he broke off what he was saying, to ask me if I had forgiven him yet for spoiling my ride, and whether I would do him the great favour of showing him the fox's brush I had told him about, etc. etc. He certainly was very good-natured, and treated me more like a woman than any one had ever done before. He asked me to take wine with him, and bowed with so much deference, that I felt quite shy and uncomfortable for a moment. He asked about all my plays and studies, seemed quite interested in hearing of the delights of going fishing with Oliver and Roger, in stories about the young hawks which Miles and I were bringing up between us, and in the brood of rabbits which belonged to us all. Then he wanted to know if I was fond of music; if I could sing or play or dance; and, for the first time in my life, I felt rather ashamed of being obliged to say no to all these questions.
'"But you would like to learn, would you not?" said Sir Harry when we arrived at this point in the conversation, putting another bunch of grapes on my plate as he spoke.
'"Yes; I think I should, if mamma would let me;" and I looked doubtfully in her direction. But it was my father who replied.
'"Liking has nothing to do with it. Frances will of course learn whatever is necessary for her future rank and station. There is plenty of time: the child is only ten years old, I believe."
'"Eleven in May," I could not help whispering though dreadfully frightened at my own boldness; and I suppose mamma thought I had gone quite far enough, for she rose to leave the room, signing to me to follow her; which I did willingly enough, eager to escape the displeasure which I felt sure I read in my father's eyes, and hoping that now at last I should hear the meaning of all the mysteries which had puzzled me that morning. Mamma looked very grave, as she took my hand and led me into that little room which your uncle now calls his "laboratory," I believe, and which smells of sulphur and gunpowder, and all kinds of dreadful things. It never smelt of anything worse than dried lavender and rose leaves in my time; for it was mamma's own sitting-room, where she heard me my lessons, gave orders to the servants, and did all kinds of things, which the present Lady Dalrymple would leave to her housekeeper. I began to think that the something, which I felt sure was going to be revealed to me, was some dreadful misfortune, when she kissed me, and said:
'"My little Frances is longing to know what we were all saying at dinner-time about her, is she not?"
'"Yes—oh yes, madam. What is it? What did Sir Harry Mountfort mean by saying that I should have a splendid position at court some day? And what did——?" Here I stopped abruptly, for there were certainly tears in mamma's eyes, though she tried to smile, as she told me to bring my stool to her side, and she would tell me all about it.
'"You heard us talking about the Earl of Desmond, Frances," she said, smoothing my hair softly back from my forehead as I leant against her. "He is a boy of about fourteen, an orphan, and Sir Harry Mountfort is his guardian. Sir Harry is a great friend of your father's; and for various reasons which you would not understand, even if I told them to you, he has proposed that a marriage shall take place between you and his ward. Your father has consented; and he brought Sir Harry down here to-day to inform me of their plans, and to make various arrangements which are necessary, before the wedding can take place."
'"Wedding! Then I am to be married now?—soon?—not wait till I am grown up?" I asked eagerly.
'"I believe so; before very long, at any rate," said my mother. And I sat silent, trying to take it all in, for at least two whole minutes. Confused and surprised as I felt, I was not quite so much taken aback as Silvia would be if her uncle informed her that a like event was to happen to her; for I had often heard mamma talk about the little Princess Mary, the sister of the reigning king, Charles II., who had been married when she was only eleven years old.
'Moreover, my own mother's wedding had taken place when she was but fifteen, while a little cousin of hers had been a bride at nine.
'"Married to the Earl of Desmond!" I repeated slowly. "Then, shall I have to manage a house, and have keys, and settle the dinners, and order the servants, like you, mamma?"
'"Not for a great many years to come, I hope, Frances. I don't think you are quite fit for that at present, are you?"
'"I could order dinner, I think," said I; a momentary vision coming across me of myself in a sweeping gown just like mamma's, with mittens on my arms, a large apron with pockets in it, a chatelaine hanging by my side, and jingling an immense bunch of keys while I discoursed to the maids about bleaching the linen on the bowling-green, or to the men about the brewing; or perhaps gave away medicine, food, and advice to the poor people on Lord Desmond's estates. I gave it up with a little sigh, for I had a great desire to be considered a woman; and then, a fresh view of the case suddenly occurring to me, I cried: "Oh mamma, what shall I be called when I am married? Shall I be Lady Desmond, just as you are Lady Dalrymple?"
'"You will be Frances Carey Countess of Desmond, of higher rank than I am, my child. I am only the wife of a baronet: you will be the wife of an earl."
'This piece of grandeur filled my foolish little head with such a sense of elation, that I was on the point of running away directly to tell the news to nurse and my brothers; but a glance at mamma's face stopped me. "Don't you like my being Countess of Desmond, mamma?" I ventured to ask, a sort of vague fear coming into my heart for the first time. "They won't take me away from you, will they?" I took hold of her hand and held it very tight.
'"No, no," cried my mother in a voice which sounded as if she was angry with me; and yet she held me very close all the time. "You will be my Frances, my only daughter, just the same. A wife's duties are the same, in whatever station she is placed: and who can teach you to love, honour, and obey your husband, as well as I can? But what am I talking of!" she added in a different tone, seeing that I was looking at her, very much puzzled.
'Mamma, who was usually so quiet and composed, had a bright colour in her cheeks, and was talking faster and louder than I had ever heard her in my life before. She smiled when she saw how surprised I looked, and said, more in her natural voice:
'"You are too young, Frances, to understand quite what I was thinking about. I could have wished that your marriage could have been put off till you were old enough to know your own mind; but your father says it must take place at once. Of course he knows best; so that may be considered as settled. All I want you to remember is, that the promise you make on your wedding day you will some day be called upon to fulfil. And now run away and tell the others all about it."
'I said "yes;" but I do not think I quite took in all mamma meant, so eager was I to obey the last part of her commands and tell my wonderful news to the boys. I could not find any one in the nursery but nurse and Rebecca, who were quite as much surprised and struck with my tidings as I could have wished. Nurse said, "Mercy on us! Dear heart alive!" three times over, and then begged I would not forget my poor old nursey when I was a grand madam; while Rebecca took to calling me "my lady" from that day forward, till mamma discovered it and stopped her. But where were the boys? I cared much more for what Oliver thought of the matter than for the opinion of any one else in the world. And, besides—though I liked it—I found the servants' sudden respect rather embarrassing. Miles and Roger were out-of-doors, nurse said, "in some pickle or another," she'd "warrant them." Her words were certainly prophetic; for, after a long hunt, I discovered Miles on the top branch of a very rotten old ash tree, which overhung the deepest part of the pond in the park; endeavouring with a long looped string to catch the sails of his favourite toy boat, which had floated far away from the shore; while Roger, on the very edge of the steep bank, was making violent efforts to reach it with the end of a slender pole.
'Nothing I could say would induce them to come away, till I announced that I saw Shad and Oliver riding into the stable-yard, and proposed that we should race to meet them, and ask Shad to rescue the unhappy boat. Roger set off directly, and Miles got out of the tree so quickly that I really thought he must tumble into the pond in doing so. He scrambled down safe, however, with very green clothes and a very red face; and after a rush across the park, and a few words with Oliver, the two carried off the good-natured Shad between them, and I was left alone with my eldest brother. He was in very high spirits, and whenever I tried to begin my story, burst in with some new description of the run.
'"What a pity you didn't come, Frances!" said he at last. "By the by, what did my father want with you?"
'"That is just what I have been trying to tell you ever since you came in," said I pettishly; "but you would not listen; and I'm sure it's much more important than about the fox getting into Farmer Grimley's yard, or how you rode down all the pigs."
