Chapter 2

We go on to Great-aunt Maria's by the eleven train. I am glad Cousin Octavia is going to take me out next season instead of Aunt Mary, which was first suggested. I know I should not have been good with her. She is not a bit like you, darling Mamma. I hope you are better; I shan't see you again until next Saturday, when I leave Heaviland Manor. It is a long time.--With love from your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

HEAVILAND MANOR

Heaviland Manor,

_Wednesday, August 3rd_.

Dearest Mamma,--I can't think why you made me come here! Agnès has been so sniffy and condescending ever since this morning; but I have remarked that Uncle John's valet is only about forty and has a roving eye! so perhaps by to-morrow morning I shan't have my hair screwed off my head! But I feel for Agnès, only in a different way.

[Sidenote: _A Quiet Evening_]

It is a stuffy, boring place. You remember the house--enormous, tidy, hideous, uncomfortable. Well, we had _such_ a dinner last night after I arrived--soup, fish, everything popped on to the table for Great-uncle John to carve at one end, and Great-aunt Maria at the other! A regular aquarium specimen of turbot sat on its dish opposite him, while Aunt Maria had a huge lot of soles. And there wasn't any need, because there were four men-servants in the room who could easily have done it at the side; but I remember you said it was always like that when you were a little girl. Well, it got on to puddings. I forgot to tell you, though, there were plenty of candles on the table, without shades, and a "bouquet" of flowers, all sorts (I am sure fixed in sand), in a gold middle thing. Well, about the puddings--at least four of them were planted on the table, awfully sweet and jammy, and Uncle John was quite irritated with me because I could only eat two; and Aunt Maria, who has got as deaf as a post, kept roaring to old Major Orwell, who sat next her, "Children have no healthy appetites as in our day. Eh! what?" And I wanted to scream in reply, "But I am grown up now, Aunt Maria!"

Uncle John asked me every question over and over, and old Lady Farrington's false teeth jumped so once or twice that I got quite nervous. That is the party, me, Major Orwell, Lady Farrington, and Uncle and Aunt.

When dessert was about coming, _everything_ thing got lifted from the table, and before you could say "Jack Robinson" off whisked the cloth. I was so unprepared for it that I said "Oh!" and ducked my head, and that made the cloth catch on old Lady Farrington's cap--she had to sit on my side of the table, to be out of the draught--and, wasn't it _dreadful_, it almost pulled it off, and with it the grey curls fixed at the side, and the rest was all bald. So that was why it was so loose--there was nothing to pin it to! And she glared at me, and fixed it as straight as she could, but it had such a saucy look all the rest of the evening.

I did apologise as well as I could, and there was such an awkward pause; and after dinner we had coffee in the drawing-room, and then in a little time tea, and between times they sat down to whist, all but Aunt Maria--so they had to have a dummy. She wanted to hear all about you, she said, and my going to visit in France; and so I had to bellow descriptions of your neuralgia, and about Mme. de Croixmare being my godmother, &c., and Aunt Maria says, "Tut, tut!" as well as "Eh! what?" to everything. I had not remembered a bit what they were like; but I was only six, wasn't I, when we came last?

After she had asked every sort of thing about you under the sun, she kept giving longing glances at the dummy's cards; so I said, "Oh! Aunt Maria, I am afraid I am keeping you from your whist." As soon as I could make her hear, you should have seen how she hopped up like a two-year-old into the vacant seat; and they were far more serious about it than any one was at Nazeby, where they had hundreds on, and Aunt Maria and the others only played for counters--that long mother-o'-pearl fish kind. I looked at a book on the table, Lady Blessington's "Book of Beauty," and I see then every one got born with champagne-bottle shoulders. Had they been paring them for generations before, I wonder? Because old John, the keeper at Hendon, told me once that the best fox-terriers arrive now without any tails, their mothers' and grand-mothers' and great-grandmothers' having been cut off for so long; but I wonder, if the fashion changed, how could they get long tails again? There must be some way, because all of us now have square shoulders. But what was I saying? Oh! yes, when I had finished the "Beauty Book," I heard Aunt Maria getting so cross with the old boy opposite her. "You've revoked, Major Orwell," she said, whatever that means.

