Scenes and Characters

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  That Sunday was a sorrowful one to Eleanor; for in the course of the conversation with Ada, which Mr. Mohun had desired her to hold, she became conscious of the little girl's double-dealing ways. It was only by a very close cross-examination that she was able to extract from her a true account of the disaster, and though Ada never went so far as actually to tell a falsehood, it was evident that she was willing to conceal as much as possible, and to throw the blame on other people. And when the real facts were confessed she did not seem able to comprehend why she was regarded with displeasure; her instinct of truth and obedience was lost for the time, and Eleanor saw it with the utmost pain. Adeline had been her especial darling, and cold as her manner had often been towards the others, it ever was warm towards the motherless little one, whom she had tended and cherished with most anxious care from her earliest infancy. She had left her gentle, candid, and affectionate; a loving, engaging, little creature, and how did she find her now? Her fair bright face disfigured, her caresses affected, her mind turned to deceit and prevarication! Well might Eleanor feel it more than ever painful to leave her own little Henry to the care of others; and well it was for her that she had learned to find comfort in the consciousness that her duty was clear.

  The next morning Emily learned what was Henry's destination.

  'Oh! Eleanor,' said she, 'why do you not leave him here? We should be so rejoiced to have him.'

  'Thank you, I am afraid it is out of the question,' answered Eleanor, quietly.

  'Why, dear Eleanor? You know how glad we should be. I should have thought,' proceeded Emily, a little hurt, 'that you would have wished him to live in your own home.'

  Eleanor did not speak, and Emily, who had the little boy in her arms, went on talking to him: 'Come, baby, let us persuade mamma to let you stay with Aunt Emily. Ask papa, Henry, won't you? Seriously, Eleanor, has Frank considered how much better it would be to have him in the country?'

  'He has, Emily; he once wished much to leave him here.'

  'I am sure grandpapa would like it,' said Emily. 'Do you observe, Eleanor, how fond he is of baby, always calling him Harry too, as if he liked the sound of the name?'

  'It has all been talked over, Emily, and it cannot be.'

  'With papa?' asked Emily in surprise.

  'No, with Lily.'

  'With Lily!' exclaimed Emily. 'Did not Aunt Lily wish to keep you, Harry? I thought she was very fond of you.'

  'You had better inquire no further,' said Eleanor, 'except of your own conscience.'

  'Did Lily think us unfit to take care of him?' asked Emily, in surprise.

  As she spoke Lily herself came in, the key of the storeroom in her hand, and looks of consternation on her face. She came to announce a terrible deficiency in the preserved quinces, which she herself had carefully put aside on a shelf in the storeroom, and which Emily said she had not touched in her absence.

  'Let me see,' said Eleanor, rising, and setting off to the storeroom; Emily and Lily followed, with a sad suspicion of the truth. On the way they looked into the nursery, to give little Henry to his nurse, and to ask Jane, who was sitting with Ada, what she remembered about it. Jane knew nothing, and they went on to the storeroom, where Eleanor, quite in her element, began rummaging, arranging, and sighing over the confusion, while Lily lent a helping hand, and Emily stood by, wishing that her sister would not trouble herself. Presently Jane came running up with a saucer in her hand, containing a quarter of a quince and some syrup, which she said she had found in the nursery cupboard, in searching for a puzzle which Ada wanted.

  'And,' said Jane, 'I should guess that Miss Ada herself knew something about it, for when I could not find the puzzle in the right-hand cupboard, she was so very unwilling that I should look into that one; she said there was nothing there but the boys' old playthings and Esther's clothes. And I do not know whether you saw how she fidgeted when you were talking about the quinces, before you went up.'

  'It is much too plain,' sighed Lily. 'Oh! Rachel, why did we not listen to you?'

  'Do you suppose,' said Eleanor, 'that Ada has been in the habit of taking the key and helping herself?'

  'No,' said Emily, 'but that Esther has helped her.'

  'Ah!' said Eleanor, 'I never thought it wise to take her, but how could she get the key? You do not mean that you trusted it out of your own keeping.'

