Charlotte Yonge - Beechcroft at Rockstone

The garden reached out to the verge of the cliff, or rather to a low wall, with iron rails and spikes at the top, and a narrow, rather giddy path beyond. There was a gate in the wall, the key of which Aunt Jane kept in her own pocket, as it gave near access to certain rocky steps, about one hundred and thirty in number, by which, when in haste, the inhabitants of Rockstone could descend to the lower regions of the Quay.

There was a most beautiful sea-view from the house, which compensated for difficulties in gardening in such a situation, though a very slight slope inwards from the verge of the cliff gave some protection to the flower-beds; and there was not only a little conservatory attached to the drawing-room at the end, but the verandah had glass shutters, which served the purpose of protecting tender plants, and also the windows, from the full blast of the winter storms. Miss Mohun was very proud of these shutters, which made a winter garden of the verandah for Miss Adeline to take exercise in. The house was their own, and, though it aimed at no particular beauty, had grown pleasant and pretty looking by force of being lived in and made comfortable.

It was a contrast to its neighbours on either side of its pink and gray limestone wall. On one side began the grounds of the Great Rockstone Hotel; on the other was Cliff House, the big and seldom-inhabited house of one of the chief partners in the marble works, which went on on the other side of the promontory, and some people said would one day consume Rockstone altogether. It was a very fine house, and the gardens were reported to be beautifully kept up, but the owner was almost always in Italy, and had so seldom been at Rockstone that it was understood that all this was the ostentation of a man who did not know what to do with his money.

Aunt Adeline met the travellers at the door with her charming welcome. Kunz, all snowy white, wagged his tight-curled tail amid his barks, at sight of Aunt Jane, but capered wildly about the Sofy’s basket, much to Valetta’s agony; while growls, as thunderous as a small kitten could produce, proceeded therefrom.

‘Kunz, be quiet,’ said Aunt Jane, in a solemn, to-be-minded voice, and he crouched, blinking up with his dark eye.

‘Give me the basket. Now, Kunz, this is our cat. Do you hear? You are not to meddle with her.’

Did Kunz really wink assent—a very unwilling assent?

‘Oh, Aunt Jane!’ from Val, as her aunt’s fingers undid the cover of the basket.

‘Once for all!’ said Aunt Jane.

‘M-m-m-m-ps-pss-psss!’ from the Sofy, two screams from Val and Fergus, a buffeting of paws, a couple of wild bounds, first on a chair-back, then on the mantelpiece, where, between the bronze candlestick and the vase, the Persian philosopher stood hissing and swearing, while Kunz danced about and barked.

‘Take her down, Gillian,’ said Aunt Jane; and Gillian, who had some presence of mind, accomplished it with soothing words, and, thanks to her gloves, only one scratch.

Meantime Miss Mohun caught up Kunz, held up her finger to him, stopped his barks; and then, in spite of the ‘Oh, don’ts,’ and even the tears of Valetta, the two were held up—black nose to pink nose, with a resolute ‘Now, you are to behave well to each other, from Aunt Jane.

Kunz sniffed, the Sofy hissed; but her claws were captive. The dog was the elder and more rational, and when set down again took no more notice of his enemy, whom Valetta was advised to carry into Mrs. Mount’s quarters to be comforted and made at home there; the united voice of the household declaring that the honour of the Spitz was as spotless as his coat!

Such was the first arrival at Rockstone, preceding even Aunt Adeline’s inquiries after Mysie, and the full explanation of the particulars of the family dispersion. Aunt Ada’s welcome was not at all like that of Kunz. She was very tender and caressing, and rejoiced that her sister could trust her children to her. They should all get on most happily together, she had no doubt.

True-hearted as Gillian was, there was something hopeful and refreshing in the sight of that fair, smiling face, and the touch of the soft hand, in the room that was by no means unfamiliar, though she had never slept in the house before. It was growing dark, and the little fire lighted it up in a friendly manner. Wherever Aunt Jane was, everything was neat; wherever Aunt Adeline was, everything was graceful. Gillian was old enough to like the general prettiness; but it somewhat awed Val and Fergus, who stood straight and shy till they were taken upstairs. The two girls had a very pretty room and dressing-room—the guest chamber, in fact; and Fergus was not far off, in a small apartment which, as Val said, ‘stood on legs,’ and formed the shelter of the porch.

‘But, oh dear! oh dear!’ sighed Val, as Gillian unpacked their evening garments, ‘Isn’t there any nice place at all where one can make a mess?’

‘I don’t know whether the aunts will ever let us make a mess,’ said Gillian; ‘they don’t look like it.’

At which Valetta’s face puckered up in the way only too familiar to her friends.

‘Come, don’t be silly, Val. You won’t have much time, you know; you will go to school, and get some friends to play with, and not want to make messes here.’

‘I hate friends!’

‘Oh, Val!’

‘All but Fly, and Mysie is gone to her. I want Mysie.’

So in truth did Gillian, almost as much as her mother. Her heart sank as she thought of having Val and Fergus to save from scrapes without Mysie’s readiness and good humour. If Mysie were but there she should be free for her ‘great thing.’ And oh! above all, Val’s hair—the brown bush that Val had a delusion that she ‘did’ herself, but which her ‘doing’ left looking rather worse than it did before, and which was not permitted in public to be in the convenient tail. Gillian advanced on her with the brush, but she tossed it and declared it all right!

However, at that moment there was a knock. Mrs. Mount’s kindly face and stout form appeared. She had dressed Miss Ada and came to see what she could do for the young people, being of that delightful class of old servants who are charmed to have anything young in the house, especially a boy. She took Valetta’s refractory mane in hand, tied her sash, inspected Fergus’s hands, which had succeeded in getting dirty in their inevitable fashion, and undertook all the unpacking and arranging. To Val’s inquiry whether there was any place for making ‘a dear delightful mess’ she replied with a curious little friendly smile, and wonder that a young lady should want such a thing.

‘I’m afraid we are all rather strange specimens of young ladies,’ replied Gillian; ‘very untidy, I mean.’

‘And I’m sure I don’t know what Miss Mohun and Miss Ada will say’ said good Mrs. Mount.

‘What’s that? What am I to say?’ asked Aunt Jane, coming into the room.

But, after all, Aunt Jane proved to have more sympathy with ‘messes’ than any of the others. She knew very well that the children would be far less troublesome if they had a place to themselves, and she said, ‘Well, Val, you shall have the boxroom in the attics. And mind, you must keep all your goods there, both of you. If I find them about the house, I shall—’

‘Oh, what, Aunt Jane?’

‘Confiscate them,’ was the reply, in a very awful voice, which impressed Fergus the more because he did not understand the word.

‘You need not look so much alarmed, Fergus,’ said Gillian; ‘you are not at all the likely one to transgress.’

‘No,’ said Valetta gravely. ‘Fergus is what Lois calls a regular old battledore.’

‘I won’t be called names,’ exclaimed Fergus.

‘Well, Lois said so—when you were so cross because the poker had got on the same side as the tongs! She said she never saw such an old battledore, and you know how all the others took it up.’