Johnny Ludlow First Series Part 100

"But I don't mean that kind of greyness, Johnny; grey hairs. His _face_ looks grey."

"It was the reflection of these green leaves, good mother."

"Well--perhaps it might be," she doubtfully agreed, looking up. "What a grand fete it is to be, Johnny!"

"You'll have to put on your best bib-and-tucker, good mother. That new dress you bought for the Sterlings' christening."

"I should if I went. But the fact is, Johnny, I and Mr. Todhetley have made up our minds not to go, I fancy. We were talking together about it this morning. However--we shall see when to-morrow comes."

"I wouldn't be you, then. That will be too bad."

"These open-air fetes are not in our way, Johnny. Dancing, and archery, and fortune-telling are not much in the way of us old people. You young ones think them delightful--as we did once. Hugh! Lena! what _is_ all that noise about? You are not to take her bowl, Hugh: keep to your own.

Joseph, please part them."

Joe accomplished it by boxing the two. In the midst of the noise, Mr.

Clement-Pell came out. He did not cross the lawn again to Mrs.

Todhetley; just called out a good day in getting into his carriage, and lifted his hat as he drove away.

"I say, father, what did he want with you?" asked Tod, as the Squire came sauntering back, the skirts of his light coat held behind him.

"That's my business, Joe," said the Squire. "Mind your own."

Which was a checkmate for Tod. The truth was, Tod had been uneasily wondering whether it might not be his business. That is, whether Mr.

Clement-Pell had obtained scent of that gambling of his up in London and had come to enlighten the Squire. Tod never felt safe upon the point: which, you see, was all owing to his lively conscience.

"What a beautiful little carriage that is!" said Mrs. Todhetley to the Pater. "It puts me in mind of a sh.e.l.l."

"Ay; must have cost a pretty penny, small as it is. Pell can afford these fancy things, with his floating wealth."

In that city of seething crowds and wealth, London, where gigantic operations are the rule instead of the exception, and large fortunes are made daily, Mr. Clement-Pell would not have been thought much of; but in our simple country place, with its quiet experiences, Clement-Pell was a wonder. His riches were great. His power of making money for himself and others seemed elastic; and he was bowed down to as a reigning potentate--a king--an Olympian deity.

You have heard of him before. He had come to a neighbouring town some years back as manager of a small banking company, having given up, it was understood, a good law practice in London to undertake it. The small banking grew and grew under his management. Some of its superfluous h.o.a.rds were profitably employed: to construct railroads; to work mines; to found colonies. All sorts of paying concerns were said to have some of Clement-Pell's money in them, and to bring him in cent. per cent. It was believed that if all the wealth of the East India Company and the Bank of England to boot had been poured into the hands of Clement-Pell, it could not have been more than he would be able to use to profit, so great were the resources at his command. People fought with one another to get their money accepted by Mr. Clement-Pell. No wonder. The funds gave them a paltry three per cent. for it; Mr. Clement-Pell doubled the amount. So the funds lost the money, and Mr. Clement-Pell gained it. He was worshipped as the greatest benefactor that had ever honoured the country by settling down in it.

I think his manner went for something. It was so pleasant. The world itself might have loved Mr. Clement-Pell. Deputations asked for his portrait to hang up in public buildings; individuals besought his photograph. Mrs. Clement-Pell was less liked: she was extravagant and haughty. It was said she was of very high family indeed, and she could not have looked down upon common people with more scorn had she been born a d.u.c.h.ess. I'm sure no d.u.c.h.ess ever gave herself the airs that Mrs.

Clement-Pell did, or wore such fine bonnets.

When Mr. Clement-Pell opened a little branch Bank at Church d.y.k.ely (as he had already done at two or three other small places), the parish at once ascended a few feet into the air. As Church d.y.k.ely in its humility had never possessed a Bank before, it was naturally something to be proud of. The Bank was a little house near to Duffham's, the doctor, with a door and one window; no larger premises being obtainable. The natives collected round to gaze, and marvel at the great doings destined to be enacted behind that wire blind: and Mr. Clement-Pell was followed by a tail of admiring rustics whenever he stepped abroad.

Church d.y.k.ely only had its branch in what might be called the later years, dating from the beginning of the Clement-Pell dynasty, and when he had made a far and wide reputation, and was in the full tide of his prosperity. It was after its establishment that he took Parrifer Hall.

This little branch Bank was found to be a convenience to many people. It had a manager and a clerk; and Mr. Clement-Pell would condescend to be at it occasionally, chiefly on Mondays. He was popular with all cla.s.ses: county gentlemen and rich farmers asked him to dinner; the poor got from him many a kind word and handshake. Mrs. Clement-Pell dined with him at the gentlemen's tables, but she turned up her nose at the farmers, and would not go near them. In short, take them for all in all, there was no family so grand in the county, or who made so much noise as the Clement-Pells. Their income was something enormous; and of course they might launch out if they liked. It had grown to be a saying amongst us, "As rich as the Clement-Pells."

