CHAPTER IX
FRIDAY morning was a busy bustling time at The Holt, where elaborate preparations were on foot for the reception of an important guest.
Mrs. Fenchurch prided herself on her housekeeping, and boasted that she was always prepared for any emergency or visitor—were it the King! Nevertheless she now brought out the best dessert and coffee sets, the precious old family silver, and spent half an hour conferring with the cook. She had set Letty to arrange flowers, put on fresh chintz covers, and feed and incarcerate the dogs. Having issued orders to her husband with respect to the cellar, warned the stable-yard with regard to horses, she changed into her Sunday gown and best rings, saw that Letty wore the new green cloth—and behold all was in readiness.
Half-past one o’clock—two—half-past two—and yet Mr. Blagdon never appeared. Mrs. Fenchurch had ceased to cast surreptitious glances at the window, and her husband’s patience was exhausted. Without a word to his wife he rose and boldly dragged at the bell, and to the answering servant uttered one stentorian word, “Lunch!”
“I’m hanged if I’m going to wait for that fellow any longer,” he announced with the courage of a hungryman. “Just like Blagdon—inviting himself to honour us—you and Letty work like blacks, and he never turns up after all!”
“That will do, dear—that will do—don’t get excited,” said his wife, patting his arm. She was secretly furious with Blagdon. “He has made some mistake; however, there is capital mulligatawny, and now we will go and enjoy it ourselves.”
The housekeeper’s boast was well founded; her husband and niece thoroughly appreciated the good things intended for a non-arrival—indeed, Letty’s appetite was whetted by a sense of intense relief, but Mrs. Fen scarcely touched a morsel, being herself devoured by cruel misgivings.
The following afternoon as they sat at table, a smart yellow-wheeled Stanhope dashed up to the door with much crunching and spattering of gravel. It was driven by the belated Blagdon!
Colonel Fenchurch with a muttered oath, cast his serviette on the floor, and hurried into the hall to welcome the unexpected guest. Meanwhile, Mrs. Fenchurch rang the bell distractedly, gave orders for the ham (luckily uncut), grapes, Burgundy, and to make coffee at once; then, turning to Letty, she surveyed her with dismay.
“And you in your old school frock! Oh, it’s simply maddening, and I believe the drawing-room fire is out. Here, get up quickly, and sit at this side with your back to the light, and perhaps your old serge won’t show.”
Blagdon now entered, suave and well groomed, full of apologies and easy talk. To himself he remarked, that Fenchurch was a stiff-necked ceremonious old beggar, but he knew that Mrs. Fen washisfriend! He had proposed himself as a visitor, partly to discover what sort of people the Fenchurchs were when at home, and also to see how the land lay, and if the girl was really as pretty as his memory had painted.
The lunch, although shorn of yesterday’s splendour, proved excellent; the wine first-class, the appointments, furniture, and old portraits, intimated that the Fenchurch family had handsome ancestors of taste and fortune. The topics discussed were chiefly hunting, the local pack and followers, other packs, and Mr. Blagdon, a hard rider (who, when he could not get over a country, wentthroughit), gave vivid descriptions of runs with the Pytchley, and the Quorn.
After cigars and coffee the guest was conducted with much pomp and ceremony to inspect the chrysanthemums. Unfortunately the celebrated Holt gardens were now looking their worst; these were lovely in spring and summer, but at present, all the blooms were in the greenhouses, where, although not specially remarkable, the Japanese specimens made a respectable show. Personally Blagdon knew as little of a chrysanthemum as he did of a cauliflower—but he assumed a knowledge he did not possess; in his own bluff fashion he made himself agreeable to his hostess, and she (an able chaperon) arranged that he and Letty should have a few moments in the conservatory alone,whilst she ‘ran’ to give an important message to the head-gardener.
Alas, of these precious moments the greatpartifailed to avail himself. It was a bitterly cold, raw day, Letty had been all the morning indoors assisting to wash the china (and her aunt had been unusually snappy and unreasonable), the walk across the lawn had given her beautiful nose a tinge of pink, the girl’s gown was a shapeless, ill-made blue serge; her shoes were worn white at the toes, and she hadn’t a word to throw to a dog! The aunt did all the talking. If Hugo Blagdon had cherished any intention of taking the irrevocable step, this intention now died the death. He was sensitive and easily influenced by his environment, and the impression made on him by Miss Glyn at home, was distinctly the reverse of that made by Miss Glyn abroad. There, she was a well-dressed radiant beauty; here, a poor, shabby Cinderella, with timid eyes, and cold, red hands.