[Sidenote: _An Old English Dinner_]

Then hot spiced port came in--it was such a close night--and they all had some, and so did I, and it was good; and then candles came. _Such_ lovely silver, and so beautifully cleaned; and Aunt and Uncle kissed me. I dodged Lady Farrington's false teeth, because, after her cap incident, she might have bitten me. And Uncle said, "Too late, too late for a little one to sit up--no beauty sleep!" And Aunt Maria said, "Tut, tut!" and I thought it must be the middle of the night--it felt like it. But do you know, Mamma, when I got upstairs to my room it was only _half-past ten!_

I have such a huge room, with a four-post feather bed in it. I had let Agnès go to bed directly after her supper, with a toothache, so I had to get undressed by myself; and I was afraid to climb in from the side, it was so high up. But I found some steps with blue carpet on them, as well as a table with a Bible, and a funny old china medicine spoon, and glass and water-jug on it; and the steps did nicely, for when I got to the top, I just took a header into the feathers. It seemed quite comfy at first, but in a few minutes, goodness gracious, I was suffocated! And it was such a business getting the whole mass on the floor; and then I did not know very well how to make the bed again, and I had not a very good night, and overslept myself in the morning. So I got down late for prayers. Uncle John reads them, and Aunt Maria repeats responses whenever she thinks best, as she can't hear a word; but I suppose she counts up, and, from long habit, just says "Amen" when she gets to the end of--thirty, say--fancying that will be right; and it is generally. Only Uncle John stopped in the middle to say, "Damn that dog!" as Fido was whining and scratching outside, so that put her out and brought in the "Amen" too soon.

[Sidenote: _Family Prayers_]

After breakfast Aunt Maria jingled a large bunch of keys and said it was her day for seeing the linen-room, and wouldn't I like to go with her, as all young people should have "house-wifely" ideas? So I went. It is so beautifully kept, and such lovely linen, all with lavender between it; and she talked to the housekeeper, and looked over everything--she seemed to know each sheet by name! Then we went to the storeroom, all as neat as a new pin; and from there to interview all the old people from the village, who were waiting with requests, and some of them were as deaf as she is. So the housekeeper had to scream at both sides, and I _was_ tired when we got back, and did want to rush out of doors; but I had to wait, and then walk between Lady Farrington and Aunt Maria up and down the path in the sun till lunch at one o'clock; and after that we went for a drive in the barouche, with the fattest white horses you ever saw, and a coachman just like Cinderella's one that had been a rat. He seemed to have odd bits of fur on his face and under his chin, and Aunt Maria said that he suffered from a sore throat, that was why, which he caught at Aunt Mary's wedding; and so I counted up--and as Aunt Mary is your eldest sister, it must have been more than twenty years ago. I do call that a long sore throat, don't you? and I wouldn't keep a coachman with a beard, would you?

We went at a snail's pace, and got in at four o'clock, and then there was tea at half-past, with the nicest bread-and-butter you ever tasted. And after that I said I must write to you, and so here I am, and I feel that if it goes on much longer I shall do something dreadful. Now good-bye, dearest Mamma.--Your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

Heaviland Manor,

_Friday, August 5th_.

Dearest Mamma,--I am glad to-morrow will soon be here, and that I can come home, but I must tell you about yesterday. First, all the morning it rained, and what with roaring at Aunt Maria and holding skeins of wool for Lady Farrington, I got such jumps that I felt I should scream unless I got out; so after lunch, while they were both having a nap in their chairs, I slipped off for a walk by myself--it was still raining, but not much; I took Fido, who is generally a little beast, and far too fat.

[Sidenote: _Lord Valmond Reappears_]

We had had a nice scamper, and had turned to come back not far from the Park, when who do you think came riding up?--Lord Valmond! The last person one expected to see down here! He never waited a second when he saw me, but jumped off his horse and beamed--just as if we had parted the best of friends!!! _Did_ you ever hear such impudence? Of course I should have walked on without recognising him, if I had been left to myself, but he took me so by surprise that I had shaken hands before I knew, and then it was too late to walk on. It appears he has a place down here which he never comes to generally, but just happened to now--to see how the young pheasants were doing. He began at once to talk, as if I had never been angry or boxed his ears at all! It really exasperated me, so at last I said he had better get on his horse again, as I wanted to run on with Fido; so then he said he had just been on his way to call on Aunt Maria, and would come with me.

