That Stick ...

by Charlotte Mary Yonge

  ‘But quite a lady,’ said Freda stoutly, ‘and we are all as fond of her as possible.’

  It showed how much progress she had made that even this shock did not set her to express any more faint-hearted doubts, and, when Lord Northmoor arrived the next day, the involuntary radiance on both their faces was token enough that they were all the world to each other. Mary allowed herself to venture on getting Lady Kenton’s counsel on the duties of household headship that would fall on her; and instead of being terrified at the great garden-party and dinner-party to be held at Coles Kenton, eagerly availed herself of instruction in the details of their management. She had accepted her fate, and when the two were seen moving about among the people of the party they neither of them looked incongruous with the county aristocracy. Quiet, retiring, and insignificant they might be, but there was nothing to remark by the most curious eyes of those who knew they were to see the new peer and his destined bride; in fact, as George and Freda privately remarked, they were just the people that nobody ever would see at all, unless they were set up upon a pedestal.

  Mary still feebly suggested, when the marriage was spoken of, that it might be wiser for Frank to p. 68wait a year, get over his first expenses and feel his way; but he would not hear of her going back to her work, and pleaded his solitude so piteously that she could not but consent to let it take place as soon as possible. They would fain have kept it as private as possible, but their good friends were of opinion that it was necessary to give them a start with some йclat, and insisted that it should take place with all due honours at Coles Kenton, where Mary was treated like a favoured niece, and assisted with counsel on her trousseau. The savings she had made during the long years of her engagement were enough to fit her out sufficiently to feel that she was bringing her own wardrobe, and Lady Kenton actually went to London with her to superintend the outlay.

  ‘Whom would they like to have asked to the wedding?’ the lady inquired, herself naming the Langs and Burfords. ‘Of course,’ she added, smiling, ‘Freda and Alice will be only too happy to be bridesmaids. Have you any one whom you would wish to ask? Your old scholars perhaps.’

  ‘I think,’ said Mary, hesitating, ‘that one reason why we think we ought to decline your kindness was—about his relations.’

  Lady Kenton had given full license to the propriety of calling him Frank with intimate friends, but Mary always had a shyness about it.

  ‘Indeed, I should make no question about asking them, if I had not doubted whether, after what passed—’

  ‘That is all forgotten,’ said Mary gently. ‘I have had quite a nice letter since, and—’

  p. 69‘Of course they must be asked,’ said Lady Kenton; ‘I should have proposed it before, but for that scene.’

  ‘That is nothing,’ said Mary; ‘the doubt is whether, considering the style of people, it would not be better for us to manage it otherwise, and not let you be troubled.’

  ‘Oh, that’s nothing! On such an occasion there’s no fear of their not behaving like the rest of the world. There are girls, I think; they should be bridesmaids.’

  This very real kindness overcame all scruples, and indeed a great deal might be forgiven to Miss Marshall in consideration of the glory of telling all Westhaven of the invitation to be present ‘at my brother Lord Northmoor’s wedding, at Sir Edward Kenton’s, Baronet.’ He gave the dresses, not only the bridesmaids’ white and cerise (Freda’s choice), but the chocolate moirй which for a minute Mrs. Morton fancied ‘the little spiteful cat’ had chosen on purpose to suppress her, till assured by all qualified beholders, especially Mrs. Rollstone and a dressmaker friend, that in nothing else would she have looked so entirely quite the lady.

  And Lady Kenton’s augury was fulfilled. The whole family were subdued enough by their surroundings to comport themselves quite well enough to pass muster.

  p. 70CHAPTER XI

  POSSESSION

  So Francis Morton, Baron Northmoor of Northmoor, and Mary Marshall, daughter of the late Reverend John Marshall, were man and wife at last. Their honeymoon was ideally happy. It fulfilled a dream of their life, when Frank used, in the holidays spent by Mary with his mother, to read aloud the Waverley novels, and they had calculated, almost as an impossible castle in the air, the possibility of visiting the localities. And now they went, as assuredly they had never thought of going, and not much impeded by the greatness that had been thrust on them. The good-natured Kentons had dispensed his Lordship from the encumbrance of a valet, and though my Lady could not well be allowed to go maidless, Lady Kenton had found a sensible, friendly person for her, of whom she soon ceased to be afraid, and thus felt the advantage of being able to attend to her husband instead of her luggage.

