Eleonora Vivian, hitherto gravely stiff and reserved, to poor Frank's evident chagrin, at once flashed into animation, and met the elder Miss Bowater with outstretched hands, receiving a warm kiss. At the same time Mr. Bowater despatched Frank to see whether his mother could admit a visitor; and Lady Tyrrell observed, "Ah! I was about to make the same petition; but I will cede to older friends, for so I suppose I must call you, Mr. Bowater-though my acquaintance is of long standing enough!"
And she put on a most charming smile, which Mr. Bowater received with something inarticulate that might be regarded as a polite form of 'fudge,' which made Cecil think him a horribly rude old man, and evidently discomposed his wife very much.
Frank brought back his mother's welcome to the Squire; but by this time Eleonora and Miss Bowater had drawn together into a window, in so close and earnest a conversation that he could not break into it, and with almost visible reluctance began to talk to the younger sister, who on her side was desirous of joining in the bazaar discussion, which had been started again in full force; until there was a fresh influx of visitors, when Lady Tyrrell decidedly took leave with her sister, and Frank escorted them to their carriage, and returned no more.
In the new shuffling of partners, the elder Miss Bowater found herself close to Anne, and at once inquired warmly for Miles, with knowledge and interest in naval affairs derived from a sailor brother, Miles's chief friend and messmate in his training and earlier voyages. There was something in Joanna Bowater's manner that always unlocked hearts, and Anne was soon speaking without her fence of repellant stiffness and reserve. Certainly Miles was loved by his mother and brothers more than he could be by an old playfellow and sisterly friend, and yet there was something in Joanna's tone that gave Anne a sense of fellow-feeling, as if she had met a countrywoman in this land of strangers; and she even told how Miles had thought it right to send her home, thinking that she might be a comfort to his mother. "And not knowing all that was going to happen!" said poor Anne, with an irrepressible sigh, both for her own blighted hopes, and for the whirl into which her sore heart had fallen.
"I think you will be," said Joanna, brightly; "though it must be strange coming on so many. Dear Mrs. Poynsett is so kind!"
"Yes," said Anne, coldly.
"Ah! you don't know her yet. And Lady Rosamond! She is delightful!"
"Have you seen her!"
"We met them just now in the village, but my brother is enchanted. And do you know what was Julius's first introduction to her? It was at a great school-feast, where they had the regimental children as well as the town ones. A poor little boy went off in an epileptic fit, and Julius found her holding him, with her own hand in his mouth to hinder the locking of the teeth. He said her fingers were bitten almost to the bone, but she made quite light of it."
"That was nice!" said Anne; but then, with a startled glance, and in an undertone, she added, "Are they Christians?"
Joanna Bowater paused for a moment between dismay and desire for consideration, and in that moment her father called to her, "Jenny, do you remember the dimensions of those cottages in Queckett's Lane?" and she had to come and serve for his memory, while he was indoctrinating a younger squire with the duties of a landlord.
Meanwhile Mrs. Bowater was, for the tenth time, consulting her old friend upon Mrs. Hornblower's capabilities of taking care of Herbert, and betraying a little disappointment that his first sermon had not yet been heard; and when his voice was complimented, she hoped Julius would spare it-too much exertion could not be good for so young a man, and though dear Herbert looked so strong, no one would believe how much sleep he required. Then she observed, "We found Camilla Vivian-Lady Tyrrell I mean-calling. Have you seen her?"
"No."
"Well, she really seems improved!"
"Mr. Bowater has been telling me she is handsomer than ever!"
"Oh yes! That's all gentlemen think of; but I meant in other ways. She seems full of the rebuilding of St. Nicholas, and to be making great friends with your new daughter. You don't think," lowering her voice, "that Raymond would have any objection to meeting her?"
"Certainly not!"
"I did not suppose he would, but I thought I would just ask you. It would be rather marked not to invite him for the 3rd, you know; and Jenny was always so fond of poor Emily, kept up a correspondence with her to the last. It was the first time she had met the little one since they came back. Not that she is little now, she is very tall and quite handsome even by the side of Edith. We just saw Lady Rosamond-a sweet face-and Herbert perfectly raves about her!"
