Book: Uncle Max

R >> Rosa Nouchette Carey >> Uncle Max




'You don't seem pleased to see me again. Shall I go away? Are you busy,
or tired, or is there anything the matter?' asked Lady Betty, in an
extremely fractious voice.

'There is nothing the matter, and I am delighted to see you, and'--with a
sudden inspiration--'if you will be good enough to stay and have tea with
me I will ask Mrs. Barton to send in one of her excellent tea-cakes.'

This was evidently what Lady Betty wanted, for she nodded and took off
her hat, and began to unbutton her long tan-coloured gloves in a cool,
business-like way that amused me. I ran across to the kitchen, and gave
Mrs. Barton a _carte blanche_ for a sumptuous tea, and when I returned I
found Lady Betty quite divested of her walking-apparel, and patting her
dark fluffy hair to reduce it to some degree of smoothness. She had a
pretty little head, and it was covered by a mass of short curly hair that
nothing would reduce to order.

'This is just what I like,' she said promptly. 'When Giles told us about
you, and I made up my mind to call, I hoped you would ask me to stay. I
do dislike stiffness and conventionality excessively. I hope you mean to
be friends with us, Miss Garston, for I have taken rather a fancy to you,
in spite of your grave looks. Dear me! do you always look so grave?'

'Oh no,' I returned, laughing.

'That is right,' with an approving nod; 'you look ever so much nicer and
younger when you smile. Well, what did the prime minister say? Was she
very gushing and sympathetic? Did she patronise you in a ladylike way,
and pat you on the head metaphorically, until you felt ready to box her
ears? Ah! I know _la belle cousine's_ little ways.'

This was so exact a description of my conversation with Miss Darrell that
I laughed in a rather guilty fashion. Lady Betty clapped her hands
delightfully.

'Oh, I have found you out. You are not a bit solemn, really, only you put
on the airs of a sister of mercy. So you don't like Etta; you need not be
afraid of telling me so; she is the greatest humbug in the world, only
Giles is so foolish as to believe in her. I call her a humbug because she
pretends to be what she is not; she is really a most prosaic sort of
person, and she wants to make people believe that she is a soft romantic
body.'

'You are not very charitable in your estimate of your cousin, Lady
Betty,'

'Then she should not lead Gladys such a life. Poor dear majesty, to be
ruled by her prime minister! I should like to see Etta try to dictate to
me. Why, I should laugh in her face. She would not attempt it again. I
can't think how it is,' looking a little grave, 'that she has Gladys so
completely under her thumb. Gladys is too proud to own that she is afraid
of her, but all the same she never dares to act in opposition to Etta.'

Lady Betty's confidence was rather embarrassing, but I hardly knew how to
check it. I began to think the household at Gladwyn must be a very queer
one. Uncle Max had already hinted at a want of harmony between Mr.
Hamilton and his step-sisters, and Miss Darrell seemed hardly a favourite
with him, although he was too kind-hearted to say so openly.

'Has your cousin lived long with you?' I ventured to ask.

'Oh yes; ever since Gladys and I were little things; before mamma died.
Auntie lived with us too: poor auntie, we were very fond of her, but she
was a sad invalid; she died about three years ago. Etta has managed
everything ever since.'

'Do you mean that Miss Darrell is housekeeper? I should have thought that
would have been your sister's place.'

'Oh, Gladys is called the mistress of her house, but none of the servants
go to her for orders. If she gives any, Etta is sure to countermand
them,'

'It is partly Gladys's fault,' went on Lady Betty, in her frank outspoken
way. 'She tried for a little while to manage things; but either she was a
terribly bad housekeeper, or Etta undermined her influence in the house;
everything went wrong, and Giles got so angry,--men do, you know, when
the dear creatures' comforts are invaded: so there was a great fuss, and
Gladys gave it up; and now the prime minister manages the finances, and
gives out stores, and, though I hate to say it, things never went more
smoothly than they do now. Giles is scarcely ever vexed.'

I am ashamed to say how much I was interested in Lady Betty's childish
talk, and yet I knew it was wrong not to check her. What would Miss
Hamilton say if she were to hear of our conversation? Jill was rather
a reckless talker, but she was nothing compared with this daring little
creature. Lady Betty told me afterwards, when we were better acquainted,
that it had amused her so to see how widely I could open my eyes when I
was surprised. I believe she did it out of pure mischief.

Our talk was happily interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Barton and the
tea-tray, which at once turned Lady Betty's thoughts into a new channel.