  Tourists might look and laugh at their simple delight as at that of a pair of unsophisticated cockneys. This did not trouble them, as they trod p. 71what was to them classic ground, tried in vain the impossible feat of ‘seeing Melrose aright,’ but revelled in what they did see, stood with bated breath at Dryburgh by the Minstrel’s tomb, and tracked his magic spells from the Tweed even to Staffa, feeling the full delight for the first time of mountain, sea, and loch. Their enjoyment was perhaps even greater than that of boy and girl, for it was the reaction of chastened lives and hearts ‘at leisure from themselves,’ nor were spirit and vigour too much spent for enterprise.

  They tasted to the full every innocent charm that came in their way, and, above all, the bliss of being together in the perfect sympathy that had been the growth of so many years. Their maid, Harte, might well confide to her congeners that though my lord and my lady were the oldest couple she had known, they were the most attached, in a quiet way.

  They were loth to end this state of felicity before taking their new cares upon them, and were glad that the arrangements of the executors made it desirable that they should not take possession till October, when they left behind them the gorgeous autumn beauty of the western coast and journeyed southwards.

  The bells were rung, the gates thrown wide open, and lights flashed in the windows as Lord and Lady Northmoor drove up to their home, but it was in the dark, and there was no demonstrative welcome, the indoor servants were all new, the cook-housekeeper hired by Lady Kenton’s assistance, and the rest of the maids chosen by her, the butler and his subordinate acquired in like manner.

  p. 72It was a little dreary. The rooms looked large and empty. Miss Morton’s belongings had been just what gave a homelike air to the place, and when these were gone, even the big fires could not greatly cheer the huge spaces. However, these two months had accustomed the new arrivals to their titles, and likewise to being waited upon, and they were less at a loss than they would have been previously, though to Mary especially it was hard to realise that it was her own house, and that she need ask no one’s leave. Also that it was not a duty to sit with a fire. She could not well have done so, considering how many were doing their best to enliven the house, and finally she spent the evening in the library, not a very inviting room in itself, but which the late lord had inhabited, and where the present one had already held business interviews. It was, of course, lined with the standard books of the last generation, and Mary, who had heard of many, but never had access to them, flitted over them while her husband opened the letters he had found awaiting him. To her, what some one has called the ‘tea, tobacco, and snuff’ of an old library where the books are chiefly viewed as appropriate furniture, were all delightful discoveries. Even to ‘Hume’s History of England—nine volumes! I did not know it was so long! Our first class had the Student’s Hume. Is there much difference?’

  ‘Rather to the Student’s advantage, I believe. Half these letters, at least, are mere solicitations for custom! And advertisements!’

  ‘How the books stick together! I wonder when they were opened last!’

  p. 73‘Never, I suspect,’ said he. ‘I do not imagine the Mortons were much disposed to read.’

  ‘Well, they have left us a delightful store! What’s th
is? Smollett’s Don Quixote. I always wanted to know about that. Is it not something about giants and windmills? Have you read it?’

  ‘I once read an odd volume. He was half mad, and too good for this world, and thought he was living in a romance. I will read you some bits. You would not like it all.’

  ‘Oh, I do hope you will have time to read to me! Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. All these volumes! They are quite damp. You have read it?’

  ‘Yes, and I wish I could remember all those Emperors. I must put aside this letter for Hailes—it is a man applying for a house.’

  ‘How strange it sounds! Look, here is such an immense Shakespeare! Oh! full of engravings,’ as she fell upon Boydell’s Shakespeare—another name reverenced, though she only knew a few selected plays, prepared for elocution exercises.

  Her husband, having had access to the Institute Library, and spent many evenings over books, was better read than she, whose knowledge went no farther than that of the highest class, but who knew all very accurately that she did know, and was intelligent enough to find in those shelves a delightful promise of pasture. He was by this time sighing over requests for subscriptions.

