Chapter X

Aunt Delia’s Secret

One year made a great change in Philip. He worked at his lessons with gentle Miss Acton with such ambitious ardor that the old rector and Aunt Delia feared for his health; but they need not have been anxious, for wholesome food, regular habits, and, above all, a life upon earth instead of down under-ground was building up the boy’s health, and bringing a sparkle to his eyes and color to his pale cheeks that sometimes reminded them of his father long ago, in his happy boyhood. The first Philip had been a merry, frolicsome boy, whose pranks were the torment and delight of the household; but the little son who had never known him was so quiet that had it not been for his music his presence would hardly have been felt in the house. His quiet was not quite to be called sadness, for he was not unhappy; but the forced repression of his early life and the shock of his mother’s dreadful death had left an ineffaceable impression upon his character. Perhaps in time he might have outgrown this tinge of melancholy if he had been thrown into the society of other boys, but the entirely tranquil and eventless life he lived at the rectory with the old couple and his governess only served to confirm it.

They were all such quiet people that they never thought of its being strange or unnatural that a child should take his pleasure in the pursuits that pleased them, and not in the boisterous plays that boys delight in. He never seemed morbid, but was constantly occupied with his books or music, and always contented. His utter unselfishness and sweet gentleness endeared him to every one, and there was not a servant on the place who did not adore him. Old Peter would have laid down his life for the boy whose father he had loved so fondly; and long talks the pair often had of the days when the old man was chief counsellor in the “muddles,” as he called them, that the boys’ high spirits used to lead them into. “The boys” being Philip’s father and uncle, the subject was of such inexhaustible interest that whenever the lad was missing Miss Acton always came to Peter’s realm, the butler’s room, to find him.

“But, deary me!” the old man used to say to himself sometimes, with a troubled expression, when Philip had been with him; “where-a-way is the life of him? Them ones had life in ’em that ’ud make ’em pull the thatch off a cottage if the notion took ’em. They wouldn’t ’ave stopped for man nor mortal, them lads wouldn’t, but this little lad’s so still in his ways that I’m thinking he’s gotten some hurt to his insides that no one’s knowing. It’s no so strange if the blow that killed the mother did somewhat ill to the bairn, so I’m fearin’ this world won’t keep him in it for long.”

But in spite of Peter’s gloomy forebodings Philip grew strong and well, and kept on the very even tenor of his way till the summer came around again and the inmates of the rectory were expecting the return of Dr. Norton and his family.

The rector always grew young again when a visit from his nephew was impending, and Aunt Delia, who had ever looked forward with delight to the pleasure of having her children with her, now had a double happiness in the anticipation of their pleasure and surprise in finding her darling Philip so improved in health, and every other way, as he seemed to her loving eyes. The joyful expectations of the old couple were therefore unmixed with any discomfort; but Philip and Miss Acton were by no means rapturous in regard to the coming visitors. The latter, through her distressing timidity, shrank from strangers at all times, and the former, for reasons which he could hardly have explained, dreaded seeing his cousins again.

They arrived late one evening, and in the unusual chatter and confusion of tongues that prevailed till his bedtime came, Philip had hardly time to remember his misgivings, and even Miss Acton found the ordeal not half so dreadful as she had feared, every one was so good-natured and genial. Marion had not come with them, having been allowed to accept an invitation to spend the summer in the Highlands with a cousin of her mother’s. Philip’s admiration and dread of his cousin were so mingled that he was not quite certain whether her absence was a relief or a disappointment, but meeting his cousin Lillie was an unmixed delight. Evidently she had looked forward with pleasure to seeing him again, for after her fond greetings to her aunt and uncle she immediately asked for him, and he was not allowed to remain in the background. Aunt Grace, too, embraced him, and Dr. Norton, with loving affection, took him to his arms, with a tenderness in the tone with which he said, “My dear boy,” that made Philip feel as if he would like to stay by his side forever.

Rose was cordial too, although it is quite probable that had Marion been present and chosen to exhibit a distant and haughty manner to her cousin, Rose, who was her echo, would have been chilling and disdainful too.

The twins had both grown, but Lillie was still taller than her sister, and consequently older-looking, which was a grief to Rose, who longed to be grown up. Philip made such a great advance in her opinion by telling her she always seemed to him much older than himself that she felt amiably disposed to be very gracious to him.

Mrs. Norton’s pleasant manner even overcame Miss Acton’s shyness, and the visit that had been thought of with dread turned out to be a very charming one for all. All sorts of excursions, in carriages and on foot, were undertaken by the children in Miss Acton’s company, and sometimes, when a very attractive place was to be visited, Aunt Delia and Mrs. Norton joined the party, and added much to its pleasure.

