The Long Vacation

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  Sorrow He gives and pain, good store; Toil to bear, for the neck which bore; For duties rendered, a duty more; And lessons spelled in the painful lore Of a war which is waged eternally.--ANON.

  "Ah! my Gerald boy! There you are! Quite well?"

  Gerald Underwood, of slight delicate mould, with refined,transparent-looking features, and with hair and budding moustache toofair for his large dark eyes, came bounding up the broad stair, to theembrace of the aunt who stood at the top, a little lame lady supportedby an ivory-headed staff. Her deep blue eyes, dark eyebrows, and sweetthough piquant face were framed by the straight crape line of widowhood,whence a soft white veil hung on her shoulders.

  "Cherie sweet! You are well? And the Vicar?"

  "Getting on. How are they all at Vale Leston?"

  "All right. Your mother got to church on Easter-day." This was to AnnaVanderkist, a young person of the plump partridge order, and fair, rosycountenance ever ready for smiles and laughter.

  "Here are no end of flowers," as the butler brought a hamper.

  "Daffodils! Oh!--and anemones! How delicious! I must take Clement abunch of those dear white violets. I know where they came from," and sheheld them to her lips. "Some primroses too, I hope."

  "A few; but the main body, tied up in tight bunches like cauliflowers, Idropped at Kensington Palace Gardens."

  "A yellow primrose is much more than a yellow primrose at present,"said Mrs. Grinstead, picking out the few spared from political purposes."Clement will want his button-hole, to greet Lance."

  "So he is advanced to button-holes! And Lance?"

  "He is coming up for the Press dinner, and will sleep here, to be readyfor Primrose-day."

  "That's prime, whatever brings him."

  "There, children, go and _do_ the flowers, and drink tea. I am going toread to your uncle to keep him fresh for Lance."

  "How bright she looks," said Gerald, as Anna began collecting vases fromthe tables in a drawing-room not professionally artistic, but entirelydomestic, and full of grace and charm of taste, looking over a suburbangarden fresh with budding spring to a church spire.

  "The thought of Uncle Lance has cheered them both very much."

  "So the Vicar is really recovering?"

  "Since Cousin Marilda flew at the curates, and told them that if theycame near him with their worries, they should never see a farthing ofhers! And they are all well at home? Is anything going on?"

  "Chiefly defence of the copses from primrose marauders. You know thegreat agitation. They want to set up a china clay factory on Penbeacon,and turn the Ewe, not to say the Leston, into milk and water."

  "The wretches! But they can't. It is yours."

  "Not the western quarry; but they cannot get the stream without apiece of the land which belongs to Hodnet's farm, for which they makeastounding bids; but, any way, nothing can be done till I am of age,when the lease to Hodnet is out, except by Act of Parliament, which ishardly worth while, considering--"

  "That you are near twenty. But surely you won't consent?"

  "Well, I don't want to break all your hearts, Cherie's especially, butwhy should all that space be nothing but a playground for us Underwoods,instead of making work for the million?"

  "And a horrid, nasty million it would be," retorted Anna. "You bornYankee! Don't worry Aunt Cherry about profaning the Ewe, just to spoilgood calico with nasty yellow dust."

  "I don't want to worry her, but there never were such groovy people asyou are! I shall think it over, and make up my mind by the time I havethe power."

  "I wish you had to wait till five-and-twenty, so as to get more time andsense."

  Gerald laughed, and sauntered away. He was not Yankee, except that hehad been born at Boston. His father was English, his mother a Hungariansinger, who had divorced and deserted his father, the ne'er-do-weelsecond son of an old family. When Gerald was five years old his fatherwas killed, and he himself severely injured, in a raid of the Indiansfar west, and he was brought home by an old friend of the family. Hiseldest uncle's death made him heir to the estate, but his life was avery frail one till his thirteenth year, when he seemed to have outgrownthe shock to spine and nerves.

  Much had befallen the house of Underwood since the days when we tookleave of them, still sorrowing under the loss of the main pillar oftheir house, but sending forth the new founders with good hope.

  Geraldine had made her home at St. Matthew's with her brother Clementand the little delicate orphan Gerald; but after three years she hadyielded to the persevering constancy of Mr. Grinstead, a sculptor ofconsiderable genius and repute, much older than herself, who was readyand willing to be a kind uncle to her little charge, and who introducedher to all at home or abroad that was refined, intellectual, orbeautiful.

