Part 7 (1/2)
”Unless he came to propose for one of us,” suggested John, who was carving a ham at the side-table.
”Some one on business for _me_, probably,” remarked Aunt Horsingham, drawing herself up and looking more stately than usual.
”Mr. Hayc.o.c.k!” announced the butler, throwing open the door with a flourish; and while all our untimely visitor's preparations, such as wiping his shoes, arranging his dress, etc., were distinctly audible outside, we looked at each other in mute astonishment, and I own I _did_ feel the guilty one amongst the party.
The Squire made his entrance in a state of intense trepidation. Having been forcibly deprived of his white hat in the hall, he had nothing but natural means to resort to for concealment of his confusion. Had it not been for an enormous silk handkerchief (white spots on a yellow ground) with which he blew his nose and wiped his brow at short and startling intervals his condition would have been pitiable in the extreme. The ”Squire's” dress too was of a more florid style than is usual in these days of sad-coloured attire. A bright blue neckcloth, well starched, and of great depth and volume; a buff waistcoat, with ma.s.sive gilt b.u.t.tons; a gra.s.s-green riding-coat of peculiar shape and somewhat scanty material; white cord trousers, York tan gaiters, and enormous double-soled shooting-shoes, pierced and strapped, and clamped and hobnailed, completing a _tout ensemble_ that almost upset my aunt's gravity, and made me, nervous as I felt, stuff my pocket-handkerchief into my mouth that I might not laugh outright.
”Fine morning, Lady Horsingham,” observed the Squire, as if he had come all that distance at this early hour on purpose to impart so valuable a piece of information--”fine morning, but cold,” he repeated, rubbing his hands together though the perspiration stood on his brow. ”I don't recollect a much finer morning at this time of year,” he resumed, addressing Cousin John after a pause, during which he had ceremoniously shaken hands with each of us in succession.
”Will you have some breakfast?” asked Lady Horsingham, whose cold and formal demeanour contrasted strangely with the nervous excitement of her visitor.
”No, thank you--if you please,” answered the Squire in a breath. ”I breakfasted before I left home. Early hours, Lady Horsingham--I think your ladys.h.i.+p approves of early hours--but I'll ask for a cup of tea, if you please.” So he sat down to a weak cup of lukewarm tea with much a.s.sumed gusto and satisfaction.
It was now time for Cousin Amelia to turn her battery on the Squire; so she presently attacked him about his poultry and his garden and his farm, the honest gentleman's absent and inconsequent replies causing my aunt and John to regard him with silent astonishment, as one who was rapidly taking leave of his senses; whilst I who knew, or at least guessed, the cause of his extraordinary behaviour began heartily to wish myself back in Lowndes Street, and to wonder how this absurd scene was going to end.
”Your dahlias must have suffered dreadfully from these early frosts,”
said Cousin Amelia, shaking her ringlets at the poor man in what she fancies her most bewitching style.
”Beautifully,” was the bewildered reply, ”particularly the shorthorns.”
”You never sent us over the Alderney calf you promised, Mr. Hayc.o.c.k,”
pursued the lady, now adroitly changing her ground. ”I begin to think you are not to be depended on.”
”You do me injustice, Miss Horsingham; indeed you do,” broke out the Squire in a white heat and with a deprecating glance at me. ”I a.s.sure you I sent over a very fine cutting, with a pot and everything, directions for matting it in winter and transplanting after a year. If you never got it I'll discharge my gardener; I will, upon my word.”
”I have got such a Cochin China to show you,” persisted his tormentor, determined to renew the charge. ”When you've finished breakfast I'll take you to the poultry-yard if you like.”
”Delighted,” replied the Squire, looking ruefully around him as if he meditated instant flight--”delighted, I'm sure; but they haven't flowered well this year. I'll teach you how to bud them if you like; but you're aware, Miss Horsingham, that they've no smell.”
John could stand it no longer, and was forced to bolt out of the room.
My aunt too rose from the table with something approaching a smile; and the Squire, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his courage to the sticking-place, was following her into the drawing-room, evidently for a private interview, when Cousin Amelia, who seemed to have made up her mind to take bodily possession of him, hurried the visitor off to the billiard-room, there to engage in a match which would probably last till luncheon-time. I never saw anything so hopeless as the expression of the victim's countenance whilst suffering himself to be thus led into captivity. He did summon courage to entreat ”Miss Coventry to come and mark”--a favour which, notwithstanding my cousin's black looks, I really had not the heart to refuse him.
Game after game they played, the gentleman apparently abandoning himself to his fate. Sprawling over the table, making the most ridiculous blunders in counting, missing the most palpable of cannons, and failing to effect the easiest of hazards; the lady brandis.h.i.+ng her mace in the most becoming att.i.tudes, drooping her long hair over the cus.h.i.+ons, and displaying the whiteness of her hand and slender symmetry of her fingers, as she requested her astonished adversary to teach her ”how to make a bridge,” or ”pocket the red,” or ”screw it off the white,” and lisped out ”how hard it was to be disappointed by that provoking kiss!” The Squire made one or two futile attempts to engage me in a game, but Cousin Amelia was determined to have him all to herself; and as it was getting near the time at which I take Aunt Deborah her broth--for poor Aunt Deborah, I am sorry to say, is very ill in bed--I made my escape, and as I ran upstairs heard the billiard-room bell ring, and Squire Hayc.o.c.k summon up courage to ”know if Lady Horsingham was at leisure, as he wished to see her for five minutes alone in the drawing-room.”