'"Why, what can it be?" said Oliver, looking intensely surprised. "You generally like to hear about all those sort of things so much, Frances."
'"Yes, yes, I know; but oh! Oliver, what do you think of this? I am going to be married to the Earl of Desmond!" Oliver opened his eyes so wide for a moment that I thought he would never be able to shut them again, and then, much to my astonishment and, I am afraid, disgust, went off into a hearty fit of laughter.
'"You going to be married! Oh Frances, I can't believe it! What can the Earl of Desmond want to marry you for?" I do not think Oliver meant to be rude, but brothers are not over particular; and I felt deeply offended. I, who had been treated with so much attention by my father's friend, who had been taken into mamma's confidence, and who was about soon to become, as I phrased it to myself, "a married woman," was I to be laughed at by a little boy a whole year younger than myself?
'"And pray, why should he not want to marry me?" said I, drawing myself up to my full height. "But, of course, one cannot expect a child of your age to understand anything about it; so I was wrong to expect it." And I walked away, with what I then thought an exact imitation of mamma's most dignified manner, imagining that Oliver must be completely crushed by this cutting reply. But he only laughed (it is impossible to put Oliver out of temper) and said:
'"Come, Fan, you needn't be quite so scornful. Of course I want to hear all about it. Who is the Earl Desmond? Not that gentleman who came here to-day, surely?"
'"No," said I, slightly softened, but still, I am afraid, rather patronizing; "he is a boy a year or two older than I am, Oliver—about fourteen, I believe."
'"You don't mean it?" cried he, very much excited. "I fancied he was grown-up. Is he coming here? will he live here? Oh Frances! I always did wish you were a boy; but of course, if you marry this Earl of Desmond, he will be my brother. I always did want another brother, Miles and Roger are so little. By the by, what is his name?"
'I did not know; and Oliver went on with a string of questions, all relating to my future husband, not one of which was I able to answer; for, to say the truth, though my head had been full of my marriage ever since I had heard of it, the bridegroom himself had hardly entered into my thoughts at all.
'"Why, Fan, how stupid of you!" cried Oliver at last, after listening to about a dozen "don't knows" in succession. "You don't seem to know anything. I can't think why you did not ask mamma more questions while you were about it. Girls are generally curious enough at any rate about other people's business. You might at least have found out whether he is to come here, or whether you are to go and live in his house. I declare I shall ask mamma myself to-night."
'"No, Oliver; indeed you had much better not. Do you know I think mamma is very unhappy about it?"
'"Unhappy! Then, of course, that must be because you are going away."
'"No, I don't know; but I have an idea that I am not going away, because, from what mamma said just now——"
'"Well, what did she say? Come, dear old Fan, you always tell me everything." And Oliver put his arm round my neck and pulled me down on a stone trough by the edge of the horse-pond—not the kind of seat, I think, that nurse would have chosen for the future Countess of Desmond, especially when that young lady had on her quilted scarlet kirtle and new silver-grey gown, worked with wheat and poppies. When Oliver rubbed his curly, yellow head against my cheek and called me "dear old Fan," I never could resist him, even when I was really out of humour; so, giving up the grand airs that I had been trying to assume, I sat by his side on the horse-trough and told him all that mamma had been saying about teaching me to love, honour, and obey my husband, and about my being called upon some day to fulfil the promises which I should make at my marriage.
'"It's the having to obey him that will be the worst part," was Oliver's first remark after we had both pondered silently for a moment. "That's just what you will particularly hate, Fan. I'm sure you'll never keep that part of the promise. Why, you never were over-fond of obeying any one except mamma."
'This was a slight drawback, certainly, when one came to think about it. Oliver was right in his opinion that I dearly loved my own way,—and, with my brothers and Shad, I generally contrived to get it: for to the boys I made the most of my privileges as the eldest and the only girl; and as to Shad, he was the one person in the house who was willing to let us all have our own way. But then there were so many people to keep us in order. When there was mamma, my father, Master Waynefleet, not to mention old nurse, one certainly did not want any one else to command one's obedience.
'"Oh, of course, one's husband would be different," I said a little bit doubtfully, nevertheless. "You know mamma always obeys my father, though I don't think she quite likes it; at least not always. Do you know she said to-day that she wished I could have waited till I was older, to be married, but that papa thought it best that it should be at once. So it must be settled." I did not add, as mamma had done, "till I was old enough to know my own mind." At ten years old, I thought people, of course, must know their own minds; and I felt quite sure that I wanted to be the Earl of Desmond's wife, and that it would be a terrible disappointment to me if anything were to happen to prevent the marriage, or even to put it off till I should be grown-up.
'"Well," said Oliver philosophically, "perhaps people's husbands are different; at all events, that's your business. As long as I'm not forced to obey him, I don't care who does. But, Fan, won't it be good fun when he comes here. Is he very rich? I daresay he'll bring his own horses, and perhaps hounds too, and we can all go out hunting together. I wonder if he cares for fishing?"
'"I think he is very rich and grand," I remarked; "because Sir Harry said something about my having a splendid position at court."
'Oliver's countenance fell rather at this idea. He evidently could not appreciate the delights of "a splendid position at court."
'"Ah, but that would not be for a long while, surely, Fan; very likely not till you are grown-up. Fancy you mincing about in a court dress, just like a peacock, and saying, 'May it please your Majesty,' and flourishing an enormous fan!"
'I was ashamed to confess it to Oliver, but in my secret soul I rather liked this picture of myself in the "splendid position."
'"Yes," continued Oliver, "we shall have good sport if this husband of yours is a pleasant kind of a fellow; but we should have better still, if he was going to take you away with him to live at his own house."
'This speech did not sound like a brotherly one; and it wounded my feelings severely.
'"Really, Oliver," cried I, with flaming cheeks and eyes brimming with tears, "you are very unkind and selfish. I thought you would be glad that I am not going ever so far away, where you would never see me at all."
'"Why, Fan! don't be silly. You always get into such a fume about nothing. I only meant that I might come and stay with you, and we could do everything we chose, and you could order dinner, and sit at the head of the table, and carve, of course; or I could carve for you, and we should have no lessons or cross-grained Master Waynefleets to plague us."
'"Ah, but you would only be able to come now and then," said I more gently, for my anger was a good deal softened down. Oliver's plans for my married life were certainly charming, and threw even the "splendid position" into the shade.
'"There's a good girl! That's the best of you, Fan. If you do put yourself in a fume for nothing, you are out again almost as soon as you are in. Now, you didn't really believe I wanted you to go away? Why you must know how dull it would be here, without you to quarrel with and lord it over the small boys!"