  It was in the first summer after their marriage that he was charmed withthe vivacity and musical talent of her young sister Angela, now upon theworld again. Angela had grown up as the pet and plaything of the Sistersof St. Faith's at Dearport, which she regarded as another home, and whencrushed by grief at her eldest brother's death had hurried thither forsolace. Her family thought her safe there, not realizing how far lifeis from having its final crisis over at one-and-twenty. New Sisters camein, old ones went to found fresh branches; stricter rules grew, up,and were enforced by a Superior out of sympathy with the girl, who hadalways rebelled against what she thought dictation. It was decided thatshe could stay there no longer, and her brother Lancelot and his wifereceived her at Marshlands with indignant sympathy for her wrongs; butneither she nor her sister-in-law were made to suit one another.With liberty her spirit and audacity revived, and she showed so muchattraction towards the Salvation Army, that her brother declared theirmusic to have been the chief deterrent from her becoming a "Hallelujahlass." However, in a brief visit to London, she so much pleased Mr.Grinstead that he invited her to partake in the winter's journey toItaly. Poor man, he little knew what he undertook. Music, art, RomanCatholic services, and novelty conspired to intoxicate her, and hersister was thankful to carry her off northward before she had pledgedherself to enter a convent.

  Mountain air and scenery, however, proved equally dangerous. Herenterprises inspired the two quiet people with constant fears for herneck; but it was worse when they fell in with a party of very Bohemianartists, whom Mr. Grinstead knew just well enough not to be able toshake them off. The climax came when she started off with them incostume at daybreak on an expedition to play the zither and sing at avillage fete. She came back safe and sound, but Geraldine was alreadypacked up to take her to Munich, where Charles Audley and Stella nowwere, and to leave her under their charge before she had driven Mr.Grinstead distracted.

  There was a worse trouble at home. Since the death of his good oldmother and of Felix Underwood, Sir Adrian Vanderkist had been rapidlygoing downhill; as though he had thrown off all restraint, and as ifthe yearly birth of a daughter left him the more free to waste hispatrimony. Little or nothing had been heard direct from poor Alda tillClement was summoned by a telegram from Ironbeam Park to find his sisterin the utmost danger, with a new-born son by her side, and her husbandin the paroxysms of the terrible Nemesis of indulgence in alcohol.

  Sir Adrian had quarrelled with all the family in turn except Clement,and this fact, or else that gentleness towards a sufferer that had wonon old Fulbert Underwood, led him in a lucid interval to direct and signa hurried will, drawn up by his steward, leaving the Reverend EdwardClement Underwood sole guardian to his children, and executor, togetherwith his lawyer. It was done without Clement's knowledge, or he wouldhave remonstrated, for never was there a more trying bequest than thecharge which in a few days he found laid on him.

  He had of course already made acquaintance with the little girls. Poorchildren, they had hitherto led a life as dreary as was possible tochildren who had each other, and fresh air and open grounds. Theirmother was more and more of an invalid, and dreaded that their fathershould take umbrage at the least expense that they caused; so
that theywere scrupulously kept out of his way, fed, dressed, and even educatedas plainly as possible by a governess, cheap because she was passe, andmade up for her deficiencies by strictness amounting to harshness,while they learnt to regard each new little sister's sex as a proof ofnaughtiness on her part or theirs.

  The first time they ever heard a man's step in the school-room passagewas in those days of undefined sorrow, alarm, and silence after thegoverness had despatched the message to the only relation whose addressshe knew. The step came nearer; there was a knock, the sweet, strongvoice asked,

  "Are the poor little girls here?" and the tall figure was on one kneeamong them, gathering as many as he could within his loving arms.Perhaps he recollected Sister Constance among the forlorn flock atBexley; but these were even more desolate, for they had no past of loveand loyalty. But with that embrace it seemed to the four elders thattheir worst days were over. What mattered it to them that they all eightof them--were almost destitute? the birth of the poor little male heirpreventing the sale of the property, so terribly encumbered; and theonly available maintenance being the L5000 that Mr. Thomas Underwood hadsettled securely upon their mother.

