Out in the Forty-Five Part 10

When we came down the next morning, I was curious to peep into the dining-room, just to see what it was like. The wreck of a ship is the only thing I can think of, which might look like it. Half the chairs were flung over in all directions, and two broken to pieces; a quant.i.ty of broken gla.s.s was heaped both on the floor and the table; dark wine stains on the carpet, and pools upon the table, not yet dry, were sufficient signs of what the night had been. Bessy stood in the window, duster in hand, picking up the chairs, and setting them in their places.

"Didn't the gentlemen enjoy theirselves, Miss Cary?" said she. "My word, but they made a night on't! I'd like to ha' been wi' 'em, just for to see!"

I made no answer beyond nodding my head. Flora's words came back to me,--"It is well to take sin seriously." I could not laugh and jest, as I dare say I should have done but for them.

When I came into the parlour, I only found three of all the gentlemen in the house,--Father, Mr Keith, and Ambrose Catterall. I thought Father seemed rather cross, and he was finding fault with everybody for something. Sophy's hair was rough, and Hatty had put on a gown he did not like, and f.a.n.n.y's ruffle had a hole in it; and then he turned round and scolded my Aunt Kezia for not having us in better order. My Aunt Kezia said never a word, but I felt sure from her drawn brow and set lips, as she stood making tea, that she could have said a great many.

Mr Keith was silent and grave. Ambrose Catterall seemed to think it his duty to make fun for everybody, and he laughed and joked and chattered away finely. I asked where old Mr Catterall was.

"Oh, in bed with a headache," laughed Ambrose, "like everybody else this morning."

"Speak for yourself," said Mr Keith. "I have not one."

"Well, mine's going," returned Ambrose, gaily. "A cup of Mrs Kezia's capital tea will finish it off."

"Finish what off?" asked my Aunt Kezia.

"My last night's headache," said he.

"That tea must have come from Heaven, then, instead of China," replied she. "Nay, Ambrose Catterall; it will take blood to finish off the consequence of your doings last night."

"Why, Mrs Kezia, are you going to fight me?" asked he, laughing.

"Young man, why don't you fight the Devil?" answered my Aunt Kezia, looking him full in the face. "He does not pay good wages, Ambrose."

"Never saw the colour of his money yet," said Ambrose, who seemed extremely amused.

"I wish you never may," quoth my aunt. "But I sadly fear you are going the way to do it."

The more Ambrose laughed, the graver my Aunt Kezia seemed to grow.

Before we had finished breakfast, Angus came languidly into the room.

"What ails you, old comrade?" said Ambrose; and Flora's eyes looked up with the same question, but I think there were tears on the brown velvet.

"Oh, my head aches conf--I mean--abominably," said Angus, flushing.

"Take a hair of the dog that bit you," suggested Ambrose; "unless you think humble pie will agree with you better. I fancy Miss Drummond would rather help you to that last."

I saw a flash in Mr Keith's eyes, which gave me the idea that he might not be a pleasant person to meet alone in a glen at midnight, if he had no scruples as to what he did.

"You hold your tongue!" growled Angus.

"By all means, if you prefer it," said Ambrose, lightly.

One after another, the gentlemen strolled in,--all but two who stayed in bed till afternoon, and of these Mr Catterall was one. Among the last to appear was Mr Bagnall; but he looked quite fresh and gay when he came, like Ambrose.

"We had to say grace for ourselves, Mr Bagnall," said Father. "Sit down, and let me help you to some of this turkey pie."

"Thanks--if you please. What a lovely morning!" was Mr Bagnall's answer. "The young ladies look like fresh rosebuds with the dew on them."

"We have not you gentlemen to thank for it, if we do," broke in Hatty.

"Our slumbers were all the less profound for your kind a.s.sistance. Oh yes, you can look, Mr Bagnall! I mean _you_. I heard 'Sally in our Alley' about one o'clock this morning."