'The idea of such a state of things so melted Oliver, that, as we were quite alone—not even the said small boys in sight—he actually condescended to kiss me, or rather to let me kiss him,—a most unwonted sign of affection on his part; for he generally sturdily refused to be kissed by anybody but mamma (and even to that he submitted with great reluctance), except once a year, on his birthday. So, my good temper being quite restored by this, we sat very happily on our trough, chattering too fast to observe that Oliver's muddy boot was not improving the splendour of the scarlet kirtle, and that the poppy-covered skirt, to the length of at least two inches, was steeping itself in the green water of the horse-pond. Presently the sound of footsteps and voices made us look round; and when the yard-gate opened, and Sir Harry Mountfort and my father suddenly appeared upon the scene, we were so much startled, that Oliver's first exploit was to topple backwards into the trough, while I, with like promptitude, sprang up, plunging one foot ankle-deep into the pond. This was an embarrassing state of things. For the first time I became conscious of the deplorable state of my frock; and when I saw Sir Harry's stare of surprise, not unmixed with amusement, and my father's face of annoyance, I felt inclined to take another and more effectual plunge into the horse-pond, and vanish for ever in its stagnant depths. It really makes me laugh now to remember what a very absurd figure I must have looked, with my fine embroidered dress soaked in muddy water, and my hair blowing about in a mad state of dishevelment, from beneath one of Oliver's most ancient and battered hats, which I had snatched off a peg in the hall as I ran out to look for the boys after dinner. I had never been in the habit of caring much how I looked. Brothers of ten years old are not critical with regard to their sisters' appearance. On the contrary, they make a point of discouraging the least attempt to look "nice" (as you would call it); and as to taking care of their own clothes, or those of other people, why, I should have been withered up with scorn if I had suggested such a notion to my brothers! But I never had. It was only to-day that Sir Harry's compliments, and the prospect of my new dignities, had put it into my head to think about my dress and appearance. The fact that I was a remarkably pretty little girl had never struck me before; and now that I had begun to care for these things, and particularly wished to look my best, here was the bride-elect, the future Countess of Desmond, ignominiously caught splashing about in a stable-yard, drenched in mud and mire, and attired in that shabby, old, high-crowned hat. Oliver told me afterwards that I looked like a witch who had just been ducked. My father surveyed us from head to foot with a curling lip and severe eyes; then he turned, with a short laugh to Sir Harry, and said something in a low voice. The only words I could distinctly hear were: "Just as I told you ... put an end to this;" to which Sir Harry answered with a smile and a shrug of the shoulders, which stung me to such a degree that I forgot all his flattering speeches, and for a moment absolutely hated him.
'"Come here, Frances," my father said; and I obeyed slowly and reluctantly. "What would your mother say, child, if she heard you had been romping with your brother in the stable?"
'"She would not mind, sir; at least, perhaps, she would to-day, because of my holiday gown. But I often come here with Oliver."
'"And we were not romping," interrupted Oliver; "we were only talking; and it was my fault that she has spoiled her kirtle, for I dragged her down on to the trough. Indeed, sir, mamma always lets Fan come here; and she fishes for carp with me sometimes." I was grateful to Oliver for standing up for me; but I could have wished that he had not mentioned the carp just then.
'"Indeed!" was my father's reply. "Well, you had better go up to nurse and tell her to make you look more like a gentlewoman, and less like a strolling-player. A stable-yard is all very well for your brother, but hardly the place where one expects to find a young lady." This was a sentiment in which both nurse and Rebecca most thoroughly agreed; and they continued to enlarge upon it all the time that they were setting me to rights in the nursery.
'"A very fit place for Master Oliver, to be sure, seeing that he was a boy and had all his old clothes on, just come back from hunting. But to think that Mistress Frances should be found there! and by the strange gentleman too—Mistress Frances, who was going to be married so soon, and, what was more, to marry a lord! Alack! alack!" Nurse could only shake her head despondingly. Her young lady was certainly very far at present from her beau-ideal of "a grand madam." I felt very much humiliated, and consequently very cross and sulky; and when at last I was set free from nurse's hands, I stood in pouting silence watching the sunset out of the nursery window, and wishing that Sir Harry Mountfort and the Earl of Desmond had never been heard of; envying Oliver, who sat eating the dinner that had been kept for him, and holding forth to Miles and Roger on the adventures of Shad and himself during their morning's sport.....
'When I awoke on the morning of my wedding day, with a vague consciousness that something unusual was going to happen, the first thing that met my eyes was a dazzling heap of white satin that completely covered the table; and I had stared dreamily at it for some minutes before the fact that I was looking at my wedding dress dawned upon me. Then suddenly a clear recollection of what was going to take place came with a rush into my mind. I raised myself on my elbow and gazed round the room, which seemed quite spread over with silk and satin, ribbons and lace. And there was nurse bustling about amidst all the finery, herself in more gorgeous array than I had ever seen her wear before.
'"Now, Mistress Frances, my dear," quoth she, when she saw that I was awake, "'tis high time to get up and be dressed. Why, you've slept full an hour later than usual; and I wouldn't wake you, because I heard you tossing about last night, hours and hours after you should have been asleep and dreaming."
'This was true; for I had been in such a feverish state of excitement the night before, that though mamma had sent me to bed earlier than usual, I had heard the church clock strike one before I could go to sleep. And now, though the day to which I had been looking forward for the last month had actually come at last, though my wedding-dress was lying in all its glory before my eyes, I felt far more inclined to sink back on my pillow and fall asleep again, than to get up and be dressed, as nurse proposed.
'"What, sweetheart!" she went on, as I blinked my eyes drowsily; "sure, you haven't forgotten you are going to be married to-day? And there's the young gentleman himself playing in the garden with your brother, and never so much as set eyes on his bride!" These words of nurse's effectually roused me.
'"What!" cried I, wide awake at length; "did he come then, nurse, after all? And was it very late? And what is he like?" I took a flying leap out of bed before I had finished my string of questions, and, mounting on the window-sill, looked out upon the garden and park. You know the window I mean; my bedroom was the same that Christie and Dolly have now—only, in my time the uneven oak boards were not hidden by a carpet, and there was one immense four-post bed hung with green taffeta, instead of two little curtainless French ones. No pretty toilet-table was in existence then, decked out with pink calico and white muslin. That little square table in the library, carved with grapes and vine-leaves, and men with goat's legs, used to stand in the middle of my room in those days, and I used to look at myself in a small oval mirror in an ebony frame that hung on the wall, and the top of which I had ornamented with my fox's brush. Extremely bare and uncomfortable such a room would doubtless seem to you, but it never struck me in that light. Compared to the boy's room, it was extremely well furnished—almost luxurious. However, I must not dwell upon my dear old room and its furniture. I liked it because it was my own, and I kept all my treasures there; but of course I cannot expect you to take the same interest in it—only, I thought perhaps you might like to know how Christie's bedroom looked when I woke there on my wedding morning nearly two centuries ago. It was a lovely morning, though very sharp and wintry. The sky was a pale-blue one, without a single cloud; and a little snow had fallen during the night, but only enough to scatter a few flakes among the dark glossy leaves and red berries of the holly trees, and to sprinkle the country with a light powdery covering that sparkled like diamond-dust in the sun. I could see the boys as I looked from my window: there they were, as nurse had said, careering about the garden—Roger's small wiry figure, Miles' square sturdy one, and Oliver a head and shoulders above them both; and there was also a fourth figure, towards which I strained my eyes with intense interest. But at such a distance very little was to be seen; my curiosity was obliged to be satisfied for the present with the discovery that he was taller and stouter than Oliver, but neither his face nor even the colour of his dress was to be distinguished. This bird's-eye view of my bridegroom was unsatisfactory, being cut short by nurse, who dragged me indignantly down from the window-seat just as Lord Desmond was aiming at Oliver's head with a snow-ball, and I was watching in breathless excitement to see whether it would hit.
'"Lack-a-mercy! Mistress Frances, do you want to catch your death of cold on your wedding day, and for all the company to be at church before you are dressed?"
'Not wishing to bring down either of these calamities on my head, I reluctantly allowed myself to be drawn away from the window, and submitted passively to a longer and more elaborate toilet than I had ever undergone in my life before. Meanwhile I consoled myself by asking nurse all manner of questions about the bridegroom,—what he was like, who were his companions, and the time and manner of his arrival. I could not get a great deal of news out of her,—she was too much wrapped up in the splendours of my bridal gear. Only now and then, between her bursts of enthusiasm over each piece of finery in turn, and her pathetic warnings to me to "have a care of such brave, goodly raiment," did she find time to impart in snatches the following information.
