Book: Uncle Max

R >> Rosa Nouchette Carey >> Uncle Max




I parted from Lesbia very affectionately, for she seemed loath to say
good-bye, but I knew poor Jill would be grumbling at my absence; the
others were dining out, and I had promised to join the schoolroom tea,
which was to be half an hour later on my account, but it was nearly six
before I made my appearance, very penitent at my delay, and fully
expecting a scolding.

I found Jill, however, kneeling on the rug, making toast, with Sooty in
her arms; she had blacked her face in her efforts, but looked in high
good-humour.

'Fraeulein has gone out for the whole evening: that freckled Fraeulein
Misschenstock has been here, and has invited her to tea and supper. Mamma
said she could go, as you would remain with me, so we shall be alone and
cosy for the whole evening. Now, you may pour out tea, if you like, for I
have all this buttered toast on my mind. I am as hungry as a hunter; but
there is a whole seed-cake, I am glad to see. Now, darling, be quick, for
you have kept me so long waiting.' And Jill brushed vigorously at her
blackened cheek, and beamed at me.

But, alas! we had reckoned without our host, and a grand disappointment
was in store for us, though, as it turned out, things were not as bad as
they appeared to be at first.

I was praising Jill's buttered toast, for I knew she prided herself
on this delicacy, and she had just cut herself a thick wedge of the
seed-cake, which she was discussing with a school-girl's appetite, when
I heard Uncle Brian's voice calling for Ursula rather loudly: so I ran to
the head of the staircase, and, to my surprise, saw him coming up in his
slow, dignified manner.

'Look here, Ursula, I shall be late at the Pollocks', and your aunt and
Sara have gone on, and there is Tudor in the drawing-room, just arrived
with a message from Cunliffe. Of course we must put him up; but the
trouble is there is no dinner, and of course he is famished: young men
always are.'

My heart sank as I thought of Jill, but there was no help for it. Max's
friends were sacred. Mr. Tudor must be made as comfortable as possible.

'It cannot be helped, Uncle Brian,' I returned, trying to keep the
vexation I felt out of my voice. 'Supposing you send Mr. Tudor up to the
schoolroom, and we will give him some tea. Jill has made some excellent
buttered toast, and Clayton can get some supper for him by and by in the
dining-room: there is sure to be a cold joint,--or perhaps Mrs. Martin
will have something cooked for him.'

'That must do,' he replied, somewhat relieved at this advice. 'We shall
be back soon after tea, so you will not have him long on your hands.
Entertain him as well as you can, there's a good girl.' He had quite
forgotten, and so had I for the moment, that Fraeulein was out for the
evening, and that possibly Aunt Philippa might object to a young man
joining the schoolroom tea; but, as it proved afterwards, she was more
shocked at Uncle Brian than at any one else: she said he ought to have
given up his dinner and stayed with his guest.

'I confess I do not see what Ursula could have done better,' she
remarked severely; 'she could not spend the evening alone with him in the
drawing-room; and of course he wanted his tea. That comes of allowing
Fraeulein to neglect her duties: she is too fond of spending her time with
Fraeulein Misschenstock.'

I did not dare break the news to Jill, for fear she should lock herself
in her own room, for she never liked the society of young men; they
laughed at her too much, in a civil sort of way: so I hurried down into
the drawing-room and explained matters to Mr. Tudor, whom I found walking
about the room and looking somewhat ill at ease.

He seemed rather amused at the idea of the schoolroom tea, but owned that
he was hungry and tired, as he had had a fourteen-mile walk that day.

'It is all Mr. Cunliffe's fault that I am quartered on you in this way,'
he said, laughing a little nervously--and very likely Uncle Brian's
dignified reception had made him uncomfortable; 'but he would insist on
my bringing my bag, and Mr. Garston has a dinner-engagement, and cannot
attend to business until to-morrow morning.'

'I am afraid you would like a dinner-engagement too, after your fourteen
miles,' I returned, in a sympathetic voice, for he did look very tired.
'We will give you some tea now, and then you can get rid of the dust of
the journey, and by that time Mrs. Martin will have done her best to
provide you with some supper.'

'I see I have fallen in good hands,' he replied, brightening at this in
a boyish sort of way. 'Where is the schoolroom? I did not know there was
such an apartment, but of course Mrs. Garston told me that her youngest
daughter had not finished her studies. I think I saw her once: she was
very tall, and had dark hair.'

'Oh yes; that was Jill--I mean Jocelyn, but we always call her Jill. Will
you come this way, please? Fraeulein is out, and we were having a good
time by ourselves.'

