Chapter XI

A Day at Ashden

Thursday was as fair a day as English eyes had ever looked upon. “Queen’s own weather,” said Dr. Norton at the early breakfast, which was taken hours before the usual time in order to lengthen out the long day of pleasure.

Even the rector was persuaded to join the party which started in such gay spirits, in the order proposed, except that Rose gave her seat in the carriage to her uncle and rode by her father’s side on a shaggy little pony hired for the occasion, which was to be ridden by Lillie on the return trip.

Ashden Park was like a fairy domain to the children, with its running streams spanned by fragile-looking bridges, mimic waterfalls, dense labyrinths and shady walks; but Aunt Delia advised them to delay exploring the grounds till they had seen the wonders of the house.

The housekeeper met them at the door, looking so very grand in her black silk dress and lace cap with floating strings that Philip was quite awe-struck, and thought she must be a duchess at the very least. But she was very gracious, and, having been told by her master of their expected visit, was prepared to be extremely civil.

“His lordship left word, ma’am,” she said to Mrs. Seldon, “that he was very sorry he couldn’t ’ave been ’ome in time to see you, but I was to show you every attention, and after you ’ad seen the house, or before, just as it pleased you, I was to beg you to take some lunch.”

“Oh, thank you,” said the rector, coming forward to shake hands with Mrs. Hardy, who was one of his parishioners, although she lived so far from Lowdown. “You and Lord Ashden are both very kind, but we have brought a bite with us, and, if it is not a liberty, propose to give the children a picnic under some of those royal old oaks.”

“Well, sir, his lordship will not be half pleased, I’m afraid, and perhaps you will change your mind after you ’ave looked through the ’ouse. I’ll show you the first floor myself, and then if you won’t mind I’ll let one of the men go over the rest with you, for my rheumatism makes me so clumsy.”

They begged her not to take the trouble to show them any part herself, but she evidently took a delight in escorting them through the lofty rooms and halls, which they gratified her by admiring immensely.

Going through the entire house was more than the elder members of the party cared to attempt, so Mrs. Norton, Miss Acton, and the children went upstairs, enjoying the confusing and involved galleries and passages that led to suite after suite of rooms. Those in the centre of the castle were furnished with modern elegance and lightness, but in the wings the rooms were dark, and filled with ancient furniture of gloomy grandeur.

“This is the room in which his blessed Majesty King James the First slept when he was entertained, with nobles and gentlemen, by the noble ancestor of his present lordship,” said the servant who accompanied them, precisely as if he were reciting a lesson.

“Did a king really sleep in that great, high, black bed?” said Rose, who was deeply impressed with the grandeur of the place.

“I suppose he did, as the man says so,” said her mother, smiling.

“I don’t half care so much for the bed the king slept in as for the room where the ghost lives,” said Lillie.

“Ghosts don’t live,” said Miss Acton, laughing.

“Oh, yes, she do, miss!” said the man, thinking she was throwing a doubt over one of the attractions of the place. “She stops in the tower-room just up them stairs at the end of this gallery, and if the ladies are not too tired there’s a beautiful outlook from the window.”

And there was a superb view from the upper window of the tower, that well paid them for the labor of mounting the high stairs.

“This ghost shows good taste in the selection of a room,” said Mrs. Norton, panting and out of breath as she came behind the others to look from the window, “that is, if ghostly persons don’t mind stairs.”

“They say,” began the servant, assuming the recitative tone and manner, “that ’er ’eart was broken along of ’er great attachment to Another, but ’er brother compelled ’er to marry a juke’s son who treated ’er ill on account of ’er love for Another. So she took ’er vengeance on ’im by giving ’im chopped ’orse ’air hin ’is provisions, which consumed ’im in great agony. As soon as ’er husband was killed, she wrote to Another and learned that ’is love was ’ers no longer, for ’is marriage with a rival ’ad just taken place; whereupon the unfortunate lady was seized with deep repentance, and, leaving the rooms she ’ad formerly occupied, she secluded herself in this lofty tower chamber, refusing to eat or drink, till one day the maid, knocking for admittance and receiving no answer, ’ad the door broke down, and found ’er lady a raving lunatic, which she flew past ’er down the stairs, and, running out the door, drowned ’erself in the lake by the park gate, and ’er uneasy spirit is said to ’aunt the precincts ever since.”

This breathless narrative was received with much amusement by the ladies; but the children were quite awe-stricken at being in the haunts of a ghost with a regular stopping-place.

“I didn’t suppose there were any real ghosts,” said Philip doubtfully.

“Neither did I,” said Aunt Grace, laughing, “and I cannot say that I quite believe in them yet.”

The servant, whose faith in his ghost was implicit, here pointed out to them in the most respectful manner a fracture in the door which was made when it was “broke down,” evidently thinking that was proof enough to convince the most sceptical. So, out of civility, his audience forbore to appear to question the evidence of their own eyes, and followed their cicerone through the other rooms, each of which, in the old part of the castle, had its story of family or historical interest. In the chamber of an ancestress who had been maid of honor to the queen of one of the Georges stood a harp, swathed in its ghostly white-linen cover.

