looked in fair order, for itneeds the full luxuriance of summer vegetation to show how, in aneglected or semi-neglected garden, the weeds grow apace with or outrunthe orthodox inhabitants of the soil.
The clerk was very patient. The minute attention bestowed by thevisitors upon the little place seemed to him to savour of hope, and itwas in his own interests, poor fellow, to secure a "let," as it wouldincrease his chances of promotion in the office. But at last MrsDerwent and her daughters seemed satisfied.
"We shall miss our train to London," said the former, "if we stay anylonger; for I must see Mr Otterson on our way through the town."
So saying, she led the way out, turning, as she stepped on to the drive,to give a last look at the house, with already a slight sense ofprospective proprietorship. But she said nothing, and the two girlswere quick-witted enough to follow her lead.
The flyman, for reasons best known to himself, had seen fit to drive outinto the road again, and was waiting, more than half asleep, at thegate.
Blanche glanced round, and an idea struck her.
"Mamma," she said, "if you are not tired, might we walk on a little way?I should like to have some idea of the neighbourhood, and to look in atthe church for a moment."
"Certainly," said Mrs Derwent; "it cannot make five minutes' difference.And, after all, even if it did, we could wait for a later train."
"You won't find the church open, madam, I'm afraid," said the clerk."But you might like to walk round it. From the other side there's anice view, Alderwood way. On a clear day you can see right across. Andat the other end of the lane there's one of the lodges of EastModdersham, Sir Conway Marth's place--one of _the_ places. You can seeit any Thursday. The avenue is half a mile long by this approach."
CHAPTER FIVE.
THE GIRL WITH THE HAPPY FACE.
As Derwent did not seem to feel any _very_ lively interest in EastModdersham, and proud little Stasy reared her head at the very idea ofgoing to see a show, like tourists, when, of course, they would there asguests!
But the mention of Alderwood had a different effect.
"Alderwood," repeated Stasy's mother, ignoring the young man's lastwords. "Do you mean Sir Adam Nigel's place? Why, it is quite at theother side of Blissmore, unless there are two Alderwoods. But thatcould scarcely be."
"Sir Adam Nigel," repeated the clerk in his turn, shaking his head. "Idon't recollect the name. Alderwood is the residence of Mrs Lilford--that's to say, it is her property, but it has been let on a long leaseto Lady Harriot Dunstan."
"Ah," said Mrs Derwent, turning to her daughters, "that explains it,then. Poor Sir Adam must be dead, for Mrs Lilford is a niece of his, afavourite niece, his brother's only child. I am surprised at herletting a family place like that; and yet it must be the same. Only Ican't understand its being at this side of Blissmore."
"It is three or four miles off, quite the other way," said the youngman, "but there is a view of it from this. It stands high, and Ibelieve there is a short cut to it across the fields, skirting thetown."
"I see," said Mrs Derwent consideringly. "Then you have never heard SirAdam Nigel's name? Perhaps you are not a native of the place, however."
"No; I come from Yorkshire," replied he. "I have only been down here afew months."
"Ah; that explains it," the lady said again.
They strolled round the church, and gazed over to where they were toldAlderwood _should_ be seen, if it were clearer. But a slight mist wasalready rising, and there was a mist over the older woman's eyes too.
"Alderwood was close to my old home, you know," she whispered toBlanche.
Then they walked round the green and down the short bit of laneseparating it from the high-road, the clerk staying behind to tell theflyman to follow them.
"How does it all strike you, Blanchie dear?" said Mrs Derwent, with someanxiety in her tone.
"I like the house very much indeed," the girl replied. "It might bemade _very_ nice. Would all that cost too much, mamma?"
"We must see," Mrs Derwent replied. "But the place--the green, and allthese other new houses. What do you think of the neighbourhood, inshort?"