There was so much to do. First she must help to arrange the table, and,
as no one else could cut such thin bread-and-butter, she must try her
hand at that. Then Nap must have his tea before we touched ours; and when
at last we did sit down she was praising the cake, and jumping up for the
kettle, and waiting upon me 'because I was a dear good thing, and waited
on poor people,' and coaxing me to take this or that as though I were her
guest, and every now and then she paused to say 'how nice and cosy it
was,' and how she was enjoying herself, and how glad she felt to miss
that stupid dinner at Gladwyn, where no one talked but Giles and Etta,
and Gladys sat as though she were half asleep, until she, Lady Betty,
felt inclined to pinch them all.

We were approaching the dangerous subject again, but I warded it off by
asking how she and her sister employed their time.

She made a little face at me, as though the question bothered her. 'Oh,
I do things, and Gladys--does things,' rather lucidly.

'Well, but what things, may I ask?'

'Why do you want to know?' was the unexpected retort. 'I don't question
you, do I? Giles says women are dreadfully curious.'

'I think you are dreadfully mysterious; but, as you are evidently ashamed
of your occupations, I will withdraw my question.'

'I do believe you are cross, Miss Garston: you are not a saint, after
all, though Giles says you sing like a cherub: I don't know where he ever
heard one, but that is his affair. Well, as you choose to get pettish
over it, I will be amiable, and tell you what we do. Etta says we waste
our time dreadfully, but as it is our time and not hers, it is none of
her business.'

I thought it prudent to remain silent, so she wrinkled her brows and
looked perplexed.

'Gladys--let me see what Gladys does: well, she used to teach in the
schools, but she does not teach now; she says the infants make her
head ache; that is why she has dropped the Sunday-school. Now Etta
has her class. Then there was the mothers' meeting; well, I never
knew why she gave that up,--I wonder if she knows herself,--but Etta
has got it. And she has left off singing at the penny readings and
village entertainments; Etta would have replaced her there, only she has
no voice. I think she works a little for the poor people at the East End
of London, but she does it in her own room, because Etta laughs at her
and calls her 'Madam Charity.' Gladys hates that. She takes long walks,
and sketches a little, and reads a good deal; and--there, that is all I
know of her majesty's doings.'

Poor Miss Hamilton! it certainly did not sound much of a life.

'And about yourself, Lady Betty?'

'Oh, Lady Betty is here, there, and everywhere,' mimicking me in a droll
way. 'Lady Betty walks a little, talks a little, plays a little, and
dances when she gets a chance. At present, lawn-tennis is a great object
in her life; last winter, swimming in Brill's bath and riding from Hove
to Kemp Town or across the Brighton Downs were her hobbies. In the summer
a gardening craze seized her, and just now she is in an idle mood. What
does it matter? a short life and a merry one,--eh, Miss Garston?'

I would not expostulate with this civilised little heathen, for she was
evidently bent on provoking a lecture, and I determined to disappoint
her. We had sat so long over our tea that the room was quite dark, and I
rose to kindle the lamp. Lady Betty, as usual, was anxious to assist me,
and went to the window to lower the blind. The next moment I heard an
exclamation of annoyance, and as she came back to the table her little
brown face was all aglow with some suppressed irritation.

'What is the matter, Lady Betty?' I asked, in some surprise.

'It is that provoking Etta again,' she began. 'She has guessed where I
am, and has sent for me, the meddlesome old--' But here a tap at our room
door stopped her outburst.

As Lady Betty made no response, I said, 'Come in,' and immediately a
respectable-looking woman appeared in the doorway.

She looked like a superior lady's-maid, and had a plain face much marked
by the smallpox, and rather dull light-coloured eyes.

'Well, Leah,' demanded Lady Betty, rather sulkily, 'what is your business
with Miss Garston?'

'My business is with you, Lady Betty,' returned the woman
good-humouredly. 'Master came in just now and asked where you were;
I think he told Miss Darrell that it was too late for you to be out
walking: so Miss Darrell said she believed you were at the White Cottage,
for she saw your muff lying on Miss Garston's table; so she told me to
step up here, as it was too dark for you to walk alone, and I was to tell
you that they would be waiting dinner.'

'It is just like her interference,' muttered Lady Betty. 'But I suppose
there would be a pretty fuss if I let the dinner spoil. Help me on with
my jacket, Leah; as you have come when no one wanted you, you had better
make yourself useful.'

