But Georgette fared much better. Not only had she hot coffee, with boiling milk, but toast and a couple of poached eggs, in her own room.
About an hour later, when Stanley came up-stairs, he found them all prepared for a walk on the lawn, and on hearing Mildred’s desire of visiting the Mere he expressed his satisfaction.
“You could not have chosen a better day,” he said; “and even if you go on the water, I don’t think you will take any harm.”
Never had the smooth-shaven lawn looked more inviting than on that charming morning, and Georgette, who followed the party, was positively enraptured, and constantly uttered exclamations of delight She admired the garden and the lawn, as we have just said. She admired the fine Wood skirting the Mere and was enchanted with the Mere itself, which she thought the most beautiful sheet of water she had ever beheld. She had seen it at a distance, but had never stood beside it as she did now, and she thought those gentle slopes with the lovely expanse of water they bordered were most exquisite.
While gazing at the banks, she perceived a boat chained to a post, and longed to embark in it, but her mistress made no proposition to that effect — nor did Stanley. In fact, the party contented themselves with standing on the bank and contemplating the fair scene. Every moment some fresh beauties were discovered.
“I dare not suggest a row on the Mere for fear I should do wrong,” said Stanley. “But it looks uncommonly tempting.”
“The aspect of the lake revives all my former feeling, and the day is so warm and genial that I cannot think half-an-hour on the water would do me harm. But here comes papa,” as the Squire was seen approaching with Rose; “let us consult him. I want your permission to go on the water,” she said to him.
“Well, I think I may safely give it you,” he replied.
“I will take an oar if you want one,” said Rose.
“Then we shall do famously,” remarked Stanley.
“The boat is large enough to hold us all. I will go and bring it here.”
“I will go with you,” said Rose.
The boat was at no great distance, and in two or three minutes they had unfastened it and brought it close to the bank. It did not belong to the light skiff class, but was large and roomy and well adapted to such a party as were now about to embark in it.
Mildred sat between Sister Aline and Georgette. The latter had gained the object of her wishes and could scarcely restrain her delight.
When everybody was settled, Stanley and his fair assistant pushed off and rowed slowly towards the further end of the Mere.
Familiar with the beauties of the place, the Squire pointed them out to Rose, who was charmed with all she beheld.
There was nothing remarkable in the surroundings of the lake, but the banks were soft and gentle. Nothing grand or striking. Only a solitary rock amid the woods, from which it was supposed the mansion derived its name.
On this picturesque crag it was said that an eagle once built its nest and killed a youth, who attempted to rob it of its young. No doubt, the Squire had good right to be proud of this part of his park, as he himself had caused its full beauties to be developed by judiciously thinning the timber, and had likewise carefully protected the oldest trees.
To Rose’s credit it ought to be mentioned that she managed an oar quite as skilfully as Stanley, nor could he have had a better assistant. Mildred praised her highly.
They rowed to the bottom of the lake, and remained there for half an hour to look about them, but did not disembark.
As they lingered at this point, the beauty of the day seemed to increase, and the lake became so attractive that all the occupants of the boat were unwilling to return. Mildred said she should like to spend the whole day on the Mere, while Rose echoed the wish; and it is certain Georgette would have done so, had she dared.
The view of the mansion, as they returned, was greatly admired, and the boat was more than once stopped to enable its occupants to study the picture. “It was on this side of the lake, but a little nearer the bank, that the beautiful Virginia Massey was drowned,” said the Squire. “I have no doubt you have seen her portrait at the hall. A lovely creature, and her death caused the greatest affliction to her friends, whose distress was heightened by the fact that she was close upon her wedding-day. Her intended husband was with her at the time and made great, but ineffectual, efforts to save her.”
“You say she was drowned in this part of the lake, sir?” said Rose.
“Not twenty yards from where we now are,” replied the Squire. “Pull a little towards the bank and you will come to the exact spot.”
There was nothing to be seen, but Rose acted on the Squire’s suggestion, took two or three strokes with the oar and then ceased rowing.
Once more the spot was nearly proving fatal.
On reaching it she rose in her seat, and looked over the side of the boat. The Squire got up at the same time, meaning to pull her back, but instead of doing so he pushed her overboard. Her fall into the lake caused the greatest terror among those in the boat, and loud cries arose from all.
The Squire, who had tried to grasp her, failed in doing so, and only made matters worse, as he nearly upset the boat. Several hands were extended to the unlucky girl, but she could not reach one of them, and sank.
Not a moment was now to be lost and, jumping into the water, Stanley seized hold of her when she came to the surface and sustained her till she could be pulled into the boat by the Squire and Georgette.
Stanley did not care to get in again, but laying hold of a rope, which the Squire flung to him, soon brought the boat to the bank.
Notwithstanding the fright and immersion she had undergone, Rose did not seem much worse. She called out to thank Stanley for preserving her from the fate of Virginia Massey, and likewise warmly thanked the Squire, but said nothing about his having accidentally pushed her overboard.
As soon as they reached the shore, Stanley urged her to run as fast as she could to the house and change her dress, and Mildred sent Georgette with her. As to Stanley, he did not mind his ducking — all he seemed to care for was his hat, which he thought was spoiled.
