Charlotte Yonge - That Stick

‘I do not think you can be either, after what my daughter and Miss Lang have told me.’

‘You see, it is not even as if I had been a governess in a private family, I have always been here. I know nothing about servants, or great houses, or society, not so much as our least little girl, who has a home.’

‘May I tell you what I think, my dear,’ said Lady Kenton, greatly touched. ‘You have nothing to unlearn, and there is nothing needful to the position but what any person of moderate ability and good sense can acquire, and I am quite sure that Lord Northmoor would be far less happy without you, even in the long-run, besides the distress you would cause him now. It is not a brilliant, showy person that he needs, but one to understand and make him a real home.’

‘That is what he is always telling me,’ said Mary, somewhat cheered.

‘Yes, and he could not help showing where his heart is,’ said the lady. ‘Now the holidays are near, are they not?’

‘The 11th of July.’

‘Then, if you have no other plans, will you come and stay with me? We are very quiet people, but you would have an opportunity of understanding something of the kind of life.’

‘Oh, how very kind of you! Nobody has been so good to me.’

‘I think I can help you in some of the difficulties if you will let me,’ said Lady Kenton, quite convinced herself, and leaving a much happier woman than she had found.

Though Miss Lang was shocked and indignant at Mrs. Morton’s violence, she was a wise woman, and felt that it would be better tact not to let such a person depart without an attempt at pacification; so she did her best at dignified soothing, and listened to a good deal of grumbling and lamentation.

She contrived, however, to give the impression that as things stood, Mrs. Morton would be far wiser to make no more resistance, but to consult family peace by accepting Miss Marshall, who, she assured the visitor, was a very kind and excellent person, not likely to influence Lord Northmoor against his own family, except on great provocation.

Mrs. Morton actually yielded so far as to declare she had only spoken for her dear brother-in-law’s own good, and that since he was so infatuated, she supposed, for her dear children’s sake, she must endure it. Having no desire to encounter him again, she went off by the next train, leaving a message that she had had tea at Miss Lang’s. She related at home to her expectant daughter that Lord Northmoor had grown ‘that high and stuck-up, there was no speaking to him, and that there Miss Marshall was an artful puss, as knew how to play her cards and get in with the quality.’

‘I wish you had taken me, ma,’ said Ida, ‘I should have known what to say to them.’

‘I can’t tell, child, you might only have made it worse. I see how it is now, and we must be mum, or it may be the worse for us. He says he will do what he can for us, but I know what that means. She will hold the purse-strings, and make him meaner than he is already. He will never know how to spend his fortune now he has got it! If your poor, dear pa had only been alive now, he would never have let you be wronged.’

‘But you gave it to them?’ cried Ida.

‘That I did! Only that lady, Lady Kenton, came in all stuck-up and haughty, and cut me short, interfering as she had no business to, or I would have brought Miss Mary to her marrow-bones. She hadn’t a word to say for herself, but now she has got those fine folks on her side, the thing will go on as sure as fate. However, I’ve done my dooty, that’s one comfort; and now, I suppose I shall have to patch it up as best I can.’

‘I wouldn’t!’ said Ida hotly.

‘Ah, Ida, my dear, you don’t know what a mother won’t do for her children.’

A sigh that was often reiterated as Mrs. Morton composed a letter to her brother-in-law, with some hints from Ida on the spelling, and some from Mr. Rollstone on the address. The upshot was that her dear brother and his fiancée were to believe her actuated by the purest sense of the duty and anxiety she owed to them and her dear children, the orphans of his dear deceased brother. Now that she had once expressed herself, she trusted to her dear Frank’s affectionate nature to bury all in oblivion, and to believe that she should be ready to welcome her new sister-in-law with the warmest affection. Therewith followed a request for five pounds, to pay for her mourning and darling Ida’s, which they had felt due to him!

Lord Northmoor did not quite see how it was due to him, nor did he intend to give whatever his dear sister-in-law might demand, but she had made him so angry that he felt that he must prove his forgiveness to himself. Mary had not thought it needful to describe the force of the attack upon herself, or perhaps his pardon might not have gone so far. He sent the note, and added that as he was wanted at Northmoor for a day or two, he would take his nephew Herbert with him.

This was something like, as Mrs. Morton said, a kind of tangible acknowledgment of their relationship and of Herbert as his heir, and it was a magnificent thing to tell all her acquaintances that her son was gone to the family seat with his uncle, Lord Northmoor. She would fain have obtained for him some instructions in the manners of the upper ten thousand from Mr. Rollstone, but Herbert entirely repudiated listening to that old fogey, observing that after all it was only old Frank, and he wasn’t going to bother himself for the like of him.

The uncle was fond of his brother’s boy, and had devised this plan partly for the sake of the pleasure it would give, and partly because it was impossible to form any judgment of his character while with the mother. He was a fine, well-grown, manly boy, and when seen among his companions, had an indefinable air of good blood about him. He had hitherto been at a good day-school which prepared boys for the merchant service, and his tastes were so much in the direction of the sea, that it was much to be regretted that at fourteen and a half it was useless to think of preparation for a naval cadetship. He was sent up by train to join his uncle at Hurminster, and the first question after the greeting was, ‘I say, uncle, shan’t you have a yacht?’

‘I could not afford it, if I wished it,’ was the answer, while Punch was handed over to him, and Lord Northmoor applied himself to a long blue letter.

‘Landlubber!’ sighed Herbert to himself, with true marine contempt for a man who had sat on an office-stool all his life. ‘He doesn’t look a bit more of a swell than he used to. It is well there’s some one with some pluck in the family.’

Herbert began to be impressed when, on the train arriving at a little country station, a servant in mourning, with finger to his hat, inquired after his Lordship’s luggage, and another was seen presiding over a coroneted brougham.

‘I say,’ he breathed forth, when they were shut in, ‘is this yours?’

‘It is Miss Morton’s, I believe, at present. I am to arrange whether to keep it or not.’

They were driving over an open heath in its summer carpet-like state of purple heather, dwarf gorse, and bracken. Lord Northmoor looked out, with thoughtfulness in his face. By and by there was a gate, a lodge, a curtseying woman, and as they passed it, he said, ‘Now, this is Northmoor.’

‘Yours, uncle?’

‘Yes.’

‘My—!’ was all Herbert could utter. It semed to his town-bred eyes a huge space before they reached, through some rather scanty plantations, another lodge, and a park, not very extensive, but with a few fine trees, and they thundered up beneath the pillars to what was, to his idea, a palace—with servants standing about in a great hall.