Part 25 (2/2)
”Had he a big place in a cave, with trees that grow rubies and diamonds and beautiful things?” added Charlie.
”Why doesn't mamma buy us some ponies now?” continued Cis; ”we should be some time learning to ride.”
”I will not listen to you any more if you talk so foolishly. Try and think of something else--of the Christmas pantomime. You know grannie says you shall go if you do your lessons well,” returned Katherine.
”It isn't silly!” exclaimed Cecil. ”Mammy tells us we must take care of her when we are rich men, and that we shall be able to hold up our heads as high as any one. _I_ can hold up my head _now_.”
Such conversations were of frequent occurrence, and kept Katherine in a state of mental irritation.
Toward the end of October Mrs. Burnett brought relief in the shape of an invitation to Mrs. Frederic.
The Burnett family were spending the ”dark days before Christmas” at Brighton, and thither hied the lively young widow in great glee. Things generally went smoother in her absence; the boys were more obedient, the meals more punctual.
Nevertheless Katherine observed that her mother did not settle to her writing as usual. Occasionally she shut herself up in the study, but when Katherine came in unexpectedly she generally found her resting her elbow on the table and her head on her hand, gazing at the blank sheet before her, or leaning back in her chair, evidently lost in thought.
”You do not seem to take much to your writing, mother dear,” said Katherine one morning as she entered and sat down on a stool beside her.
”In truth I cannot, Katie. I do not know how it is, but no plots will come. I have generally been able to devise something on which to hang my characters and events; but my invention, such as it is--or rather was--seems dried up and withered. What shall I do if my slight vein is exhausted? Heaven knows I produced nothing very original or remarkable, but my lucubrations were saleable, and I do not see how we can do without this source of income.”
”You only want rest,” returned Katherine, taking her hand and laying her cheek against it. ”Your fancy wants a quiet sleep, and then it will wake up fresh and bright. Take a holiday; put away pen, ink, and paper; and you will be able to write a lovely story long before the money we expect for your novel is expended.”
”I hope so.” She paused, and then resumed, with a sigh: ”I ought to have more sense and self-control at my age, but I confess that the uncertainty about John Liddell's will absorbs me. Suppose, Katie, that his money were to come to you. Imagine you and I rich enough not to be afraid of the week after next! Why, our lives would be too blissful.”
”They would,” murmured Katherine. ”When do you think we shall know?”
”I cannot tell. All possible search must be made before the law can be satisfied. My own impression is that your uncle _did_ destroy his will, intending to make a different distribution of his money, and to provide for you.”
”Yes, I believe he did,” said Katherine, quietly. ”I wish--oh, I _do_ wish my uncle had had time to divide his property between us all; then there would be no ill feeling. But I suppose Cis and Charlie will get some, even if no will is found?”
”I have no idea. If poor Fred had lived, I suppose he would take a share.”
They sat silent for some minutes. Then Kate rose and very deliberately shut up her mother's writing-book, collected her papers and rough note-book, and locked them away in her drawer. ”Now, dearest mother,”
she said, ”promise me not to open that drawer for ten days at least, unless a very strong inspiration comes to you. By that time we may know something certain about the will, and at any rate you will have had change of occupation. Then put on your bonnet and let us go to see our friend Mrs. Wray. Perhaps she may let us see her husband's studio, and if he is there we are sure to have some interesting talk. We both sorely need a change of ideas.”
Mrs. Frederic Liddell returned from Brighton in a very thoughtful mood.
She said she had had a ”heavenly visit.” Such nice weather--such a contrast to dirty, dreary, depressing London! She had met several old acquaintances, they had had company every night, and had she only had a third evening dress her bliss would have been complete. As it was, a slight sense of inferiority had taken the keen edge off her joy. ”At any rate, the men didn't seem to think there was much amiss with me. Sir Ralph Brereton and Colonel Ormonde were really quite troublesome. I do not much like Sir Ralph. I never know if he is laughing at me or not, though I am sure I do not think there is anything to laugh at in me.
Colonel Ormonde is so kind and sensible! Do you know, Mrs. Liddell, he says _I_ ought to see Mr. Newton myself, to look after the interests of my darling boys, and--and try to ascertain the true state of affairs.
That is what Colonel Ormonde says, and I suppose you wouldn't mind, Mrs.
Liddell?” she ended, in a rather supplicating tone; for she was just a little in awe of her mother-in-law, kind and indulgent though she was.
”Go and see Mr. Newton by all means, Ada, if you feel it would be any satisfaction to you; but until the right time comes it will be very useless to make any inquiries. We leave it all to Mr. Newton.”
”Oh, you and Katherine are so cold and immovable; you are not a bit like me. I am all sensitiveness and impulse. Well, if it is not raining cats and dogs I _will_ go into that awful City and see Mr. Newton to-morrow.”
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