A Lame Dog's Diary Part 18

"Then," said I, "the second stage has been reached. When all the Jamiesons are married, I think I shall feel that romance is over."

"I know they have been to tea at the farm," said Mrs. Fielden, "because Mr. Ellicomb talked so much about his blue china, and Maud said a woman's hand was needed in the house."

"I wonder," I said, "what will be the special objection that Maud will raise when she becomes engaged to Mr. Ellicomb? He is not called Albert; he does not wear a white watered-silk waistcoat; his hair is certainly his own; and his mother is dead, so it cannot be said that he too closely resembles her."

One of the objections raised by Maud to a candidate for her hand, was that he was far too like his mother--a really delightful woman--but Maud declared, with tears, that she could never really look up to a man who was so like his mamma.

"At present," said Mrs. Fielden, "the blue china seems to be all in his favour; but one cannot feel sure that it will not be an obstacle later on, or Mr. Ellicomb's High Church principles, perhaps, may prove a deterrent to her ideas of perfect happiness."

"I wish," said Palestrina, "that Margaret's affairs were more settled.

This summer has been a trying one for her."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," said Mrs. Fielden, "that that was one of Maud's reasons for coming over to see you. She told me that Mr.

Swinnerton is coming to pay them a visit. He has written, it seems, to make the offer himself, and Maud says she thinks it will be all right now."

Mrs. Fielden was in one of her most light-hearted moods. After the heat of the day there came a delightful coolness, and she stayed chatting till nearly dinner-time, and then decided that she would remain to dinner if we should ask her to do so.

"I have three dear old sisters-in-law staying with me," said Mrs.

Fielden, "and they will doubtless drag all the ponds for my body."

"Won't they be anxious about you?" asked Palestrina.

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Fielden, raising her pretty eyebrows in the old affected way; "but then they will appreciate me so much more when I come back to them from the grave."

We sat out on the lawn after dinner till it was quite dark, and only Mrs. Fielden's white dress was visible in the gloom. For some reason best known to herself she put off her wilful mood out there in the gloom of the garden. She was not regal, not even amusing, only charming and full of a lovely kindness. Half the conversation between her and Palestrina began with the words, "Do you remember?" as they recalled old jokes and stories. Then her ever-present gaiety broke out again, and she laughed and said: "I believe I am becoming reminiscent.

Why doesn't some one sit upon me, or tell me they will order the carriage for me if I really must go? But it is heavenly here in the cool--and in heaven, you know, we shall probably all be reminiscent."

Ten o'clock struck from the tower of the church down below in the village, and Mrs. Fielden said that now she really must go, or she would find the sisters-in-law saying a Requiem Ma.s.s for her; and Palestrina went indoors to order the carriage.

"To-morrow," I said, "I am going to have my last dissipation. I am going to the Traceys' tea-party."

"I am certainly going too," said Mrs. Fielden. "I believe I am getting as gay as the Miss Traceys themselves, though I can't help remarking that no one who goes to these tea-parties ever seems to be amused when they get there."

"Judging from my own standard of what I find amusing," I said, "I should be inclined to say that Stowel never enjoys itself extravagantly. Our neighbours never refuse invitations to even the smallest party; but the pleasure that they get from them, if it exists at all, is carefully concealed."

"I have felt that myself," said Mrs. Fielden. "I really don't begin to enjoy them till I get home."

"I believe you always enjoy yourself," I said resentfully.

After a little time Mrs. Fielden said wistfully, "You don't think there is only a certain amount of happiness in the world, do you, Hugo? And that if one person gets a great deal, it means that another will get less?"

She asks one questions in this way sometimes, as though one were a superior being who could dispel her perplexities for her.

"Probably," I said, "you know ten thousand times more about the subject than I do. You are happy, and I philosophize about it. Tell me which of us is most fitted to give a lecture on the subject?"

I thought Mrs. Fielden was going to say something after that, for she stretched out her hand in a certain impulsive way she has got, and gave mine just one moment's friendly pressure in the dark. And then Palestrina came back to say the carriage was at the door, and Mrs.

Fielden said "Good-night."

I remember two things about the Miss Traceys' party--first, that Mrs.

Fielden was not there, for one of the old sisters-in-law was ill suddenly, and she could not leave her; and the other thing I remember about it is that it was the last occasion on which I ever saw Margaret Jamieson look pretty.

There have been some strange innovations in tea-parties ever since Mrs.

