The Maidens' Lodge Part 28

The admiring look in Gatty's eyes was happily unintelligible to Phoebe.

"Now then!" said Molly's not particularly welcome voice, close by them.

"Here's old Edmundson. Clasp your hands in ecstasy, Phoebe. Mum says you and he have got to fall in love and marry one another; so make haste about it. He's not an ill piece, only you'll find he won't get up before noon unless you squirt water in his face. Now then, fall to, and say some pretty things to one another!"

Of course Molly had taken the most effectual way possible to prevent any such occurrence. Phoebe did not dare to lift her eyes; and the chaplain was, if possible, the shyer of the two, and had been dragged there against his will by invincible Molly. Neither would have known what to do, if Gatty had not kindly come to the rescue.

"Pray sit down, Mr Edmundson," she said, in a quiet, natural way, as if nothing had happened. "I thought I had seen you riding forth, half an hour ago; I suppose it must have been some one else."

"I--ah--yes--no, I have not been riding to-day," stammered the perturbed divine.

"Twas a very pleasant morning for a ride," said mediating Gatty.

"Very pleasant, Madam," answered the chaplain.

"Have you quite lost your catarrh, Mr Edmundson?"

"Quite, I thank you, Madam."

"I believe my mother wishes to talk with you of Jack Flint, Mr Edmundson."

"Yes, Madam?"

"The lad hath been well spoken of to her for the under-gardener's boy's place. I think she wished to have your opinion of him."

"Yes, Madam."

"Is the boy of a choleric disposition?"

"Possibly, Madam."

"But what think you, Mr Edmundson?"

"Madam, I--ah--I cannot say, Madam."

"I think I see Mr Lamb beckoning to you," observed Gatty, wishful to relieve the poor _gauche_ chaplain from his uncomfortable position.

"Madam, I thank you--ah--very much, Madam." And Mr Edmundson made a dive into the throng, and disappeared behind a quant.i.ty of silk brocade and Brussels lace. Phoebe ventured to steal a glance at him as he departed. She found that the person to whom she had been so unceremoniously handed over, alike by Madam, Lady Delawarr, and Molly, was a thickset man of fifty years, partially bald, with small, expressionless features. He was not more fascinating to look at than to talk to, and Phoebe could only entertain a faint hope that his preaching might be an improvement upon both looks and conversation.

A little later in the evening, as Phoebe sat alone in her corner, looking on, "I say!" came from behind her. Her heart fluttered, for the voice was Molly's.

"I say!" repeated Molly. "You look here. I'm not all bad, you know. I didn't want old Edmundson to have you. And I knew the way to keep him from it was to tell him he must. I think 'tis a burning shame to treat a maid like that. They were all set on it--the old woman, and Mum, and everybody. He's an old block of firewood. You're fit for something better. I tease folks, but I'm not quite a black witch. Ta-ta.

_He'll_ not tease you now."

And Molly disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared. There was no opportunity for Phoebe to edge in a word. But, for once in her life, she felt obliged to Molly.

The next invader of Phoebe's peace was Lady Delawarr herself. She sat down on an ottoman, fanned herself languidly, and hoped dear Mrs Rhoda was enjoying herself.

Phoebe innocently replied that she hoped so too.

"'Twill be a pretty sight, all the young maids in white, to meet the Queen at Berkeley," resumed Lady Delawarr. "There are fourteen going from this house. My three daughters, of course, and Lady Diana--she is to hand the nosegay--and Mrs Rhoda, and Mrs Kitty Mainwaring, and Mrs Sophia Rich, and several more. Those that do not go must have some little pleasure to engage them whilst the others are away. I thought they might drink a dish of chocolate in yon little ivy-covered tower in the park, and have the young gentlemen to wait on them and divert them.

The four gentlemen of the best families and fortunes will wait on the gentlewomen to Berkeley: that is, Mr Otway, Mr Seymour, my nephew Mr George Merton, and Mr Welles. I shall charge Mr Derwent yonder to wait specially on you, Mrs Phoebe, while Mrs Rhoda is away."

Phoebe perceived that she was not one of the fourteen favoured ones. A little flutter of anxiety disturbed her antic.i.p.ations. What would go on with Rhoda and Mr Welles?

Lady Delawarr sat for a few minutes, talking of nothing in particular, and then rose and sailed away. It was evident that the main object of her coming had been to give Phoebe a hint that she must not expect to join the expedition to Berkeley.