  ‘Such numbers! Such good purposes! But how can I give?’

  p. 74‘Cannot you give at least a guinea?’ asked Mary, after hearing some.

  ‘I do not know whether in this position a small sum in the list is not more disadvantageous than nothing at all. Besides, I know nothing of the real merits. I must ask Hailes. Ah! and here is Emma, I thought that she would be a little impatient. She says she shall let her house for the winter, and thinks of going to London or to Brighton, where she may have masters for the girls.’

  ‘Oh, I thought you meant them to go to a good school?’

  ‘So I do, if I can get Emma’s consent; but I doubt her choosing to part with Ida. She wants to come here.’

  ‘I suppose we ought to have her?’

  ‘Yes, but not immediately. I do not mean to neglect her—at least, I do hope to do all that is right; but I think you ought to have a fair start here before she comes, so that we will invite her for Christmas, and then we can arrange about Ida and Constance.’

  ‘Dear little Connie, I hope she is as nice a little girl as she used to be!’

  ‘With good training, I think, she will be; and the tutor gives me good accounts of Herbert in this letter.’

  ‘Shall we have him here on Sunday week?’

  ‘Yes, I am very anxious to see him. I hope his master gives him more religious instruction than he has ever had, poor boy!’

  Though not brilliant or playful, Lord and Lady Northmoor had, it may be perceived, no lack of good p. 75sense in their strange new surroundings. It was hard not to feel like guests on sufferance, and next morning, a Sunday, was wet. However, under their waterproofs and umbrellas trudging along, they felt once more, as Mary said, like themselves, as if they had escaped from their keepers. Nobody on the way had the least idea who the two cloaked figures were, and when they crept into the seat nearest the door they were summarily ejected by a fat, red-faced man, who growled audibly, ‘You’ve no business in my pew!’

  However, with the words, ‘Beg your pardon,’ they stepped out with a little amusement in their eyes, when a spruce young woman sprang up from the opposite pew, with a scandalised whisper—

  ‘Mr. Ruddiman, it’s his Lordship! Allow me, my Lord—your own seat—’

  And she marshalled them up to the choir followed closely by Mr. Ruddiman, ruddier than ever, and butcher all over, in a perfect agony of apology, which Lord Northmoor in vain endeavoured to suppress or silence, till, when the guide had pointed to a handsome heavy carved seat with elaborate cushions, he gave a final gasp of, ‘You’ll not remember it in the custom, my Lord,’ and departed, leaving his Lordship almost equally scarlet with annoyance at the place and time of the demonstration, though, happily, the clergyman had not yet appeared, in his long and much-tumbled surplice.

  It was a case of a partial restoration of a church in the dawn of such doings, when the horsebox was removed, but the great family could not be routed out of the chancel, so there were the seats, where p. 76the choir ought to have sat, beneath a very ugly east window, bedecked with the Morton arms. In the other division of the seat was a pale lady in black, with a little girl, Lady Adela Morton, no doubt, and opposite were the servants, and the school children sat crowded on the steps. It was not such a service as had been the custom of the Hurminster churches; and the singing, such as it was, depended on the thin shrill voices of the children, assisted by Lady Adela and the mistress; the sermon was dull and long, and altogether there was something disheartening about the whole.

  Lady Adela had a gentle, sweet countenance and a simple devout manner; but it was disappointing that she did not attempt to address the newcomers, though they passed her just outside the churchyard, talking to an old man. Lady Kenton would surely have welcomed them.

  p. 77CHAPTER XII

  THE BURTHEN OF HONOURS

  A fearful affair to the new possessors of Northmoor was the matter of morning calls. The first that befell them, as in duty bound, was that from the Vicar. They were peaceably writing their letters in the library, and hoping soon to go out to explore the Park, when Mr. Woodman was announced, and was found a lonely black speck in the big dreary drawing-room, a very state room, indeed, which nobody had ever willingly inhabited. The Vicar was accustomed to be overridden; he was an elderly widower, left solitary in his old age, and of depressed spirits and manner. However, Frank had been used to intercourse with clergy, though his relations with them seemed reversed, and instead of being patronised, he had to take the initiative; or rather, they touched each other’s cold, shy, limp hands, and sat upright in their chairs, and observed upon the appropriate topic of early frosts, which really seemed to be affecting themselves.