Mrs. Todhetley had said she supposed the entertainment would be something like a fancy-fair. We had not had a great experience of fancy-fairs in our county; but if they were all like this, I shouldn't mind going to one twice a week. The sky was unclouded, the wind still, the leaves of the trees scarcely stirred. On the lawn the sun blazed hot and brilliant: but the groves were cool and shady. Since the place came into Mr. Clement-Pell's occupancy, he had taken-in part of a field, and made the grounds more extensive. At least, Mrs. Clement-Pell had done so, which came to the same: spending money went for nothing with her.

And why should it, when they had so much? If you climbed to the top of an artificial rockery you could see over the high hedge. I did so: and took a look at the chimneys of George Reed's cottage. You've not forgotten him; and his trouble with Major Parrifer. But for that trouble, the Clement-Pells might never have had the chance of occupying Parrifer Hall.

It was as good as fairy-land. Flags hung about; banners waved; statues had decked themselves in garlands. The lawns and the walks were alive with company, the ladies sported gala dresses all the colours of the rainbow. Dancing, shooting, flirting, talking, walking, sitting; we were as gay as birds of paradise. There was a tent for the band, and another for refreshments, and no end of little marquees, dotted about, for anything. One was a post-office; where love-letters might be had for the asking. When I look back on that day now through the mist of years, it stands out as the gayest and sunniest left to memory. As to refreshment--you may think of anything you like and know it was there.

There was no regular meal at all throughout the afternoon and evening; but you could begin eating and drinking when you went in if you chose, and never leave off till you left. The refreshment tent communicated with one of the doors of the house, through which fresh supplies came as they were wanted. All was cold. Besides this, there was a tea and coffee marquee, where the kettles were kept always on the boil. No one could say the Clement-Pells spared pains or expense to entertain their guests right royally.

Tod and I strolled about, to take in the whole scene. The Clement-Pell carriages (the big barouche and the small affair that Mrs. Todhetley had called a sh.e.l.l) came dashing up at intervals, graciously despatched to bring relays of guests who did not keep carriages of their own. Mrs.

Clement-Pell stood on the lawn to receive them; the Miss Clement-Pells with her. If I were able to describe their attire I would do so; it beat anything for gorgeousness I had ever seen. Glistening silk skirts under robes of beautiful lace; fans in their hands and gossamer veils in their hair.

"I say, Tod, here they come!"

A sober carriage was driving slowly in. We knew it well: and its steady old horses and servants too. It was Sir John Whitney's. Rushing round a side path, we were up with it when it stopped. Bill Whitney and his two sisters came tumbling out of it.

"It's going on to your house now, with the trunk," said Helen, to us.

"William has been most awfully tiresome: he would put his every-day boots and coat in our box, instead of bringing a portmanteau for himself."

"As if a fellow wanted a portmanteau for just one night!" exclaimed Bill. "What you girls can have in that big trunk, amazes me. I should say you are bringing your bed and pillows in it."

"It has only our dresses for to-morrow morning in it, and all that,"

retorted Helen, who liked to keep Bill in order and to domineer over him. "The idea of having to put in great clumsy boots with _them_, and a rough coat smelling of smoke!"

"This is to be left here, I think, Miss Helen," said the footman, displaying a small black leather bag.

"Why, yes; it contains our combs and brushes," returned Helen, taking it and giving it to one of the Clement-Pell servants, together with two cloaks for the evening.

Tod went up to the postillion. "Look here, Pinner: the Squire says you had better stop at the Manor to rest the horses. You will find the groom there, I dare say."

"Thank you, sir," said Pinner. "They'll be a bit done up if we goes straight off back."

The girls and Bill went up to the Clement-Pell group, and were made much of. It was the first time they had visited the Pells, and their coming was regarded as a special honour. Sir John and Lady Whitney had declined: and it was arranged that Bill and his sisters should sleep at our house, and the carriage come for them the next day.

Escaping from the Pells, we all sat down on a bench. Helen Whitney began whispering about the Miss Pells' dresses.

"I never saw such beauties," she exclaimed. "I wonder what they cost?"

"Millions, I should say," cried Bill.

"These are plain ugly old things beside them," grumbled Helen.

She meant her own dress and Anna's. They wore white spotted muslins, and blue ribbons. One of those gorgeous robes was worth fifty times as much: but I know which set of girls looked the most lady-like.

"They are very beautiful," sighed Helen, with a spice of envy. "But too much for an affair like this."

"Not for them," said Bill stoutly. "The Clement-Pells could afford robes of diamonds if they liked. I'm not sure but I shall go in for one of the girls."

"Don't talk nonsense," reproved Helen.

We went into the fortune-telling tent. It was full of people, screaming and laughing. A real gipsy with a swarthy skin and black flowing locks was telling fortunes. Helen had hers told when she could make a place, and was promised a lord for a husband, and five-and-thirty grandchildren. At which the tent roared again, and Helen laughed too.

"And now it is your turn, my pretty little maid," said the sibyl to Anna Whitney. And Anna, always modest and gentle, turned as red as a rose, and said she already knew as much of her own fortune as she desired to know at present.

"What's in _this_ hand?" cried the gipsy, suddenly seizing upon Tod's big one, and devouring its lines with her eyes. "Nay, master; don't draw it away, for there's matter here, and to spare. You are not afraid, are you?"

"Not of you, my gipsy queen," gallantly answered Tod, resigning his palm to her. "Pray let my fate be as good as you can."