I said I was sure that wasn't true, as he was going the other way. So he said that he had only been going that way to give his horse a little exercise, and that he intended to go in at the other gate.

I said I was sure that wasn't true either, as there was no way round that way, unless one jumped the park palings. So he said that was what he had intended to do. Just then we came to the turnstile of the right-of-way, so I slipped through and called out, "Then I won't keep you from your exercise," and walked on as fast as I could.

[Sidenote: _Lady Farrington's Nap_]

What do you think he did, Mamma? Simply got on his horse, and jumped those palings there and then! I can't think how he wasn't killed. There was almost no take-off, and the fence is so high. However, there he was, and I could not get away again, because, if I had run, the horse could easily have kept up with me. But I only said "Yes" and "No" all the way to the house, so he could not have enjoyed it much. We went straight to the drawing-room, where tea was almost up, and there was Lady Farrington alone--still asleep, and her cap had fallen right back, and all the bald was showing; and just then a carriage drove up to the door, and we heard visitors and the footsteps in the hall. I had just time to cry to Lord Valmond, "Keep them back while I wake her!" and then I rushed to Lady Farrington, and shouted in her ear, "Visitors! and--and--your cap is a little crooked!" "Eh! what?" she screamed, and her teeth as nearly as possible jumped on to the carpet. She simply flew to the mirror, but, as you know, it is away so high up she couldn't see, so she made frantic efforts with her hands, and just got it to cover the bald, in a rakish, one-sided way, when the whole lot streamed into the room. Lord Valmond looked awfully uncomfortable. Goodness knows what he had said to them to keep them back! Anyway, Harvey announced "Mrs. and the Misses Clarke," and a thin, very high-nosed person, followed by two buffish girls, came forward. Lady Farrington said, "How d'ye do?" as well as she could. They were some friends of hers and Aunt Maria's, who are staying with the Morverns, I gathered from their conversation. They _must_ have thought she had been on a spree since last they met! I could hardly behave for laughing, and did not dare to look at Lord Valmond.

They had not been there more than five minutes when another carriage arrived, and two other ladies were announced. "The Misses Clark!" The other Clarkes glared like tigers, and Lady Farrington lowered her chin and eyelashes at them (she has just the same manners as the people at Nazeby, although she is such a frump--it is because she is an earl's daughter, I suppose), and she called out to Harvey at the top of her voice, "Let Lady Worden be told at once there are visitors." The poor new things looked so uncomfortable, that I felt, as I was Aunt Maria's niece, I at least must be polite to them; so I asked them to sit down, and we talked. They were jolly, fat, vulgar souls, who have taken the Ortons' place they told me, and this was their return visit, as the Ortons had asked Aunt Maria to call. They were quite old maids, past thirty, with such funny, grand, best smart Sunday-go-to-meeting looking clothes on.

[Sidenote: _An Afternoon Call_]

It appears that Harvey had sent a footman up to Aunt Maria's door, to tell of the first Clarkes' arrival, and then, terrified by Lady Farrington's voice, had rushed up himself to announce the second lot, and he met Aunt Maria on the stairs coming down, and of course she never heard the difference between "Mrs." and the "Misses," and thought he was simply hurrying her up for the first set. So in she sailed all smiles, and as Mrs. Clarke was nearest the door, she got to her first, and _was_ so glad to see her.

"Dear, dear, _years_ since we met, Honoria," she said; "and these are all your bonny girls, tut, tut!" and she looked at the fat Clarks who came next. "Ah! yes I can see! What a wonderful likeness to poor dear Arthur!"

Furious glances from Mrs. Clarke, whose daughters are my age!

"And this must be Millicent," she went on, taking the second fat Clark's hand. "Yes, yes; why, she takes after you, my dear Honoria, tut, tut!" and she squeezed hands, and beamed at them all in the kindest way. Mrs. Clarke, bursting with fury, tried to say they were no relations of hers; but, of course, Aunt Maria could not catch all that, only the word "relations," and she then caught sight of the buff Clarklets in the background.