  There was a little thaw when Lord Northmoor asked about the population, larger, alas, than the p. 78congregation might have seemed to show, and Mary asked if there were much poverty, and was answered that there was much suffering in the winter, there was not much done for the poor except by Lady Adela.

  ‘You must tell us how we can assist in any way.’

  The poor man began to brighten. ‘It will be a great comfort to have some interest in the welfare of the parish taken here, my Lord. The influence hitherto has not been fortunate. Miss Morton, indeed—latterly—but, poor thing, if I may be allowed to say so, she is flighty—and uncertain—no wonder—’

  At that moment Lady Adela was ushered in, and the Vicar looked as if caught in talking treason, while a fresh nip of frost descended on the party.

  Not that the lady was by any means on stiff terms with the Vicar, whom, indeed, she daily consulted on parochial subjects, and she had the gracious, hereditary courtesy of high breeding; but she always averred that this same drawing-room chilled her, and she was fully persuaded that any advance towards familiarity would lead to something obnoxious on the part of the newcomers, so that the proper relations between herself and them could only be preserved by a judicious entrenchment of courtesy. Still, it was more the manner of the Vicar than of herself that gave the impression of her being a formidable autocrat. After the frost had been again languidly discussed, Mr. Woodman faltered out, ‘His Lordship was asking—was so good as to ask—how to assist in the parish.’

  Lady Adela knew how scarce money must be, p. 79so she hesitated to mention subscriptions, and only said, ‘Thank you—very kind.’

  ‘Is there any one I could read to?’ ventured Mary.

  ‘Have you been used to the kind of thing?’ asked Lady Adela, not unkindly, but in a doubting tone.

  ‘No, I never could before; but I do wish to try to do something.’

  The earnest humility of the tone was touching, the Vicar and the autocrat looked at one another, and the former suggested, ‘Old Swan!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lady Adela, ‘old Swan lives out at Linghill, which is not above half a mile from this ho
use, but too far off for me to visit constantly. I shall be very much obliged if you can undertake the cottages there.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mary, as heartily as if she were receiving a commission from the Bishop of the diocese.

  ‘Did not Miss Morton mention something about a boys’ class?’ said Frank. ‘I have been accustomed to a Sunday school.’

  Mr. Woodman betrayed as much surprise as if he had said he was accustomed to a coal mine; and Lady Adela observed graciously, ‘Most of them have gone into service this Michaelmas; but no doubt it will be a relief to Mr. Woodman if you find time to undertake them.’

  This was the gist of the first two morning calls, and there were many more such periods of penance, for the bride and bridegroom were not modern enough in their notions to sit up to await their p. 80visitors, and thankful they were to those who would be at the expense of finding conversation, though this was not always the case; for much of the neighbourhood was of a description to be awed by the mere fact of a great house, and to take the shyness of titled people for pride. Those with whom they prospered best were a good-natured, merry old dowager duchess, with whom they felt themselves in the altitude to which they were accustomed at Hurminster; a loud-voiced, eager old squire, who was bent on being Lord Northmoor’s guide and prompter in county business; also an eager, gushing lady, the echoes of whose communications made Frank remark, after her departure, ‘We must beware of encouraging gossip about the former family.’

  ‘Oh, I wish I had the power of setting people down when they say what is undesirable, like Miss Lang, or Lady Adela!’ sighed Mary.

  ‘Try to think of them like your school girls,’ he said.

  The returning of the calls was like continually pulling the string of a shower-bath, and glad were the sighs when people proved to be not at home; but on the whole, being entertained was not half so formidable as entertaining, and a bride was not expected to do more than sit in her white silk, beside the host.