“Why, here’s Joe’s silver spoon,” pounced Pat. “This is a find. We never knew what became of it. How in the world did it get here? Won’t mother be pleased!”
The little silver spoon with the dents where Joe had cut his teeth…Joe who was half way to China now. Pat sighed and rose.
“Well, that is all. I wonder if we should burn those old letters. In a way I’d like to read them…there’s something fascinating in old letters…they seem to open ghostly gates…but I suppose Aunt Martha wouldn’t have liked it.”
Pat picked the packet up. An old dim, flattened four-leaved clover slipped from it. Who had found luck with it? Not Aunt Martha at all events. The letters were brittle and yellow…full of old words of love written years ago from hearts that were dust…full of old joys that had once been raptures and dim old griefs that had once been agonies.
“We must drag the chest back into its corner. Look at Bold-and-Bad peering out of it.”
Bold-and-Bad’s eyes were glowing in his lair, giving that uncanny expression cats’ eyes often do…as if they were merely transparent, letting the burning fires behind them become visible.
“They did be saying that Martha’s beau’s uncle’s looked like that be times,” Judy whispered as she went downstairs.
It was rather too spooky. Cuddles fled in Judy’s wake. But Pat still lingered, going back to the window where the full moon was beginning to weave beautiful patterns of vine leaves on the garret floor. The spookier the garret was the more she loved it. The letters in her hands made her think of Hilary’s letter that day. Like all his letters it had a certain flavor. It lived. You could almost hear Hilary’s voice speaking through it…see the laughter in his eyes. Every time you re-read one of his letters you found something new in it. To-day’s had enclosed a sketch of his prize design for a house on the side of a hill. There was something about it faintly reminiscent of Silver Bush. Pat had one of her moments of wishing passionately that Hilary was somewhere about…that they could join hands as of old and run across the old stone bridge over Jordan. Surely they had only to slip over the old bridge to find themselves in the old fairyland. They would go back to Happiness and the Haunted Spring, following the misty little brook through the old fields where the moonlight loved to dream. They would linger there, lapped round by exquisite silence. Shadowy laughter would echo faintly about them. Cool elusive night smells would be all around. Little white sheep would be out on the hills. Surely Happiness kept their old days for them and they would find them there. Pat shivered. The rising wind moaned rather eerily around the lofty window. She felt suddenly, strangely lonely…right there in dear Silver Bush she felt lonely…homesick. It was uncanny. She ran downstairs and left the garret to its ghosts.
CHAPTER 11
When Judy read an item from “Events of the Week” in a Charlottetown paper to the Silver Bush girls one evening they were only mildly and pleasantly excited over it. The Countess of Medchester, the paragraph stated, was visiting friends in Ottawa on her way home from Vancouver to England.
“That do be the lady married to the earl as is uncle av yer cousin, Lady Gresham,” said Judy proudly. “Oh, oh, it do be giving me a bit av a thrill, as Cuddles says, to rade that item and riflict that we do be in a manner connected wid her.”
“Even though she doesn’t know of our existence,” laughed Pat. “I don’t suppose Lady Gresham brags to her friends of her very distant relationship to certain unimportant people on a Canadian farm.”
“Likely she thinks we’re Indians,” grinned Cuddles. “Still, as Judy says, there’s a thrill in it.”
“Whin ye see May Binnie nixt time ye can be saying…to yersilf, av coorse…‘Ye don’t be having a fourth cousin in the English aristocracy, Miss Binnie.’ And that’ll be a satisfaction.”
“I shall say it to Trix,” said Cuddles.
“Indeed, you won’t,” cried Pat. “Don’t make yourself ridiculous, Cuddles. We’re of no more importance in the Countess of Medchester’s eyes…supposing she ever heard of us…than the Binnies. And who cares? Look at that froth of cherry bloom behind the turkey house. I’m quite sure there’s nothing lovelier on the grounds of Medchester Castle…if there is a castle.”
“Av coorse there’s a castle,” said Judy, carefully cutting out the item. “An earl cudn’t be living in innything humbler. I’m pinning this up on the wall be me dresser to show Tillytuck. He’s niver quate belaved me whin I tould him av yer being third cousin to Lady Gresham.”
“Fourth, Judy, fourth.”
