hope we shall like Pinnerton Lodge," said Stasy. "Weneedn't have anything to do with Blissmore, except, of course, that itwill be our station and post-town. And I suppose we shall do a littleshopping here. But, _of course_, we shall not know any Blissmorepeople. Mamma, I wish you'd begin to look up some of your old friends.That big place now, near us--East Moddersham. Didn't you know thosepeople long ago?"
Mrs Derwent shook her head.
"It was as good as shut up in those days," she said. "The Marths werescarcely ever there, as the then Lady Marth was very delicate.--Do thepresent owners of East Moddersham live there much, do you know?" sheinquired of Miss Halliday, who just then re-entered the room to see thather guests had all they wanted.
"Sir Conway and Lady Marth?" she replied. "Oh yes, they are there mostof the year; they have several sons, some grown up and some still atschool, and one quite little daughter. They are very much liked andhighly thought of in the county."
"And," began Blanche, "there is a grown-up girl, is there not? A nieceor a ward of Sir Conway's?" Miss Halliday's face grew still brighter.
"Lady Hebe, Miss, you must mean; Lady Hebe Shetland. Yes, she is theirward, and Sir Conway's niece too. A great heiress, and to my mind themost beautiful and charming young lady in all the country round. Herface makes one think of everything sweet and pleasant."
"And happy," said Blanche. "I never did see any one look so happy."
"She has everything to make her so," said Miss Halliday. "But thatwouldn't do it without a happy _nature_."
"How old is she?" asked Stasy abruptly.
"Nineteen, I think, Miss. They do say she is engaged to young MrMilward, a fine young gentleman, and well suited to her. But I don'tknow if it is true."
"Do you mean the Milwards of Crossburn?" said Mrs Derwent.
"Yes; that is where they live, I believe," was the reply.
"I hope it's not true that that girl of Blanche's is engaged," saidStasy, later in the evening, after she had been sitting silent for sometime.
"Why?" said her sister, looking up in surprise; "what difference couldit make to us?"
"All the difference. If she were married, she'd go away to a home ofher own, and we would never see her. But living there, so near, shewould be a nice friend for us. She is just about your age, Blanchie."
"Well," said Blanche, "we shall see. It is not even certain yet that weare going to live at Pinnerton at all."
"I'm sure we shall. I have a presentiment that we shall," said Stasyoracularly.
CHAPTER SIX.
THE DOCTOR'S WIFE.
Stasy's presentiment came true. The reports of the builder the nextmorning, when he called to enter into particulars with Mrs Derwent, werefavourable; and later in the day the mother and daughters returned toLondon with very little doubt in their minds as to their future homebeing Pinnerton Lodge.
London looked very grim and dreary after the clear fine sky in thecountry, and Stasy shivered at the thought of how many days must yetforcibly be spent there, before they could install themselves in theirnew quarters.
But the things we dread are not always those that come to pass. MrsDerwent, as I have said, was in some ways extremely inexperienced inEnglish life and rates of expenses. Busy and eager about thearrangements for their new house, she put off asking for her hotel billtill fully a fortnight after the little party's arrival in London. Andwhen she received it and glanced at the total, she was aghast!
"Blanche, my dear," she exclaimed, "just look at this. Is it nottremendous? Why, we might have lived at a hotel at home for nearly ayear for what this fortnight has cost us!"
"Not quite that, mamma," said Blanche, smiling, though her own fair facewas flushed with annoyance. "But, no doubt, it is very dear. And yetwe seem to have lived plainly enough. Mamma," she went on decidedly,"we mustn't stay here; that is quite certain. All you have got inreserve for furnishing our house and paying for the alterations will bewasted, and what should we do then?"
Mrs Derwent sat silent, considering.
"You are quite right, dear," she said at last. "We must look out forlodgings. But I have a horror of London lodgings. They are so oftendetestable."
