Out in the Forty-Five Part 42

"If it can, it will be done," he made answer.

He said no more, but from his manner I could not but fancy that somebody was trying to do something.

I never had two letters at once, by the same post, in my life: but this morning two came--one from Flora, and one from my Aunt Kezia. Flora's is not long: it says that she and Annas have reached the Isle of Wight in safety, and were but three hours a-crossing from Portsmouth; and she begs me, if I can obtain it, to send her some news of Angus. My Lady De Lannoy was extreme kind to them both, and Flora says she is very comfortable, and would be quite happy but for her anxiety about my Uncle Drummond and Angus. My Uncle Drummond has not writ once, and she is very fearful lest some ill have befallen him.

My Aunt Kezia's letter is long, and full of good counsel, which I am glad to have, for I do find the world a worse place than I thought it, and yet not in the way I expected. She warns me to have a care lest my tongue get me into trouble; and that is one of the dangers I find, and did not look for. Father is well, and all other friends: and I am not to be surprised if I should hear of Sophy's marriage. f.a.n.n.y gets on very well, and makes a better housekeeper than my Aunt Kezia expected.

But I have spent much thought over the last pa.s.sage of her letter, and I do not like it at all:--

"Is Hatty yet in Charles Street? We have had but one letter from the child in all this time, and that was short and told nothing. I hope you see her often, and can give us some tidings. Squire Bracewell writ to your father a fortnight gone that he was weary of dwelling alone, and as the Prince's army is in retreat, he thinks it now safe to have the girls home. If this be so, we shall soon have Hatty here. I have writ to her, by your father's wish, that she is not to tarry behind."

I cried aloud when I came to this: "The Prince in retreat from Derby!

Uncle Charles, do you know anything of it? Sure, it can never be true!"

"Nonsense!" he made answer. "Some silly rumour, no doubt."

"But my Uncle Bracewell writ it to my Aunt Kezia, and he dwells within fifteen miles," I said.

My Uncle Charles looked much disturbed.

"I must go forth and see about this," answered he.

"With your catarrh, Mr Desborough!" cried my Aunt Dorothea.

For above a week my Uncle Charles has not ventured from the door, having a bad catarrh.

"My catarrh must take care of itself," he made answer. "This is serious news. Dobson, have you heard aught about the Prince being in retreat?"

Dobson, who was setting down the chocolate-pot, looked up and smiled.

"Yes, Sir, we heard that yesterday."

"You idiot! why did you not tell me?" cried my Uncle Charles. "In retreat! I cannot believe it."

"Run to the coffee-house, Dobson," said Grandmamma, "and ask what news they have this morning."

So Dobson went off, and has not yet returned. My Aunt Dorothea laughs all to scorn, but my Uncle Charles is uneasy, and I am sure Grandmamma believes the report. It is dreadful if it is true. Are we to sit down under another thirty years of foreign oppression?

Before Dobson could get back, Mrs Newton came in her chair. She is a very stout old lady, and she puffed and panted as she came up the stairs, leaning on her black footman, with her little Dutch pug after, which is as fat as its mistress, and it panted and puffed too. Her two daughters came in behind her.

"Oh, my dear--Mrs Desborough! My--dear creature! This is--the horridest news! We must--go back to our--red ribbons and--black c.o.c.kades! Could I ever have--thought it! Aren't you--perfectly miserable? Dear, dear me!"

"Ma is miserable because red does not suit her," said Miss Marianne. "I can wear it quite well, so I don't need to be."

"Marianne!" said her sister, laughing.

"Well, you know, Theresa, you don't care two pins whether the Prince wins or loses. Who does?"

"The Prince and my Lord Tullibardine," said Miss Newton.

"Oh, of course, those who looked to the Prince to make their fortunes are disappointed enough. I don't."

"I rather thought Mr Crossland did," said Miss Newton, with a mischievous air.

"Well, I hope there are other people in the world beside Mr Crossland,"

said Miss Marianne.

"All right, my dear," replied her sister. "If you don't care, I am sure I need not. I am not in love with Mr Crossland--not by any means. I never did admire the way in which his nose droops over his mouth. He has fine teeth--that is a redeeming point."

"Is it? I don't want him to bite me," observed Miss Marianne.

Miss Newton went off into a little (subdued) burst of silvery laughter, and I sat astonished. Was this the sort of thing which girls called love?--and was this the way in which fashionable women spoke of the men whom they had pledged themselves to marry? I am sure I like Mr Crossland little enough; but I felt almost sorry for him as I listened to the girl who professed to love him.

Meanwhile, Grandmamma and Mrs Newton were lamenting over the news--as I supposed: but when I began to listen, I found all that was over and done with. First, the merits of Puck, the fat pug, were being discussed, and then the wretchedness of being unable to buy or wear French cambrics, and the whole history of Mrs Newton's last cambric gown: they washed it, and mended it, and ripped it, and made it up again. And then Grandmamma's brocaded silk came on, and how much worse it wore than the last: and when I was just wondering how many more gowns would have to be taken to pieces, Mrs Newton rose to go.

"Really, Mrs Desborough, I ought to make my apologies for coming so early. But this sad news, you know,--the poor Prince! I could not bear another minute. I knew you would feel it so much. I felt as if I must come. Now, my dear girls."

"Ma, you haven't asked Mrs Desborough what you came for," said Miss Marianne.

"What I--Oh!" and Mrs Newton turned back. "This absurd child! Would you believe it, she gave me no peace till I had asked if you would be so good as to allow your cook to give mine her receipt for Paradise pudding. Marianne dotes on your Paradise puddings. Do you mind? I should be so infinitely obliged to you."

"Dear, no!" said Grandmamma, taking a pinch of snuff, just as Dobson tapped at the door. "Dobson, run down and tell Cook to send somebody over to Mrs Newton's with her receipt for Paradise pudding. Be sure it is not forgotten."

"Yes, Madam," said Dobson. "If you please, Madam, the army is a-going back; all the coffee-houses have the news this morning."

"Dear, it must be true, then," said Grandmamma, taking another pinch.

"What a pity!--Be sure you do not forget the Paradise pudding."

"Yes, Madam. They say, Madam, the Prince was nigh heart-broke that he couldn't come on."

"Ah, I dare say. Poor young gentleman!" said Mrs Newton. "Dear Mrs Desborough, do excuse me, but where did you meet with that lovely crewel fringe on your curtains? It is so exactly what I wanted and could not get anywhere."

"I got it at Cooper and Smithson's--Holborn Bars, you know," said Grandmamma. "This is sad news, indeed. But your curtains, my dear, have an extreme pretty tr.i.m.m.i.n.g."

"Oh, tolerable," said Mrs Newton, gathering up her hoop.

Away they went, with another lament over the Prince and the news; and I sat wondering whether everybody in this world were as hollow as a tobacco-pipe. I do think, in London, they must be.

Then my thoughts went back to my Aunt Kezia's letter.

"Grandmamma," I said, after a few minutes' reflection, "may I have a chair this afternoon? I want to go and see Hatty."

Grandmamma nodded. She had come, I think, to an awkward place in her tatting.

"Take Caesar with you," was all she said.