“Oh, oh, I might have made a bit av a mistake in the figure but does it be mattering? Innyhow, this will convince him. He was be way av being a bit cranky this morning whin he come in for breakfast though he cudn’t be putting a name to the rason…like the cintipede that had rheumatism in one av his legs but cudn’t tell which. He was putting on some frills wid me but this will be one in the eye for him. A rale countess wid a maid to button her boots! Oh, oh! I had a faling last night there did be something strange in the air.”
When the letter came that day…being left in the mailbox at the road just like any common epistle and carried up to the house in Tillytuck’s none too clean hand…Judy felt there was something stranger still in the air. A heavy cream-tinted envelope with a dainty silver crest on the flap, addressed in a black distinctive hand to Mrs. Alex Gardiner, North Glen, P. E. Island, and post-marked Ottawa. The crest and the post-mark had a very queer effect on Judy. She gave a gasp and looked at Gentleman Tom. Gentleman Tom winked knowingly.
“Anybody dead?” said Tillytuck.
Judy ignored him and called for Pat in an agitated voice. Pat came in from the garden, her arms full of the plumes of white lilac, McGinty ambling at her heels. Cuddles came running across the yard, the spring sunlight shining on her golden-brown head. Judy was standing in the middle of the kitchen floor holding the letter at arm’s length.
“Judy, what is it?”
“Ye may well ask,” said Judy. “Will ye be looking at the crest? And the post-mark?”
Pat took the letter.
“I feel a thrill…several thrills,” whispered Cuddles.
“Thrills, is it? Sure and ye’ll be having thrills wid a vengeance if that do be what I’m thinking it is.”
“It’s for mother,” said Pat slowly. Mother was away for a visit at Glenwood. “I suppose we’d better open it. It may be something requiring prompt attention.”
Judy handed Pat the paring knife. She had a presentiment that the letter should not be torn open like an ordinary epistle. Pat slit the envelope, took out the letter…likewise crested…and glanced over it. She turned red…she turned pale…she stared at the others in silence.
“What is it?” whispered Cuddles. “Quick…I’ve got such a queer prickly feeling in my spine.”
“It’s from the Countess of Medchester,” said Pat in a hollow voice. “She says she promised Lady Gresham she would see her cousins before she returned to England…she’s coming to Charlottetown to visit friends and she wants to come out here…here…next Saturday. Saturday!”
Poor Pat repeated the word as if Saturday meant the end of the world.
For a moment nobody spoke…could speak. Even Tillytuck seemed to have passed into a state of coma. In the silence Gentleman Tom reached over and dug a claw into his leg but Tillytuck did not even wince.
Cuddles was the first to recover.
“Have the Countess of Medchester here,” she gasped. “We can’t.”
But Judy had got her second wind. She was an expert in dealing with situations without precedent.
“Oh, oh, mebbe we can’t…but we will. What’s a countess whin all is said and done? Sure, she’ll ate and drink and wash behind her ears like inny common person. What time av day will she be here, Patsy?”
“The forenoon…she’s leaving on the night boat. That means she’ll be here for dinner, Judy!”
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br /> “She will be in a good place for the same thin, I’m telling ye. It will be a proud day for Silver Bush and no countess was iver ating a better male than we can be putting up. But ’twill take some planning, so kape up yer pecker, Patsy, and let’s be getting down to brass tacks. We’ve no time for blithering. Sure and yer countesses can’t be ating lilac blossoms.”
Pat came up gasping. She felt ashamed of herself. It was positively Binnie-like to be flabbergasted like this.
“You’re right, of course, Judy. Let me see…this is Tuesday. The floors in the dining room and the Big Parlor must be done over…they’re simply terrible. I’ll paint them today and stain them to-morrow. I wish I could do something to the front door. The paint is all peeling off. But I daren’t meddle with it. We must just leave it open and trust she won’t notice it. Then, Cuddles, we have to go to Winnie’s one day this week to help her get her sewing done. We should have gone last week but I wanted to wait till this week to see their big crab-apple tree in bloom. We’ll go Thursday. That will give us Friday to prepare. We must take her to the Poet’s room because the ceiling isn’t cracked there as it is in the spare room and we must put the spread mother embroidered on the bed. Sid can go for mother Friday evening. It is a shame to have her visit cut short when it’s her first for years…but of course she’d like to be here.”
