Volume III Part 14 (1/2)
”Oh, pottering about at Briarwood. The workmen are such fools. I am making some slight alterations in the stables, on a plan of my own--putting in mangers, and racks, and pillars, and part.i.tions, from the St. Pancras Ironworks, making sanitary improvements and so on--and I have to contend with so much idiocy in our local workmen. If I did not stand by and see drain-pipes put in and connections made, I believe the whole thing would go wrong.”
”It must be very dreadful for you,” exclaimed Lady Mabel.
”It must be intolerable!” cried Lord Mallow; ”what, when the moments are golden, when 'Love takes up the gla.s.s of Time, and turns it in his glowing hands,' when 'Love takes up the harp of life, and smites on all the chords with might,' you have to devote your morning to watching the laying of drain-pipes and digging of sewers! I cannot imagine a more afflicted man.”
Lady Mabel saw the sneer, but her betrothed calmly ignored it.
”Of course it's a nuisance,” he said carelessly; ”but I had rather be my own clerk of the works than have the whole thing botched. I thought you were going to Wellbrook Abbey with the house party, Mabel?”
”I know every stone of the Abbey by heart. No, I have been dawdling about the grounds all the afternoon. It is much too warm for riding or driving.”
Lady Mabel strangled an incipient yawn. She had not yawned once in all her talk with Lord Mallow. Rorie stifled another, and Lord Mallow walked up and down among the pine-needles, like a caged lion. It would have been polite to leave the lovers to themselves, perhaps. They might have family matters to discuss, settlements, wedding presents, Heaven knows what. But Lord Mallow was not going to leave them alone. He was in a savage humour, in which the petty rules and regulations of a traditionary etiquette were as nothing to him. So he stayed, pacing restlessly, with his hands in his pockets, and inwardly delighted at the stupid spectacle presented by the affianced lovers, who had nothing to say to each other, and were evidently bored to the last degree by their own society.
”This is the deplorable result of trying to ferment the small beer of cousinly affection into the Maronean wine of pa.s.sionate love,” thought Lord Mallow. ”Idiotic parents have imagined that these two people ought to marry, because they were brought up together, and the little girl took kindly to the little boy. What little girl does not take kindly to anything in the shape of a boy, when they are both in the nursery?
Hence these tears.”
”I am going to pour out mamma's tea,” Lady Mabel said presently, keenly sensible of the stupidity of her position. ”Will you come, Roderick?
Mamma will be glad to know that you are alive. She was wondering about you all the time we were at luncheon.”
”I ought not to have been off duty so long,” Mr. Vawdrey answered meekly; ”but if you could only imagine the stupidity of those bricklayers! The day before yesterday I found half-a-dozen stalwart fellows sitting upon a wall, with their hands in their corduroy pockets, smoking short pipes, and, I believe, talking politics. They pretended to be at a standstill because their satellites--their _ames d.a.m.nees_, the men who hold their hods and mix their mortar--had not turned up. 'Don't disturb yourselves, gentlemen,' I said. 'There's nothing like taking things easy. It's a time-job. I'll send you the morning papers and a can of beer.' And so I did, and since that day, do you know, the fellows have worked twice as hard. They don't mind being bullied; but they can't stand chaff.”
”What an interesting bit of character,” said Lady Mabel, with a faintly perceptible sneer. ”Worthy of Henri Constant.”
”May I come to the d.u.c.h.ess's kettledrum?' asked Lord Mallow humbly.
”By all means,” answered Mabel. ”How fond you gentlemen pretend to be of afternoon tea, nowadays. But I don't believe it is the tea you really care for. It is the gossip you all like. Darwin has found out that the male s.e.x is the vain s.e.x: but I don't think he has gone so far as to discover another great truth. It is the superior s.e.x for whom scandal has the keenest charm.”
”I have never heard the faintest hiss of the serpent slander at the d.u.c.h.ess's tea-table,” said Lord Mallow.
”No; we are dreadfully behind the age,” a.s.sented Lady Mabel. ”We continue to exist without thinking ill of our neighbours.”
They all three sauntered towards the house, choosing the sheltered ways, and skirting the broad sunny lawn, whose velvet sward, green even in this tropical July, was the result of the latest improvements in cultivation, ranging from such simple stimulants as bone-dust and wood-ashes to the last development of agricultural chemistry. Lady Mabel and her companions were for the most part silent during this leisurely walk home, and, when one of them hazarded an observation, the attempt at conversation had a forced air, and failed to call forth any responsive brilliancy in the others.
The d.u.c.h.ess looked provokingly cool and comfortable in her morning-room, which was an airy apartment on the first-floor, with a wide window opening upon a rustic balcony, verandahed and trellised, garlanded with pa.s.sion-flowers and Australian clematis, and altogether sheltered from sun and wind. The most reposeful sofas, the roomiest arm-chairs in all the house were to be found here, covered with a cool s.h.i.+ning chintz of the good old-fas.h.i.+oned sort, apple-blossoms and spring-flowers on a white ground.
A second window in a corner opened into a small fernery, in which there was a miniature water-fall that trickled with a slumberous sound over moss-grown rockwork. There could hardly have been a better room for afternoon tea on a sultry summer day; and afternoon tea at Ashbourne included iced coffee, and the finest peaches and nectarines that were grown in the county; and when the Duke happened to drop in for a chat with his wife and daughter, sometimes went as far as sherry and Angustura bitters.
The d.u.c.h.ess received her daughter with her usual delighted air, as if the ethereal-looking young lady in India muslin had verily been a G.o.ddess.
”I hope you have not been fatiguing yourself in the orchid-houses on such an afternoon as this, my pet,” she said anxiously.
”No, indeed, mamma; it is much too warm for the orchid-houses. I have been in the shrubbery reading, or trying to read, but it is dreadful sleepy weather. We shall all be glad to get some tea. Oh, here it comes.”
A match pair of footmen brought a pair of silver trays: caddy, kettle, and teapot, and cups and saucers on one; and a lavish pile of fruit, such as Lance would have loved to paint, on the other.
Lady Mabel took up the quaint little silver caddy and made the tea.
Roderick began to eat peaches. Lord Mallow, true to his nationality, seated himself by the d.u.c.h.ess, and paid her a compliment.
”There are some more parcels for you, Mabel,” said the fond mother presently, glancing at a side-table, where sundry neatly-papered packets suggested jewellery.