'Sir Harry Mountfort had arrived the previous night with his ward the young Lord Desmond, and his little niece Mistress Agnes Blount, who was to be one of my bride-maidens. The house of New Court, Sir Harry's home, was about twenty miles from Horsemandown, and the travellers were nearly half-way upon their road when a report reached them of highwaymen being in the neighbourhood. This rumour, though vague and doubtful, was nevertheless somewhat alarming, as the country through which their journey lay was extremely wild and lonely; especially one part of the road through the Boarhurst woods—those woods where you had your picnic last summer. There were no broad, smooth carriage-drives through them, though, in our time; only a narrow bridle-path, through which Lord Desmond and his companions must ride in single file. So Sir Harry thought it prudent to go back for a larger escort, and it was on that account that they had not reached Horsemandown till ten o'clock in the evening (just an hour after mamma had, much to my indignation, ruthlessly sent me to bed). Thus much I contrived to draw out of nurse, by dint of persistent cross-examination all the time I was being dressed; also, that Lord Desmond was a dark young gentleman, a fair-spoken lad enough, and not ill-favoured, but nought to set beside Master Oliver, with his bonnie blue eyes and yellow locks.
'"As to little Mistress Blount, she was so wearied, poor lamb!" said nurse, "that she scarce kept her eyes open to eat her supper; and when my lady told me to put her to bed, she was not so loth to come as you were yesternight, Mistress Frances."
'I was rather anxious to go down to breakfast in full bridal array, from the rich lace veil to the long white gloves embroidered with silver thread; but nurse was greatly scandalized at such a suggestion.
'"A pretty notion, forsooth!" quoth she with a derisive snort. "What! Mistress Fan, would you have those beautiful lace ruffles dip into the trenchers, and get steeped in honey and conserves? Sure, Master Oliver's basin of milk would be pouring over your fine kirtle, before breakfast was over. No, no; I am going at least to send you to church fit to behold, happen what may afterwards."
'And mamma coming in while we were disputing settled the point instantly in favour of nurse's decree. I could not argue with mamma, so I was silenced as once; and quietly submitted to wear one of the pretty new dresses, which had been made for my wedding outfit. Mamma sent nurse away, saying that she would finish dressing me herself; and I was glad to be alone with her, for I had seen much less of her than usual of late. Ever since Sir Harry had left us, rather more than a fortnight before, there had been a constant bustle of preparation going on in the house. It was not only my approaching wedding that caused this bustle,—the Christmas festivities had also to be prepared for; and mamma had been busy from morning till night. Besides the roast beef and boar's head, the plum-pudding and mince-pies, for our own household, there was Christmas cheer for the poor people of the village to be supplied,—blankets and fuel and clothing to be given away. Then there were my wedding clothes, too, for mamma to think about. Such an ample new wardrobe had been provided for me, that I began to think that my husband and I were to take up our "splendid position at court" at once, after all, instead of waiting till the far-off time of being grown-up. I could not help feeling considerable pride and satisfaction in these new clothes of mine; they were made in such a much less childish way than my old ones, and cut so much more in the fashion of the day. Once, when nurse was asleep after dinner, I gave Oliver a private view of them; but he made such horrible faces of ridicule and contempt, that my own respect for them began to diminish on the spot.
'It certainly was wearisome work having these things continually tried on. "Pride feels no pain," nurse and Rebecca used to assure me when they pounced upon me just as I was rushing into the garden with the boys to feed the rabbits, or into the kitchen on the chance of getting a stray dainty from the manifold good things in preparation there. Nevertheless my pride generally gave way, on these occasions, to the twofold pain of being obliged to stand still, and of seeing the boys run off without me; and I used to pout and fume and twitch till it became hard to tell which was most out of humour—nurse, Rebecca, or myself.
'"What is the use of my having all these grand new things if I am not to have a house of my own, but to go on living at home just the same as ever?" This question suddenly struck me one day, and I asked nurse; whereupon she shut her eyes and shook her head, remarking that "little ladies shouldn't be curious;" after which she gave vent to a doleful and ominous sigh, and kissed me, muttering something about a "poor thoughtless dear." Now, as mamma was putting the finishing touches to my toilet, arranging my tucker, and smoothing the hair that always seemed to get into disorder if I moved my head, I put the same question to her; but she only smiled a little and stroked my head, telling me that I should know everything in good time. "But, madam," I persisted, "is Lord Desmond going to stay here, and live with us, and play with me, and do lessons like Oliver?"
'"No, my dear Fan," she said, "he will not stay with us, neither will you go away with him; but that is all I can tell you at present. To-morrow we shall have time for a little talk together, and then you shall hear all about your father's—about our plans for you. Now, sweetheart, you shall say your prayers to me this morning; and then we must go down to breakfast, and present you to this little bridegroom of yours." My mother said these last words playfully, and her own bright smile shone in her eyes for a moment; but in the next they were swimming with tears, and her voice sounded very odd and husky when, after I had prayed as usual for her, my father, and my brothers, she bade me pray also that my husband might be blessed, and that when I grew up to be a woman I might keep the promises which I was going to make to-day.
'How well I remember the sudden rush of shyness which came over me as I went down the staircase that morning! Never in my life before had I felt so painfully and intensely shy. Miles and Roger passed us, extremely snowy and wet and rosy, running up to their nursery breakfast, and at that instant I had a strong inclination to burst away from mamma and fly after them.
"I say," whispered Roger confidentially, catching my sleeve as he passed, "your husband wants to know if it makes you angry to be snow-balled."
'"Poor Fan," said Miles with heartfelt commiseration as he glanced at my dress, "I suppose she will never be able to make snow-balls now, or catch carp any more!"
'Mamma drew her hand gently away from me when we reached the door of the breakfast parlour, and I followed her into the room with glowing cheeks, and eyes fixed on the floor. It was in what is now the billiard-room that we used to breakfast, and it seemed to me perfectly full of people. Though Sir Harry Mountfort had not been able to bring his ward till the night before, there had been no lack of guests staying in the house since Christmas-eve. It was the first time for two or three years that my father had been at home at this season; and Horsemandown was fuller of visitors, and more merriment had been going on in the shape of mumming, dancing, and Christmas games, than had ever been the case before in my recollection. When I rose up from the very deep and swimming courtesy with which the young ladies of my time were taught to greet their acquaintances, I was for a few moments only conscious of eyes bent upon me, and voices buzzing confusedly in my ears.
"Ah, here she is at last!" "Here is the little bride!" "Poor child, how shamefaced she is!" "Faith, a well-favoured little maiden too!" were some of the exclamations that greeted my entrance; while my father came toward me at once, kissed my forehead very affectionately, and led me, wavering between shyness and curiosity, up to one of the deep window recesses, in which Sir Harry Mountfort stood talking to a group of gentlemen. He broke off what he was saying, and advanced to meet me, exclaiming:
'"But here comes the heroine of the day—the fair bride herself! And now for the introduction! Faith, Algernon, I should not mind changing places with you a few years hence, if that face performs all that it promises." The last words were said in rather a lower tone, as Sir Harry leant his hand on the shoulder of a boy who was talking eagerly to Oliver, and who had not turned, as most of the other company had done, when mamma and I came into the room. He was obliged to do so now, however, and, with rather an embarrassed smile, came forward at his guardian's bidding, took my hand, and, murmuring a few words of greeting, reluctantly kissed my cheek. I had not the least idea of what I ought to say to him, and apparently he was in the same predicament with regard to me. Mamma was obliged to go and attend to her other guests, so I was left helpless, gazing at my future husband in dead silence for a full minute. I suppose he found this disagreeable, for he coloured intensely, and at length with a great effort managed to say, "Oliver has been showing me your ponies."