"Why stay in London at all?" said Stasy suddenly from her corner of theroom, where, though engrossed with a story-book, her quick ears had beencaught by the sound of vexation in her mother's voice. "I am sure it ishorrid--so dull, and knowing nobody. Why shouldn't we go down toBlissmore, to that nice little Miss Halliday's, and stay there till thehouse is ready? We meant to go there for the last week or two, anyway."
Blanche's face lighted up, and she looked at her mother anxiously. ButMrs Derwent hesitated.
"It would certainly be comfortable enough," she said; "quite ascomfortable as here. But to stay there for so long--for several weeks?Is it not rather lowering? I don't want to get mixed up with Blissmorepeople: they must be a very heterogeneous society; not like in the olddays when there were just a very few thoroughly established peopleliving in the town, whom everybody knew and respected."
"I don't see that we need know people we don't want to know, any morewhen living in the town than in the neighbourhood," said Blanche. "Wecan keep quite to ourselves; unless, of course, you can look up some ofyour old friends, who would understand how we were placed."
Mrs Derwent seemed perplexed.
"I wish I could," she said, "but I scarcely know how to begin. Thereseems nothing but changes. It is such a disappointment about dear oldSir Adam to start with."
"Still we are gaining nothing in that way by remaining in London," saidBlanche. "And when at Blissmore you can find out about the people youused to know, and perhaps write to them."
"I can find out about them, certainly," Mrs Derwent agreed. "But Idon't think I should actually write or suggest any one's calling, tillwe are in our own house, and have everything nice and settled. Peopleare so prejudiced. They would immediately begin saying we lived poorlyor messily because we had been so long in France."
"I don't think any one could live `messily' in Miss Halliday's house ifthey tried. It is so beautifully neat," said Stasy, who had taken agreat fancy to their little landlady. "Do let us go there, mamma. I amso tired of being here. London is horrid in winter, especially if youhave no friends. And why should you and Blanche worry about the hotelbills, when there is no need, and none of us want to stay?"
And in the end, as not unfrequently happened--for there was often a gooddeal of wisdom in her suggestions--Stasy's proposal was adopted; so thatabout three weeks after their first arrival in England, the Derwentsfound themselves settled for the time being at Number Twenty-Nine in theold High Street of Blissmore.
It was not exactly the beginning of life in England which Mrs Derwenthad pictured to herself. It was a trifle dreary to be back again,really back again in the immediate neighbourhood of her old home, withno one except Miss Halliday--herself a new-comer in the place--towelcome her and her children, or take the slightest interest in theiradvent.
"If there had been even one or two of our old servants left somewherenear," she could not help saying to Blanche that night, when Stasy andlittle Hertford had gone to bed, in high spirits at having really gotaway from "that horrid London," as they both called it. "But every oneseems gone that I had to do with," she concluded, in a depressed tone.
"You really can't judge yet, mamma," said Blanche. "You haven't lookedup anybody except Sir Adam Nigel, and you said you would rather waittill we were settled in our own house."
"I know I did. Oh yes, I daresay it will all be right enough. I amgoing to make out a list of all the friends I remember, and inquireabout them by degrees. Some day soon we must drive over to Fotherley,Blanchie. Just think, I have never even seen your dear grandfather'sgrave! I am tired to-night, and everything seems wrong when one istired."
Things did brighten up even by the next morning. The weather, thoughcold, was clear and bracing; very different from the murkiness ofLondon, which had been peculiarly tryi
ng to nerves and lungs accustomedto the pure smokeless air of southern France. And the work at PinnertonLodge was already begun. It was most interesting to go all over thehouse again with the delightful sense of proprietorship, planning whichrooms should be for what and for whom; how the old furniture would "comein," and what it would be necessary to add to it. And an occasional dayin London, with definite shopping for its object, made Stasy allow thatfor some things, and in some ways, the great city was not altogether abad place after all.
Still, though they were not "dull" in the sense of having nothing to do,and feeling in consequence listless and dreary, the little family feltcuriously lonely.