"They are pretty, bright little houses," said Blanche, not fullyunderstanding her mother's drift. "But I think, on the whole, I likethe old-fashionedness of--"
"Of _our_ house?" Stasy interrupted, clearly showing how the wind wassetting in _her_ direction.
Blanche smiled.
"Of _our_ house, best," she concluded.
"Yes, oh yes, most decidedly," agreed Mrs Derwent. "But that was notexactly what I meant. I was wondering if the close neighbourhood ofthis sort of little colony may not be objectionable in any way."
"I scarcely see how," Blanche replied. "Of course, they are not thesort of people we should _know_; but still, these other houses make itless practically lonely. And once you look up all your friends, weshall be quite independent, you see, mamma."
"Of course," said Mrs Derwent, and she was going on to say more, when atthat moment the sound of a horse or horses' feet approaching themrapidly, made her stop short and look round.
They were just at the end of the lane. A few yards higher up the road,on the opposite side, large gates, and the vague outline of a smallhouse standing at one side of them, were visible. This was the entranceto the great house--East Moddersham--of which the clerk had spoken withbated breath. The sounds were coming towards where the Derwents stood,from the direction of the town, so, though they naturally turned tolook, they in no way associated them with the near neighbourhood of theEast Moddersham lodge.
There were two riders--a lady, and not far behind her, a groom. Theywere not going very fast; the horses seemed a little tired, and were notwithout traces of cross-country riding through November mud. Still theyseemed to go by quickly, and as the first comer--a girl evidently, andquite a young girl--passed, a slight exclamation made both Mrs Derwentand Stasy start slightly.
"Did you speak, Blanchie?" said her sister; and as she glanced atBlanche's face, she saw, with surprise, that she was smiling.
In her turn, Blanche started.
"I--I really don't know if I said anything, or if it was she who did,"she replied. "Did you see her, Stasy? Did you, mamma? It was the girlat the station--the girl with the happy face."
But neither her mother nor Stasy had known the little episode at thetime, though they remembered Blanche's telling them of it afterwards.
"I wish I had looked at her more," said Stasy regretfully. "I didn'tnotice her face; I was so taken up in looking at her altogether, youknow--the horse, and the whole get-up. It _did_ look so nice! Shall webe able to ride when we come to live here, mamma? It is one of thethings I have longed to be in England for."
"I hope so," said Mrs Derwent. "At least we can manage a pony andpony-carriage. I think you could enjoy driving yourselves almost asmuch as riding. I wonder who the girl is. Did she look as happy thistime, Blanche?"
"Yes; it seems the character of her face. I couldn't picture heranything else," Blanche replied. "I wonder, too, who she is."
"She rode in at those big gates a little farther on," Stasy said.
Just as she spoke, the clerk came up to them again, followed by the fly.He overheard Stasy's last words, and ventured, though quiterespectfully, to volunteer some information.
"That lady who just rode past," he said, "is Lady Hebe Shetland; she isa ward of Sir Conway's. A very fine-looking young lady she isconsidered. She has been hunting, no doubt. She is a splendidhorsewoman."
"Of course, there is a great deal of hunting hereabouts," said MrsDerwent. "It was my own part of the country in my young days."
And something in her tone, though she was too kindly to indulge in"snubs," made the young man conscious that the ladies were of adifferent class to most of the applicants for houses at the office inEnneslie Street.
They soon found themselves there again; Mr Otterson receiving them withurbanity, which increased when he found Mrs Derwent a pros
pectivetenant, likely to do more than "nibble."
"I should have _preferred_ a house on the other side," she said, "nearerAlderwood and Fotherley. Fotherley was my own old home."
"Indeed," said the agent, with secret curiosity. "I fear there isnothing thereabouts--really _nothing_. The new building has all been inthe town, or quite close to it, with the exception of Pinnerton Green."
"Ah well, then there is no use in thinking of another neighbourhood,"said Mrs Derwent.
And she went on to discuss the house that there _was_
Blanche: A Story for Girls Page 9