[Sidenote: _A Friendly Invitation_]

"Ah, yes! I see, these are your girls; I have mistaken your other relations for them." Then she turned again to the fat Clarks, evidently liking their jolly faces best. "But one can see they are Clarkes. Let me guess. Yes, they must be poor Henry's children!" At this, Lord Valmond had such a violent fit of choking by the tea-table, that Aunt Maria, who hears the oddest, most unexpected things, caught that, and saw him, and saying, "Howd' ye do?" created a diversion. Presently I heard Lady Farrington roaring in a whisper into her ears the difference between the Clarkes and the Clarks, and the poor dear was so upset; but her kind heart came up trumps, and she was awfully nice to the two vulgar Clarks, who had the good sense to go soon, and then the others went. Then she got Lord Valmond on to her sofa, and he screamed such heaps of nice things into her ear, just as if she had been Mrs. Smith, and she was _so_ pleased. And Uncle John came in, and they talked about the pheasants, and he asked Lord Valmond to dinner on Saturday night (to-morrow), and he looked timidly at me, to see if I was still angry with him and wanted him not to come, so I smiled _sweetly_, and he accepted joyfully. Isn't it lovely, Mamma? I shall be home with you by then, and Lady Farrington and Major Orwell are going too! So he will have to play dummy whist all the evening with Uncle and Aunt, and eat his dinner at half-past six! Now, good-night.--Your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

HAZELDENE COURT

Hazeldene Court,

_Tuesday, 9th August_.

[Sidenote: _The Horse Show_]

Dearest Mamma,--There is a huge party here for the Horse Show, and I daresay I shall enjoy myself. We had no sooner got into the station at Paddington than in the distance I caught sight of Lord Valmond. I pretended not to see him, and got behind a barrow of trunks, and then slipped into the carriage and made Agnès sit by the door. We saw him walking up and down, and, just before the train started, he came and got into our carriage. He seemed awfully surprised to see me, said he had not an idea he should meet me, and apologised for disturbing me, but he said all the other carriages were full. He seemed so uppish and unconcerned that I felt obliged to ask him how he enjoyed his dinner with Aunt Maria on Saturday. He said he had enjoyed it awfully, and that Aunt Maria was a charming hostess. He asked me if I was going far down the line, or only just on the river. I said not very far. I tried to be as stiff as possible and not speak, and I did not tell him where I was going, but, do you know, Mamma, there is no snubbing him. He said at once that he was going to Hazeldene Court, to stay with his cousins the Westaways. I said, "Indeed!" and he said, "Yes, aren't they cousins of yours too?" and when I said "Yes," he said he felt sure we were related, and mightn't he call me Elizabeth!!! I just told him I thought him the rudest, most detestable man I had ever met; and if he spoke to me again at all, I should ask the guard to find me another carriage.

[Sidenote: _Lord Valmond Presumes_]

He was awfully surprised, and said he had not meant to be the least rude; he thought it was the custom for cousins to call each other by their Christian names, and _his_ name was Harry. (Just as if I did not know that, after hearing Mrs. Smith calling him every few minutes!) I said in a freezing tone we were not related in any way, and I wished to read the paper, upon which he produced every imaginable kind, lots of ladies' papers that he could not possibly have wanted for himself. I don't know who he expected to meet. However, I would not have any of them, but looked at a _Punch_ I had bought myself. You know that uncomfortable feeling one has when some one is staring at one--it makes one obliged to look up--so after a while our eyes met over the _Punch_, and he smiled, and his teeth are so white. All he said was, "I was thinking of the Clarkes and Clarks." And in spite of my being indignant with him I could not help laughing, when I remembered about them, and then it was hard to be very stiff again at once.