  They began to know what love and kindness meant. Kind uncles and auntsgathered round them. Their mother seemed to be able to live when hertwin-sister hung over her, and as soon as she could be moved, the wholeparty left the gloom of Ironbeam for Vale Leston, where a house wasarranged for them. Lady Vanderkist continued a chronic invalid, watchedover by her sister Wilmet and her excellent young daughter Mary. Robina,who had only one girl, and had not forgotten her training as a teacher,undertook, with the assistance of Sophia, the second daughter, theeducation of the little ones; and the third and fourth, Emilia and Anna,were adopted into the childless homes of Mrs. Travis Underwood and Mrs.Grinstead, and lived there as daughters. Business cares of the mostperplexing kind fell, however, on Clement Underwood's devoted andunaccustomed head, and in the midst arrived a telegram from CharlesAudley, summoning him instantly to Munich.

  Angela was in danger of fulfilling her childish design of marrying aDuke, or at least a Graf. Diplomates could not choose their society, andshe had utterly disdained all restraints from "the babies," as she choseto call Mr. and Mrs. Audley, and thus the wunderschones madchen hadfascinated the Count, an unbelieving Roman Catholic of evil repute, andhad derided their remonstrances.

  Clement hurried off, but to find the bird flown. She had come down inthe morning, white and tear-stained, and had told Stella that she couldstay no longer, kissed her, and was gone out of the house before evenCharles could be called. Stella's anxiety, almost despair, had howeverbeen relieved just before her brother's arrival by an electric messagefrom Vale Leston with the words, "Angela safe at home."

  Letters followed, and told how Robina had found her sobbing upon herbrother Felix's grave. Her explanation was, that on the very nightbefore her proposed betrothal, she had dreamt that she was driftingdown the Ewe in the little boat Miss Ullin, and saw Felix under thewillow-tree holding out his bared arms to her. She said, "Is that thescar of the scald?" and his only answer was the call "Angela! Angela!"and with the voice still sounding in her ears, she awoke, and determinedinstantly to obey the call, coming to her, as she felt, from anotherworld. If it were only from her own conscience, still it was a causeof great thankfulness to her family, and she soon made herself veryvaluable at Vale Leston in a course of epidemics which ran through thevillage, and were in some cases very severe. The doctors declared thattwo of the little Vanderkists owed their lives to her unremitting care.

  Her destiny seemed to be fixed, and she went off radiant to be trainedat a London hospital as a nurse. Her faculty in that line was undoubted.All the men in her ward were devoted to her, and so were almost all theyoung doctors; but the matron did not like her, and at the end of thethree years, an act of independent treatment of a patient caused atremendous commotion, all the greater because many outsiders declaredthat she was right. But it almost led to a general expulsion of ladynurses.

  Of course she had to retire, and happily for her, Mother Constance wasjust at that time sentenced by her rheumatism to spend the winter in awarm climate. She eagerly claimed Angela's tendance, and just at the endof the year there came an urgent request for a Sister from England toform a foundation in one of the new cities of Australia on the model ofSt. Faith's; and thither Mother Constance proceeded, with one Sister andAngela, who had thenceforth gone on so well and quietly that her familyhoped the time for Angela's periodical breaking out had passed.

  The ensuing years had been tranquil as to family events, though thevarious troubles and perplexities that fell on Clement were endless,both those parochial and ritualistic, and those connected with theVanderkist affairs, where his sister did not spare him her murmurs.Fulbert's death in Australia was a blow both to Lancelot and to him,though they had never had much hope of seeing this brother again. Hehad left the proceeds of his sheep-farm between Lancelot, Bernard, andAngela.

  Thus had passed about fourteen years since the death of Felix, when kindold Mr. Grinstead died suddenly at a public meeting, leaving his widowwell endowed, and the possessor of her pretty home at Brompton. When,soon after the blow, her sisters took her to the home at Vale Leston,she had seemed oppressed by the full tide of young life overflowingthere, and as if she again felt the full force of the early sorrow inthe loss that she had once said made Vale Leston to her a desolation. Onher return to Brompton, she had still been in a passive state, as thoughthe taste of life had gone from her, and there was nothing to callforth her interest or energy. The first thing that roused her was thedangerous illness of her brother Clement, the result of blood-poisoningduring a mission week in a pestilential locality, after a long courseof family worries and overwork in his parish. Low, lingering fever hadthreatened every organ in turn, till in the early days of January,a fatal time in the family, he was almost despaired of. However, Dr.Brownlow and Lancelot Underwood had strength of mind to run the risk,with the earnest co-operation of Professor Tom May, of a removal toBrompton, where he immediately began to mend, so that he was in Aprildecidedly convalescent, though with doubts as to a return to realhealth, nor had he yet gone beyond his dressing-room, since any exertionwas liable to cause fainting.

  CHAPTER II. -- A CHAPTER OF TWADDLE