“I shall do nothing of the kind. That was not stupidity, Mama! It was downright malice, because I had kept her hard at work all the morning. She wished to put me in an uncomfortable situation and she succeeded, but I shall not give her the added satisfaction of laughing at me in her sleeve while I scold her for it.”
“But to be obliged to receive two gentlemen of fashion dressed like that! When Cecy came running to tell me, I was ready to sink.”
“You were ready to sink, Mama?” Dione retorted with some indignation. “What do you suppose my feelings were? If I could have rendered myself invisible I would gladly have done so.”
“Dee was splendid!” Edwina said admiringly, emerging at last from the trancelike state induced by her meeting with Mr. Calderwood. “She behaved just as she would have done if she had been wearing her best gown, and—and playing the pianoforte instead of polishing the furniture.”
“It seemed the only thing to do,” Dione admitted. “Fortunately, Sir Greydon is too great a gentleman to betray the astonishment and disgust he must have felt, and both he and Mr. Calderwood exerted themselves to put us at our ease, but I hope never to have to endure such embarrassment again.”
“I still think,” Mrs. Mallory objected, “that Molly ought to be punished for doing such a thing.”
“She will be, Mama!” Dione pulled the mobcap from her pocket and crammed it on, pushing her hair up beneath it with a determined air. “I am going to set her to work again at once, and this time we are not going to stop until the hall is as clean as we can possibly make it. That will be a far worse punishment to Molly than any amount of scolding.”
Their next encounter with Sir Greydon Varleigh took place the following Sunday. The question of attending church had greatly exercised Mrs. Mallory’s mind, for the village was half a mile away and Garth House could provide no means of transport except the rough cart and ancient horse used by Ibstone for marketing and similar tasks. Dione, appealed to, said calmly that if it were fine, they would walk; if not, they would be obliged to stay at home and make do with family prayers.
Fortunately for Mrs. Mallory’s peace of mind—for she would have considered it very wrong not to attend a church service each Sunday—the day proved fine and warm, with just enough breeze to temper the heat of the sun. They set out in time to walk at a leisurely pace, and reached the church while the rest of the congregation were going in. There were several carriages in the avenue leading to the churchyard, and Mrs. Mallory and her family felt themselves to be the cynosure of attention, though no one spoke to them except a churchwarden, who indicated which was the Garth House pew, thus indicating also that their identity was known to the inhabitants of Brambledon.
After the service, however, the vicar made a point of speaking with them as they were leaving the church, welcoming them to the parish and saying how happy he was to see the Garth House pew occupied again, since for a number of years Mr. Jonathan Mallory’s great age had prevented him from attending services. Mrs. Mallory made some suitable reply and presented her children, and they went out into the sunshine feeling not quite such outsiders as when they arrived.
This comforting sensation, however, was rapidly dispelled by the stares, ranging from curious to frankly disparaging, which were directed toward them. One formidable matron in particular, very fashionably dressed and with two rather plain but equally fashionable young ladies accompanying her, subjected them to a haughty scrutiny that missed no detail of their simple, homemade gowns and their shoes dusty from their walk to church. She then made some inaudible but obviously scornful remark to the younger women and turned away, blocking, by accident or design, the way through the gate between churchyard and avenue.
Mrs. Mallory hesitated, waiting for her to move, and was ignored; a timid request to pass fell upon deaf ears; and Dione, her temper rising, was about to intervene when a man’s firm step sounded on the path beside her, and Sir Greydon’s voice addressed her mother by name.
Mrs. Mallory turned and so, quickly, did the haughty matron and her daughters, but Sir Greydon, greeting first Mrs. Mallory and then Dione and her sisters, seemed as blind as they had previously appeared deaf. Finally he glanced at Theodore.
“So you have been released from durance, Theo? I trust you have undertaken no more voyages of discovery?”