After a depressing round of the damp, wintry gardens, and a brief stay in the charming drawing-room, full of old cabinets, pastel portraits, Chippendale furniture, and other treasures, Mr. Blagdon offered a few vague and agreeable remarks, and begged leave to order his carriage.
When the bay steppers came prancing to the hall door, the visitor made a genial and general farewell, and so drove away. As the last rumble of his wheels was heard in the distance Mrs. Fenchurch turned and looked searchingly at Letty, as if she wished to askher something. She fidgeted about the drawing-room, dusting little things with her handkerchief, taking up and laying down books; but before she could put her questions into words, her terrified niece had effected her escape. Mrs. Fen was well aware, that Letty had her reserves, and for the remainder of the afternoon she sat alone over the fire, with a book in her lap, but instead of reading, her eyes were fixed upon the coals, her active mind was elsewhere; she was lost in speculations. Had he said anything—or not?
If her niece Letty were to marry the great catch—despair of many mothers—howshe would score! Already she was anticipating her triumphs. The dining-room would seat seventy with a squeeze; she would get the cake at Buzzards’; cards of invitation at the stores; and borrow a veil from Cecilia.
A few days later, in glancing overThe Morning Post, she came upon this paragraph:
“Mr. H. Blagdon and party arrived at the Hôtel de Paris, Monte Carlo, on the 7th inst., for the season.”
Alas, alas, alas! A castle in the air had toppled down, and great was the fall thereof!
Mrs. Fenchurch’s first sensation was insensate fury with the girl; her second, a devout thankfulness that beyond her own household—that is to say, her husband and Cousin Maude—she had not trumpeted forth her hopes—since they had come to nothing.
Her manner to her niece now underwent an abrupt change; the wind instead of blowing from the south had set steadily into the east, and there remained.Fires in Letty’s bedroom and other small indulgences came to an end, and this particular month of February was, for several reasons, the most miserable the girl had ever known. Nothing that she did, or said, or wore, seemed to please Aunt Dorothy, and one day, after an undeserved scolding, the poor worm turned at last and said:
“I know, Aunt Dorothy, that I am one too many here.”
“How dare you say such a thing, you impertinent minx!” stormed her relative.
“But it is the truth,” argued Letty, plucking up some courage. “I am not happy, and you are not happy, and we really cannot go on in this way. I should like to return to Dresden; they will find me a place in the school as music teacher.”
“I never heard such insolence and nonsense!” cried Mrs. Fenchurch, her face red with temper. “Do you suppose your uncle would allow his niece to go out as a governess—earn her bread—and have everyone talking?”
“Well, many girls who are as good, or probably far better than I am, do it,” declared Letty, controlling her tears with difficulty; “and my master said that, with practice, I would make a professional singer.”
“Worse and worse. Why, you will be clamouring to go upon the stage next! Be so good as to understand, that you remain here, and do exactly asIwish, until you are one-and-twenty. Of course, someone maymarry you, but penniless girls haven’t much chance of that in these times.”
Mrs. Fenchurch on every other subject was perfectly sane and reasonable; the exception was her husband’s niece. She was pretty, she was young, she wasde trop, and her aunt sincerely hated her. Undoubtedly the unhappy young woman had got upon her nerves—the bitter disappointment after such exalted hopes, worked in her mind like a deadly poison. It was true that Letty had made an unexpected sensation at the ball, and at the Bonhams’ dance, but so far her triumph had borne no fruit. The weather had been dreadful, going about the country was out of the question, the roads were impassable with rain or snow, so Mrs. Fenchurch had been thrown back upon herself—there was no hunting, no gardening; Mothers’ Meetings and Village Choral Society failed to content her, and her sole outlet was Cousin Maude. To Oldcourt she carried her grievances, but Cousin Maude refused to see eye to eye with her, and generally took the part of Letty. If the girl was forgetful, if she had given a short answer, if she had slammed a door, after all, she was young; her life was not very exciting—and who is perfect?