She spoke with the peremptoriness of a spoiled child, but the woman
smiled pleasantly and did as she was bid. She seemed a civil sort of
person, evidently an old family servant. Something had struck me in her
speech. Miss Darrell had seen Lady Betty's muff, and knew of her presence
in the cottage, and yet she had made no remark on the subject; this
seemed strange, but would she not wonder still more at my silence?

'Lady Betty,' I said hastily, as this occurred to me, 'your cousin will
think it odd that I never spoke of you this afternoon; but you ran out of
the room so quickly, and then I forgot all about it.'

'Oh, Etta will know I was only playing at hide-and-seek. Most likely she
will think I bound you to secrecy. What a goose I was to leave my muff
behind me,--the very one Etta gave me, too! why, she would see a pin;
nothing escapes her: does it, Leah?'

'Not much, Lady Betty: she has fine eyes for dust, I tell her. The new
housemaid had better be careful with her room. Now, ma'am, if you are
ready?'

'Good-bye, Miss Garston; we shall meet to-morrow,' returned Lady Betty,
standing on tiptoe to kiss me, and as they went out I heard her say in
quite a friendly manner to Leah, as though she had already forgotten her
grievance,--

'Is not Miss Garston nice, Leah? She has got such a kind face.' But I did
not hear Leah's reply.

I had not seen the last of my visitors, for about an hour afterwards, as
I was finishing a long chatty letter to Jill, there was the sharp click
of the gate again, and Uncle Max came in.

'Are you busy, Ursula?' he said apologetically, as I looked up in some
surprise. 'I only called in as I was passing. I am going on to the
Myers's: old Mr. Myers is ill and wants to see me.' But for all that
Max drew his accustomed chair to the fire, and looked at the blazing
pine-knot a little dreamily.

'You keep good fires,' was his next remark. 'It is very cold to-night:
there is a touch of frost in the air; Tudor was saying so just now. So
you have had the ladies from Gladwyn here this afternoon?'

'How do you know that?' I asked, in a sharp pouncing voice, for I was
keeping that bit of news for a tidbit.

'Oh, I met them,' he returned absently, 'and they told me that you were
to dine with them to-morrow. I call that nice and friendly, asking you
without ceremony. What time shall you be ready, Ursula? for of course I
shall not let you go alone the first time.'

I was glad to hear this, for, though I was not a shy person, my first
visit to Gladwyn would be a little formidable; so I told him briefly that
I would be ready by half-past six, as they wished me to go early, and it
would never do to be formal on my side. And then I gave him an account of
Lady Betty's visit, but it did not seem to interest him much: in fact, I
do not believe that he listened very attentively.

'She is an odd little being,' he said, rather absently, 'and prides
herself on being as unconventional as possible. They have spoiled her
among them, Hamilton especially, but her droll ways amuse him. She has
sulked with me lately because I will not give in to her absurd fad about
Lady Betty. I tell her that she ought not to be ashamed of her baptismal
name; the angels will call her by it one day.'

'She is very amusing. I think I shall like her, Max; but Miss Darrell
does not please me. She is far too gushing and talkative for my taste;
she patronised and repressed me in the same breath. If there is anything
I dislike, it is to be patted on the head by a stranger.'

'Miss Hamilton did not pat you on the head, I suppose.'

'Miss Hamilton! Oh dear, no; she is of another calibre. I have quite
fallen in love with her: her face is perfect, only rather too pale, and
her manners are so gentle, and yet she has plenty of dignity; she reminds
me of Clytie, only her expression is not so contented and restful: she
looks far too melancholy for a girl of her age.'

'Pshaw!' he said, rather impatiently, but I noticed he looked
uncomfortable. 'What can have put such ideas in your head?--you have
only seen her twice: you could not expect her to smile in church.'

Max seemed so thoroughly put out by my remark that I thought it better
to qualify my speech. 'Most likely Miss Darrell had been nagging at her.'

His face cleared up directly. 'Depend upon it, that was the reason she
looked so grave,' he said, with an air of relief. 'Miss Darrell can say
ill-tempered things sometimes. Miss Hamilton is never as lively as Miss
Elizabeth; she is always quiet and thoughtful; some girls are like that,
they are not sparkling and frothy.'

I let him think that I accepted this statement as gospel, but in my heart
I thought I had never seen a sadder face than that of Gladys Hamilton; to
me it looked absolutely joyless, as though some strange blight had fallen
on her youth. I kept these thoughts to myself, like a wise woman, and
when Max looked at me rather searchingly, as though he expected a verbal
assent, I said, 'Yes, you are right, some girls are like that,' and left
him to glean my meaning out of this parrot-like sentence.