“What is it?” whispered Philip, whose eye was caught by the uncovered pedals.

“A harp, to be sure,” answered Rose, with a superior air.

“A harp!” repeated Philip, with his eyes shining. “Oh, if I could only see it with the cover off!”

“’Twouldn’t do you any good if you did,” said Rose unsympathizingly; “it would be all unstrung and out of tune.”

“But I would be so glad just to look at it,” said Philip, still lingering by the muffled instrument.

“Do you really so much want to see a harp?” said Lillie, coming over from an inlaid cabinet where the beautiful maid of honor kept her trinkets.

“Oh, so very much,” said Philip, in the earnest way he had sometimes.

“Well, I am not afraid to ask the servant to take off the case,” said Lillie, skipping up to the man and making her request, with which he complied without hesitation, slipping off the Holland cover and revealing to Philip’s eager eyes the old-fashioned, long-silent instrument. Over it hung a copy of a picture they had seen in the picture gallery on the floor below. It was a portrait of the owner of the harp; a pretty figure in a fanciful shepherdess costume, with a preternaturally white lamb clasped in her lovely fair arms, and a simpering complacency on her pretty pink and white face that disposed the gazer to doubt the possibility of her ever having awakened the true soul of music; but none of the party were treasonable enough to contradict the flunkey, who remarked, as he noticed Mrs. Norton’s study of the portrait:

“The Lady Blanche was said to ’ave played ’er ’arp like a hangel.”

“I would give anything to hear it played,” said Philip, half to himself.

“There’s a new ’arp in the music-room,” said the servant civilly, “if the ladies would like to play for the young gentleman.”

“Well, Philip,” said Mrs. Norton, “I don’t play oftener than once in six months nowadays, but when we go down I will try to gratify you.”

Philip was happy then, and felt as if he could hardly wait till they reached the music-room; but at last the tour of the house was completed, and the servant led the way to the chapel-like apartment in the western wing, and there his aunt tried her skill in tuning the more modern-looking instrument that had belonged to the late Lady Ashden. Her performance, after she had put the harp in moderately good tune, was not of a high order, but it delighted Philip, who listened in ecstasy as she struck the chords, a little uncertainly it is true, but still with a sweetness that thrilled the sensitive child.

“Do you think you could play on it?” asked Rose of her cousin.

“No,” said Philip, shaking his head sadly. “I could not play on it, but I wish I could listen to it always.”

“You would soon tire of my miserable playing, child,” said his aunt; “but when you come to see us you shall go to the concerts and hear some music that is worth listening to.”

While Philip was shyly wondering whether even the pleasure of listening to the best of music would compensate for the trial of seeing strangers, his uncle came in to say that Aunt Delia had prepared their lunch, and was waiting for them in one of the little rustic summer-houses that studded the park.

The lunch was a marvel of daintiness, for Mrs. Hardy had insisted upon sending out the creams which had been frozen in preparation for the repast they were expected to take within doors, and a splendid display of pines and other fruit from the hot-houses. The whole party were in the best of spirits, and sufficiently hungry to do ample justice to Aunt Delia’s good things.

Suddenly, just as they were finishing, Mrs. Norton announced that she had lost her handkerchief and notebook. “I must have left them in the maid of honor’s room,” she declared, “or else in the music-room.”

“May I go and look for them?” said Philip, springing up.

“If you are quite sure you have eaten all the cream you want,” said his aunt. “But don’t try to find your way; get that servant with the cockney accent to show you again.”

Off ran Philip, glad to be of service; and the party, to give old Peter an opportunity to lunch, adjourned to an arbor in view, which was near enough to a little natural lake for the children to run to the margin with crumbs for the stately swans that were sailing about. The rector and Dr. Norton sat talking rather sadly of the days when old Lord Ashden was living; then they spoke of his son, and of the sad ending of his short and happy married life, and in the midst of their reminiscences they were surprised by the sudden appearance of the one they had been speaking of--Lord Ashden himself. He had returned a day before he expected, and had come out to look for them. His greeting to his old teacher and fellow-pupil was warm and cordial, and after paying his respects to the ladies he joined them in recalling incidents and exploits of his boyish days.

“And you have taken poor Philip’s child, I hear. It was brave and kind of you to acknowledge him,” said he, looking affectionately at the rector.

“It was a kindness we should have shown before,” said Dr. Norton.

“Where is the boy? Does he inherit his father’s genius and beauty?”

“Yes,” said Aunt Delia, turning her sweet, benevolent face upon the speaker, “our little Philip seems to have taken every pleasant trait of his father’s, and a sweeter child I never saw.”

“I must see Philip’s boy,” said Lord Ashden, with a sigh of retrospection. “Poor Philip! He literally threw away his life; and such a life--so full of hope and promise. I hope this boy’s life may be a happier one than his father’s was.” And he strode off toward the house, where they told him Philip would be found, impelled by a feeling of real interest, the first he had experienced in many sad and weary months.