“Something very important and mysterious must have happened,” said Dr. Norton one evening, “for Philip and Aunt Delia have been running in and out and whispering to each other for the last half hour. What is the matter?”

“Wait a little while, and don’t be inquisitive,” said his aunt.

“But how can I help it when even old Peter seems to be aiding and abetting the mystery and I am not allowed an inkling of it?” said Dr. Norton, with a pretence of feeling very much injured.

It then became plain to every one that there was a secret to be fathomed and a plot of some kind going on, and instant and earnest were the demands of the twins to be intrusted at once with the secret.

“Does Miss Acton know, Aunt Delia?” asked Lillie, who had become very fond of Philip’s governess.

“No, not yet,” said Philip, answering for his aunt.

“Does mamma know?” asked Rose.

“Nobody knows yet,” said Aunt Delia, as gleefully as if she was a child; “but now you may all know. I didn’t want to say anything till we were quite sure, but now I think there will be no failure. You know Ashden has been closed to visitors ever since the family went abroad ten years ago. Last summer young Mr. Frederick Ashden came back to look after some repairs about the place, and now that his father is dead and he is Lord Ashden, he has decided to live there, and the house is being cleaned and put in order. He is in London now, but I have received a note from him in answer to one I sent him asking if we might go over the house; for I knew that it would be such a treat to you all. It used to be the great show place of the country.”

“Well, is he willing to let you go?” asked the rector.

“Yes, indeed; he says he only regrets that he may not return in time to receive us. So if Thursday is a fair day and you are all so disposed, we will make an early start, see the castle at our leisure, take lunch in the park, and then come home in the afternoon.”

“Who is going to be generous enough to give us luncheon in the park?” said Rose.

“We shall take it with us and have a picnic,” said her aunt, with a triumphant little nod of her head.

“But how will you all get there?” asked the rector, still disposed to think there must be some flaw in arrangements which had been made without his assistance.

“Oh, that is all provided for,” said his wife, with another little nod. “Miss Acton will drive Grace in the pony phaeton, I am going in the carriage with the children, and Peter is going to bring the provisions in the little tax-cart. If either of you gentlemen would like to come, we will provide a way for you, too.”

“Really your plans are very perfect and your invitation very tempting,” said Dr. Norton, “and I am not sure but I’ll take a horse and ride over to Ashden with you.”

“Oh, do, do, papa!” exclaimed his daughters, while Philip’s eager eyes expressed the same wish.

“But it won’t be pleasant Thursday, I know it won’t,” said Rose; “it will be too good to be true, for us really to see Ashden; something is sure to happen.”

“Oh, I hope not,” said Lillie, “for I do so want to see the inside of that wonderful place. Only think! There’s a ghost-chamber, and a trap-door, and a lake where a beautiful countess drowned herself.”

“Yes, and they say that she walks about every night,” said Rose.

“Then I don’t believe she was really drowned,” said Philip.

“Oh, Phil,” said Lillie, laughing at his sober face, “it happened a hundred or a thousand years ago, or maybe a million,--I’m sure I don’t know how long.”

“And, oh, won’t Marion envy us if we do go!” said Rose, as if exciting her sister’s envy was a large part of the anticipated pleasure.

“Does Lord Ashden live in that big house all by himself?” asked Philip, as he and his cousin Lillie went out to look at the rabbits after supper.

“Oh, yes, it is so sad,” answered Lillie; “haven’t you heard?” And as Philip shook his head, she went on, lowering her voice: “Once Mr. Ashden was married, you know, to the most be-a-u-tiful young lady. Marion saw her once, and she says she was like an angel. Everybody loved her, and her husband, they say, adored her. Well, when they had been married only a year, she was thrown from her horse and killed. Wasn’t it dreadful? They say the poor thing has been quite a changed man from that day; and then his father, Lord Ashden, died last year, and so now he is quite alone in the world. He has been travelling on the Continent since last summer, but now he has come back and opened the place, because he knows it would have distressed his father to have it neglected.”

“Poor Lord Ashden!” said Philip gently. “I think I know a little how sad and lonely he feels.” And Lillie, knowing that her cousin was thinking of his mother, gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze.

“Dear Lillie,” said Philip, “I wish everybody was as kind and gentle as you are; and indeed everybody here has been so good to me, sometimes I wonder what I should have done when my mother died if God had not sent me here--and perhaps poor Lord Ashden may find somebody to comfort him in just the same way.”

The children were silent after that, and as they were going to bed, Lillie whispered to her cousin: “I say, Philip, you and I will pray that God will send somebody to comfort Lord Ashden.” And pray they did, and the next day their prayer was answered in quite a wonderful way, as we shall see.