The Squire took upon himself the entire blame of the accident.
“It was all my fault,” he said, “and if that charming girl had shared the fate of Virginia Massey, I should never have forgiven myself.”
“I was very much afraid she would have been drowned,” said Mildred.
“I thought all was over with her and had begun to breathe a prayer for her soul, when Stanley leaped into the water and rescued her,” said Sister Aline.
“After this accident I don’t think I shall ever venture on the lake again,” said Mildred.
The alarm had now been given at the house, and while they were still standing on the bank, several men-servants, including Glossop and Dominique, came hurrying down, as fast as they could, to express their anxiety and offer assistance.
They were followed, though not so quickly, by Lady Starkey, Lady Talmash and Mrs. Brereton — all three looking greatly alarmed. The latter could scarcely be preventing from embracing her son, even by the dripping state of his apparel. Fearing he would take a severe cold if he remained as he was, she insisted on his returning immediately to the hall and putting on some dry clothes.
“Yes, yes, go at once,” said the Squire. “You have acted must imprudently in keeping on the wet things so long. I shall be blamed for it all.”
“Most certainly you will, papa,” said Mildred, “I hope the mischief is not already done.”
“No, don’t be uneasy,” said Stanley. “I’ll answer for myself.”
And he set off to the hall as fast as he could and, having made the necessary change in his attire and put on another hat, rejoined the party on the lawn.
CHAPTER XIX.
A WINTER IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE PROPOSED FOR MILDRED.
THE occurrence on the Mere, in which Stanley played so conspicuous a part, seemed to afford him extreme satisfaction — and no wo
nder, since everybody, even the men-servants, regarded him as a sort of hero.
Soon afterwards, Rose herself appeared on the lawn, attended by Georgette. She had been provided with one of Mildred’s morning dresses, and looked very well in it.
After thanking Stanley most warmly for the great services he had rendered her, she said, “I can never forget that you have saved my life.”
“The reflection will always be most gratifying to me,” he replied.
“Had he not rescued you I should never have felt happy again,” said the Squire; “since I was the cause of the accident. And I can assure you, my dear young lady, I felt a sharper pang than I have ever before experienced when you fell into the water.”
“Pray think of it no more, sir,” said Rose. “I know what you meant to do.”
The day was so fine that the majority of the party remained on the lawn for some time longer. Mildred was the first to retire, and she took with her Sister Aline and Georgette.
A better understanding than had previously subsisted between Mildred and Rose seemed to have sprung up between them, and when they separated they kissed each other affectionately.
“I hope I shall see you to-morrow,” said Mildred, “if the day is fine. I shall certainly come here; but shall only admire the lake at a distance.”
“My unexpected plunge has not at all alarmed me,” said Rose; “and I should not object to another row to-morrow.”
“Be prudent,” said Stanley, “I may not always be at hand to help you.”
“I must speak to papa, and tell him he will be responsible for any future mishap,” said Mildred.
Rose laughed.
Mildred and those with her now entered the house and proceeded to their own rooms; while Rose and Stanley took possession of a bench, charmingly placed near a bed of roses.
Here let us leave them for a time, and visit another bench on the opposite side of the lawn, where we shall find Lady Starkey in the full enjoyment of a tête-à-tête with the Squire.
“I am thinking of returning to town almost immediately,” she said.
“Indeed!” he exclaimed. “I am very sorry to hear it. I hope it is not a sudden resolution.”
“Not altogether sudden,” she rejoined. “But I begin to think I have outstayed my welcome.”
“Pray don’t entertain any such notion,” he replied. “I intend to give a garden party or two, and a dinner, almost immediately. I hope you will stay for them.”
“I cannot positively promise,” she replied; “but I won’t leave before if I can help it. How things are changed!” she exclaimed, with a deep sigh. “At one time I persuaded myself that I should remain here altogether. I fancied you wished me to become mistress of Beaucliffe.”
Somewhat embarrassed the Squire did not exactly know what sort of answer to make.
“I thought you had quite changed your mind,” he said.
“You could not have entertained such a poor opinion of me,” she rejoined. “I was quite prepared to fulfil my engagement, and I expected you to fulfil yours.”
“Difficulties I had not foreseen arose,” said the Squire— “insuperable difficulties.”
“And these still exist, I suppose?” said Lady Starkey. “Let us come to a clear understanding.”
“I fear so,” he replied. “Nothing, I need scarcely say, could be more gratifying to me than a union with a person of your ladyship’s distinction and accomplishments, but I am obliged to abandon the idea.”
“Why, so?” demanded Lady Starkey. “You have not been rejected by me.”
“But you have assumed such a hostile form to my daughter and her husband that I fear a perfect reconciliation between you is impossible; and, without that, happiness could not be expected while living together in the same house, and constantly meeting. I have a suggestion to offer to your ladyship. Release me from my promise, which cannot be satisfactorily carried out — but remain here, with as much authority as you have hitherto enjoyed, as long as you think proper.”
“Well, I consent,” she replied. “I confess I am very comfortable here; but if I should become tired of the place I can run up to town at any time.”