"She is a most unselfish warm-hearted creature!" said Mrs. Poynsett.
"I am so glad! And Miles's wife, I hope she will come. Poor thing, she looks very poorly."
"Yes, I am very anxious about her. If she is not better in a day or two, I shall insist on her having advice."
"Poor dear, I don't wonder! But she had better come to Strawyers; Jenny will cheer her if any one can, and we shall have a nice lively party, I hope! She will only mope the more if she never goes out."
"I am afraid she is hardly equal to it; besides, poor child," added Mrs. Poynsett, "she seems to have been strictly brought up, and to think our ways rather shocking; and Miles wrote to me not to press her to go into society till he comes home."
"Ah! well, I call that a mistake!" puffed out good-humoured Mrs. Bowater. "Very bad for the poor girl's spirits. By the bye, I hope Julius does not object to Herbert's dancing-not at a public ball, you know, but at home-for if he did, I would try to arrange something else, it would be so hard for the poor boy to have to look on."
"I don't know, I don't think he could," said the mother, considering.
"You see, we thought of a dinner-party for as many as possible. Frank and Charlie won't mind dining in the schoolroom, I know, and having the rest for a dance in the evening; but if Julius did think it unclerical-Jenny says he won't, and papa laughs, and says, 'Poh! poh! Julius is no fool;' but people are so much more particular than they used to be, and I would not get the dear boy into a scrape for the world."
Mrs. Poynsett undertook to ascertain his opinions on this knotty point, and to let her know if they were adverse; and then she begged for a visit from Jenny, whose brother had no accommodation for her in his lodgings. She could not be spared till after the entertainment on the 3rd, nor till a visit from her married sister was over; but afterwards, her mother was delighted that she should come and look after Herbert, who seemed as much on the maternal mind as if he had not batted his way through Eton, and boated it through Oxford.
Mrs. Poynsett obtained her word with Julius in good time that evening. He laughed a little. "Poor Herbs! when will people understand that it is the spirit of the thing, the pursuit, not the individual chance participation in any particular amusement, that is unclerical, as they are pleased to call it?"
"What do you think of Herbert?"
"A boy, and a very nice boy; but if he doesn't get his healthful play somehow, he will burst out like a closed boiler some day."
"A muscular Christian on your hands?"
"Not theoretically, for he has been well taught; but it's a great animal that needs to work off its steam, and if I had known it, I would not have undertaken the problem of letting him do that, without setting up bad habits, or scandalizing the parish and Bindon-who is young the other way, and has no toleration. We had this morning's service in a state of siege from all the dogs. Herbert thought he had shut them safely up, but they were all at his heels in the churchyard; and though he rated them home, and shut all the doors, we heard them whining and scratching at each in turn."
"I thought I should have died of it," said Rosamond, entering. "His face grew red enough to set his surplice on fire, and Mr. Bindon glared at him, and he missed his verse in the Psalm; for there was the bull terrier, crouching and looking abject at the vestry-door, just restrained by his eye from coming further."
"What shall you do about it, Julius?" asked his mother, much amused.
"Oh, that will remedy itself. All dogs learn to understand the bell."
And then the others began to drop in, and were told of the invitation that was coming.
"I say, Rosamond," cried Charlie, "can brothers and sisters-in-law dance together?"
"That depends on how the brothers-in-law dance," returned Rosamond. "Some one, for pity's sake, play a waltz!-Come along Charlie! the hall is a sweet place for it!-Whistle, Julius!-Frank, whistle!"
And away she whirled. Frank, holding out his hands, was to his surprise accepted by Cecil, and disappeared with her into the hall. Julius stood by the mantelpiece, with the first shadow on his brow his mother had seen since his arrival. Presently he spoke in a defensive apologetic tone: "She has always been used to this style of thing."
"Most naturally," said the mother.