'I said, "Oh!" and then by a sudden inspiration added, "Which did you think the prettiest?"
'"Oh! Oliver's, without doubt."
'"I think Hebe the prettiest," I said with decision. Silence fell on us once more, and I really thought this time it would last for ever. Never did I feel more grateful to Sir Harry than when he brought up his little niece to me, saying he hoped we should be great friends and see a good deal of each other.
'Agnes Blount set us at our ease directly. She was not at all shy; she found it possible to smile and answer prettily when my father politely hoped that she had recovered from the fatigues of her arduous journey. She told us all about the adventures she and her companions had met with the day before, appealing to Lord Desmond to confirm her accounts of the dreadful danger they were in from highwaymen, the darkness of Boarhurst woods, and the horrible state of the roads, until she set him talking as unrestrainedly as any of us. She won Oliver's heart by saying she was fond of rabbits, and mine by the interest she showed in hearing about the bridal preparations. The great banquet which had been preparing for so many days I described minutely, as indeed I was well qualified to do; for Miles and I had cried over the slaughter which had taken place in my mother's poultry-yard, and had only been comforted by watching the troops of red-armed cooks and scullions as they rushed hither and thither in endless bustle; while huge pasties, delicate cakes, mince-pies, and good things of all sorts, multiplied under their hands as if by magic. I whispered that the wassail bowl was to be thrice as large as usual, in my honour; and, finally, I imparted the important intelligence, that at the dance which was to conclude the day's festivities I was to appear in my bridal attire and open the ball. I don't think I had a very clear idea of how I was to manage this operation; but on that point Agnes managed to enlighten me, without showing any unfeeling superiority over my ignorance. She could do everything, I gradually discovered; at least a great many things that I could not, and which, therefore, I looked upon with respectful admiration. Sir Harry made her sing to us, in the afternoon, a dainty little song, with a harp accompaniment, which charmed everybody; and the graceful way in which she glided through the mazes of a minuet with one of our guests so delighted my father, that he paid her a formal and elaborate compliment on the elegance of her dancing. I remember being very much surprised at the time, to see him take so much notice of a little girl; but I found out afterwards why he took such an interest in Agnes Blount's accomplishments. Well, but I am getting on too fast. Of course you want to know all about my wedding, from the smoothing of the last crease in my voluminous satin train (the care of which was a source of dreadful anxiety to Agnes and her fellow bridesmaids) to the moment when Lord Desmond put upon my finger the tiniest gold wedding-ring in the world. It is a most bewildering scene to look back upon, even after all these years; and at the time I was so confused by what I had to do, so encumbered by the grandeur of my apparel, that I had but vague and indistinct ideas of what was going on around me. I remember the lines of eager faces which startled me when I stepped out of the coach at the churchyard gate. I recollect experiencing a sort of shock on seeing that the familiar path up to the church porch was covered with crimson cloth; but I think what struck me most of all with a sense of the solemnity of the occasion, was that Master Waynefleet whose thin locks I had contemplated for many a Sunday, combed back and tied with a piece of ribbon, was on this day resplendent in a curled and flowing wig, and wore a surplice literally crackling with starch. I believe I clung to my father's hand in a most undignified manner as he led me up the aisle. I have a vision of a rainbow-coloured crowd of people on either side of the altar; of mamma, a shade paler than usual, but trying to smile, in order to reassure me; of Oliver, in difficulties with his sword (which was only worn on state occasions, and was a source of mingled pride and embarrassment to its owner); of Roger, in the background, struggling desperately with nurse, in order to attain a lofty post of observation on the tomb of a crusading Dalrymple. But beyond this I saw nothing, and can only repeat what nurse told me afterwards, that "it was a gallant show, and did her old eyes good to look at it. I'd have gone ten miles barefoot any day to see you in all your bravery, Mistress Francis, dear, and that sweet young gentleman, my Lord Desmond, a-holding your hand so prettily, and your mamma, and all the grand ladies shedding tears for joy, as indeed it was most befitting they should."
'Nurse's praises and congratulations were the forerunners of a great many more to which I had to listen that day. At first I liked them, and thought it grand to be complimented on the "way in which I had borne myself on such a trying occasion;" but at last I grew very tired of hearing the same thing over and over again. The stiff, set speeches which people vied with each other in making, the perpetual allusions to my "tender years," and the hopes "that the union which had commenced under such propitious circumstances might hereafter be a source of great happiness to me, and of satisfaction to my parents," were very tiresome; and to all this I had to reply, as mamma had carefully impressed on me beforehand, "Madam, you do me much honour," or, "I thank you, sir, for your good wishes," while I made a profound courtsey to the lady or gentleman who addressed me. Things were not much better at the long, formal, wearisome entertainment which ensued, and which I thought never would be over. People made speeches and proposed toasts with every glass of wine they drank, and some of them drank a great many—so many that at last it was not quite easy to make out whose health they did propose; and when this point was settled, others seemed affronted at the toasts they had chosen.
'I thought it all very uninteresting, after the health of Lord and Lady Desmond had been drunk, and did not listen to what was going on. I only know that the noise got louder and louder; so that, by the time it was considered fitting that the ladies should retire to the withdrawing-room, the clamour was so great that it was almost impossible to distinguish what any one said. The last thing I saw, as we left the room, was Sir Harry Mountfort standing up, flushed and excited, holding a bumper of wine in one hand, while he brought down the other clenched fist with violence on the table, and called upon all present to fill their glasses and drink to the health of the Duke of York, the true heir to the throne.
'"What were they quarrelling about?" I asked Agnes Blount when the uproar had died away in the distance, and we had found a quiet corner to ourselves at the end of the long drawing-room.
'"Oh, politics, of course," she replied. "We always know at home, whenever the gentlemen get very much excited over their wine, and all speak at once, and don't seem to listen at all to what other people are saying, that they are talking about politics."
'"Well, but what are politics?" said I. "We don't ever hear anything about them here."
'"Oh, don't you know? They are all about the King, and the Parliament, Rochester, Halifax, and Godolphin, and a great many names I can't remember, for I never listen. But I should have thought you must have heard of them, for I know Sir Bernard Dalrymple always has more to say about all those people than anyone else who comes to my uncle's house."
"Then I suppose you have often seen my father before you came here?" I asked.
'"Oh yes; he has been there a great many times lately—I suppose to settle about your marriage. Algernon and I used to wonder what they could be talking about when we saw them pacing up and down the terrace by the hour together; till at last one day, just as we were going to the fish-ponds with some bread and honey to feed the carp, my uncle called Algernon to him and said, 'Come and shake hands with this gentleman, Algernon; he is going to give you his daughter to be your little wife.'"
'"Well, and what did Algernon say?" I asked eagerly; for, when Agnes arrived at this interesting point in the story, she hesitated.
'"I don't think he quite liked the idea at first. You see, he had not seen you then; and it seemed so strange and sudden an idea," said Agnes rather reluctantly.
'"But tell me exactly what he said," I persisted, with a not unnatural desire to know how my bridegroom had received the news which had excited me so much.
