Love Me Little, Love Me Long Part 22

"MY DEAR NIECE--The funeral was yesterday, and, I flatter myself, well performed: there were five-and-twenty carriages. After that a luncheon, in the right style, and then to the reading of the will. And here I shall surprise you, but not more than I was myself: I am left 5,000 pounds consols. My worthy friend, whose loss we are called on so suddenly to deplore, accompanied this bequest in his will with many friendly expressions of esteem, which I have always studied and shall study to deserve. He bequeathed to me also, during minority, the care of his boy, the heir to this fine property, which far exceeds the value I had imagined. There is a letter attached to the will; in compliance with it Arthur is to go to Cambridge, but not until he has been well prepared. He will therefore accompany me to Font Abbey to-morrow, and I must contrive somehow or other to find him a mathematical tutor in the neighborhood. There is a handsome allowance made out of the estate for his board, etc., etc.

"He is an interesting boy, and has none of the rudeness and mischievousness they generally have--blue eyes, soft, silky, flaxen hair, and as modest as a girl. His orphaned state merits kindness, and his prospects ent.i.tle him to consideration. I mention this because I fancy, when we last discussed this matter, I saw a little disposition on your part to be satirical at the poor boy's expense. I am sure, however, that you will restrain this feeling at my request, and treat him like a younger brother. I only wish he was three or four years older--you understand me, miss.

"To-morrow afternoon, then, we shall be at Font Abbey. Let him have the east room, and tell Brown to light a blazing fire in my bedroom.

and warm and air every mortal thing, on pain of death.

"Your affectionate uncle,

"JOHN FOUNTAIN."

On reading this letter Lucy formed an innocent scheme. It had long been matter of regret to her that Aunt Bazalgette could not see the good qualities of Uncle Fountain, and Uncle Fountain of Aunt Bazalgette. "It must be mere prejudice," said she, "or why do I love them both?" She had often wished she could bring them together, and make them know one another better; they would find out one another's good qualities then, and be friends. But how? As Shakespeare says, "Oxen and wain-ropes would not haul them, together."

At last chance aided her--Mrs. Bazalgette was at Font Abbey actually.

Lucy knew that if she announced Mr. Fountain's expected return the B would fly off that minute, so she suppressed the information, and, giving up to young Arthur as she had to Mrs. B., moved into a still smaller room than the east room.

And now her heart quaked a little. "But, after all, Uncle Fountain is a gentleman," thought she, "and not capable of showing hostility to her under his own roof. Here she is safe, though nowhere else; only I must see him, and explain to him before he sees her." With this view Lucy declined demurely her aunt's proposal for a walk. No, she must be excused; she had work to do in the drawing-room that could not be postponed.

"Work! that alters the case. Let me see it." She took for granted it was some useful work--something that could be worn when done. "What!

is this it--these dirty parchments? Oh! I see; it is for that selfish old man; who but he would set a lady to parchments!"

"A bad guess," cried Lucy, joyously. "I found them myself, and set myself to work on them."

"Don't tell me! He is at the bottom of it. If it was for yourself you would give it up directly. How amusing for me to see you work at that!" Lucy rose and brought her the new novel. Mrs. Bazalgette took it and sat down to it, but she could not fix her attention long on it.

Ladies whose hearts are in dress have no taste for books, however frivolous; can't sit them for above a second or two. Mrs. Bazalgette fidgeted and fidgeted, and at last rose and left the room, book in hand. "How unkind I am!" said Lucy to herself.

She was sitting sentinel till the carriage should arrive; then she could run down and prepare her uncle for his innocent and accidental visitor. It would not be prudent to let him receive the information from a servant, or without the accompanying explanation. This it was that made her so unnaturally firm when the little idle B pressed her to waste in play the s.h.i.+ning hours.

Mrs. Bazalgette went book in hand to her bedroom, and had not been there long before she found employment. Many of Lucy's things were still in the wardrobes. Mrs. B. rummaged them, inspected them at the window, and ended by ringing for her maid and trying divers of her niece's dresses on. "They make her dresses better than they do mine; they take more pains." At last she found one that was new to her, though Lucy had worn it several times at Font Abbey.

"Where did she get this, Jane?"

"Present from the old gentleman, mum; he had it down from London for her all at one time with this shawl and twelve puragloves."

Lucy looked two inches taller than Mrs. B., but somehow, I can't tell how, this dress of hers fitted the latter like a glove. It embraced her; it held her tenderly, but tight, as gowns and lovers should. The poor dear could not get out of it. "I _must_ wear it an hour or two," said she. "Besides, it will save my own, knocking about in these country lanes." Thus attired she went into the drawing-room to surprise Lucy. Now Lucy was determined not to move; so, not to be enticed, she did not even look up from her work; on this the other took a mild huff and whisked out.

So keen are the feminine senses, that Lucy, on reflection, recognized something brusk, perhaps angry, in the rustle of that retiring dress, and soon after rang the bell and inquired where Mrs. Bazalgette was.

John would make henquiries.

"Your haunt is in the back garden, miss."

"Walking, or what?"

John would make henquiries.

"She is reading, miss; and she is sitting on the seat master 'ad made for _you,_ miss.

"Very well: thank you."

"Any more commands, miss?"