Taylor gave hers to meet The Uncle, and sent out visiting-cards instead of notes. Instead of having tea in the dining-room, all sitting round the table, as used to be the custom, it seems that dressing-tables are often brought down from upstairs and extended across the window. These are covered with white tablecloths, and behind them two maids stand and wait. The dressing-tables are called the "buffet," and both tea and coffee are provided, suggesting the elegance and savour of London refreshments. This is distinctly pleasing, though it is felt that a single cup of tea drunk while standing has not got the comfort of former old-fashioned days. Miss Belinda lives on at the little cottage with the green gate; and through the kindness of the General a lady has been found to wait upon her, and take her out to these small gaieties which she loves, and she sits shaking her poor, weak head, and muttering, "Glory, glory, glory!" It does not occur to her to stay at home during her period of mourning, and it is acknowledged on all sides that she does not miss Lydia much. The General has not come to stay with the Taylors again. In a long letter which he wrote to me after he left he said he would probably never come back to the place, and at the same time he thanked me in courteous, old-fashioned phraseology for being with him through what he called "one of the dark days that come sometimes." He would never see Miss Belinda, in spite of the many kind things he did for her; and I always feel that he resented the poor creature's long illness and weak, silly ways--which was only natural, no doubt.

The Vicar was present at his sisters' tea-party, "although," as Miss Ruby explained to me, "it is not as though this were an evening entertainment. My sister and I often give these little routs without him. Still, a gentleman is always something of an ornament at a party."

There were seven Jamiesons present, and two of them, Margaret and Maud, offered, in their usual friendly way, to walk home with Palestrina and me. Maud, one feels sure, engaged Palestrina in confidences directly; and Margaret whispered in a shy way to me, "Do you mind coming round by the post-office? I am expecting a letter." So we walked round by the High Street, and Margaret told me that Tudor had had to give up his visit to them, but that he was writing.

So we went into the post-office, and Margaret had her letter handed to her across the counter by the post-mistress, upon whom she bestowed a radiant smile. When we got outside she opened it and read it without a word; and then, quite suddenly, she gave a cry as though some one had struck her, and she handed the letter to me, and said, "Oh, Hugo, read it!" And I read:--

"I am sure you will be surprised when I tell you that I am going to be married; it will explain to you why it was that I was unable to fulfil my promise to come to see you. But sudden though my engagement to Miss Lloyd has been--very sudden, much more sudden indeed than I ever felt that such a serious step as marriage would be undertaken by me--I cannot but feel that it is for my happiness. Some day I hope you will make Miss Lloyd's acquaintance; she is staying with my mother just now, and she is already a great favourite. I cannot but feel that having seen so much of you and of your family last summer, and during your stay in London, that I may have raised expectations which I find myself unable to fulfil; but I am quite sure that a man's first duty is to himself in these matters, and that he should not undertake matrimony until he is thoroughly convinced it is for his happiness. Had I not met Miss Lloyd, I may say that my intentions to you were of the most serious nature, and I know that I have the power in me to make any girl happy. We shall live with my mother for the first year, and then I hope to settle somewhere near London, where it will be nice for me to get into the fresh air after my work in the City.

"Yours very truly, "TUDOR SWINNERTON.

"_P.S._--Miss Lloyd and I are to be married next month in St. Luke's Church, quite near here."

I handed the letter back to Margaret, and we never spoke the whole way home. And that was the last day I ever saw Margaret Jamieson look pretty.

CHAPTER XVI.

After the operation on my leg, I was laid up for a long time, and when I got about again, Palestrina and Thomas were married. Thomas has lately come into his kingdom in the shape of a lordly castle in Scotland, and for the life of me I can't say whether or not Palestrina hastened her wedding because the doctor ordered me to the North. If it was so, my sister's plans were frustrated by the fact that Thomas's ancient Scottish seat was p.r.o.nounced uninhabitable by a sanitary surveyor, just as we proposed entering it under garlanded archways and mottoes on red cotton. Our old friend Mrs. Macdonald, hearing of our dilemma, very kindly invited us to stay with her while Palestrina and Thomas looked about for some little house that would take us in till their own place should be ready. The finding of the little house occupied some days, owing to the powers of imagination displayed by people when describing their property. One lady, to whom Palestrina wrote to ask if her house were to be let, replied, "Yes, madam; this dear, delightful, pretty house is to let;" and she pointed out in a letter, some four pages long, all the advantages that would accrue to us if we took it, ending up with the suggestion, subtly conveyed, that by taking the house we should be turning her into the street, but that she would bear this indignity in consideration of receiving ten guineas a week.