  'It began while we were ill,' faltered Emily, 'and afterwards it was difficult to bring matters into their former order.'

  'But oh, Eleanor, what is to be done?' sighed Lily.

  'Speak to papa, of course,' said Eleanor. 'He is gone to the castle, and in the meantime we had better take an exact account of everything here.'

  'And Esther? And Ada?' inquired the sisters.

  'I think it will be better to speak to him before making so grave an accusation,' said Eleanor.

  They now commenced that wearisome occupation-a complete setting-to-rights; Eleanor counted, weighed, and measured, and extended her cares from the stores to every other household matter. Emily made her escape, and went to sit with Ada; but Lily and Jane toiled for several hours with Eleanor, till Lily was so heated and wearied that she was obliged to give up a walk to Broomhill, and spend another day without a talk with Alethea. However, she was so patient, ready, and good-humoured, that Eleanor was well pleased with her. She could hardly think of the slight vexation, when her mind was full of sorrow and shame on Esther's account. It was she who, contrary to the advice of her elders, had insisted on bringing her into the house; she had allowed temptation to be set in her way, and had not taken sufficient pains to strengthen her principles; and how could she do otherwise than feel guilty of all Esther's faults, and of those into which she had led Adeline?

  On Mr. Mohun's return Ada was interrogated. She pitied herself- said she did not think papa would be angry-prevaricated-and tried to coax away his inquiries, but all in vain; and at length, by slow degrees, the confession was drawn from her that she had been used to asking Esther for morsels of sweet things when she was sent to the storeroom; that afterwards she had seen her packing up some tea and sugar to take to her mother, and that Esther on that occasion, and several others, purchased her silence by giving her a share of pilfered sweetmeats. Telling her that he only spared her a very severe punishment for the present, on account of her illness, Mr. Mohun left her, and on his way downstairs met Phyllis.

  'Phyl,' said he, 'did Esther ever give you sweet things out of the storeroom?'

  'Once, papa, when she had been putting out some currant jam, she offered me what had been left in the spoon.'

  'Did you take it?'

  'No, papa, for Eleanor used to say it was a bad trick to lick out spoons.'

  'Did you ever know that she took tea and sugar from the storeroom, for her mother?'

  'Took home tea and sugar to her mother! She could not have done it, papa. It would be stealing!'

  Esther, who was next called for, cried a great deal, and begged for pardon, pleading again and again that-

  'It was mother,' an answer which made her young mistresses again sigh over the remembrance of Rachel's disregarded advice. Her fate was left for consideration and consultation with Mr. Devereux, for Mr. Mohun, seeing himself to blame for having allowed her to be placed in a situation of so much trial, and thinking that there was much that was good about her, did not like to send her to her home, where she was likely to learn nothing but what was bad.

  CHAPTER XXIV: LOVE'S LABOUR LOST

  'And well, with ready hand and heart,

  Each task of toilsome duty taking,

  Did one dear inmate take her part,

  The last asleep, the earliest waking.'

  In the course of the afternoon Lord Rotherwood and Florence called, to see Eleanor, inquire after Ada, and make the final arrangements for going to a morning concert at Raynham the next day. Lady Rotherwood was afraid of the fatigue, and Florence therefore wished to accompany her cousins, who, as Eleanor meant to stay at home, were to be under Mrs. We
ston's protection. Lady Florence and her brother, therefore, agreed to ride home by Broomhill, and mention the plan to Mrs. Weston, and took their leave, appointing Adam's shop as the place of rendezvous.

  Next morning Emily, Lilias, and Jane happened to be together in the drawing-room, when Mr. Mohun and Claude came in, the former saying to Lily, 'Here is the mason's account for the gravestone which you wished to have put up to Agnes Eden; it comes to two pounds. You undertook half the expense, and as Claude is going to Raynham, he will pay for it if you will give him your sovereign.'

  'I will,' said Lily, 'but first I must ask Emily to pay me for the London commissions.'

  Emily repented not having had a private conference with Lily.

  'So you have not settled your accounts,' said Mr. Mohun. 'I hope Lily has not ruined you, Emily.'

  'I thought her a mirror of prudence,' said Claude.

