Part 12 (1/2)
Lilias and Dulcie took diametrically opposite views about the Chase. The former stuck firmly to her opinion that it ought to have been Everard's, that her brother was an ill-used outcast, and that it was only sisterly feeling to resent seeing anybody else in his place. Her att.i.tude to Carmel was almost as strong as that of King Robert of Sicily in Longfellow's _Tales of a Wayside Inn_ towards the angel who had temporarily usurped his throne.
Dulcie, on the contrary, had always chafed against Everard's a.s.sumption of superiority and authority. He had been left the same generous legacy as the rest of the family, and had only to come back and claim his portion when he wished. If anybody was to have the Chase, she really preferred that it should belong to Carmel, who never obtruded her rights, and seemed ready for her cousins to enjoy the property on an exact equality with herself. The two girls were great friends: they would go out riding together while Lilias went shopping in the car with Cousin Clare; they practised duets, and both made crude attempts at sketching the house. Their tastes in books and fancy-work were somewhat similar, and they would sit in the shade in the afternoons st.i.tching at embroidery and eating chocolates.
Three weeks of the summer holidays pa.s.sed rapidly away in this fas.h.i.+on.
Carmel was glad to have the opportunity of getting to know the Chase, and admitted its attractions, though her heart was still in Sicily.
Towards the end of August the party broke up and scattered. Carmel had received an invitation from English relations of her stepfather to join them on a motor tour; the three little boys were to be taken to rooms at the seaside by Miss Mason, their late governess; Lilias and Dulcie went to stay with friends, and Cousin Clare had arranged to attend a conference. She agreed, however, that when Lilias and Dulcie returned from their visit, they should go with her in the car for a week-end to Tivermouth, to see how the boys were getting on.
”If you'll promise we may stay at an hotel!” stipulated Lilias. ”I wouldn't spend a week-end in rooms with those three imps for the world.
I'd like to see them, but not at too close quarters.”
”It's quite improbable that their landlady would have bedrooms for us,”
said Cousin Clare. ”So in any case we should be obliged to stop at an hotel. In this crowded season I shall engage rooms beforehand.”
”Hurrah!” triumphed Dulcie, who was anxious for a grown-up experience.
”I must say I hate staying with the boys near the beach; the sitting-room's always overflowing with their seaweed and other messes.”
”What a joke if _I_ were to turn up at the hotel too!” said Carmel. ”I believe the Rogers are going down to Devons.h.i.+re. I shall tell them the date you'll be at Tivermouth. They'll possibly like to meet you.”
”Oh, do! It would be such fun!” agreed Dulcie. ”We'd have an absolutely topping time together. Persuade them as hard as you can!”
”I'll do my best!” agreed Carmel.
As it is impossible to follow the adventures of everybody, we will concern ourselves particularly with the experiences of our heroine, who was to take her first motor tour among English scenery. The party in the comfortable Rover car consisted of Major and Mrs. Rogers, their daughter Sheila, their guest Carmel, and a chauffeur. Major Rogers was still suffering from the effects of wounds, and was more or less of a semi-invalid, a condition which made him fussy at times, and too independent at others, for directly he felt a trifle better he would immediately begin to break all the rules that the doctors had laid down for his treatment. He was an amusing, humorous sort of man, who would jest between spasms of pain, and generally found something to laugh at in the various episodes of their journey. There is a laughter, though, that is more the expression of supreme courage than of genuine mirth, and the drawn lines round the Major's mouth told of sleepless nights and days of little ease, and of trouble that hurts worse even than physical pain; for one son lay on a Belgian battle-field, another on the heights near Salonika, with no cross to mark the grave, and a third deep under the surging waters of the Atlantic.
Mrs. Rogers was Mr. Greville's sister, and for that reason, though she was no real relation, Carmel called her Aunt Hilda. She had been a belle in her youth, and she was still pretty with the pathetic beauty that often s.h.i.+nes in the faces of those who have suffered great loss. Her once flaxen hair was almost entirely gray, but she had kept her delicate complexion, and there was a gentle sweetness about her that was very attractive.
Her daughter was an exact replica of what she herself must have been at nineteen, though Sheila was going through an uncomfortable phase, and affected to despise the country, to be nervous of motoring, and to long to be back in town again. She was quite kind to Carmel, but treated her with the distantly indulgent att.i.tude of the lately-grown-up for the mere schoolgirl. It was evident that she regarded the whole tour as more or less of a nuisance, and just a means of killing time until she could start off for Scotland to join a certain house-party to which she had been invited, and where she would meet several of her most particular friends.
”I'm sorry we couldn't ask one of your cousins to come with you, dear,”
said Mrs. Rogers to Carmel, ”but there isn't room in the car for any one else. It's a good opportunity for you to see something of England. It's all very different from Sicily, isn't it? You'll feel your first winter trying, I'm afraid; we certainly lack suns.h.i.+ne in this climate.”
”Give me Egypt,” said Major Rogers. ”It's this perpetual damp in the air that makes things melancholy over here. Why, except in the height of summer it's hardly ever fit to sit out-of-doors. I like a place where I need a sun helmet.”
”You and Mother are salamanders, Daddy!” declared Sheila. ”I believe you'd enjoy living in a hot-house! Now, I like Scotland, with a good sharp wind across the moors, and a touch of mist in it to cool your face. I like either town or mountains. If I can't walk down Regent Street, then I'd tramp over the heather, but I don't admire ordinary English scenery. It's too tame.”
”You surely don't call this tame?” replied her father, pointing at the village through which they were motoring, ”it's one of the show bits of the Midlands, and an absolute picture. Where are your eyes, child?”
But Sheila was perverse, and refused to evince any enthusiasm, and ended by pulling out a novel over which she chuckled, quite regardless of the scenery, and only tore herself from the book to ask for the box of chocolate marsh mallows that she had bought at the last town where there was a good confectioner's.
Carmel would certainly have found Dulcie, or even Lilias, a more congenial companion than Sheila, but she nevertheless managed to enjoy herself. She loved the country, and was delighted with the variety of the English landscape. Though less rich than the vineclad south, the greenness of its fields and hedges never failed to amaze her, and she was fascinated by the quaint villages, their thatched roofs, church spires, and flowery gardens. They had been running through Gloucesters.h.i.+re _en route_ for Somerset and Devon, and were to call a halt at various show places on the way. Major Rogers, poring over map and guide books, would plan out their daily route each morning at the breakfast table in the hotel.
”With good luck and no punctures we ought to reach Exeter to-night easily,” he remarked, looking through the window of an old-fas.h.i.+oned country inn into the cobbled street where their luggage was being strapped on to the car.
”But, my dear!” remonstrated his wife. ”Why in such a hurry to reach Exeter? Let us stay the night at Wells, and look over the cathedral; then we can spend a few hours in Bath too.”
”Daddy and Johnson always like to tear along at about a hundred miles an hour,” said Sheila. ”Except as a means of getting along the road, I hate motoring! I always think Johnson is going to run into everybody. He shaves his corners so narrowly, and doesn't give conveyances enough room. I call him very reckless.”