Palestrina went to see it, and returned in the evening, almost in tears, to say that the house was a semi-detached villa, and that she had found the week's washing spread out on the front lawn.

Thomas said that the railway companies ought to pay a percentage on all misleading advertis.e.m.e.nts which induce people to make these useless journeys.

The following day they returned from another fruitless expedition, having been to see a very small house owned by the widow of a sea-captain, with a strong Scottish accent. I have often noticed that the seafaring man's one idea of well-invested capital is house property--perhaps he alone knows how precarious is the life of the sea.

And I shall like to meet the sailor who has invested his money in a shipping concern. The widow's house was so very small that it was almost impossible to believe that it contained the ten bedrooms as advertised in my sister's well-worn house-list. So small indeed were the rooms, that Palestrina said she felt sure that they must have been originally intended for cupboards. Nevertheless, the rent of the house was very high, and my sister ventured gently to hint this to the lady of the house--the sea-captain's widow with the strong Scottish accent.

"Of course, it is a very nice house," she said politely; "but the rent is a little more than we thought of paying for a house of this size."

"I ken it's mair than the hoose is worth," said the old dame; "but, ye see, I'm that fond o' money--aye, I'm fearfu' fond o' money."

Palestrina and Thomas spent most of their days in their search for a suitable house, and Mrs. Macdonald spends the greater part of her life house-keeping, so I was rather bored. What it actually is that occupies my hostess during the hours she spends in the back regions of her house I have never been able to discover. But the fact remains that we have to get up unusually early in the morning to allow time for Mrs. Macdonald's absorbing occupation. An old-fashioned Scotswoman of my acquaintance used to refuse all invitations to leave the house on Thursdays, because, as she explained, "I keep Thursdays for my creestal and my napery." The rest of her week, however, was comparatively free.

At Mrs. Macdonald's, housekeeping is never over. And so systematic are the rules and regulations of the house, so many and so various are the lady's keys, that one finds one's self wondering if the rules of a prison or a workhouse can be more strict. The _Times_ newspaper arrives every evening after dinner; by lunch-time next day it is locked away in a cabinet, so that if one has not read the news by two o'clock, one must ask Mrs. Macdonald for the keys; this she does quite good-naturedly, but I have never discovered why old newspapers should be kept with so much care. On Sat.u.r.days an old man from the village comes in to do a little extra tidying-up in the garden. At nine o'clock precisely, Mrs. Macdonald is on the doorstep of her house, with a cup of tea in her hand, and a brisk, kindly greeting for John, and she stands over the old man while he drinks his tea, and then returns with the empty cup to the house.

Tuesday is the day on which her drawing-room is cleaned. At half-past nine precisely on Monday evenings Mrs. Macdonald says, "Monday, you know, is our early-closing night;" and she fetches you a candle and dispatches you to bed. Mrs. Macdonald and her housemaid--there seem to be plenty of servants to do the work of the house--walk the whole of the drawing-room furniture into the hall, Mrs. Macdonald loops up the curtains herself, and covers some appalling pictures and the mantelpiece ornaments with dust-sheets. At ten o'clock she removes a pair of housemaid's gloves, and an ap.r.o.n which she has donned for the occasion, and says, "There! that's all ready for Tuesday's cleaning;"

and she briskly bids her housemaid good-night.

On Tuesdays we are not allowed to enter the drawing-room all day, and on Wednesdays the same restrictions are placed upon the dining-room.

Indeed, on no day in the week is the whole of the house available, and upon no morning of the week has Mrs. Macdonald a spare moment to herself. After breakfast, when Palestrina and Thomas have gone, she conducts me to the morning-room, and placing the _Scotsman_ (the _Scotsman_ is used for lighting the fires, and is formally handed to the housemaid at six o'clock in the evening) by my chair, she says, "I hope you will be all right," and shuts the door upon me. During the morning she pops her head in from time to time, like an attentive guard who has been told to look after a lady on a journey, and nodding briskly from the door, she asks, "Are you all right? Sure you would not like milk or anything?" and then disappears again. With a little stretch of imagination one can almost believe that the green flag has been raised to the engine-driver, and that the train is moving off. At lunch-time she is so busy giving directions to her servants that she hardly ever hears what one says, and the most interesting piece of news is met with the somewhat irrelevant reply, "The bread-sauce, please, Jane, and then the cauliflower." Turning to one, she explains, "I always train my servants myself.... What were you saying just now?"