Part 17 (2/2)

Beth, deeply interested, watched her aunt, who began by locking the door. Then she slipped a pair of spectacles out of her pocket, and put them on, after glancing round apprehensively as if she were going to do something wrong. Then she sat down at a small bureau, unlocked a drawer, and took out a little dictionary, unlocked another drawer and took out a sheet of notepaper, in which she inserted a page of black lines. Then she proceeded to write a letter in lead-pencil, stopping often to consult the dictionary. When she had done, she took out another sheet of a better quality, put the lines in it, and proceeded to copy the letter in ink. She blotted the first attempt, but the next she finished. She destroyed several envelopes also before she was satisfied. But at last the letter was folded and sealed, and then she carefully burnt every sc.r.a.p of paper she had spoiled.

”I was educated in a convent in France,” she said to Beth. ”If you were older you would know that by my handwriting. It is called an Italian hand, but I learnt it in France. I was there five years.”

”What else did you learn?” said Beth.

”Oh--reading. No--I could read before I went. But music, you know, and French.”

”Say some French,” said Beth.

”Oh, I can't,” Aunt Grace Mary answered. ”But I can read it a little, you know.”

”I should like to hear you play,” said Beth.

”But I don't play,” Aunt Grace Mary rejoined.

”I thought you said you learnt music.”

”Oh yes. I had to learn music; and I practised for hours every day; but I never played.”

Aunt Grace Mary smiled complacently as she spoke, took off her spectacles, and locked up her writing materials--Beth, the while, thoughtfully observing her. Aunt Grace Mary's hair was a wonderful colour, neither red, yellow, brown, nor white, but a mixture of all four. It was parted straight in the middle, where it was thin, and brought down in two large rolls over her ears. She wore a black velvet band across her head like a coronet, which ended in a large black velvet bow at the back. Long heavy gold ear-rings pulled down the lobes of her ears. All her dresses were of rustling silk, and she had a variety of deep lace-collars, each one of which she fastened with a different brooch at the throat. She also wore a heavy gold watch-chain round her neck, the watch being concealed in her bosom; and jet bracelets by day, but gold ones in the evening.

Beth was deeply interested in her own family history, and intelligently pieced together such fragments of it as she could collect from the conversations of the people about her. She was sitting in one of the deep window-seats in the drawing-room looking out one day, concealed by a curtain, when her mother and Great-Aunt Victoria Bench came into the room, and settled themselves to chat and sew without observing her.

”Where is Grace Mary?” Aunt Victoria asked.

”Locked up in her own room writing a letter, I believe,” Mrs. Caldwell replied, ”a long and mysterious proceeding. We shall not see her again this morning, I suppose.”

”Ah, well,” said Aunt Victoria considerately, ”she writes a very beautiful hand.”

”James thought he was doing so well for himself, too!” Mrs. Caldwell interjected. ”He'd better have married the mother.”

”There was the making of a fine woman in Grace Mary if she had had a chance,” Aunt Victoria answered, pursing up her mouth judicially. ”It was the mother made the match. When he came across them in Switzerland, Lady Benyon got hold of him, and flattered him, made him believe Grace Mary was only thirty-eight, not too old for a son-and-heir, but much too old for a large family. She was really about fifty; but he never thought of looking up her age until after they were married. However, James got one thing he likes, and more than he deserved; for Grace Mary is amiable if she's ignorant; and I should say had tact, though some people might call it cunning. But, at any rate, she's the daughter of one baronet and the sister of another.”

”What's a baronet?” Beth demanded, tumbling off the window-seat on to the floor with a crash as she spoke, having lost her balance in peering round the curtain.

Both ladies jumped, quite contrary to their principles.

”You naughty child, how dare you?” Mrs. Caldwell began.

Beth picked herself up. ”I want to know,” she interrupted.

”You've been listening.”

”No, I've not. I was here first, and you came and talked. But that doesn't matter. I shan't tell. What's a baronet?”

Aunt Victoria explained, and then turned her out of the room. Uncle James was crossing the hall at the moment; he had a large bunch of keys in his hand, and went through the double-doors which led to the kitchen and offices. Beth followed him into the kitchen. The cook, an old servant, came forward curtseying. The remains of yesterday's dinner, cold roast beef, tongue, chicken, and plum-pudding, were spread out on the table. Uncle James inspected everything.

”For luncheon,” he said, ”the beef can remain cold on the sideboard, also the tongue. The chicken you will grill for one hot dish, and do not forget to garnish with rolls of bacon. The pudding you can cut into slices, fry, and sprinkle with a little sifted sugar. Mind, I say a little; for, as the pudding is sweet enough already, the sugar is merely an ornament to make it agreeable to the eye. For the rest, as usual.”

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