'"Why, he said, 'When I am grown-up, I suppose, sir?' 'Oh no,' replied Sir Harry; 'we will not put your constancy to so severe a trial. In six weeks' time your marriage is to take place.' Then Algernon grew very red, and looked at his piece of bread and honey so hard, that I thought he was making up his mind where he would take the first bite; but at last he looked up and said, 'If I must be married, sir, I would rather marry Agnes, because she knows where to find my fishing-tackle, and can always undo my line when it gets into a tangle.' My uncle burst into a great fit of laughter when he heard this, and Sir Bernard laughed a little too; but I grew very hot and uncomfortable, and thought I should like to run away. So I pulled Algernon's sleeve; but just then my uncle left off laughing and said, 'No, no, Algernon, I have no doubt that Agnes is much obliged for your good opinion of her; but, as her guardian as well as yours, I am afraid I must decline your kind proposal. And when you have seen your future bride, who is about the prettiest little damsel I know, you will, I trust, apologize to her father for having made such a proposition in his very presence.' Sir Bernard said no apology was needed. He shook hands with Algernon, and called him a fine fellow, and, turning to me, said he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing me at Horsemandown, and trusted I would be kind enough to impart to his daughter that knowledge of fishing operations which Lord Desmond thought so necessary in a wife. He looked very grave all the time, but I felt sure he must be laughing at me, and I had much ado to make my reverence and thank him without beginning to cry. That is how it was settled; and when Algernon found out that you had brothers, and that he was to have a week's holiday in honour of his wedding, he began to like the idea very much. For you know, when I am at school he has no companions at all at New Court, and his tutor and Lady Mountfort are so very strict and severe that he has but a dreary life of it."
'My feelings had varied to and fro during Agnes's recital. Sir Harry's complimentary remarks hardly made up for Algernon's indifference; but when she ended, I forgot his offences in pity for one whose only companions were a tutor and Lady Mountfort, whose stiff figure and severe expression of countenance had filled me with awe and dislike the moment I saw her. "How dreadful!" I exclaimed. "What should Oliver and I do if we had to live like that?"
'"Hush!" said Agnes; "don't speak so loud, or my aunt will hear you. She says children ought never to speak when they are in the same room as their elders, unless they are spoken to."
'"Oh! but to-day surely she would not mind. Mamma does not allow us, in general, to speak when any one is here; but on my wedding day"—and I drew up my head a little higher than usual—"things are different."
'"I don't know," replied Agnes, looking uneasily in the direction of Lady Mountfort; "she is so very particular. Perhaps I ought not to have told you all this, Frances."
'"I am very glad you have. Oliver and I have so often wanted to know something about Algernon, but mamma could not tell us much; and we never think of asking my father any questions."
'"What has Agnes been telling you?" asked Lord Desmond, who at that moment joined us with Oliver.
'"About New Court," interposed Agnes hastily, apparently afraid I should relate the whole of our conversation. "I was telling Frances how very, very strict my aunt is, and how quiet we are obliged to be in her presence. I am sure school is almost better, if it were not for the lessons."
'"Ah!" said Algernon with a heartfelt sigh, "I shall think it duller than ever, now I have been here. Only imagine, Agnes: they go out with the hounds once or twice a week here, with a groom who lets them do whatever they like! Why, when I go out riding at home, or whatever I do, there is always Master Hewling, with his starched countenance and croaking voice, saying, 'It is not fitting, my lord, that you should do this,' or, 'My duty to Sir Harry will not permit me to allow your lordship to do the other!' I have never been allowed to do what I liked since I came to Sir Harry's house—never!"
'"But I thought," said I with some dismay, remembering the brilliant castles in the air which Oliver and I had indulged in,—"I thought you had a fine house of your very own, with beautiful gardens, and park, and fishponds, and great stables as big as our whole house. That is what nurse told me!"
'"Ah!" said Algernon, looking so sad that I was quite sorry I had said anything about it, "that was where we lived when my father was alive. But it is of no use, for Sir Harry says I have not money enough to live there; and besides, it is sold—no, not sold—what is the word?—to somebody else."
'"Oh, but I heard something!" said Agnes, and then she stopped short and coloured, while we all looked very much interested.
'"Well, what did you hear?" asked Algernon eagerly. "I will know, Agnes."
'"I don't think I ought to tell," she said, faltering and looking very irresolute.
'"Did you promise you would not?" demanded Algernon. "No? Then tell me directly."
'And Agnes, who, as I found out afterwards, always did what everybody asked her, said: "It was only that I chanced to be in the room when my aunt was talking to Father Freeling about you, and she said, 'My husband has arranged a match for Algernon, which will put all these unfortunate money matters straight again. The young lady will have an ample fortune when she comes of age; and, what is better still, her father has undertaken to pay down, on her wedding day, a sum sufficient to clear off all those mortgages (wasn't that the word you meant, Algernon?) which Sir Harry's imprudent management rendered necessary.' 'Indeed!' Father Freeling said, 'I think Sir Harry has managed excellently well for the interests of his ward; and I suppose, on the lady's side, the title is considered'—I couldn't quite hear what; for just then my sampler frame dropped down, which I think reminded my aunt that I was in the room, for she spoke in a much lower tone after that, and I could only hear something about 'political considerations,' and the vote of Sir Harry being required for some 'parliamentary bill,' and so on. I could not quite understand what they meant, but I could see they thought you would be much richer for marrying Frances; so perhaps you will be able to go and live at your old home again. You would like that, Algernon?"
'"And we will all come and stay with you," cried Oliver, rather louder than prudence warranted; for we had been talking hitherto almost in whispers, in order to avoid the attention of our elders. I looked at Algernon to see what he thought of this proposal. He looked rather grave and puzzled; I think he understood a little better than we did the meaning of all those long words which Agnes had repeated so accurately, and which conveyed no idea to my mind at all, except that Agnes thought I was very rich; which struck me as being decidedly curious—my ideas of riches in those days being limited to the amount of money I had in an old china cup up-stairs in the nursery. I was just going to say that I had only at present one silver piece there, when the stiff rustle of Lady Mountfort's gown was heard approaching, and we all sank into silence. I should most probably have forgotten all about this conversation, so little did I understand the meaning of Agnes's words, had not Algernon much later in the evening said to me in a low voice:
'"Perhaps, Frances, you had better not talk about what Agnes told us to any one. She was not intended to hear it; and—and—somehow I fancy that your father and my guardian would not be over-pleased if we said anything about it."
'"Very well, I will not," I replied, wondering very much what part of Agnes's communication it could be which was likely to make the good-humoured Sir Harry angry.
'"You can keep a secret, I suppose?" said Algernon, surveying me, as I thought, rather contemptuously.
'"Of course," said I in an offended tone; "I keep all Oliver's. But" (my curiosity here becoming too much for my dignity) "I wish you would tell me why."
'"I can't," replied Algernon, "for I don't quite know myself; but I shall find out some day all about what they were saying. I wish I had heard it before; it has something to do with the reason you and I were married,—that is quite clear."
'"When you are grown-up, you will understand, I suppose," said I.
'"O yes; long before that."
'"But it won't make any difference," said I decidedly. "We can't be unmarried again, however we may wish it, I know; for mamma told me so."
'"Well, I didn't say I wished to be unmarried, did I?" demanded my bridegroom not very graciously, and colouring very much as he spoke.
'"Oh no," I said, feeling guiltily conscious of what Agnes had told me. "And I daresay we shall like it very much when we are grown-up."
'"Of course," replied Algernon. "And in the meantime it does not much matter, because I don't suppose we shall see each other very often."
'"Oliver thought you would come here and stay with us sometimes," I remarked. "He is always wishing for a boy of his own age for a companion, because Miles and Roger are so little."
'"Ah! I should like that," said Algernon, who evidently regarded a brother-in-law as a much more interesting and valuable acquisition than a wife. "But Sir Harry told me a little while ago that he was going to present me at court as soon as Parliament met, and that it had already been settled that I should be appointed one of the Duchess of York's pages."
'"Oh," said I, rather struck by this piece of intelligence. "Shall you like that? what will you have to do?"
