Part 37 (1/2)

Vernon immediately begged to be allowed to draw the cork; he said that such precious old wine as that required most tender handling. Aunt Penelope and I had a little gla.s.s each, and Vernon had one or two, and afterwards he told Aunt Penelope something of our plans and how he and I were going to London on the morrow to see my father and Lady Helen.

Aunt Penelope nodded her head several times.

”I have only one improvement to make on that plan,” she said.

”Oh, but what improvement can you make, auntie?” was my reply.

”I can and I will,” she said, with emphasis. ”I am quite well now, as well as ever. Now what I mean to do is this; I mean to go with you two good young people. I will never be in your way, never for a moment, but I will guard you from the malicious tongue of Mrs. Grundy. She's a nasty old body, and I don't want her to get at you. There's a quiet little hotel in Bloomsbury where Heather and I can have rooms, and where we can stay, and I make not the slightest doubt that I can help Heather very considerably in her dealings with Lady Helen Dalrymple.”

”Oh, you can, you can,” I said; ”it will be quite splendid!”

So the plan was carried out. Jonas was informed that very evening that Miss Penelope and I were going to leave Hill View early on the morrow.

”We shall probably be back in a few days,” said Aunt Penelope. ”In the meantime, Jonas, you must attend to the house cleaning; give it a thorough turn-out. Wash every sc.r.a.p of paint, Jonas; be sure you wash the backs of the shutters, don't leave a single place with a sc.r.a.p of dirt in it; remember, I'll find it out if it exists--be certain of that.”

”Yes, mum; thank you, mum,” said Jonas. ”I'll be sure to do what you wish, mum.”

”And Jonas, you understand the garden. You can get the gra.s.s into order and remove all the weeds. We may be having a smart time down here by and by, there's no saying, there's no saying at all, but at least remember that you haven't a minute to lose. You are a good boy, Jonas, and you'll work as hard when I am away as though I were at home.”

”Yes, mum; of course, mum,” said Jonas. ”Me and the parrot,” he added.

”Stop knocking at the door!” shouted the parrot.

”There! if that bird isn't enough to split one's head,” said Aunt Penelope.

She went upstairs. Vernon had already gone back to the hotel. b.u.t.tons gave me a feeling glance.

”Stay below for a minute, missy. Is it true? Is there nuptials in this 'ere thing?”

”Yes, Jonas.”

”I thought as much. Didn't I twig it when I heard his steps and saw the starty sort of way you got into? I'm a smart boy, I am. Missy, you'll have me at the wedding, won't you?”

”I promise you, Jonas, you shall certainly come,” I answered rashly.

The next day we went up to London. We had no special adventure on our journey to town. We went first-cla.s.s. I remembered my journey down, and how interesting I had thought the third-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers, but now we travelled back in state. Vernon said it would be less tiring for Aunt Penelope. When we got to Paddington we drove to the little hotel that Aunt Penelope knew about; it was a quiet little place at one corner of a small square in Bloomsbury. It was very old-fas.h.i.+oned and not much frequented of late. The proprietor, however, knew Aunt Penelope quite well. Had he not entertained her and my mother also in the long-ago days when they were young? Aunt Penelope was anxious to secure the same rooms, and, strange as it may seem, she managed to get them. The landlord was very pleased indeed to show them to her, and she told me afterwards that the sight of them brought a p.r.i.c.kly sensation into the back of her eyes, and made her feel inclined to cry. The rooms were quiet and clean, and that was the main thing. Vernon did not think much of them, but they pleased Aunt Penelope, and that, of course, was the most important matter of all.

Having arranged about the rooms, Vernon now suggested that we should engage a taxi-cab and drive straight to Hanbury Square, but here Aunt Penelope put down her foot.

”What sort of cab did you say, my dear boy?”

”A taxi-cab, auntie.” He called her ”auntie” from the very moment we were properly engaged.

”I don't like new sorts of cabs,” replied my aunt. ”I want what in my young days used to be called a 'growler.' I hate hansoms; I wouldn't dare go in one of them.”

In vain poor Vernon pleaded for the light and swift motion of the cab which was driven by petrol. The old lady held up her hands with horror.

”Not for worlds would I go in a motor-cab,” she said. ”Vernon, I have admired you and stood up for you, but I shall do so no longer if you even mention such a thing to me again.”