"Not that they ever did more than their position required, and Lady Rathforlane is a truly careful mother. Of course some things might startle you stay-at-home people; but in all essentials-"
"I see what you mean."
"And what seems like rattle is habit."
"Simple gaiete de coeur!"
"So it is better to acquiesce till it subsides of itself. You see it is hard, after such a life of change and variety, to settle down into a country parsonage."
"What are you saying there?" said Rosamond, tripping in out of breath.
"That I don't know how you are to put up with a pink-eyed parson, and a hum-drum life," said Julius, holding out a caressing hand.
"Now that's hard," pleaded she; "only because I took a frolic with Baby Charles! I say, Julius, shall we give it up altogether and stay at home like good children? I believe that is what would suit the told Rabbit much better than his kid gloves,"-and her sweet face looked up at him with a meek candid gaze.
"No," he said, "that would not do. The Bowaters are our oldest friends. But, Rosie, as you are a clergyman's wife, could you not give up round dances?"
"Oh no, no! That's too bad. I'd rather never go to a dance at all, than sit still, or be elbowed about in the square dances. You never told me you expected that!"-and her tones were of a child petulant at injustice.
"Suppose," he said, as a delightful solution, "you only gratified Frank and Charlie by waltzing with them."
She burst into a ringing laugh. "My brothers-in-law! How very ridiculous! Suppose you included the curates?"
"You know what I mean," he said gravely.
"Oh, bother the parson's wife! Haven't I seen them figuring away by scores? Did we ever have a regimental ball that they were not the keenest after?"
"So they get themselves talked of!" said Julius, as Anne's quiet entrance broke up the dialogue.
Mrs. Poynsett had listened, glad there was no appeal to her, conscious that she did not understand the merits of the case, and while she doubted whether her eldest son had love enough, somewhat afraid lest his brother had not rather too much for the good of his lawful supremacy.
CHAPTER VII. Unfruitful Suggestions
"Raymond! Can you spare me a moment before you go into your mother's room?"
It was Rosamond who, to his surprise, as he was about to go down-stairs, met him and drew him into her apartment-his mother's own dressing-room, which he had not entered since the accident.
"Is anything the matter?" he said, thinking that Julius might have spared him from complaints of Cecil.
"Oh no! only one never can speak to you, and Julius told me that you could tell me about Mrs. Poynsett. I can't help thinking she could be moved more than she is." Then, as he was beginning to speak, "Do you know that, the morning of the fire, I carried her with only one of the maids to the couch under the tent-room window? Susan was frightened out of her wits, but she was not a bit the worse for it."
"Ah! that was excitement."
"But if it did not hurt her then, why should it hurt her again? There's old General M'Kinnon, my father's old friend, who runs about everywhere in a wheeled-chair with a leg-rest; and I can't think why she should not do the same."
Raymond smiled kindly on her, but rather sadly; perhaps he was recollecting his morning's talk about the occupancy of the drawing-room. "You know it is her spine," he said.
"So it is with him. His horse rolled over him at Sebastopol, and he has never walked since. I wanted to write to Mary M'Kinnon; but Julius said I had better talk to you, because he was only at home for a fortnight, when she was at the worst, and you knew more about it."
"Yes," said Raymond, understanding more than the Irish tongue fully expressed. "I never saw a woman sit better than she did, and she looked as young and light in the saddle as you could, till that day, when, after the rains, the bank where the bridle-path to Squattles End was built up, gave way with the horse's feet, and down she went twenty feet, and was under the horse when Miles and I got down to her! We brought her on a mattress to that room, not knowing whether she were alive; and she has never moved out of it! It was agony to her to be touched."
"Yes but it can't be that now. Was not that three years ago?"
"Not so much. Two and a half. We had Hayter down to see her, and he said perfect rest was the only chance for her."
"And has not he seen her lately?"
"He died last winter; and old Worth, who comes in once a week to look at her, is not fit for more than a little watching and attention. I dare say we all have learnt to acquiesce too much in her present state, and that more might be done. You see she has never had a lady's care, except now and then Jenny Bowater's."