"No, was I singing that, now?" said Mr Bagnall, laughing. "I did not know I got quite so far. But at a hunt-supper, you know, everything is excusable."

"Would you give me a reference to the pa.s.sage which says so, Mr Bagnall?" came from behind the tea-pot. "I should like to note it in my Bible."

Mr Bagnall laughed again, but rather uncomfortably.

"My dear Mrs Kezia, you do not imagine the Bible has anything to do with a hunt-supper?"

"It is to be hoped I don't, or I should be woefully disappointed," she answered. "But I always thought, Mr Bagnall, that the Word of G.o.d and the ministers of G.o.d should have something to do with one another."

"Kezia, keep your Puritan notions to yourself!" roared Father from the other end of the table; and he put some words before it which I would rather not write. "I can't think," he went on, looking round, "wherever Kezia can have picked up such mad whims as she has. For a sister of mine to say such a thing to a clergyman--I declare it makes my hair stand on end!"

"Your hair may lie down again, Brother. I've done," said my Aunt Kezia, coolly. "As to where I got it, I should think you might know. It runs in the blood. And I suppose Deborah Hunter was your grandmother as well as mine."

Father's reply was full of the words I do not want to write, but it was not a compliment to his grandmother.

"Come, Mrs Kezia," said Mr Bagnall, "let us make it up by gla.s.ses all round, and a toast to the sweet Puritan memory of Mrs Deborah Hunter."

"No, thank you," said my Aunt Kezia. "As to Deborah Hunter, she has been a saint in Heaven these thirty years, and finely she'd like it (if she knew it) to have you drinking yourselves drunk in her honour. But let me tell you--and you can say what you like after it--she taught me that 'the chief end of man was to glorify G.o.d, and to enjoy Him for ever.' Your notion seems to be that the chief end of man is to glorify himself, and to enjoy him for ever. I think mine's the better of the two: and as to yours, the worst thing I wish any of you is that you may get mine instead of it. Now then, Brother, I've had my say, and you can have yours."

And not another word did my Aunt Kezia say, though Father stormed, and the other gentlemen laughed and joked, and paid her sarcastic compliments, all the while breakfast lasted. There were two who were silent, and those were Angus and Mr Keith. Angus seemed too poorly and unhappy to take any interest in the matter; and as to Mr Keith, I believe in his heart (if I read it right in his eyes) that he was perfectly delighted with my Aunt Kezia.

"The young ladies did not honour us by riding to the meet," said Mr Bagnall at last, looking at that one of us who sat nearest him--which, by ill luck, happened to be Flora.

"No, Sir. I do not think my aunt would have allowed it; but--" Flora stopped, and cast her eyes on her plate.

"But if she had, you would have been pleased to come?" suggested Mr Bagnall, rubbing his hands.

He spoke in that disagreeable way in which some men do speak to girls--I do not know what to call it. It is a condescending, patronising kind of manner, as if--yes, that is it!--as if they wanted to amuse themselves by hearing the opinion of something so totally incapable of forming one.

I wish they knew how the girls long to shake the nonsense out of them.

But Flora did not lose her temper, as I should have done: she held her own with a quiet dignity which I envied, but could never have imitated.

"Pardon me, Sir. I was about to say the direct contrary--that if my aunt had allowed it, I for one would rather not have gone."

"Afraid of a fall, eh?" laughed Mr Bagnall. "Well, ladies are not expected to be as venturesome as men."

Now, why do men always fancy that it is a woman's duty to do what men expect her? I cannot see it one bit.

"I was not afraid of that, Sir," said Flora.

Father, with whom Flora is a favourite, was listening with a smile. I believe Aunt Drummond was his pet sister.

"No? Why, what then?" said Mr Bagnall, shaking the pepper over his turkey pie until I wondered what sort of a throat he would have when he had finished it.

"I am afraid of hardening my heart, Sir," said Flora, in her calm decisive way.