'"I don't know exactly; but there are a great many pages—boys of my own age; so it is sure to be better than New Court at any rate, where there is no one at all to talk to when Agnes is away. And she is only a girl, after all."
'This remark was so exactly what Oliver would have made under similar circumstances, that I did not feel offended, and only asked whether Agnes always came to New Court in her holidays.
'"Yes; she has nowhere else to go. Her father and mother are dead, and Sir Harry is her guardian; and he promised her father that she should never be made a Roman Catholic; so that is why he sends her to school at Madame St. Aubert's. You know"—and Algernon lowered his voice to a mysterious whisper—"Lady Mountfort is a Papist, and she is always trying to convert people."
'"And is Sir Harry one too?" inquired I in a tone of horror; for to be a Papist in those days meant to belong to a religion proscribed by Act of Parliament, and hated by all good Church of England people.
'"I don't know exactly," said Algernon, "but he always does whatever she likes."
'Poor Sir Harry! I pitied him from my heart; and wondered more than ever how it happened that he should be the husband of such a sour-faced, disagreeable dame as Lady Mountfort.
'"I daresay she would like to make a Papist of me," he continued; "but she never shall; for my father was a Protestant, and I mean to be just like him."
'I thought this resolution sounded heroic, especially as I believed Lady Mountfort quite capable of inflicting a dungeon, bread and water, and perhaps even the rack, upon any unfortunate person whom she wished to convert; and I respected Algernon accordingly. He and I became very good friends before the evening was over, though I must say I infinitely preferred my first friend, Sir Harry, who danced with me several times—helped me out when I made mistakes, or appeared not to observe them—called me "Madame la Countesse"—and made himself so amusing, that I found myself many times regretfully wishing that I could have been married to him instead of to Algernon.
'Ah! well. People are not always quite so charming as one fancies they are; and I never liked Sir Harry so well after I discovered that it was he who brought about what I then considered as the greatest misfortune that could happen to me. He persuaded my father that I ought to be sent to school.
'Dear me! what floods of tears I shed when this dreadful fact was first announced to me. It was after all our guests had gone—when the gaieties of that exciting Christmas-time were over and done with—when I was, to all intents and purposes, only little Frances Dalrymple again, with all my short-lived splendour put away out of sight, like that wedding gown which nurse had packed so carefully in the great walnut chest, with dried lavender sprinkled between its shining folds.
'To be sent to school!—till the way to Taunton! I thought I might almost as well be sent to prison at once; and said so, in the midst of my tears, to mamma.
'"I shall never be allowed to run about, or play in the garden, or ride! Oh mamma, what will Hebe do without me?"
'Mamma almost smiled when I reached this climax, though she had looked grave enough just before; and seeing the smile, I went on in a more melancholy voice than ever:
'"Oh mamma, I didn't think you wanted me to go away."
'"Frances, Frances, you don't know what you are talking of," said my mother, taking me on her lap (great girl as I was), and holding me very tight in her arms. "Do you really suppose I shall not miss you a great deal more than Hebe will?"
'"Then why do you let me go?" I whispered, after a good many more tears at the idea of mamma thinking I cared more for Hebe than her.
'"Because your father thinks it best for you," was the answer—the answer with which mamma used to silence us even in our most rebellious moods. No one ever thought of disobeying his commands; and my hopes sank lower and lower.
'"But, mamma," I said despairingly, looking down at the little gold ring I was so proud of being allowed to wear, "surely married ladies don't go to school. I thought they did whatever they liked."
"Indeed they don't always, even when they are grown-up, Frances," she said with a little sigh. "If I did exactly what I liked, I should keep you at home with me, instead of sending you to school; but you see I have to trust to some one else to know what is best for you, and so must you. Why, it is just because you are Lord Desmond's wife, that your father thinks you ought to learn a great many things that I cannot teach you properly. If you were going to live down here in the country all your life, perhaps it would not matter so much; but when you are grown-up, you will most likely have to go out a great deal more into the world, and mix with a great many more people than I ever did; and you would find it very inconvenient to be ignorant of things which every one else knows quite well. For instance, you would like to be able to sing and dance as well as Agnes Blount."
'"I am sure I never could," I said, feeling as if Agnes's attainments were far beyond me, but beginning to have some glimmering perception of what mamma meant.
'"You must ask her to help you. You are to go to the school where she is now—Madame St. Aubert's. So you see you have one friend there already; and I have no doubt you will soon make many more. So cheer up, my foolish little Fan. You look as woebegone as if you were going to be sent to the Tower."
'Mamma's words were more cheerful than her face when she said this; and, as she put me down from her knee with a kiss, I began to see that the parting was as hard for her as it was for me; and I managed to say, though not without a deep sigh:
'"I don't suppose they will be half such good playmates as Oliver and the others; but I will try and bear it; and I will learn everything as quickly as I can, that I may come back sooner."
'"That's my good child," said mamma, patting my head approvingly. "And remember, there are always the holidays to look forward to. How you will enjoy them!"
'But the holidays seemed too far off for me to have much pleasure as yet in looking forward to them; and I crept away, in extremely low spirits, to tell Oliver of the fate that was in store for me.
'I need not tell minutely of all the days which followed before the time of my departure arrived. They seemed to me to be few enough, and to fly past with a rapidity that was quite dreadful. I spent most of them in visiting all my favourite spots in the park and garden—in saying good-bye to everybody, high and low, around Horsemandown—and in giving Oliver minute directions as to the health and treatment of my many pets. I will leave you to imagine my farewells, and take up my story six months after my arrival at that dreaded school, where happened all the adventures which make my history worth hearing.'
CHAPTER III.
LADY GREENSLEEVES' STORY (CONTINUED).
The Maids of Taunton.