“Oh, oh, and there’ll be two great ladies together thin,” said Judy. “I’ll match yer mother agin inny countess in the world. Sure and a Bay Shore Selby cud hould up her hid wid inny av the quality.”
Pat was herself again. Tillytuck was lost in admiration of her. From that moment Silver Bush was a place of excited but careful planning and overhauling and cleaning and decorating and discussing. Even Tillytuck had his say.
“The dinner’s the thing,” he told them. “A good meal is never to be sneezed at, speaking symbolically.”
Everyone agreed with this. The dinner must be such as even the wife of a belted earl could not turn up her nose at. Pat did endless research work among all her recipe books. Cuddles cut school to help. What was Latin and the chance of tattooing compared to this?
It was decided to have fried chicken for dinner…Judy’s fried chicken was something to dream about.
“Wid sparrow grass. Sure and sparrow grass is a sort av hardy vegetable. Ye’ll be making the sauce ye lamed at the Short Coorse, Patsy dear. And will ye be having time to hemstitch the new napkins?”
“Cuddles and I are going to sit up all night to do them. I think we’ll have iced melon balls and ice-cream for dessert and a lemon coconut cake. We mustn’t attempt too much.”
“Not to be ostentatious,” agreed Judy who dearly loved a big word now and then.
“And, after all, she may be on a diet,” grinned Cuddles. Cuddles had regained all her insouciance. Trix Binnie would be sunk when she heard of it all, positively sunk.
“I hope she’ll think Silver Bush nice,” breathed Pat. That was all she really cared about.
“She cudn’t be hilping it,” said Judy. “Let’s be hoping it will be fine on Saturday. If it rains…”
Judy left it to the imagination what it would be like to entertain a countess in a rainstorm.
“It must be fine,” was Pat’s ultimatum.
“Do you think it wouldn’t be a good thing to…to pray for fine weather?” suggested Cuddles, who felt that no chances should be taken.
Judy shook her head solemnly.
“Girls dear, I wudn’t. Ye can niver be telling what comes av such praying. Well do I rimimber the day in South Glen church whin the minister, ould Mr. McCary, did be praying for rain wid all his might and main. Whin the people were going home from church down comes a thunderstorm and drinches iverybody to the skin. Ould James Martin and ould Thomas Urquhart were together and ‘Thomas sez, sez he, I do be wishing he hadn’t prayed till we got home. Thim McCarys niver cud be moderate,’ sez he. So ye’d better be laving it to nature, girls dear. And thank the Good Man Above there’ll be no Jerusalem cherries around. Whin she comes, Patsy dear, av coorse I’ll kape in the background but don’t ye be thinking I’d better have me dress-up dress on, in case she might catch a glimpse av me coming or going?”
“Of course, Judy. And oh, Judy, do you think you could coax Tillytuck to leave off that terrible old fur cap of his for one day? If she saw him going through the yard!”
“Niver be worrying over Tillytuck. He’ll be away to town that day wid the calves yer dad sold. And none too well plazed about it. Him thinking he wanted a glimpse av a countess! And trying to be sarcastic. He sez to me, sez he, ‘Kape a stiff upper lip, Judy. After all, yer grandmother was a witch and that’s a sort of aristocracy, symbolically spaking.’ ‘I’m not nading to stiffen me upper lip,’ sez I. ‘I do be knowing me place and kaping it, spaking the plain truth and no symbols.’ Tillytuck do be getting a bit out av hand. He was after smoking his pipe in the graveyard today, setting on Waping Willy’s tombstone as bould as brass.”
“Aunt Edith and Aunt Barbara are terribly excited,” said Pat. “I wanted them to come over for dinner but they wouldn’t. Aunt Edith vetoed it. However, she very kindly offered to lend us her silver soup spoons. She said a countess could tell at a glance if the spoons were solid or only plated. I’m so glad our teaspoons are solid…only they’re so old and thin.”
“Oh, oh, they do be all the more aristocratic for that,” comforted Judy. “The countess will be saying to hersilf, ‘There’s fam’ly behind thim. Nothing av the mushroom in thim,’ she’ll be saying. And spaking av the Swallowfield folks, have ye noticed innything odd about yer Uncle Tom’s beard?”
“Yes…it has almost disappeared,” sighed Pat. “It’s nothing more than an imperial now.”