As for Letty herself, maddened by gibes, reproaches, and a lacerating tongue, at night she would wander round her room like a prisoner, wondering how she was to escape, wondering who could help her. Cousin Maude was her friend, but powerless; intercourse with Oldcourt was now strictly curtailed. Uncle Tomwas attached to her, but entirely dominated by his wife.
Colonel Fenchurch had not been insensible to the suppressed antagonism and strained relations between aunt and niece; inwardly and with all his sore heart, he sided with Letty; but though physically bold as a lion, the little man lacked moral courage; he could face the biggest fence without flinching, but he dared not face Doodie and stand between her and her unreasonable treatment of his sister’s orphan; the situation filled him with secret bitterness and self-contempt. Hitherto, he had been absolutely content with his comfortable, well-ordered home, his well-bred hunters, and his masterful invaluable Doodie, till the girl had come to make a third at The Holt; and now in his eyes, his watchful consort frequently read questions, protests, and reproach.
And all on account of this detestable interloper!
In spite of his breezy, jaunty manner, it was no secret in the house or village, that the Colonel had a fine grey mare in his stable, and it was whispered that lately there had been rows; loud talking and angry voices overheard in the drawing-room long after Miss Glyn had gone to bed—but vain was the effort to dislodge the yoke of years!
The east wind had been particularly trying to Mrs. Fenchurch’s neuralgia, she had received a disappointing post, and carried away by this combination of circumstances, she vented her feelings on Letty, who had been so unfortunate as to upset a bottle of ink.
“Oh, what a mess! my good cover ruined!” she cried. “You nevercando anything right or like other people. If only someone would marry you, and take you out of my house and out of my sight, I’d give a thousand pounds!”
Pacing up and down her room that same afternoon, her thoughts darting in all directions like some frantic sorely pressed fugitive, Letty came to a momentous decision. Escape for her life she must, and somehow! She had no money, no home to receive her; there was but one alternative, and as she stood in the window looking out on the bleak prospect, she vowed to herself that she would marry the very first man who asked her—yes, shewould. Having made this desperate resolution, she broke down, burst into tears, and ran and buried her face in her pillow, in case her next-door neighbour (a housemaid) might overhear her too audible, and convulsive sobs.
Shortly after this scene, the unfortunate girl ‘brought home,’ as Mrs. Fenchurch expressed it, influenza from a cottage in the village, and washors de combatfor three weeks—entailing extra trouble to the servants, a visit from the local doctor, and a chemist’s bill.
Then one afternoon towards the end of March, Mrs. Fenchurch herself climbed up to visit the patient; her presence always made the girl’s heart flutter—beyond words to express she dreaded being alone with Aunt Dorothy; but on this occasion Aunt Dorothy looked almost agreeable, and was carrying in her hand a box which was addressed to ‘Miss Glyn, The Holt,Thornby,’ and had been despatched from the south of France.
“This has just come for you, Letty, and I have brought it up myself,” said Mrs. Fenchurch breathlessly. “Here are a pair of scissors—now let us see what is inside.”
To Letty’s amazement the box contained a quantity of exquisite exotic flowers despatched by a well-known florist in Monte Carlo. On the top of these, lay a card on which was inscribed, “From H. Blagdon, with all good wishes.”
And once more, hope whispered a flattering tale to the matchmaker. Was she to have her own way with the world, after all?
“Oh, they are from Mr. Blagdon!” exclaimed the girl. “Surely there must be some mistake—how very funny!”
“How very kind, you should say,” corrected her aunt. “I am positive they couldn’t have cost a penny less than fifty francs—just look at these carnations and orchids! We will have some vases and put them about the room.”
“No, no, no,” protested Letty; “please not! I don’t like hothouse flowers in a bedroom; but do you take them; they will look beautiful below stairs.”
“Oh, very well,Inever refuse a good offer,” declared her visitor, collecting them into the box. “I suppose you will write and thank him?”
“Must I?” asked the invalid with flickering colour.
“Well, perhaps as you are not feeling very well I hadbetter do it for you; the post goes out in ten minutes,” and carrying the flowers in one hand, with the precious card in the other, Mrs. Fenchurch effected a precipitate departure.
Whatever Mrs. Fenchurch had said in her letter, the result was, that boxes of flowers now arrived at The Holt about twice a week; and once more the atmosphere within, thawed with the atmosphere without!