[Sidenote: _The Offending Dimple_]

Just about this time Agnès went to sleep in the other corner, and the moment Lord Valmond saw she was really off, he bent forward and said in such a humble voice, that he was sorry he had offended me at Nazeby; he had yielded to a sudden temptation, and he could only ask me to forgive him. He had quite mistaken my character he said, he now saw I was a serious person, but he had been deceived by the dimple in my left cheek. (Now isn't it provoking, Mamma, to have a dimple like that, that gives people the impression they may treat you with want of respect?) I said I did not believe a word of it, and, as we were only the merest acquaintances, it did not matter whether I forgave him or not, and I hoped he would not mention the subject again. He then asked me if I was going to stop at Hazeldene until Saturday. So you see, Mamma, he must have known I was going there all along; aren't men odd? You can't trust them one minute not to be deceiving you, only I think on the whole I prefer them to women, they can't copy your clothes at all events. After that he seemed to think we had quite made everything up, and went on talking in the friendliest way, but I _would not_ thaw; he shall not have the chance of blaming my dimple again for any of his misconduct! At last I said I hated talking in the train, and pretended to go to sleep. But I could not get really off, because every time I opened my eyes just to see where we were, I found him looking at me. A huge omnibus was waiting for us when we arrived, and several more guests had come by the same train and we all drove to the house together. They were having tea on the croquet lawn--Lady Westaway and some other people, and the eldest son's wife. You remember what a fuss there was when he married, how Lady Westaway had hysterics for three days. Well, she looks as if she could have them again any moment.

[Sidenote: _An Attractive Woman_]

Mrs. Westaway is awfully pretty. She was lying in a swing chair, showing lots of petticoat and ankle. The ankle isn't bad, but the petticoat had common lace on it. She has huge turquoise earrings, and very stick-out hair arranged to look untidy with tongs. She smiles all the time, and wears lots of different colours. She calls every one by their Christian name, and always catches hold of the men's coats, or fixes their buttonholes or ties, or holds their arms and whispers: and every one is in love with her, and she has the greatest success. So I can't think, Mamma, why you have always told me never to do any of these things, when you want me to be a success so much. Her voice is dreadfully shrill, and such an odd pronunciation, but no one seems to mind that. I rather like her, she is so jolly but some of the women of the party won't speak to her, except to say disagreeable things. Jane Roose is here, she has been here since she left Nazeby (Violet is at the sea), and she came up to my room as we were going to dress, and I have only just got rid of her. She told me Mrs. Westaway was a "dreadful creature," and that no one would know her, if it was not for her mother-in-law receiving her, so they can't help it. And she could not understand what the men saw to admire in a low person like that. But I can see very well, Mamma, she is as pretty as can be, and probably the men don't notice about the lace being common, and all the colours, and those things. I must go down to dinner now, so good-bye, dear Mamma.--Your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

Hazeldene Court,

_Thursday, 11th August_.

[Sidenote: _Lady Bobby's Diversions_]

Dearest Mamma,--I shall be home with you almost as soon as you get this. But I must tell you about these last two days. The man I went in to dinner with the first night was so nice-looking, only he did not seem as if he could collect his thoughts enough to finish his sentences, and it left them sounding so silly sometimes, but I found out before we had begun the entrées that it was because Mrs. Westaway was sitting opposite, and he was gazing at her. She looked lovely, but not like any one I have seen yet since I stayed out. She had a diamond collar and two ropes of pearls (Jane Roose said they were imitation), and her arms quite bare and very white, but her skin must come off, because I could see a patch of white on a footman's coat where she accidentally touched when helping herself to potatoes. She had a huge tulle bow in her hair, and her earrings were as big as shillings. Lady Bobby Pomeroy said afterwards in the drawing-room to Jane Roose that she should not take any more of her meals downstairs with this "creature;" and she would not have come only that Bobby insisted, as he was showing some horses, and it is convenient. And so, do you know, Mamma, Lady Bobby has never come out of her room since, except just to go to the Horse Show, which she drove to with Mrs. Mannering in a hired fly. I don't call it very polite to the hostess, do you? This afternoon she amused herself from her bedroom window by shooting at rabbits just beyond the wire fence of the lawn with a rook rifle; she did not hit any rabbits, but she got a gardener in the leg, and the man was very angry, and bled a great deal, and had to be taken away, and I think it was very careless of her, don't you?

[Sidenote: _Two is Company_]