I could make nothing of Max this evening: he seemed restless and ill at
ease; now and then he fell into a brown study and roused himself with
difficulty. I was almost glad when he took his leave at last, for I had
a feeling somehow--and a curious feeling it was--that we were talking at
cross-purposes, and that our speeches seemed to be lost hopelessly in a
mental fog; the cipher to our meaning seemed missing.

But he bade me good-night as affectionately as though I had done him a
world of good: and when he had gone I sat down to my piano and sang all
my old favourite songs, until the lateness of the hour warned me to
extinguish my lamp and retire to bed.

I was just sinking into a sweet sleep when I heard Nathaniel's voice
bidding some one good-night, and in another moment I could hear firm
quick footsteps down the gravel walk, followed by Nap's joyous bark.

Mr. Hamilton had been in the house all the time I had been amusing
myself. I do not know why the idea annoyed me so. 'How I wish he would
keep away sometimes!' I thought fretfully. 'He will think I am practising
for to-morrow: I will not sing if they press me to do so.' And with this
ill-natured resolve I fell asleep.

My dinner-engagement obliged me to go to Phoebe quite early in the
afternoon. Miss Locke looked surprised as she opened the door, but she
greeted me with a pleased smile.

'Phoebe will hardly be looking for you yet,' she said, leading the way
into the kitchen in the evident expectation of a chat; 'she did finely
yesterday in spite of her missing you; when I went in to her in the
morning she quite took my breath away by asking if there were not an
easier chair in the house for you to use. "'Deed and there is, Phoebe,
woman," said I, quite pleased, for the poor thing is far too
uncomfortable herself to look after other people's comforts, and it was
such a new thing to hear her speak like that: so I fetched father's big
elbow-chair with a cushion or two and his little wooden footstool, and
there it stands ready for you this afternoon.'

'That was very thoughtful of Phoebe,' was my reply.

'Well, now, I thought you would be pleased, though it is only a trifle.
But that is not all. Widow Drayton was sitting with me last afternoon,
when all at once she puts up her finger and says, "Hark! Is not that your
Kitty's voice?" And so I stole out into the passage to listen. And there,
to be sure, was Kitty singing most beautifully some of the hymns you sang
to Phoebe; and if she could not make out all the words she just went on
with the tune, like a little bird, and Phoebe lay and listened to her,
and all the time--as I could see through the crack of the door--her eyes
were fixed on the picture you gave her, and I said to myself, "Phoebe,
woman, this is as it should be. You may yet learn wisdom out of the lips
of babes and sucklings."'

'I am very glad to hear all this, Miss Locke,' I returned cheerfully.
'Kitty will be able to take my place sometimes. She will be a valuable
little ally. Now, as my time is limited, I will go to Phoebe.'

I was much struck by the changed expression on Phoebe's face as soon
as I had entered the room. She certainly looked very ill, and when I
questioned her avowed she had suffered a good deal of pain in the night;
but the wild hard look had left her eyes. There was intense depression,
but that was all.

She evidently enjoyed the singing as much as ever: and I took care to
sing my best. When I had finished I produced a story that I thought
suitable, and began to read to her. She listened for about half an hour
before she showed a symptom of weariness. At the first sign I stopped.

'Will you do something to please me in return?' I asked, when she had
thanked me very civilly. 'I want you to go on with this book by yourself
now. I know what you are going to say--that you never read--that it makes
your head ache and tires you. But, if you care to please me, you will
waive all these objections, and we can talk over the story to-morrow.'
Then I told her about my invitation for this evening, and about the
beautiful Miss Hamilton, whose sweet face had interested me. And when we
had chatted quite comfortably for a little while I rose to take my leave.

Of course she could not let me go without one sharp little word.

'You have been kinder to me to-day,' she said, pausing slightly. 'I
suppose that is because I let you take your own way with me.'

'Every one likes his own way,' I said lightly. 'If I have been kinder to
you, as you say, possibly it is because you have deserved kindness more.'
And I smiled at her and patted the thin hand, as though she were a child,
and so 'went on my way rejoicing,' as they say in the good old Book.




CHAPTER XV

UP AT GLADWYN


Uncle Max had never been famous for punctuality. He was slightly Bohemian
in his habits, and rather given to desultory bachelor ways; but his
domestic timekeeper, Mrs. Drabble, ruled him most despotically in the
matter of meals, and it was amusing to see how she kept him and Mr. Tudor
in order: neither of them ventured to keep the dinner waiting, for fear
of the housekeeper's black looks; such an offence they knew would be
expiated by cold fish and burnt-up steaks. Uncle Max might invite the
bishop to dine, but if his lordship chose to be late Mrs. Drabble would
take no pains to keep her dinner hot.