Miss Halliday was no gossip--that is to say, she drew the line at theconcerns of her visitors, and sternly refused to tell any of her croniesanything about them. And though this rule of hers was well known, stillit added a slight element of mystery to her present lodgers, which, inreality, led to more gossip about them than they were in the least awareof. It was not often that visitors stayed so long at Miss Halliday's;as a rule, her rooms were merely taken as a half-way house for a veryfew days, by families pitching their tents in the now sought-afterlittle town. And for some time no one knew anything about PinnertonLodge, as the distance between it and Blissmore was sufficient, inwinter especially, to prevent much passing by. Added to which one ofthe good qualities of the Otterson and Bewley firm was discretioncarried to the limits of surliness, in their determination that allknowledge of their clients' affairs should be confined to the officeitself.
So Blanche and Stasy walked up and down the Blissmore streets, intent onsuch amount of shopping as Mrs Derwent would allow them to do there, ormarched out bravely to Pinnerton and back, however cold it was,rejoicing in the "delightful English freedom," as Stasy called it, whichmade it possible for them to do so without any breach of accepted rules,innocent of the remarks and comments their appearance in public calledforth.
"I _can't_ make them out," said the wife of one of the doctors--Blissmore now rejoiced in four or five, though formerly one and anassistant had been all that was required--the wife, unluckily, of _the_doctor whose house in the High Street was nearest to Miss Halliday's."I _can't_ make them out. Do they never mean to know anybody or tellwho they are? People who have come from abroad _should_ tell all aboutthemselves, or how can they expect any one to notice them."
Which was, to say the least, a begging-the-question kind of reproach,seeing that in no way had the Derwent family expected, or seemed toexpect, the "notice" of Mrs Burgess or any of her coterie!
But it is not only the brave that chance sometimes favours. It favoursthe idle and inquisitive and the busy-bodies too, now and then. And Iam afraid, without judging her too harshly, Mrs Burgess might come underthese heads.
The chance was that of Stasy getting a sore throat. It was not a verybad one, but she was rather subject to sore throats, and the change ofclimate made Mrs Derwent extra cautious about her. It got suddenlyworse one evening, and though Stasy was not cowardly or impatient whenshe was ill, she had to own to feeling pretty bad, and depressingvisions of a quinsy she had had on one or two occasions rose before her.
"We must not trifle with it," her mother decided, and Miss Halliday wassummoned and consulted as to sending for the doctor. Her own doctor,the one of oldest standing in the place, was unfortunately away for afew days, she happened to know. But there were others. Mr Meyrick wasconsidered second best, but he lived quite at the other side of thetown, and--
"I do not think it is anything complicated," said Mrs Derwent. "If wewere at home"--and she sighed just a little--"I should know how to treatit myself. But I have forgotten the names of English medicaments, and,indeed, I doubt if we could get the herbs and simple drugs here at all.No, it is best to have a doctor. Who is the nearest, Miss Halliday?"
"Mr Burgess lives only a few doors off," the little woman replied. "Andhe is clever, I believe."
"But you don't like him, I see," said Mrs Derwent. "Is there anythingagainst him?"
"Oh dear, no. But they--Mr Burgess and his wife--are not like DrSummers and Miss Summers. Mrs Burgess has the name of chattering agreat deal, and rather spitefully sometimes," Miss Halliday admitted.
The Derwents only smiled.
"That really does not matter," said the mother. "We shall have nothingto do with the wife. I think you had better send round for Mr Burgessand ask him to look in at once."
The throat was not a quinsy, but still rather troublesome and painful.Mr Burgess doctored it--or Stasy rather--skilfully enough, and beingpleasant and good-tempered, a certain amount of friendliness naturallysprang up between himself and his new patient's family, including Stasyherself.
"_He_ is not his wife, and you can say anything to a doctor," shereplied to Blanche, when, some days later--by which time Stasy wasalmost quite well again--the elder sister was remonstrating with her fortalking too fast to her new friend, considering the warning they hadbeen given. "Besides, there is no secret about who we are, and where wecome from, or anything about us."