“No, sir, and I never properly thanked you for helping me that evening. I—I am excessively obliged to you.” Theodore paused, seemed to struggle briefly with himself, and then added in a triumphant whisper: “You see, Dee? I never said a word about horses.” Mrs. Mallory shook her head sadly, Dione bit back a chuckle, and Sir Greydon said, with only the faintest quiver of amusement in his voice:
“Stubbs is in the avenue with my curricle. It occurs to me, Theo, that if your mama permits, you may care to look at the horses, and to talk to him about them.”
Theodore, barely waiting for his mother’s approval, slid nimbly past the three ladies in the gateway and hurried away, while Sir Greydon, apparently becoming aware of their presence at last, added easily:
“Mrs. Elverbury, how charming to see you! Your servant, ma’am. Miss Elverbury, Miss Clara.”
The greeting was returned, the lady as amiable now as she had previously been frosty; her daughters simpered and blushed. Sir Greydon then begged leave to present Mrs. Mallory, and if the other woman’s cordiality faded a little, enough of it remained to enable her to respond civilly, and to remain so while the young ladies were made known to each other. Sir Greydon looked on with a faintly sardonic gleam in his eyes, while Dione, deeply appreciative of his social adroitness, but even more of the kindness that prompted it, bestowed upon him a look warm with gratitude. She had seen him come into church, and had expected no more than a civil bow if they encountered him after the service; instead he had gone out of his way to rescue them from embarrassment. For herself, Dione could have shrugged off Mrs. Elverbury’s disdain with no more than a passing discomfiture, but her mother and Cecilia were far more vulnerable and would have shrunk from running the gauntlet on future occasions. Dione was shrewd enough to realize that to be upon terms with Sir Greydon Varleigh was a sure passport to acceptance in Brambledon, and that others beside Mrs. Elverbury would have remarked the encounter.
Such interested persons were to remark also that Sir Greydon, having handed Mrs. Elverbury and her daughters into their carriage, which was waiting, doubtless to that lady’s annoyance, just outside the gate, strolled on with the newcomers until they reached his curricle, where Theodore was talking earnestly to Stubbs, and remained for several minutes in conversation with them. It was further noted that the fair-haired young lady from Garth House was exceptionally pretty, and assumed that this was the source of Sir Greydon’s interest in the family. Few would have believed that he noticed Cecilia hardly at all.
Mrs. Mallory was tired when they reached home, but in a happier frame of mind than she had known since their arrival. The solitude of Garth House, and its situation, seemingly cut off from the rest of the world, had weighed upon her more than she had cared to admit, while the reception accorded them that day in the village had depressed her even more. Sir Greydon’s courtesy and kindness had done much to restore her spirits, which had been raised even further when, after Varleigh had driven away, Dr. Barnfield came up to them, introduced his wife and son (an inarticulate young man who gazed at Cecilia with unfeigned admiration) and stood chatting with them for several minutes. For the first time, Mrs. Mallory began to feel that life in Brambledon might possibly be more than something to be endured for Theodore’s sake.
Theodore himself was hugely elated because Sir Greydon, hearing part of his conversation with Stubbs and recognizing the intelligent interest it betrayed, had promised to take him driving one day. Dione had raised her brows a little at this, for though she had never moved in fashionable circles, she guessed that Corinthians such as Sir Greydon Varleigh did not commonly indulge to this degree small boys who had no claim upon them, but Mrs. Mallory saw nothing od
d in this uncommon favoring of her son. Such a treat was, in her opinion, only what Theodore deserved.
Later that day, however, she felt almost inclined to agree with Dione that a treat was not what he deserved at all. The family, with the exception of Theodore himself, had gathered in the parlor just before dinner, and Molly was setting the table, when a slow, uneven footfall, accompanied by the measured tapping of a stick, was heard descending the stairs and crossing the flagstones of the hall. At first, Mrs. Mallory and her daughters were merely puzzled, but then a strangled exclamation from Molly diverted their attention to her, and they saw that she was staring towards the door, her usually high color quite gone and her eyes wide and horrified. Cecilia, always sensitive to the emotions of others, uttered a sound between a cry and a gasp and clutched Dione’s arm; Mrs. Mallory turned pale; and even Edwina, who was nearest to the door, retreated an involuntary pace. The sound drew nearer, and Dione, freeing herself from her sister’s hold, stepped quickly forward and threw open the door. Just outside stood Theodore, leaning on a walking stick.