As Phoebe went upstairs that evening, feeling rather heavy-hearted, she saw something gleam and fall, and discovered, on investigation, that a ta.s.sel had dropped from Rhoda's purse, which that young lady had desired her to carry up for her. She set to work to hunt for it, but for some seconds in vain. She had almost given up the search in despair, when a strange voice said behind her, "Le voici, Mademoiselle."

Phoebe turned and faced her countrywoman--for so she considered her-- with an exclamation of delight.

"Ah! you speak French, Mademoiselle?" said the girl. "It is a pleasure, a pleasure, to hear it!"

"I am French," responded Phoebe, warmly. "My father was a Frenchman.

My name is Phoebe Latrobe: what is yours?"

"Louise Dupret. I am Lady Delawarr's woman. I have been here two long, long years; and n.o.body speaks French but Madame and Mesdemoiselles her daughters. And Mademoiselle Marie will not, though she can. She will talk to me in English, and laughs at me when I understand her not. Ah, it is dreadful!"

"From what part of France do you come?"

"From the mountains of the Cevennes. And you?"

"The same. Then you are of the religion?"

This was the Huguenot form of inquiry whether a stranger belonged to them. Louise's eyes lighted up.

"We are daughters of the Church of the Desert," she said. "And we are sisters in Jesus Christ."

From that hour Phoebe was not quite friendless at Delawarr Court. It was well for her: since the preparations for Berkeley absorbed Gatty, and of Rhoda she saw nothing except during the processes of dressing and undressing. Very elaborate processes they became, for Lady Delawarr kept a private hair-dresser, who came round every morning to curl, friz, puff, and powder each young lady in turn; and the unfortunate maiden who kept him waiting an instant was relegated to the last, and certain to be late for breakfast. Following in the footsteps of his superiors, he did not notice Phoebe, nor count her as one of the group; but after the meeting on the stairs, as soon as Lady Delawarr released her, Louise was at hand with a beaming face, entreating permission to arrange Mademoiselle, and she sent her downstairs looking very fresh and stylish, almost enough to provoke the envy of Rhoda.

"Ah, Mademoiselle!--if you were but a rich, rich lady, and I might be your maid!" sighed Louise. "This is a dreary world; and a dreary country, this England; and a dreary house, this Cour de la Warre!

Madame is--is--ah, well, she is my mistress, and it is not right to chatter all one thinks. Still one cannot help thinking. Mademoiselle Betti--if she were in my country, we should call her Elise, which is pretty--it is ugly, Betti!--well, Mademoiselle Betti is very good-natured--very, indeed; and Mademoiselle Henriette--ah, this droll country! her name is Henriette, and they call her Gatti!--she is very good, very good and pleasant Mademoiselle Henriette. And since she had the small-pox she is nicer than before. It had spoiled her face to beautify her heart. Ah, that poor demoiselle, how she suffers!

Perhaps, Mademoiselle, it is not right that I should tell you, even you; but she suffers so much, this good demoiselle, and she is so patient!

But for Mademoiselle Marie--ah, there again the droll name, Molli!--does not Mademoiselle think this a strange, very strange, country?"

The great expedition was ready to set out at last. All the girls were dressed exactly alike, in white, and all the gentlemen in blue turned up with white. They were to travel in two coaches to Bristol, where all were to sleep at the house of Mrs Merton, sister-in-law to Lady Delawarr; the next day the bouquet was to be presented at Berkeley, and on the third day they were to return. By way of chaperone, the housekeeper at the Court was to travel with them to and from Bristol, out Mrs Merton herself undertook to conduct them to Berkeley.

Rhoda was in the highest spirits, and Phoebe saw her a.s.sisted into the coach by Mr Marcus Welles with no little misgiving. Molly, as she brushed past Phoebe, allowed the point of a steel scissors-sheath to peep from her pocket for an instant, accompanying it with the mysterious intimation--"You'll see!"

"What will she see, Molly?" asked Lady Diana, who was close beside her.

"How to use a pair of scissors," said Molly. "What's to be cut, Molly?"

Sophia Rich wished to know.

"A das.h.!.+" said Molly, significantly. And away rolled the coaches towards Bristol. Phoebe turned back into the house with a rather desolate feeling. For three days everybody would be gone. Those who were left behind were all strangers to her except Mr Edmundson, and she wanted to get as far from him as she could. True, there was Louise; but Louise could hardly be a companion for her, even had her work for Lady Delawarr allowed it, for she was not her equal in education. The other girls were engaged, as usual, in idle chatter, and fluttering of fans.

Lady Delawarr, pa.s.sing through the room, saw Phoebe sitting rather disconsolately in a corner.

"Mrs Phoebe, my dear, come and help me to make things ready for to-morrow," she said, good-naturedly; and Phoebe followed her very willingly.