'If gentlemen like to shilly-shally with their food, they must take
things as they find them,' she would say; and if her master ever ventured
to remonstrate with her, she took care that he should suffer for it for a
week.

'We must humour Mother Drabble,' Mr. Tudor would say good-humouredly.
'Every one has a crotchet, and, after all, she is a worthy little woman,
and makes us very comfortable. I never knew what good cooking meant until
I came to the vicarage.' And indeed Mrs. Drabble's custards and flaky
crust were famed in the village. Miss Darrell had once begged very humbly
that her cook Parker might take a lesson from her, but Mrs. Drabble
refused point-blank.

'There were those who liked to teach others, and plenty of them, but she
was one who minded her own business and kept her own recipes. If Miss
Darrell wanted a custard made she was willing to do it for her and
welcome, but she wanted no gossiping prying cooks about her kitchen.'

As I knew Max's peculiarity, I was somewhat surprised when, long before
the appointed time, Mrs. Barton came up and told me that Mr. Cunliffe was
in the parlour. I had commenced my toilet in rather a leisurely fashion,
but now I made haste to join him, and ran downstairs as quickly as
possible, carrying my fur-lined cloak over my arm.

'You look very nice, my dear,' he said, in quite fatherly fashion. 'Have
I ever seen that gown before?'

The gown in point had been given to me by Lesbia, and had been made in
Paris: it was one of those thin black materials that make up into a
charming demi-toilette, and was a favourite gown with me.

I always remember the speech Lesbia made as she showed it to me. 'When
you put on this gown, Ursula, you must think of the poor little woman
who hoped to have been your sister.' This was one of the pretty little
speeches that she often made. Poor dear Lesbia! she always did things so
gracefully. In Charlie's lifetime I had thought her cold and frivolous,
for she had not then folded up her butterfly wings; but even then she
was always doing kind little things.

It was a dark night, neither moon nor stars to be seen, and after we had
passed the church the darkness seemed to envelop us, and I could barely
distinguish the path. Max seemed quite oblivious of this fact, for he
would persist in pointing out invisible objects of interest. I was told
of the wide stretch of country that lay on the right, and how freshly the
soft breezes blew over the downs.

'There is the asylum, Ursula,' he observed cheerfully, waving his hand
towards the black outline. 'Now we are passing Colonel Maberley's house,
and here is Gladwyn. I wish you could have seen it by daylight.'

I wished so too, for on entering the shrubbery the darkness seemed to
swallow us up bodily, and the heavy oak door might have belonged to a
prison. The sharp clang of the bell made me shiver, and Dante's lines
came into my mind rather inopportunely, 'All ye who enter here, leave
hope behind.' But as soon as the door opened the scene was changed like
magic; the long hall was deliciously warm and light: it looked almost
like a corridor, with its dark marble figures holding sconces, and small
carved tables between them.

'I will wait for you here, Ursula,' whispered Uncle Max; and I went off
in charge of the same maid that I had seen before. Lady Betty had called
her Leah, and as I followed her upstairs I thought of that tender-eyed
Leah who had been an unloved wife.

Leah was very civil, but I thought her manner bordered on familiarity:
perhaps she had lived long in the family, and was treated more as a
friend than a servant. She was an exceedingly plain young woman, and her
light eyes had a curious lack of expression in them, and yet, like Miss
Darrell's, they seemed able to see everything.

Seeing me glance round the room,--it was a large, handsomely furnished
bedroom, with a small dressing-room attached to it,--she said, 'This is
Miss Darrell's room. Mrs. Darrell used to occupy it, and Miss Etta slept
in the dressing-room, but ever since her mother's death she has had both
rooms.'

'Indeed,' was my brief reply: but I could not help thinking that Miss
Darrell had very pleasant and roomy quarters. There were evidences of
luxury everywhere, from the bevelled glass of the walnut-wood wardrobe to
the silver-mounted dressing-case and ivory brushes on the toilet-table. A
pale embroidered tea-gown lay across the couch, and a book that looked
very much like a French novel was thrown beside it. Miss Darrell was
evidently a Sybarite in her tastes.

Uncle Max was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, and took me into
the drawing-room at once.

To our surprise, we found Miss Hamilton there alone. The room was only
dimly lighted, and she was sitting in a large carved chair beside the
fire with an open book in her lap.

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