'And I have come to spoil it,' he answered regretfully, as I opened the
door.

I shall never forget Jill's face when she saw us on the threshold. She
quite forgot to shake hands with Mr. Tudor in her dismay, but stood
hunching her shoulders, with Sooty still clasped in her arms and her
great eyes staring at him, till he said a pleasant word to her, and then
she flushed up, and subsided into her chair. I stole an anxious glance at
the cake; to my great relief, Jill had been quietly proceeding with her
meal in my absence, for I knew that in her chagrin she would refuse to
touch another morsel. I wondered a little what Mr. Tudor would think of
her ungracious reception of him; but he showed his good-breeding by
taking no notice of it and confining his remarks to me.

Jill's ill-humour thawed by and by when she saw how he entered into the
spirit of the fun. He vaunted his own skill with the toasting-fork, and,
in spite of fatigue, insisted on superintending another batch of the
buttered toast; he was very particular about the clearness of the fire,
and delivered quite an harangue on the subject. Jill's sulky countenance
relaxed by and by; she opened her lips to contradict him, and was met so
skilfully that she appealed to me for assistance.

By the time tea was over, we were as friendly with Mr. Tudor as though we
had known him all our lives, and Jill was laughing heartily over his racy
descriptions of schoolroom feasts and other escapades of his youth. He
looked absurdly young, in spite of his clerical dress; he had a bright
face and a peculiarly frank manner that made me trust him at once; he did
not look particularly clever, and Jill had the best of him in argument,
but one felt instinctively that he was a man who would never do a mean or
an unkind action, that he would tell the truth to his own detriment with
a simple honesty that made up for lack of talent.

I could see that Jill's bigness and cleverness surprised him. He
evidently found her amusing, for he tried to draw her out; perhaps he
liked to see how her great eyes opened and then grew bright, as she
tossed back her black locks or shook them impatiently. When Jill was
happy and at ease her face would grow illuminated; her varying
expression, her animation, her quaint picturesque talk, made her
thoroughly interesting. I was never dull in Jill's company; she had
always something fresh to say; she had a fund of originality, and drew
her words newly coined from her own mint.

I do not believe that Mr. Tudor quite understood her, for he was a simple
young fellow. But she piqued his curiosity. I must have appeared quite a
tame, commonplace person beside her. When Jill went out of the room to
fetch something, he asked me, rather curiously, how old she was, and when
I told him that she was a mere child, not quite sixteen, he said, half
musing, that she seemed older than that. She knew so much about things,
but he supposed she was very clever.

We went down into the drawing-room after this, and Jill kept me company
while Mr. Tudor supped in state, with Clayton and Clarence to wait on
him. He came up after a very short interval, and said, half laughing,
that his supper had been a most formal affair.

'By the bye, Miss Garston,' he observed, as though by an afterthought,
'I hear you are coming down to Heathfield.' He stole a glance at Jill as
he spoke. She had discarded her Indian muslin and coral necklace as being
too grand for the occasion, and wore her ruby velveteen, that always
suited her admirably. She looked very nice, and quite at her ease,
sitting half-buried in Uncle Brian's arm-chair, instead of being bolt
upright in her corner. She had drawn her big feet carefully under her
gown, and was quite a presentable young lady.

I thought Mr. Tudor was rather impressed with the transformation
Cinderella in her brown schoolroom frock, with a smutty cheek and rumpled
collar, was quite a different person:--presto--change--the young princess
in the ruby dress has smooth locks and a thick gold necklace. She has big
shining eyes and a happy child's laugh. Her little white teeth gleam in
the lamplight. I do not wonder in the least that Mr. Tudor looks at Jill
as he talks to me. It is a habit people have with me.

But I answered him quite graciously.

'Yes, I am coming down to Heathfield the day after to-morrow. I suppose
I ought to say _Deo volente_. I hope you all mean to be good to me, Mr.
Tudor, and not laugh at my poor little pretensions.'

'I shall not laugh, for one,' he replied, looking me full in the face
now with his honest eyes. 'I think it is a good work, Miss Garston. The
vicar'--he always called Uncle Max the vicar--'was talking about it up
at Gladwyn the other day, and Mr. Hamilton said--'

'Gladwyn? Is that the name of a house?' I asked, interrupting Mr. Tudor
a little abruptly.

'To be sure. Have you not heard of Gladwyn?' And at that he looked a
little amused. But I was not fated to hear more of Gladwyn that night,
for the next moment Aunt Philippa came bustling into the room, and Sara
and Uncle Brian followed her.