“Look what I found upstairs,” he greeted her. “It must have belonged to Cousin Jonathan. Edwina told me Sir Greydon said that he was lame, and always walked with a stick.”
“This is a very stupid thing to do,” Dione informed him severely. “We wondered who in the world could have got into the house, and it gave poor Molly quite a fright.”
Theodore came into the room, looking from one to the other. His mother and sisters were regarding him with varying degrees of exasperation, but Molly was still pale, and her hands as she arranged cutlery and plates on the table were shaking. A look of mischief came into Theodore’s face.
“She thought I was a ghost! Cousin Jonathan’s ghost,” he exclaimed delightedly. “You did, Molly, didn’t you?”
“That I never did, Master Theo,” she exclaimed indignantly, “not but what it gave me a turn, mind you, hearing you like that. You did sound for all the world like old Mr. Mallory.”
“And he’s dead, so you must have thought I was a ghost,” he said triumphantly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, though. Dee, listen! It’s the noise I heard, the one that woke me.”
“What noise, Theo?” Dione asked resignedly.
“This one!” He took a few paces forward, halting with one foot and leaning heavily on the stick. “I found the stick and tried walking with it, and then I knew. That’s what I heard, the first night we were here, and then again the next. That, and voices.”
She remembered his insistence at the time, but he had always been an imaginative child, inclined to confuse fact with fantasy, and she dismissed the thought after only a moment’s consideration. It was an idea it might not be wise to encourage.
“If you heard voices at all, which I doubt, it could only have been those of Molly and her mother and father. Now stop it, Theo! You are trying to scare us, and will end by scaring yourself. We wish to hear no more of it, and of no more foolish pranks, either.”
He looked mutinous, but his mother, gently reproachful, added her voice to Dione’s, while Dione herself took the stick from him and propped it in a corner of the room, bidding him take his seat at the dinner table. He obeyed, and the matter was not referred to again. Dione hoped that it would be forgotten.
The following evening, however, an incident occurred that recalled it forcibly and unpleasantly to their minds. They were once again in the parlor, Cecilia helping Edwina with an intricate piece of sewing, while Dione and their mother discussed in low voices the propriety of sending a letter to Mrs. Winton. Mrs. Mallory, who disliked being upon bad terms with anyone, was of the opinion that she should write, but Dione was less enthusiastic.
“Of course you must do as you think best, Mama,” she said at length, “but if you do write, do not, I beg of you, describe how we found matters here. It would be too humiliating, and—!”
“Listen!” Cecilia’s voice, sharp with alarm, interrupted her. “Mama, Dee, pray listen!”
Startled by her tone, and her sudden pallor, they obeyed, and heard again the halting steps and tapping stick, not in the hall this time, but on the floor above. For a moment even Dione was startled, but then she said wrathfully:
“Theo! The little wretch is at his tricks again. Say what you will, Mama, he will have to be punished!”
“It’s not Theo,” Edwina said in an odd voice. “I can see him in the garden. He went out to fetch his bat and ball.”
Dione was taken aback, but rallied almost immediately. Cecilia was looking terrified, and so was their mother.
“Then it must be Molly!”
“Dee!” Mrs. Mallory protested. “Why should Molly do such a thing?”
“To alarm us, of course, and from what I can see, she is succeeding admirably.”
She was on her way to the door as she spoke. Cecilia said faintly, “Dee, no!” but an impatient glance was the only response. Dione went out, closed the door softly behind her and, catching up her skirts, ran lightly across the hall and up the stairs.
From the gallery it was possible to look left and right along the short corridors serving the upper rooms, and although the footsteps had now ceased, Dione expected to see Molly in the one above the parlor. To her surprise, this was empty, and so, as investigation proved, were the rooms opening from it. Despising herself for feeling a twinge of alarm, she stood looking perplexedly about her until she remembered the back stairs. These were a steep spiral that stretched from attic to cellar and were entered, on the first floor, by a door at the end of the corridor in which she now stood. She went quickly and opened it, but felt no surprise at finding the stair deserted, for if Molly had gone that way she would have had ample time, accustomed as she must be to the twisting steps, to run quietly down to the kitchen.