"I do feel sure she could bear more now," said Rosamond, eagerly. "It would be such a thing if she could only be moved about that down-stairs floor."
"And be with us at meals and in the evening," said Raymond, his face lightening up. "Thank you, Rosamond!"
"I'll write to Mary M'Kinnon to-morrow, to ask about the chair," cried Rosamond; and Raymond, hearing the door-bell, hurried down, to find his wife standing alone over the drawing-room fire, not very complacent.
"Where have you been, Raymond?"
"I was talking to Rosamond. She has seen a chair on which it might be possible to move my mother about on this floor."
"I thought-" Cecil flushed. She was on the point of saying she thought Rosamond was not to interfere in her department any more than she in Rosamond's; but she kept it back, and changed it into "Surely the doctor and nurses must know best."
"A fresh eye often makes a difference," said Raymond. "To have her among us again-!" but he was cut short by the announcement of Mr. and Miss Fuller.
"Poor Mr. Fuller," as every one called him, was the incumbent of St. Nicholas, Willansborough, a college living always passed by the knowing old bachelor fellows, and as regularly proving a delusion to the first junior in haste for a wife. Twenty-five years ago Mr. Fuller had married upon this, which, as Mr. Bindon said, was rather a reason for not marrying-a town with few gentry, and a petty unthriving manufacture, needing an enormous amount of energy to work it properly, and getting-Mr. Fuller, with force yearly decreasing under the pressure of a sickly wife, ill-educated, unsatisfactory sons, and unhealthy, aimless daughters. Of late some assistance had been obtained, but only from Mr. Driver, the 'coach' or cramming tutor, who was directing the studies of Frank and half a dozen more youths, and his aid was strictly limited to a share in the Sunday services.
The eldest daughter accompanied the Vicar. Her mother had not health (or perhaps clothes) for a dinner-party, and it was the first time she had ever been in the house. Very shy and in much awe she was! Cecil viewed her as a constituent, and was elaborately civil and patronizing, doing the honours of all the photographs and illustrations on which she could lay hands, and only eliciting alternately 'Very nice,' and 'How sweet!' A little more was made of the alarms of the fire, and the preparations for clearing the house, and there was a further thaw about the bazaar. It would be such a relief from plain work, and she could get some lovely patterns from her cousin who had a missionary basket; but as to the burnt-out families, the little
knowledge or interest she seemed to have about them was rather astounding, unless, as Rosamond suspected, she thought it 'shop,' and uninteresting to the great ladies of Compton- Poynsett Hall.
Meanwhile, her father made the apprehended request for the loan of Compton Church during the intervals of services, and when the Rector explained how brief those intervals would be, looked astonished, and dryly complimented him on his energy and his staff, somewhat as if the new broom were at the bottom of these congratulations.
The schools were to be used for services until a temporary iron church could be obtained, for which Julius, to make up for his churlishness in withholding his own church, made the handsomer donation, and held out hopes of buying it afterwards for the use of Squattles End. Then, having Mr. Fuller's ear to himself, he ventured to say, though cautiously, as to one who had been a clergyman before he was born, "I wish it were possible to dispense with this bazaar."
Mr. Fuller shrugged his shoulders. "If every one subscribed in the style of this family."
"They would be more likely to do so, without the appeal to secondary motives."
"Try them," said the elder man.
"Exactly what I want to do. I would put up the four walls, begin with what you get from the insurance, a weekly offertory, and add improvements as means came in. This is not visionary. I have seen proof of its success."
"It may serve in new-fashioned city missions, but in an old-established place like this it would create nothing but offence. When you have been in Orders as long as I have, you will find that there is nothing for it but to let people do what they will, not what one thinks best."
"Mr. Fuller," said Julius, eagerly, "will you try an experiment? Drop this bazaar, and I promise you our collection every Sunday evening for the year, giving notice of it to my people, and to such of yours as may be present."
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