Madame St. Aubert's young ladies were in the schoolroom one bright June morning, putting away books, inkstands, samplers, etc., with great energy and despatch; for both the clock of the old parish church, and the sun-dial on the terrace walk beneath the schoolroom windows, announced that morning lesson hours were over. That hour of freedom before dinner-time was always eagerly welcomed by us. But it had been longed for even more than usual this morning, for there was something new to be talked over amongst us to-day,—something which, in our opinion, was exciting and mysterious to a very high degree. In the first place, Madame St. Aubert had been called out of the room in the middle of a French lesson by one of the maids, and we were sure that some extremely interesting piece of news must have been imparted to her outside the door; for we could hear her exclamations of surprise and (as we fancied) alarm quite distinctly at first, though afterwards they sank into a much lower key. Then a buzz of voices was heard on the stairs: the quick, decided tones of our old vicar, Dr. Power, and the rather shrill and plaintive ones of little Monsieur Guillemard, from whom Madame St. Aubert's young ladies learned the gavotte, coranto, and many other stiff, elaborate dances that were fashionable at the court in those days. This was not the time for Monsieur Guillemard's lesson, nor was Dr. Power in the habit of calling so early. Something out of the common way must, doubtless, have happened; and there were we, obliged to sit demurely at our desks, with closed lips, only able to exchange eager glances of curiosity, and listen with straining ears to the subdued murmur on the staircase. Pauline, Madame St. Aubert's daughter, and Mrs. Fortescue, a lady next in command to Madame herself, were evidently no less curious than we were; for the former opened her black eyes very wide indeed, and arched her eyebrows significantly; while the latter frowned, bit her lips, and took up the French lesson where Madame had broken off, raising her voice meanwhile, and pretending not to hear the buzz outside the door, though she could not help casting from time to time an anxious glance in that direction. Presently Madame St. Aubert came back, looking much flushed and excited, but she only remarked to her daughter something about Dr. Power having wished to wait upon her for a few moments; and then the morning studies went on in their usual course, without further interruption. You will not wonder after this, that scarcely a third of the usual time was spent in putting the schoolroom in order. When this task was accomplished at last, we poured out into the garden, and settled down like a flock of sparrows on the soft turf under the lime tree; for the sun was very hot that morning, and the pleasantest spot in the garden was beneath the shade of those widely-spreading, pale green branches. A most unusual thing it was to have anything approaching to an event about which to puzzle our curious brains; for time used to go on very monotonously at Madame St. Aubert's,—monotonously, but at the same time not in the least slowly or heavily. There were too many of us, and we were too busy all day to be dull. Nevertheless, we were quite ready to catch at any fresh little piece of excitement that chanced to break in upon the sameness of the day. So there we sat, under the lime tree, and discussed the mystery, as we called it, of the morning. But though we chattered to our hearts' content, no conclusion could be reached concerning it. There was something against every suggestion offered. Agnes Blount thought that Madame must have heard of the death of some of her French relations; but if so, why should she only look excited and startled—not in the least melancholy or tearful? And Madames' tears were well known to be ready, and abundant, too, on the smallest possible occasion. Lucy Fordyce was of opinion that she might have lost some large sum of money,—perhaps all her fortune,—and that Dr. Power had come to break the news to her. There was the same objection, however, to this as to Agnes's idea about the French relations. Besides, Monsieur Guillemard was not a likely person to bring tidings of such a misfortune. Bessie Davenant was sure that the King must be dead; but this notion was instantly scouted as more improbable than any, for Madame would of course have proclaimed that piece of news on the spot, and ordered us to impress the date of such an important historical fact on our minds, as she had done when King Charles died, four months since—February 6th 1685. I never forgot that date to the last day of my life. How I longed to prompt Robin when Miss Gregory asked him one day on the stairs to tell her when King Charles II. died, and he couldn't answer! Well! we were still making conjectures, each one more wild and improbable than the last, when Pauline St. Aubert was seen tripping down the steps of the terrace. Now, Pauline was a great favourite among her pupils, especially the elder girls, some of whom were but little younger than herself; and as she was the very essence of good nature, and had never been known to keep a secret for more than half an hour at the utmost, we no sooner caught sight of her trim, graceful little figure approaching the lime tree, than we felt sure that the news, whatever it might be, was already ours.
'"Pauline! Pauline! The person above all others that we wanted!" cried Bessie Davenant, one of the bosom friends who were allowed to call Mademoiselle St. Aubert by her Christian name. Only three of us enjoyed that privilege, and these were Henrietta Sidney, Bessie Davenant, and Eleanor Page. We younger ones only ventured upon "Mademoiselle!" In a moment we were all upon our feet and gathered round Pauline; but, to our dismay, she had nothing to tell us, after all. Not that she had been seized with a sudden fit of discretion, but she was evidently perfectly ignorant of the matter, and quite as curious and as much perplexed about it as we were ourselves.
'"Indeed I am not a whit wiser than the rest of you," she said, laughing. "Mamma has not taken me into her confidence, I assure you. I did just venture to ask her whether it was ill news that had brought Dr. Power so early in the day, but she only chid me for being curious about what was no business of mine, and said that Dr. Power had come to take counsel with her on some matter that needed not my help."
'"How very strange!" cried Bessie, much aggrieved and disappointed. "But something is going on, Pauline. There can be no doubt about that, and I shall never rest till we have found out what it is."
'"Something! Yes, indeed!" echoed Pauline. "Do you know there is a strange man closeted in the little north parlour with mamma and Dr. Power? The door was ajar when I passed, and I saw him—a little, dark man, with a soldier-like bearing, I thought; but I had not time to see much, for he scowled at me quite savagely, and shut the door in a moment."
'There was a chorus of exclamations at this adventure of Pauline's. A little, dark man!—a stranger!—and soldier-like in bearing!—who shut the door with a ferocious scowl! This was a charming addition to our mystery; and Pauline was questioned and cross-questioned to a degree that no one else could have borne without losing patience. But she only laughed and shook her head, declaring that she had told us all she knew, and (she feared) a great deal more than she ought.
'"Oh! mamma was right," she said, throwing herself lazily on to the turf seat that went round the lime tree. "She knows that a secret is as sure to come out, if I have the keeping of it, as sand out of a sieve. But, oh! you are all so terribly curious, and I am such a 'bavarde.' Ah! well, never mind. We shall hear all about it in time, doubtless. Oh Frances, what a rent in your ruffle! What will Mrs. Fortescue say if she finds it out?"
'Pauline's words made me colour, and look down rather disconsolately at the ruffle in question, for I knew well enough what Mrs. Fortescue would say. Her commands, as we were leaving the schoolroom, had been, that Lady Desmond should not appear before her eyes again until that ruffle was mended; and Mrs. Fortescue's commands were not to be lightly treated. We stood in far more awe of her than of Madame St. Aubert herself; and I had not the least doubt that, if the dinner-bell rang before her orders were obeyed, I should be condemned to solitary banishment in the schoolroom while the other girls were enjoying their walk in the cool of the evening.
'"Poor child! How woeful she looks!" cried Bessie Davenant compassionately. "Never mind, Frances, I'll come and help you. There is time before dinner, if we run in at once, trusting to good luck not to meet Mrs. Fortescue by the way;" and Bessie, whose course of action was always prompt and decided, on account of her never waiting to think about anything, caught my hand, and we sped together across the lawn, and along the sunny terrace walk into the house, never pausing till we sank panting upon a bench in the schoolroom. We had sat there for a moment in silence, to recover our breath, when the sound of Mrs. Fortescue's voice made me give a guilty start, and glance at Bessie in alarm. The door was ajar of a little ante-room which opened into the schoolroom ("Madame's own closet," we used to call it), and Madame St. Aubert was there now. We could hear her voice, though we could not catch the words; but Mrs. Fortescue's was not pitched in so low a key.
'"The Duke of Monmouth!" we heard her exclaim, "will set foot, do you say, on English ground in two days? Then God save him, poor youth, and help him to his own rightful kingdom. But what a fearful struggle..."
'Bessie and I had been staring at one another for the last few moments in motionless surprise; but here, by mutual consent, we rose, and were about to slip quietly back to the door by which we had entered, when another voice cut short Mrs. Fortescue's speech, and brought us for an instant to a sudden standstill. This was a man's voice, and a very harsh and unrefined one, too, which certainly belonged to none of the few men whom Madame St. Aubert was wont to admit to her house.
'"Pardon, Madame," it said rather gruffly, "but I must pray you to be somewhat less loud. Remember whose life and fortune is at stake. This is no child's play, Madame, let me tell you!"
'At this juncture I pulled Bessie's dress, and, while the colour rushed into her face, she turned, and we stole softly from the room. I do not think either of us breathed freely till we found ourselves again in the garden, and safe from view in a shady, winding path, through a tangled confusion of shrubs and trees, which went by the name of "The Wilderness." As for myself, I had scarcely yet realized what a secret it was that we two had found out,—what those words meant that had come to our ears during the few moments when, astonished and taken aback, we paused and listened to what we had no right to hear. But their significance was clear enough to Bessie, for she had lived five years longer in the world than I had, and was a little more learned in the news of the day.
'"Oh Frances!" she exclaimed, looking half frightened, half triumphant, "what have we done! What would Madame say if she knew what we have heard? But oh! to think that the mystery should prove to be this. What glorious news! Oh, if I were only a man, to be with him! Alack! alack!" and Bessie leaned against an apple tree, and vented her excitement in a tremendous sigh.