CHAPTER VI

THE WHITE COTTAGE


Good-bye is an unpleasant word to say, and I said mine as quickly as
possible, but I did not like the remembrance of Jill's wet cheek that
I had kissed: I was haunted by it during the greater part of my brief
journey. For some inexplicable reason I had chosen to arrive at
Heathfield late in the afternoon; I wanted to slip into my new home in
the dusk. I knew that Uncle Max would meet me at the station and look
after my luggage, so I should have no trouble, and I hoped that I should
wake up among my neighbours the next morning before they knew of my
arrival.

When we stopped at some station a little while before we reached
Heathfield, the guard put a gentleman in my compartment: I fancied they
had not noticed me, for a large black retriever followed him.

The gentleman lifted his hat directly he saw me, and apologised for
his dog's presence, until I assured him it made no difference to me; and
then he drew a newspaper from his bag and tried to read by the somewhat
flickering light. As I had nothing else to do, and his attention was
evidently very much absorbed, I looked at him from time to time in an
idle, furtive sort of way.

He had taken off his hat and put it on the seat; his dark smooth-shaven
face reminded me of a Romish priest, but he had no tonsure; instead of
that he had thick closely-cropped hair without a hint or suspicion of
baldness, was strongly built and very broad, and looked like a man who
had undergone training.

I was rather given to study the countenances of my fellow-passengers,--it
was a way I had,--but I was not particularly prepossessed with this man's
face; it looked hard and stern, and his manner, though perfectly
gentlemanly, was a little brusque. I abandoned the Romish priest theory
after a second glance, and told myself he was more like a Roman
gladiator.

As we approached Heathfield, he folded up his paper and patted his dog,
who had sat all this time at his feet, with his head on his knees. It was
a beautiful, intelligent animal, and had soft eyes like a woman, and by
the way he wagged his tail and licked the hand that fondled his glossy
head I saw he was devoted to his master.

Just then I encountered a swift, searching glance from the stranger,
which rather surprised me. He had looked at me, as he spoke, in an
indifferent way; but this second look was a little perplexing; it was
as though he had suddenly recognised me, and that the fact amused him;
and yet we had never met before,--it was such an uncommon face, so
singular altogether, that I could never have forgotten it.

I grew irritated without reason, for how could a stranger recognise me?
Happily the lights from the station flashed before my eyes at that
moment, and I began nodding and smiling towards a corner by the
bookstall, where a felt hat and brown head were all that I could see
of Uncle Max.

'Well, here you are, Ursula, punctual to a minute,' exclaimed Max, as he
shook hands. 'Halloo, Hamilton, where did you spring from?' going to the
carriage door to speak to my fellow-passenger. I was so provoked at this,
fearing an introduction, for Max was such a friendly soul, that I went to
the luggage-van and began counting my boxes, and Max did not hurry
himself to look after me.

'Now, then,' he observed cheerily, when he condescended to join me, 'is
your luggage all right? Do you mean all those traps are yours? Bless me,
Ursula, what will Mrs. Barton say? Put them on the fly, you fellows, and
be sharp about it. Come along, child; it is pelting cats and dogs, if you
know what that means: you have a wet welcome to Heathfield.'

I took the news philosophically, and assured him it did not matter in the
least. We could hear the rain beating against the windows as we reached
the booking-office. A closed waggonette with a pair of horses was waiting
at the door; my fellow-passenger, whom Max had addressed as Hamilton, was
standing on the pavement, speaking somewhat angrily to the coachman. I
heard the man's answer as he touched his hat.

'Miss Darrell said I was to bring the waggonette, sir: it did not rain so
badly when the order was brought round to the stables.'

'I could have taken a fly easily: it is worse than folly bringing out
the horses this wet night. Jump in, Nap. What, must I go first? Manners
before a wet coat.'

I heard no more, for Max hurried me into a fly, and the waggonette passed
us on the road.

'Who was that?' I asked curiously.

'Oh, that is Mr. Hamilton. Why did you not wait for me to introduce
him to you, Ursula? He is a rich doctor who lives in these parts; he
practises for his own pleasure among the poor people; he will not attend
gentle-folks. He told me that he had studied medicine meaning to make it
his profession, but a distant relative died and left him a fortune, and
by so doing spoiled his career.'

'That was rather ungracious of him; but he looks the sort of man who
could do plenty of grumbling. Where does he live, Max?'