“Whin it disappears altogether we’ll be hearing some news,” said Judy with a mysterious nod.
But Pat had no time just then to be worrying over Uncle Tom’s vanishing whiskers. By Wednesday night Silver Bush was ready for the countess…or for royalty itself. On Thursday Sid took Pat and Cuddles over to the Bay Shore to help Winnie with her spring sewing. They really sewed all the forenoon. In the afternoon Winnie said, “Never mind any more for a while. Come out in the wind and sun. We don’t often have such an afternoon to spend together.”
They prowled about the garden, picking flowers, drinking in the crab-apple blossoms, watching the harbor and making nonsense rhymes. In the midst of their fun they heard the telephone ring in the house.
CHAPTER 12
Pat went in to answer it, as Winnie had her Christmas baby in her arms. When Pat heard Judy’s voice she knew that something tremendous had occurred for Judy never used the telephone if she could help it.
“Patsy dear, is it yersilf? I do be having a word for you. She’s here.”
“Judy! Who? Not the countess?”
“I’m telling ye. But I can’t be ixplaining over the phone. Only come as quick as ye can, darlint. Siddy and yer dad have gone to town.”
“We’ll be right over,” gasped Pat.
But how to get right over? Frank was away with the car. There was nothing for it but the old buggy and the old gray mare. It would take them an hour to get to Silver Bush. And Uncle Brian must be ’phoned to and asked to bring mother right home. Between them Pat and Cuddles got the mare harnessed and after several hundred years…or what seemed like it…they found themselves alighting in the yard of Silver Bush…which looked as quiet and peaceful as usual with Just Dog sleeping on the door-stone and three kittens curled up in a ball on the well platform.
“I suppose the countess is in the Big Parlor,” said Pat. “Let’s slip into the kitchen and find out everything from Judy first.”
“How do you talk to countesses?” gasped Cuddles. “Pat, I think I’ll go and hide in the barn loft.”
“Indeed you won’t! You’re not a Binnie! We’ll see Judy and then we’ll slip upstairs and get some decent clothes o
n before we beard the lion in her den.”
Pat had on her blue linen afternoon dress…which, incidentally, was the most becoming thing she owned. Cuddles wore her pretty green sweater with its little white embroidered linen collar, above which her wind-tossed hair gleamed, the color of sunlight on October beeches. Both girls ran, giggling with nervousness, up the herring-bone brick walk to the kitchen door and rushed in unceremoniously. Then they both stopped in their tracks. Cuddles’ eyes wirelessed to Pat, “Do you really live through things like this or do you just die?”
Judy Plum and the Countess of Medchester were sitting by the table, whereon were the remnants of a platterful of baked sausages and potatoes. At the very moment of the girls’ entry Judy was pouring cream from her “cream cow” into her ladyship’s cup and the latter was helping herself to a piece of the delightful thing Judy called “Bishop’s bread.” Gentleman Tom was attending meticulously to his toilet in the center of the floor and Bold-and-Bad was coiled on the countess’ lap, while McGinty was squatted by the legs of her chair. Tillytuck was sitting in his corner…fortunately minus the fur cap, which, however, hung on his chair back. Judy was in her striped drugget but with a beautiful white apron starched stiff as a board. She was as completely at her ease as if the countess had been a scrubwoman. And as for Lady Medchester, Pat, amid all her dumfounderment, instantly got the impression that she was enjoying herself hugely.
“And here,” said Judy, with incredible nonchalance, “are the girls I’ve been telling ye av…Mrs. Long Alec’s daughters. Patricia and Rachel.”
The countess instantly got up and shook hands with Patricia and Rachel. She had mouse-colored hair and a square, reddish face, but the smile on her wide mouth was charming.
“I’m so glad you’ve come before I have to go,” she said. “It would have been dreadful to go back home and have to tell Clara that I hadn’t seen any of her cousins at all. She has always had such a dear recollection of some wonderful days she spent on Prince Edward Island when a child. It was too bad to come down on you like this. But I got a cable from England last night which made it imperative I should leave tonight, so I had to come this afternoon. Your Judy…” she flashed a smile at Judy…“made me delightfully welcome and showed me around your lovely home…and, last but not least, has given me a most delicious meal. I was so hungry.”
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