“No,” Dione said in answer to the apprehensive looks that greeted her on her return to the parlor, “I did not catch her. She must have run down the back stairs when she heard me coming up the front.”
“If it was Molly,” Cecilia retorted in a trembling voice.
“Of course it was Molly!” Dione said impatiently, “Mama, you, at least, cannot seriously suppose anything else?”
“Good gracious, Dee, of course not!” Mrs. Mallory replied, making a brave though not wholly successful attempt to speak with conviction. “Come now, Cecy dear, there is no need to look so frightened. It must have been Molly, as your sister says.”
“Then it was a horrid thing to do!” Cecilia was almost in tears. “I hope you will tell her so, Dee, and give her the most tremendous scold.”
“I shall do nothing of the kind,” Dione said flatly. “That is just what she would like, for she would deny it, but know that she had alarmed us and made us look foolish. We shall say nothing at all about it.”
Reluctantly Cecilia agreed, but unfortunately it did not occur to Dione to forbid confiding in Theodore, and Edwina poured out the whole story to him as soon as he came into the room. He was reluctant to believe that Molly was responsible, but, far from being alarmed, was obviously much taken with the notion that Garth House might be haunted by the ghost of their aged relative. An apparition, it seemed, was the one thing needed to make his inheritance perfect in his eyes. He accepted without question Dione’s command that Molly herself must not be challenged, but Dione suspected that this was largely because he did not want so mundane a suspicion to be confirmed.
She was thankful when, next day, her brother’s thoughts were given a new direction by the arrival of Sir Greydon to take him for the promised drive, though she was secretly a little surprised that the casually given promise should be so promptly fulfilled. She was busy elsewhere in the house when the visitor arrived, and it was Mrs. Mallory who received him and, a little later, waved goodbye from the front door as the curricle drove off, with Theodore, pale with excitement, seated between Sir Greydon and Stubbs. The former was disappointed, but concealed the fact, and hoped for better fortune on his return.
The hope was fulfilled. When, an hour or
so later, the curricle again drove up to Garth House, Dione was standing on the stretch of weed-grown gravel before the door. Ibstone was with her, and they were both looking up at the front of the house. It appeared to Sir Greydon that they were engaged in somewhat acrimonious argument, but as the carriage drew up, Miss Mallory said something with an air of finality and turned toward it, while Ibstone, with a surly look at the new arrivals, slouched off to the rear of the house, muttering audibly as he went.
Theodore, helped to the ground by Stubbs, raced towards his sister, bubbling over with an excited account of the treat he had been given. She listened indulgently until Sir Greydon strolled across to join them, and then broke in kindly but firmly, bidding her brother thank his benefactor and go into the house. It was time, she said, for him to get back to his school books.
Sir Greydon, overhearing this, waited only until Theodore had conscientiously carried out the instructions before saying rather ruefully: “Have I committed the solecism, ma’am, of interrupting his lessons? That should have occurred to me, of course, and I make you my apologies.”
She smiled and shook her head. “There is no harm done, sir. It is only very recently that Theo has been well enough to do any lessons at all, and at present I set him no more than will occupy two or three hours a day. In any event, he was so greatly looking forward to driving with you that neither Mama nor I would have had the heart to deny him.”
He was regarding her with amusement not untouched by admiration. “Are you responsible for your brother’s education, Miss Mallory, along with everything else?”
“Only for the present,” she assured him quickly. “My mother’s old governess was used to live with us—Papa was in the navy, you understand—and we were all in turn taught by her. It was only when she died, a year ago, that I became responsible for teaching the younger ones. It will not serve for very long with Theo, of course, but he has been so much plagued by illness, poor little fellow, that he lags far behind the standard of education a boy of his age should have reached.”
The Varleigh Medallion Page 8