The Heiress of Wyvern Court Part 2

WILLETT'S FARM--TEA IN THE DINING-ROOM.

"Cherton! Cherton! Cherton!"

Inna sprang from the corner of her lonely carriage, and stepped out upon the platform, helped by the kindly guard.

"Now, my dear, what's to be done? There's n.o.body here waiting for you, as I see," said the man, looking up and down the small platform, where she seemed to be the only arrival--she and her neat little trunk, which a porter brought and set down at her feet.

"No, they don't know I'm coming," returned the child, with a sober shake of her head.

"Where for, miss?" inquired the porter, as the guard looked at him.

"My--Mr. Willett's, at Willett's Farm," said Inna, in a sort of startled importance at having to speak for herself.

"Do you know the way?" asked the man.

"No; but I should if you told me--I mean----"

"Yes, miss; I know what you mean," replied the porter, noting her childish confusion. "I'll see to her, and send her safely," he promised the busy guard, and took her small gloved hand in his, and led her away out into the open road by the station, stretching away among fields, all bathed in crimson and golden suns.h.i.+ne.

"Now, miss," said he, pointing with his finger, "you go along this road and turn to your right, and along a lane, turn to your right, and along another; don't turn to your left at all; then turn to your right again, and there you are at Willett's Farm. Do you understand?" he asked kindly, bending down to something like her height, so as to get her view of the way.

"Yes, thank you; I must keep to the right all the way, and turn three times--but I don't think I quite know what a farm is like," confessed she bravely.

"Oh, miss, that's easy; there isn't another house before you reach the farm--the village is above Willett's Farm."

"Thank you; then I'll think I'll go now."

"You'll not lose yourself? I'd go with you, but I expect another train in almost directly, and there isn't a soul about here that I could send.

And about your box, miss: will you send for it?"

"Yes, I'll send for it; and--and I don't think I shall lose myself."

"Then good evening, miss." The porter touched his hat, and she bade him "good evening" in return; then the child went wandering down the road from the station--a blue dot in the evening suns.h.i.+ne.

Well, she took her three turnings to the right, and they brought her to the farm, lying not far up the last lane; the farm-buildings--barn, stable, and a whole clump of outbuildings--lying back from the road a little, and all lit up by the last rays of sunset. The house looked out upon the lane, where the shadows were gathering fast, under the many-tinted elm trees overshadowing it. Three spotlessly white steps led up to the front door, a strip of green turf lying each side, enclosed by green iron railings, and shut in by a little green gate. A quaint old house it was, with many crooks, corners, and gables, and small lattice diamond-paned windows, through one of which gleamed the ruddy glow of a fire. Ah! the air was crisp, the sun well-nigh gone, the evening creeping on. Inna sighed, and, tripping through the little green gate, mounted the three white steps, and, by dint of straining, reached up, and knocked with the knocker almost as loudly as a timid mouse. But it brought an answer, in the shape of a middle-aged woman, in a brown stuff gown, white ap.r.o.n and cap, dainty frillings of lace encircling her face.

A sober face it was, yet kindly, peering down in astonishment at our small heroine, standing silent there among the deepening shadows in the crisp chilly air.

"Well, dearie, what is it?" she questioned, as the child opened her lips to speak, and said nothing.

"I'm Inna: please may I come in and tell you all about it?" asked the silvery tongue then.

"Yes, of course--that is, if you have anything to tell;" and with this the woman made way for the little girl to pa.s.s her, and shut the door.

"This way," she said; and that was to the kitchen.

Such a clean, cheery, comfortable place, with its wood fire filling it with ruddy glow and warmth, which was like a silent welcome.

"Now, who's ill and wants a doctor? Sick folks' messengers shouldn't lag," said the woman, scanning her visitor as they both stood in the firelight glow.

"Oh, n.o.body is ill; and I only--I mean--I don't know where to begin,"

was the bewildering answer.

"Well, of course you know what brought you," suggested the other.

"Oh, the train brought me; and I've come to stay here."

"You have?" asked the woman.

"Yes; because Uncle Jonathan gave mamma a home once, when she was a little girl; and she said he would me, if she sent me."

"And who are you? and who's your mamma?"

"I'm Inna; and mamma is Uncle Jonathan's niece."

"You aren't Miss Mercy's daughter?" said the woman.

"Yes, I'm Miss Mercy's daughter; and now, please, may I sit down?"

asked the little tired voice.

"Yes, poor little unwelcome lamb; I'll not be the one to deny that to Miss Mercy's daughter. Come here;" and she set her own cus.h.i.+oned rocking-chair forward on the hearth. "But where is Miss Mercy? and why did she send you here?"

"Mamma is gone abroad with papa. Some people are afraid he's dying; and"--Inna's heart was full--"I've a letter in my pocket for Uncle Jonathan, to tell him all about it."

"Well, well, this will be news for master--unwelcome news, I'm thinking," muttered the woman as to herself, but speaking aloud.

"Do you mean I shan't be welcome?" asked a strained little voice from the rocking-chair.

"Well, dearie, welcome or not, here you are, and here you must stay for to-night, at any rate. You see, Dr. Willett has one child on his hands already, and he's a handful. I doubt if he'll want another. But then, we must all have what we don't want sometimes--eh, miss?"

To this Inna sighed a troubled little "Yes."

Then Mrs. Grant--for she it was--bethought her to help her off with her jacket and hat, and inquired had she any belongings at the station? Yes, she had a trunk there; and an unknown Will--at least, unknown to Inna--was despatched for it.

"But maybe you'd like some tea?" suggested the housekeeper.

"Yes, I should, please," the little lady a.s.sured her, folding her jacket neatly, as she had been taught.

"Well, they're just having tea in the dining-room. Come along."

No use for Inna to shrink or s.h.i.+ver, for Mrs. Grant was leading the way to those unknown tea-drinkers of whom she was to form one; the fire-light from the kitchen showing them the way along a pa.s.sage. Then a door was opened, and the small s.h.i.+verer thrust in, not unkindly, with the words--

"A little lady come for a bit and a sup with you, sir."

Then the door closed, and she was in another fire-lit room. A lamp, too, burnt on a table in front of a wood fire, on which was laid a quaint old-fas.h.i.+oned tea equipage, with a hissing urn, and all complete. On the hearth knelt a lad, making toast; and by his side, leaning against the mantelpiece, was a tall man--red-haired, with streaks of grey in that of both head and closely-clipped beard. He had keen grey eyes, which seemed to scan Inna through; a small mouse-like figure by the door, afraid to advance.

"Oscar, where are your manners?" asked the gentleman, "to treat a lady in this way, when she's thrust upon you?"

Thrust: here was another word which seemed to say she was not welcome.