  'Well, Emily, is the sovereign forthcoming? I am going directly, for Frank has something to do at Raynham, and William is going to try his gray in the phaeton.'

  'I am afraid you will think me very silly,' said Emily, after some deliberation, 'but I hope Lily will not be very angry when I confess that seven shillings is the sum total of my property.'

  'Oh, Emily,' cried Lily, in dismay, 'what has become of your five pounds?'

  'I gave them as a subscription for a clergyman's widow in distress,' said Emily; 'it was the impulse of a moment, I could not help it, and, dear Lily, I hope it will not inconvenience you.'

  'If papa will be kind enough to wait for this pound till Michaelmas,' said Lily.

  'I would wait willingly,' said Mr. Mohun, 'but I will not see you cheated. How much does she owe you?'

  'The commissions came to six pounds three,' said Lily, looking down.

  'But, Lily,' said Jane, 'you forget the old debt.'

  'Never mind,' whispered Lily; but Mr. Mohun asked what Jane had said, and Claude repeated her speech, upon which he inquired, 'What old debt?'

  'Papa,' said Emily, in her most candid tone, 'I do not know what I should have done but for Lily's kindness. Really, I cannot get on with my present allowance; being the eldest, so many expenses come upon me.'

  'Then am I to understand,' replied Mr. Mohun, 'that your foolish vanity has led you to encroach on your sister's kindness, and to borrow of her what you had no reasonable hope of repaying? Again, Lily, what does she owe you?'

  Emily felt the difference between the sharp, curious eyes with which Jane regarded her, and the sorrowful downcast looks of Lily, who replied, 'The old debt is four pounds, but that does not signify.'

  'Well,' resumed her father, 'I cannot blame you for your good-nature, though an older person might have acted otherwise. You must have managed wonderfully well, to look always so well dressed with only half your proper income. Here is the amount of the debt. Is it right? And, Lily, one thing more; I wish to thank you for what you have done towards keeping this house in order. You have worked hard, and endured much, and from all I can gather, you have prevented much mischief. Much has unfairly been thrown upon you, and you have well and steadily done your duty. For you, Emily, I have more to say to you, but I shall not enter on it at present, for it is late. You had better get ready, or you will keep the others waiting.'

  'I do not think I can go,' sighed Emily.

  'You are wanted,' said Mr. Mohun. 'I do not think your aunt would like Florence to go without you.'

  Lily had trembled as much under her father's praise as Emily under his blame. She did not feel as if his commendation was merited, and longed to tell him of her faults and follies, but this was no fit time, and she hastened to prepare for her expedition, her spirits scarcely in time for a party of pleasure. Jane talked about the 30th, and asked questions about London, all the way to Raynham, and both Emily and Lily were glad to join in her chatter, in hopes of relieving their own embarrassment.

  On arriving at the place of meeting they found Lady Florence watching for them.

  'I am glad you are come,' said she, 'Rotherwood will always set out either too soon or too late, and this time it was too soon, so here we have been full a quarter of an hour, but he does not care. There he is, quite engrossed with his book.'

  Lord Rotherwood was standing by the counter, reading so intently that he did not see his cousins' arrival. When they entered he just looked up, shook hands, asked after Ada, and went on reading. Lily began looking for some books for the school, which she had long wished for, and was now able to purchase; Emily sat down in a melancholy, abstracted mood, and Florence and Jane stood together talking.

  'You know you are all to come early,' said the former, 'I do not know how we should manage without you. Rotherwood insists on having everything the same day-poor people first, and gentry and farmers altogether. Mamma does not like it, and I expect we shall be dreadfully tired; but he says he will not have the honest poor men put out for the fashionables; and you know we are all to dance with everybody. But Jenny, who is this crossing the street? Look, you have an eye for oddities.'

  'Miss Fitchett, the subscription-hunter,' said Jane.

  'She is actually coming to hunt us. I believe I have my purse. Oh! Emily is to be the first victim.'