'Oh, at Gladwyn: I cannot show you the house now, because we do not pass
it. There is the church, Ursula, and there is Tudor in his mackintosh
coming out of the vicarage: that is the best of Lawrence, he never shirks
his duty; he hates the job, but he does it. He is going down to see old
Smithers and get sworn at for his pains.'

'Have you got any cases ready for me, Max?' I asked, with a little
tingling of excitement.

'Hamilton has. I was at Gladwyn the other evening, and had a talk with
him. He was a little off-hand about your mission; he thinks you must be
romantic, and all that sort of thing. You would have laughed to have
heard him talk, and I let him go on just for the joke of it. It was rich
to hear him say that he did not believe in hysterical goodness; a girl
would do anything now to get herself talked about--no, I did not mean to
repeat that,' interrupting himself, with an annoyed air. 'Hamilton always
says more than he means. Look, Ursula, there is the White Cottage; that
bow-window to the right belongs to your parlour. Now, my dear, I will
open the gate, and you must just run up the path as quickly as you can,
for you can hardly hold up an umbrella in this wind. You see the cottage
does not boast of a carriage-drive.'

That odious Mr. Hamilton--or Dr. Hamilton, which was it? No wonder he
looked like a Romish priest if he could make those Jesuitical remarks!
I felt I almost hated him, but I resolved to banish him from my mind,
as I ran past the dripping laurels that bordered the narrow path. The
cottage door was open as soon as our fly had stopped at the gate; and
by the light I could see the neat flower-borders and clipped yews, and
a leafless wide-spreading tree with a seat under it. As I made my way
into the porch, a very big man without his coat passed me with a civil
'good-evening.' I thought it must be Nathaniel, from his great height,
and of course the prim-looking little widow in black, standing on the
threshold, was Mrs. Barton. She had a nice, plaintive face, and spoke
in a mild, deprecating voice.

'Good-evening, Mrs. Barton. What dreadful weather! I hope my wet boxes
will not spoil the oilcloth.'

'That is easily wiped off, Miss Garston; but I am thinking the damp must
have made you chilly. Come into the parlour: there is a fine rousing fire
that will soon warm you. A fire is a deal of comfort on a wet, cool
night. I have lighted one in your bedroom too.'

Evidently Mrs. Barton spared herself no trouble. I was a fire-worshipper,
and loved to see the ruddy flame lighting up all the odd corners, and I
was glad to think both my rooms would be cheerful. The parlour looked the
picture of comfort; my piano was nicely placed, and the davenport, and
the chair that I had sent with it. A large old-fashioned couch was drawn
across the window, the round table had a white cloth on it, and the
tea-tray and a cottage loaf were suggestive of a meal. The room was long
and rather low, but the bow-window gave it a cosy aspect; one glance
satisfied me that I had space for the principal part of my books, the
rest could be put in my bedroom. When Mrs. Barton stirred the fire and
lighted the candles the room looked extremely cheerful, especially as
Tinker, the collie, had taken a fancy to the rug, and had stretched
himself upon it after giving me a wag of his tail as a welcome. Mrs.
Barton would hardly give me time to warm my hands before she begged me
to follow her upstairs and take off my things while they brought in the
luggage.

I found my bedroom had one peculiarity: you had to descend two broad
steps before you entered it.

It was the same size as the parlour, and had a bow-window. The furniture
was unusually good; it had belonged to the previous lodger, Mrs.
Meredith, who had bequeathed it to Mrs. Barton at her death.

I was thankful to see a pretty iron bedstead with a brass ring and blue
chintz hangings, instead of the four-poster I had dreaded. There was a
commodious cupboard and a handsome Spanish mahogany chest of drawers that
Mrs. Barton pointed out with great pride. A bright fire burned in the
blue-tiled fireplace; there was an easy-chair and a round table in the
bow-window; a pleasant perfume of lavender-scented sheets pervaded the
room, and a winter nosegay of red and white chrysanthemums was prettily
arranged in a curious china bowl. I praised everything to Mrs. Barton's
satisfaction, and then she went downstairs to see to the tea, first
giving me the information that Nathaniel was coming upstairs with the
big trunk, and would I tell him where to place it?

He entered the next moment, carrying the heavy trunk on his shoulder as
easily as though it were a toy. He was a good-looking man, with a fair
beard and a pair of honest blue eyes, and in spite of his size and
strength--for he was a perfect son of Anak--seemed rather shy and
retiring.

I left him loosening the straps of my box, and went downstairs to find
Uncle Max.

He had made himself quite at home, and was sitting in the big easy-chair
contemplating the fire.