People may say what they like about superst.i.tion and credulity and old women's tales, but I _have_ faith in presentiments. Didn't I get up from my work and walk to the window at least a dozen times to watch for Cousin John coming home that wet day two years ago when he broke his leg with the harriers, and yet he had only gone out for a morning's canter on the best horse he ever had in his life? Didn't I feel for eight-and-forty hours as if something too delightful was going to happen to me the week that Brilliant was bought and sent home, looking like an angel in a horse's skin? That reminds me I never go to see him now; I hope I am not inconstant to my old friends. And what was it but a presentiment that made my heart beat and my knees knock together when I entered my own room to-day before luncheon and saw a brown paper parcel on the table, addressed, evidently by the shop people, to ”Miss Coventry, Dangerfield Hall”? How my fingers trembled as I untied the thread and unfolded the paper; after all, it was nothing but a packet of worsteds! To be sure, I hadn't ordered any worsteds, but there might possibly be a note to explain; so I shook every skein carefully, and turned the covering inside out, that the doc.u.ment, if there should be one, might not escape my vigilance. How could my presentiments deceive me? Of course there was a note--after all, where was the harm? Captain Lovell had most politely sent me all these worsteds for a cus.h.i.+on I had once talked about working, and very naturally had enclosed a note to say so; and nothing to my mind could be kinder or more welcome than the contents. I am not going to say what they are, of course; though for that matter I easily could, since I have got the note by me at this moment, and have read it over to-day besides more than once. After all, there is nothing like a letter. Who does not remember the first letter received in one's childish days, written in a fair round text for childish eyes, or perhaps even _printed_ by the kind and painstaking correspondent for the little dunce of a recipient. Who has not slept with such a letter carefully h.o.a.rded away under the pillow, that morning's first light might give positive a.s.surance of the actual existence of our treasure. Nor is the little urchin the only glad supporter of our admirable postal inst.i.tutions. Manly eyes moisten with tears of joy over those faint delicate lines traced by _her_ hand whose gentle influence has found the _one_ soft place. Woman hides away in her bosom, close to her loving heart, the precious sc.r.a.p which a.s.sures her, visibly, tangibly, unerringly, that he is hers and hers alone. Words may deceive, scenes of bliss pa.s.s away like a dream. Though ever present to the mind it requires an effort to disentangle the realities of memory from the illusions of imagination; but a letter is proof positive; there it is in black and white. You may read it again and again; you may kiss it as often as you please; you may prize it and study it and pore over it, and find a new meaning in every fresh perusal, a hidden interpretation for every magic word. Nothing can unsay it, nothing can deprive you of it; only don't forget to lock it up carefully, and mind you don't go leaving about your keys.
I had hardly read my note over a second time before Cousin Amelia bounced into the room without knocking. I should have locked the door had I known she was coming; as it was, I had only time to pop the note into my dress (the seal made a great scratch just below my neck) before she was upon me, and throwing herself into my arms with a most unusual excess of affections exclaimed,--
”Give me joy, Kate--give me joy--he's gone to mamma--he's in the drawing-room with her now--O Kate, what shall I do?”
”My dear Amelia,” I exclaimed, as the delightful thought flashed across me that, after all, the Squire's visit might have been for my cousin, though I must say I wondered at his taste, ”am I to congratulate you on being Mrs. Hayc.o.c.k? I do indeed from my heart. I am sure he is an excellent, amiable man, and will make you a capital husband.”
”That he will!” exclaimed Cousin Amelia; ”and such a nice place and gardens, and a very good fortune too. Upon my word, Kate, I begin to think I'm a lucky girl, though to be sure with my advantages I might expect to make a good match. He's not so old, Kate, after all; at least not so old as he looks; and he's very good-tempered, I know, because his servants say so. I shall alter that tumble-down house of his, and new-furnish the drawing-room. Of course he'll take me to London for two or three months every year in the season. I wonder if he knows about Mr. Johnson--not that I ever _cared_ for _him_--and, of course, a poor curate like that one couldn't think of it. Do you know, Kate, I thought his manner was very _odd_ the other day when he dined here; though he sat next _you_ he kept looking at _me_, and I remarked once that he coloured up, oh! so red. Poor fellow, I see it all now.
Kate, you shall be one of my bridesmaids--perhaps it will be _your_ turn to be a bride some of these days; who knows!”
Just then Gertrude tapped at the door.
”Miss Coventry, if you please, her ladys.h.i.+p wishes to see you in the drawing-room.”