"Not at present." John retired with a regretful air, as one capable of executing important commissions, but lost for lack of opportunity. All the servants in this house liked to come into contact with Lucy. She treated them with a dignified kindness and reserved politeness that wins these good creatures more than either arrogance or familiarity.

"Jeames is not such a fool as he looks."

Lucy was glad. Her aunt had got her book. It is an interesting story; she will not miss me now, and the carriage will soon be here, and then I will make up for my unkindness. Curiously enough, at this very juncture, the fair student found something in her parchment which gave her some little hopes of a favorable result.

She was following this clue eagerly, when all of a sudden she started.

Her ear had caught the rattle of a carriage over the stones of the stable yard. She rang the bell, and inquired if that was not the carriage.

"Yes, miss.

"My uncle has sent it back, then? He is not coming to-day?"

John would inquire of the coachman.

"Oh yes, miss, master is come, but he got out at the foot of the hill, and walked up through the shrubbery with the young gentleman to show him the grounds." On this news Lucy rose hastily, s.n.a.t.c.hed up a garden hat, and, without any other preparation, went out to intercept her uncle. As she stepped into the garden she heard a loud scream, followed by angry voices; she threw her hands up to heaven in dismay and ran toward the sounds. They came from the back garden. She went like lightning round the corner of the house, and came plump upon an agitated group, of whom she made one directly, spellbound. Here stood Aunt Bazalgette, her head turned haughtily, her cheeks scarlet. There stood Mr. Fountain on the other side of the rustic seat, red as fire, too, but wearing a hang-dog look, and behind him young Arthur, pale, with two eyes like saucers, gazing awestruck at the first row he had ever seen between a full-grown lady and gentleman.

Our narrative must take a step to the rear, as an excellent writer, Private ----* phrases it, otherwise you might be misled to suppose that Uncle Fountain was quarreling with Mrs. B. for having set her foot in sacred Font Abbey.

*"I had an escape myself. As I opened the door of a house, a black fellow was behind waiting for me, and made a chop. I took a step to the rear, fired through the door, and cooked his goose."--_Times._

No, the pudding was richer than that. Mr. Fountain had young Arthur in charge, and, not being an ill-natured old gentleman, he pitied the boy, and did all he could to make him feel he was coming among friends. He sent the carriage on, and showed Arthur the grounds, and covertly praised the place and all about it, Lucy included, for was not she an appendage of his abbey. "You will see my niece--a charming young lady, who will be kind to you, and you must make friends with her. She is very accomplished--paints. She plays like an angel, too.

Ah! there she is. She has got the gown on I gave her--a compliment to me--a very pretty attention, Arthur, the day of my return. What is she doing?"

Arthur, with his young eyes, settled this question. "The lady is asleep. See, she has dropped her book." And; in fact, the whole att.i.tude was lax and not ungraceful. Her right hand hung down, and the domestic story, its duty done, reposed beneath.

"Now, Arthur," said the senior, making himself young to please the boy, and to show him that, if he looked old, he was not worn out, "would you like a bit of fun? We will startle her--we'll give her a kiss." Arthur hung back irresolute, and his cheeks were dyed with blushes.

"Not you, you young rogue; you are not her uncle." The old gentleman then stole up at the back of the seat, followed with respectful curiosity by Arthur. She happened to move as the senior got near; so, for fear she was going to wake of herself and baffle the surprise, he made a rush and rubbed his beard a little roughly against Mrs.

Bazalgette's cheek. Up starts that lady, who was not fast asleep, but only under the influence of the domestic tale, utters a scream, and, when she sees her ravisher, goes into a pa.s.sion.

"How dare you? What is the meaning of this insult?"

"How came you here?" was the reply, in an equally angry tone.

"Can't a lady come into your little misery of a garden without being outraged?"

"It isn't the garden--it is only the back garden," cried the proprietor of Font Hill; _"(blesse)_ I'll swear that is my niece's gown; so you've invaded that, too."

"Aunt Bazalgette--Uncle Fountain, it was my fault," sighed a piteous voice. This was Lucy, who had just come on the scene. "Dear uncle, forgive me; it was I who invited her."

Lucy's pathetic tones, which were fast degenerating into sobs, were agreeably interrupted.

At one and the same moment the man and woman of the world took a new view of the situation, looked at one another, and burst out laughing.

Both these carried a safety-valve against choler--a trait that takes us into many follies, but keeps us out of others--a sense of humor.

The next thing to relieve the situation was the senior's comprehensive vanity. He must recover young Arthur's reverence, which was doubtless dissolving all this time. "Now, Arthur," he whispered, "take a lesson from a gentleman of the old school. I hate this she-devil; but this is at my house, so--observe." He then strutted jauntily and feebly up to Mrs. Bazalgette: "Madam, my niece says you are her guest; but permit me to dispute her t.i.tle to that honor." Mrs. Bazalgette smiled agreeably. She wanted to stay a day or two at Font Abbey. The senior flourished out his arm. "Let me show you what _we_ call the garden here." She took his arm graciously. "I shall be delighted, sir [pompous old fool!]."

Mrs. Bazalgette steeled her mind to admire the garden, and would have done so with ease if it had been hideous. But, unfortunately, it was pretty--prettier than her own; had gra.s.sy slopes, a fountain, a grotto, variegated beds, and beds a blaze of one color (a fas.h.i.+on not common at that time); item, a brook with waterlilies on its bosom.