Volume III Part 25 (1/2)
”Of course. Did you ever know of a family mansion without one?”
Vixen was delighted at the idea of exploring her lover's domain, now that he and it were her own property. How well she remembered going with her father to the meet on Briarwood lawn. Yet it seemed a century ago--the very beginning of her life--before she had known sorrow.
Miss McCroke, who was ready to do anything her pupil desired, was really pleased at the idea of seeing the interior of Briarwood.
”I have never been inside the doors, you know, dear,” she said, ”often as I have driven past the gates with your dear mamma. Lady Jane Vawdrey was not the kind of person to invite a governess to go and see her. She was a strict observer of the laws of caste. The d.u.c.h.ess has much less pride.”
”I don't think Lady Jane ever quite forgave herself for marrying a commoner,” said Vixen. ”She revenged her own weakness upon other people.”
Violet had a new pair of ponies, which her lover had chosen for her, after vain endeavours to trace and recover the long-lost t.i.tmouse.
These she drove to Briarwood, Miss McCroke resigning herself to the will of Providence with a blind submission worthy of a Moslem; feeling that if it were written that she was to be flung head foremost out of a pony-carriage, the thing would happen sooner or later. Staying at home to-day would not ward off to-morrow's doom. So she took her place in the cus.h.i.+oned valley by Violet's side, and sat calm and still, while the ponies, warranted quiet to drive in single or double harness, stood up on end and made as if they had a fixed intention of scaling the rhododendron bank.
”They'll settle down directly I've taken the freshness out of them,”
said Vixen, blandly, as she administered a reproachful touch of the whip.
”I hope they will,” replied Miss McCroke; ”but don't you think Bates ought to have seen the freshness taken out of them before we started?”
They were soon tearing along the smooth Roman road at a splendid pace, ”the ponies going like clockwork,” as Vixen remarked approvingly; but poor Miss McCroke thought that any clock which went as fast as those ponies would be deemed the maddest of timekeepers.
They found Roderick standing at his gates, waiting for them. There was a glorious fire in the amber and white drawing-room, a dainty tea table drawn in front of the hearth, the easiest of chairs arranged on each side of the table, an urn hissing, Rorie's favourite pointer stretched upon the hearth, everything cosy and homelike. Briarwood was not such a bad place after all, Vixen thought. She could have contrived to be happy with Roderick even here; but of course the Abbey House was, in her mind, a hundred times better, being just the one perfect home in the world.
They all three sat round the fire, drinking tea, poured out by Vixen, who played the mistress of the house sweetly. They talked of old times, sometimes sadly, sometimes sportively, glancing swiftly from one old memory to another. All Rorie's tiresome ways, all Vixen's mischievous tricks, were remembered.
”I think I led you a life in those days, didn't I, Rorie?” asked Vixen, leaving the teatray, and stealing softly behind her lover's chair to lean over his shoulder caressingly, and pull his thick brown beard.
”There is nothing so delightful as to torment the person one loves best in the world. Oh, Rorie, I mean to lead you a life by-and-by!”
”Dearest, the life you lead me must needs be sweet, for it will be spent with you.”
After tea they set out upon a round of inspection, and admired the new morning-room that had been devised for Lady Mabel, in the very latest style of Dutch Renaissance--walls the colour of muddy water, glorified ginger-jars, ebonised chairs and tables, and willow-pattern plates all round the cornice; curtains mud-colour, with a mediaeval design in dirty yellow, or, in upholsterer's language, ”old gold.”
”I should like to show you the stables before it is quite dark,” said Rorie presently. ”I made a few slight improvements there while the builders were about.”
”You know I have a weakness for stables,” answered Vixen. ”How many a lecture I used to get from poor mamma about my unfortunate tastes. But can there be anything in the world nicer than a good old-fas.h.i.+oned stable, smelling of clover and newly-cut hay?”
”Stables are very nice indeed, and very useful, in their proper place,”
remarked Miss McCroke sententiously.
”But one ought not to bring the stables into the drawing-room,” said Vixen gravely. ”Come, Rorie, let us see your latest improvements in stable-gear.”
They all went out to the stone-paved quadrangle, which was as neatly kept as a West-End livery-yard. Miss McCroke had an ever-present dread of the ubiquitous hind-legs of strange horses: but she followed her charge into the stable, with the same heroic fidelity with which she would have followed her to the scaffold or the stake.
There were all Rorie's old favourites--Starlight Bess, with her s.h.i.+ning brown coat, and one white stocking; Blue Peter, broad-chested, well-ribbed, and strong of limb; Pixie, the gray Arab mare, which Lady Jane used to drive in a park-phaeton--quite an ancient lady; Donald, the iron-sinewed hunter.
Vixen knew them all, and went up to them and patted their graceful heads, and made herself at home with them.
”You are all coming to the Abbey House to live, you dear things,” she said delightedly.
There was a loose-box, shut off by a five-foot wainscot part.i.tion, surmounted by a waved iron rail, at one end of the stable, and on approaching this enclosure Vixen was saluted with sundry grunts and snorting noises, which seemed curiously familiar.