'Well, Ursula, how do you like your rooms? Oh yes, there are two cups and
saucers,' as I looked inquiringly at the table, 'because Mrs. Barton
expects me to remain to tea. She is frying ham and eggs at the present
moment; I hope you do not mind such homely country fare; but to-morrow
you will be your own housekeeper.'

I assured Uncle Max that I had fallen in love with the White Cottage, and
that I liked Mrs. Barton excessively, that my bedroom was especially cosy
and was most comfortably furnished. 'You will see how pretty this room
will look when I put up my new curtains and pictures,' I went on; 'it is
a little bare at present, but it will soon have a more furnished
appearance. I mean to be so busy to-morrow settling all my treasures.'
And I spoke with so much animation that Uncle Max smiled at what he
called my youthful enthusiasm.

'You may be as busy as you like all day,' he returned, in his pleasant
way, 'so that you come up to the vicarage in the afternoon to see Mrs.
Drabble. Lawrence will be out: that fellow always is out,'--in a humorous
tone of vexation. 'He makes himself so confoundedly agreeable that people
are always asking him to dinner: he is terribly secular, is Lawrence, but
he is young and will mend. Come up to the vicarage and dine with me,
Ursula; I want you to taste Mrs. Drabble's pancakes: they are food for
angels, as Lawrence always says.'

I accepted the invitation a little regretfully, for it seemed hard to
leave my hermitage the first evening; but then Uncle Max had been so good
to me that it would never do to disappoint him, and, as Mr. Tudor would
be out, we should be very cosy together.

Mrs. Barton brought in the ham and eggs at this moment, and I sat down
before my gay little tea-tray, marvelling secretly at the scarlet
flamingo. There were plenty of homely delicacies on the table,--hot cakes
and honey, and a basket of brown-and-yellow pippins. Uncle Max shook his
head and pretended the hot cakes would ruin his digestion, but he enjoyed
them all the same, and made an excellent meal.

We sat for a long time talking over the fire, chiefly of Lesbia and Jill,
for he took a warm interest in them both; but about eight o'clock he
remembered he had an engagement, and went off rather hurriedly, and I
went upstairs and unpacked one of my boxes, and arranged my clothes in
the chest of drawers and in the big, roomy cupboard.

When the church clock struck ten, I went down again in search of hot
water. At the sound of my footstep, Mrs. Barton came out in the passage
and invited me into the kitchen.

'There is only Nat there at his books,' she said, in her plaintive voice;
'he works late sometimes, though I tell him he uses up candle and
firelight. Please make yourself at home, Miss Garston; we shall always
be pleased to see you in our kitchen, when you like to pop in.'

'I hope I shall not come too often,' I returned, looking round at its
bright snug appearance. A square of dark carpet covered part of the
red-tiled floor; the round deal table in the centre was hidden under a
crimson cloth, and two big elbow-chairs stood on each side of the wide
fireplace. Nathaniel sat in one, with a little round table in front of
him, covered with books and papers, with a small lamp for his own use.
Mrs. Barton's work-box and mending-basket were on the centre table, the
hearth had just been swept up, there was a smell of hot bread, and a row
of freshly-baked loaves were cooling on the dresser; the firelight shone
on the gleaming pewter and brass utensils, and a great tabby cat sat
purring on the elbow of Nathaniel's chair. I thought he seemed a little
confused at my entrance, for he got up rather awkwardly and shuffled his
papers together, so I took pity on his embarrassment, and only spoke to
Mrs. Barton.

She took me into the little outer kitchen to show me where she did her
cooking, and I asked her in a low voice what he was studying.

'He does a little of everything,' she said, with a sort of suppressed
pride in her voice. 'Sometimes it is history, and oftener summing; he
will have it that a man cannot have too much learning, and that he wants
to improve himself; he is always fretting because he never had a chance
when he was young, all along of his having to work when his poor father
died, and so he is all for making up for lost time; sometimes Dr.
Hamilton comes in and helps him with the Latin and--what do you call
those figures?'

I suggested mathematics, and she nodded assent.

'Oh, Nat is a sight cleverer already than his master,' she went on. 'I am
thinking that if he goes on learning more and more, that Mr. Roberts will
be taking him into the business some day. Nat is a sort of foreman now,
for his master thinks a deal of Nathaniel, and no wonder, for it is not
only his learning, and his sitting up late, and getting up early in the
winter's morning, and creeping downstairs without his boots so as not
to wake me; for all he is such a good son; but I will say it, that there
is not a young man in these parts that can beat Nat,' finished the little
widow, in a broken voice.

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