"Certainly not," said her mother, "but we do not want these Blissmoreladies to begin calling upon us simply out of curiosity, and I did hearyou saying to the doctor this morning that it was very dull not to haveany friends here. I daresay he will have sense enough not to pay anyattention to it, otherwise, it almost sounded like asking his wife tocall."
But Stasy was sure she could not have been so misunderstood, and thesubject dropped. Only, however, to be revived more disagreeably when,two days later, Mrs Burgess _did_ call. Her husband was really not toblame for it, but he was an easy-going man, and, by a great show ofsympathy "with the poor things," feeling so lonely as they must bedoing, she extracted from him a reluctant half-consent to her takingadvantage of his professional acquaintance with the ladies, whose doingshad so occupied her empty head.
They were at home, and Deborah, somewhat overcome by the honour of acall from Mrs Burgess, admitted and announced her without hesitation.It was not in lady nature, certainly not in Mrs Derwent's nature, to beother than perfectly courteous in her own house to any visitor, howeverlittle desired, and, as was almost a matter of course with a woman ofMrs Burgess's calibre, she mistook the gentle gravity with which she wasreceived for somewhat awe-struck gratification at her visit, andspeedily proceeded to make herself very much at home, very much at homeindeed.
This process consisted of several stages. In the first place, afterensconsing herself in the most comfortable chair--Mrs Burgess had aquick eye for a comfortable chair--and amiably waving her hostess to oneconveniently near, and, as she expressed it, on her "best side"--for thedoctor's wife was deaf--she loosened her cloak, remarking that, thoughcold out-of-doors, it was rather "warm in here," the ceilings were low,and low rooms get quickly "stuffy."
"Indeed," said Mrs Derwent. "I am sorry you find it so. We think theserooms very well ventilated. Old-fashioned, thick-walled houses areoften warm in winter as well as cool in summer."
"Pr'aps so," said Mrs Burgess, "but I'm all for modern improvements.We've done a deal to our house; we'd almost better have rebuilt it. Butyou've been living abroad, I believe. Foreign houses are quite anotherstyle of thing, I suppose? Very rough compared with English."
Mrs Derwent could not repress a smile.
"`Foreign' is a wide word," she said, "if you mean it in the sense ofanything or everything not _English_. No, I cannot say that we havebeen accustomed to living in very rough ways, and there are manybeautiful houses in the south of France."
"Oh, the south of France!" repeated her visitor, who had not veryclearly caught the rest of Mrs Derwent's speech. "Yes, I suppose that'svery much improved by so many English going over there for the winters.And was it for health, then, that you lived there? These young ladiesdon't look so very strong. I must tell Mr Burgess to keep his eye onthem--living so near, it would be quite a pleasure. But, oh, I wasforgetting. You're thinking of living out of town a bit?"
"Yes," said Mrs Derwent.
"I have taken a house at Pinnerton Green--Pinnerton Lodge."
Mrs Burgess screwed up her lips.
"Damp," she said oracularly. "I don't hold with all these trees. Andthese delicate girls--"
"Thank you, you are very kind," said Mrs Derwent, more stiffly; "but mydaughters are _not_ delicate, and--"
The only word that caught Mrs Burgess's ears was the objectionableadjective.
"Of course, of course," she repeated; "I could see it in a moment. ButI'll tell you what you must do--have the trees thinned. That's what theWandles did in their grounds at Pinnerton; they had the trees _wellthinned_, especially at the side of the house, where the children'swindows look out. Mrs Wandle is most kind. I'm sure a word from me,and she'd come to see you and tell you all about it. You don't knowher, of course? Never mind; I'll ask her to call. You see this is agreat tree country, and if you're not used to--"
"I know all about this part of the country very well, thank you; and Ithink it particularly healthy. I was brought up here, and we are notthe least afraid of Pinnerton being
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