  Miss Fitchett advanced to Emily, and saying that she believed she had the honour to address Miss Mohun, began to tell her that her friend having been prematurely informed of her small efforts, had with a noble spirit of independence begged that the subscription might not be continued, and that what had already been given might be returned, and she rejoiced in this opportunity of making the explanation. But Miss Fitchett could not bear to relinquish the five-pound note, and added, that perhaps Miss Mohun might not object to apply her subscription to some other object, the Dorcas Society for instance.

  'Thank you, I have no interest in the Dorcas Society,' said Emily; a reply which brought upon her a full account of all its aims and objects; and as still her polite looks spoke nothing of assent, Miss Fitchett went on with a string of other societies, speaking the louder and the more eagerly in the hope of attracting the attention of the young marquis and his sister. Emily was easily overwhelmed with words, and not thinking it lady-like to claim her money, yet feeling that none of these societies were fit objects for it, she stood confused and irresolute, unwilling either to consent or refuse. Jane, perceiving her difficulty, turned to Lord Rotherwood, and rousing him from his book, explained Emily's distress in a few words, and sent him to her rescue. He stepped forward just as Miss Fitchett, taking silence for consent, was proceeding to thank Emily; 'I think you misunderstand Miss Mohun,' said he. 'Since her subscription is not needed by the person for whom it was intended, she would be glad to have it restored. She does not wish to encourage any unauthorised societies.'

  Boy as he was, in appearance still more than in age, there was a dignity in his manner which, together with the principle on which he spoke, overawed Miss Fitchett even more than his rank. She only said, 'Oh! my lord, I beg your pardon. Certainly, only-'

  The note was placed in Emily's hands, and with a bow from Lord Rotherwood, she retreated, murmuring to herself the remonstrance which she had not courage to bestow upon the Marquis.

  'Thank you, thank you, Rotherwood,' said Emily; 'you have done me a great service.'

  'Well done, Rotherwood,' said Florence; 'you have given the old lady something to reflect upon.'

  'Made a public announcement of principle,' said Lily.

  'I was determined to give her a reason,' said the Marquis, laughing, 'but I assure you I felt like the stork with its head in the wolf's mouth, I thought she would give me a screed of doctrine. How came you to let your property get unto her clutches, Emily?'

  'It was a subscription for Mrs. Aylmer,' said Emily.

  'Our curate's wife!' cried he with a start; 'how was it? Florence, did you know anything? I thought she was in London. Why were we in the dark? Tell me all.'

  'All I know is that she is living somewhere in Raynham, and last week there was a paper here to say that she w
as in want of the means of fitting out her son for India.'

  'Yes, yes, Johnny, I know my father did get a promise for him- well!'

  'That is all I know, except that she does not choose to be a beggar.'

  'Poor Mrs. Aylmer! shameful neglect! she shall not be ill-used any longer, I will find her out this instant. Don't wait for me.'

  And after a few words to Mr. Adams, off he went, walking as fast as he could, and leaving the young ladies not without fear of another invasion. Soon, however, the brothers came in, and presently after Mrs. Weston appeared. It was agreed that Lord Rotherwood should be left to his own devices, and they set out for the concert-room. Poor Florence lost much pleasure in disappointment at his non-appearance, but when the concert was over they found him sitting in the carriage, reading. As soon as they appeared he sprang out, and came to meet them, pouring rapidly out a history of his adventures.

  'Then you have found them, and what can be done for them?'

  'Everything ought to be done, but Mrs. Aylmer has a spirit of independence. That foolish woman's advertisement was unknown to her till Emily's five pounds came in, so fine a nest-egg that she could not help cackling, whereupon Mrs. Aylmer insisted on having every farthing returned.'

  'Can she provide the boy's outfit?'

  'She says so, or rather that her daughter can, but I shall see about that. It is worth while to be of age. Imagine! That bank which failed was the end of my father's legacy. They must have lived on a fraction of nothing! Edward went to sea. Miss Aylmer went out as a governess. Now she is at home.'

  'Miss Aylmer!' exclaimed Miss Weston, 'I know she was a clergyman's daughter. Do you know the name of the family she lived with?'

  'Was it Grant?' said William. 'I remember hearing of her going to some Grants.'