“Exactly,” replied the Squire, “and return when you think proper. From the present state of my dear child’s health, I fear I may expect to lose her, and in that case there can be no obstacle — at least, on my part — to our union. Does this arrangement suit your ladyship?”
“Perfectly,” she replied.
“Then let us take a walk round the lawn.”
She delightedly acceded to the proposal.
Rose and Stanley, still occupied the bench they had chosen. They looked graver than they did, for they were discussing the possibility of Lady Starkey’s immediate return to town, in which case Rose would have to accompany her.
“I don’t think my mother will consent to part with you,” said Stanley. “Of late you have become quite necessary to her.”
“I have tried to make myself useful,” replied Rose. “But I really am very fond of Mrs. Brereton, and no doubt, she perceives it. I don’t believe I shall ever be as happy again, as I have been at the old hall. I like it quite as well as Beaucliffe — in some respects better.”
“You are very kind to say so, but I should scarcely think that possible,” he replied. “For instance, we have nothing at Brereton like this lovely lawn, or the Mere. It is strange that Mildred never could reconcile herself to the old house.”
“Your mother says she took an early dislike to the place, and never tried to overcome it.”
“I believe that’s true. I should like to consult you about Mildred’s health. My mother is seriously alarmed. What is your opinion?”
“My opinion is that she ought not to pass another winter in this rigorous climate. She must go to Nice, or some place in the South of France.”
“Will you and Sister Aline accompany her?” asked Stanley, anxiously.
“I will go with her, if she wishes it,” replied Rose; “and I am quite sure Sister Aline is too devoted to her to leave her at such a critical juncture. I trust she may be restored to perfect health.”
“I trust she may,” echoed Stanley. “But I confess I am very doubtful. Still, the mild climate may work wonders. I am greatly obliged by your prompt compliance with my request.”
“Depend upon it, I will do all I can,” said Rose earnestly. “I pity her exceedingly, and I love her as much as I pity her. If I can do nothing else, I can help to make her latter days happy.”
“That is exactly what I desire,” said Stanley, with a grateful look. “With you and Sister Aline to tend her, I feel that nothing will be wanting either in personal comfort or religious consolation. It is sad that she cannot pass her last hours in the house where she was born, and where she has always lived, but I believe this to be her only chance.”
“I am sure it is,” said Rose.
“I do not think she ever had a day’s illness until she quitted her father’s house, and returned almost in a dying state,” said Stanley.
“What a change!” exclaimed Rose.
“At one time I suspected poison—”
“Poison!” exclaimed Rose.
“But I have since dismissed the injurious thought from my breast.”
“You are right to do so,” said Rose. “One person only could have committed the crime, and I believe him to be utterly incapable of it.”
“I acquit him entirely,” said Stanley. “I attribute her sufferings entirely to remorse — the effect of which has been as terrible as that of poison itself.”
Rose made no reply, but her looks showed that she entertained the same opinion.
“It is from this conviction that I anticipate the difficulty of a perfect cure. It is a disease of the mind rather than the body, and hitherto all her penitence has proved unavailing.”
“I do not despair,” said Rose. “Tranquillity of mind may be restored. She has looked much easier of late.”
Just then the Squire and Lady S
tarkey came up.
“You don’t seem, from your looks, to be holding a very lively conversation,” said her ladyship.
“We were talking of dear Mildred,” replied Rose. “Stanley agrees with me that she must pass next winter in the South of France. I have promised to take charge of her, and we hope to prevail on Sister Aline to go with us.”
“I entirely approve of the plan,” said the Squire. “It gives me the greatest possible pain to see her, as it were, dying by inches, and I hope you may be enabled to restore her to her former health. I don’t suppose she will object to go, but you must not make quite certain.”
“Of course, the decision will be left entirely to her,” said Stanley; “but I do not anticipate any difficulty. On the contrary, I think she will be greatly pleased by the proposition.”
“There is only one thing against it,” said the Squire. “She told me she would never leave this house again.”
“When she knows we hope to restore her to health, she may think differently,” said Rose. “As I fully believe her life depends on the change, I urge it strenuously.”
“If your opinion is confirmed, not a word can be said,” rejoined the Squire.
“I have always heard that the shores of the Mediterranean offer a charming climate for invalids,” said Lady Starkey, “and I therefore must support my niece’s opinion.”
“Do you feel inclined to go to Nice for the winter, aunt?” asked Rose.
Lady Starkey looked at the Squire.
“I should prefer Cannes, or Mentone, from what I hear of them,” he said. “But I don’t think I shall leave Beaucliffe, unless Mildred wishes to have me with her. You must stop and take care of the house for me,” he added to Lady Starkey.
“That I will, with pleasure,” she rejoined.
“Well, if this arrangement should be carried out, let us hope it may be satisfactory to everybody, and above all, beneficial to Mildred,” said Stanley. “Here comes Lady Talmash. Perhaps she may go with us. Your ladyship has come most á propos. Are you inclined to spend the winter at Nice? Because I intend to take Mildred there, and give her the advantage of the climate, and shall be delighted if you will join the party.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 816