Out in the Forty-Five Part 8

"She is not true," he said. "She rings like false metal. Those who trust in her professions will find the earth open and let them in. And I should not like you to be one, Cary."

"Thank you, Ephraim," said I. "I think there is no fear."

"Your Cousin Amelia is foolish," he went on, "but I do not think she is false. She will grow out of most of her nonsense. But Cecilia Osborne never will. It is ingrain. She is an older woman at this moment than Mrs Kezia."

"Older than my Aunt Kezia!" I am afraid I stared.

"I do not mean by the parish register, Cary," said Ephraim, with a smile. "But she is old in Satan's ways and wiles, in the hard artificial fashions of the world, in everything which, if I had a sister, I should pray G.o.d she might never know anything about. Such women are dangerous. I speak seriously, Caroline."

I thought it had come to a serious pa.s.s, when Ephraim called me Caroline.

"It is not altogether a bad thing to know people for what they are," he continued. "It may hurt you at the time to have the veil taken off; and that veil, whether by the people themselves or by somebody else, is often pulled off very roughly. But it is better than to have it on, Cary, or to see the ugly thing through beautiful coloured gla.s.s, which makes it look all kinds of lovely hues that it is not. The plain white gla.s.s is the best. When you do come to something beautiful, then, you see how beautiful it is." Then, changing his tone, he went on,--"Esther Langridge sent you her love, Cary, and told me to say she was coming up here this afternoon."

I did not quite wish that Esther would keep away, and yet I came very near doing it. She is not a beautiful thing--I mean in her ways and manners. She speaks more broadly than Sophy, and much worse than the rest of us, and she eats her peas with a knife, which Grandmamma used to say was the sure sign of a vulgar creature. Esther is as kind-hearted a girl as breathes; but--oh dear, what will Cecilia say to her! I felt quite uncomfortable.

And yet, why should I care what Cecilia says? She has shown me plainly enough that she does not care for me. But somehow, she seemed so above us with those dainty ways, and that soft southern accent, and all she knew about etiquette and the mode, and the stories she was constantly telling about great people. Sir George Blank had said such a fine thing to her when she was at my Lady Dash's a.s.sembly; and my Lady Camilla Such-an-one was her dearest friend; and the Honourable Annabella This carried her to drive, and my Lord Herbert That held her cloak at the opera. It was so grand to hear her!

Somehow, Cecilia never said things of that kind when my Aunt Kezia was in the room, and I noted that her grand stories were always much tamer in Flora's or Sophy's presence. She did not seem to care about Hatty much either way. But when there were only Amelia, f.a.n.n.y, Charlotte and me, then, I could not help seeing, she laid the gilt on much thicker.

Charlotte used to sit and stare, and then laugh in a way that I thought very rude; but Cecilia did not appear to mind it. When Father came into the parlour, she did so change. Oh, then she was so sweet and amiable!--so delicately attentive!--so anxious that he should be made comfortable, and have everything just as he liked it! I did think, considering that he had four daughters, she might have left that to us.

To Ephraim Hebblethwaite she was very attentive and charming, too, but in quite a different way. But she wasted no attention at all on Mr Parmenter, except for those side-glances now and then out of the tawny eyes, which seemed to say that they perfectly understood one another, and that no explanations of any sort were necessary between them.

I cannot make out what Mr Parmenter does for his living. He is not a man of property, for the Vicar told Father that his nephew, Mr Parmenter's father, left nothing at all for his children. Yet Mr Anthony never seems to do anything but look through his eyegla.s.s, and twirl his mustachios, and talk. I asked Amelia if she knew, for one of the Miss Parmenters, who is married now, lives not far from Bracewell Hall. Amelia, however, applied to Cecilia, saying she would be more likely to know.

"Oh, he does nothing," said Cecilia; "he is a beau."

"Now what does that mean?" put in Hatty.

"I'll tell you what it means," said Charlotte. "Emily, you be quiet.

It means that his income is twenty pence a year, and he spends two thousand pounds; that he is always dressed to perfection, that he is ready to make love to anybody at two minutes' notice--that is, if her fortune is worth it; that he is never at home in an evening, nor out of bed before noon; that he spends four hours a day in dressing, and would rather ten times lose his wife (when he has one) than break his clouded cane, or damage his gold snuff-box. Isn't that it, Cicely?"

"You are so absurd!" said Amelia, languidly.

"I told you to keep quiet," was Charlotte's answer. "Never mind whether it is absurd; is it true?"

"Well, partly."

"But I don't understand," I said. "How can a man spend two thousand pounds, if he have but twenty pence?"

"Know, ignorant creature," replied Charlotte, with mock solemnity, "that lansquenet can be played, and that tradesmen's bills can be put behind the fire."

"Then you mean, I suppose, that he games, and does not pay his debts?"

"That is about the etiquette, [Note 1.] my charmer."

"Well, I don't know what you call that down in the South," said I, "but up here in c.u.mberland we do not call it honesty."

"The South! Oh, hear the child!" screamed Charlotte. "She thinks Derbyshire is in the South!"

"They teach the children so, my dear, in the Carlisle schools,"

suggested Hatty.

"I don't know what they teach in the Carlisle schools," I said, "for I did not go there. But if Derbyshire be not south of c.u.mberland, I haven't learned much geography."

"Oh dear, how you girls do chatter!" cried Sophy, coming up to us. "I wish one or two of you would think a little more about what wants doing.

Cary, you might have made the turnovers for supper. I am sure I have enough on my hands."

"But, Sophy, I do not know how," said I.

"Then you ought, by this time," she answered. "Do not know how to make an apple turnover! Why, it is as easy as shutting your eyes."

"When you know how to do it," put in Hatty.

"That is more than you do," returned Sophy, "for you are safe to leave something out."

Hatty made her a low courtesy, and danced away, humming, "Cease your funning," just as we heard the sound of horses' feet on the drive outside. There were all sorts of guesses as to who was coming, and none of them the right one, for when the door opened at last, in walked Angus Drummond and Mr Keith.

"Well, you did not expect us, I suppose?" said Angus.

"Certainly not to-night," was Sophy's answer.

"We finished our business sooner than we expected, and now we are ready to begin our holiday," said he.

Father came in then, and there was a great deal of kissing and hand-shaking all round; but my Aunt Kezia and Flora were not in the room. They came in together, nearly half an hour later; but I think I never saw such a change in any girl's face as in Flora's, when she saw what had happened. She must be very fond of Angus, I am sure. Her cheeks grew quite rosy--she is generally pale--and her eyes were like stars. I did not think Angus seemed nearly so glad to see her.

Essie Langridge was very quiet all the evening; I fancy she was rather frightened of Cecilia. She said very little.

Father had a long day's hunting yesterday, and Angus Drummond went with him. Mr Keith would not go, though Father laughed about it, and asked if he were afraid of the hares eating him up. Neither would he go to the hunt-supper, afterwards. There were fourteen gentlemen at it, and a pretty racket they made. My Aunt Kezia does not like these hunt-suppers a bit; she would be glad if they were anywhere else than here; but Father being the squire, of course they cannot be. She always packs us girls out of the way, and will not allow us to show our heads. So we sat up-stairs, in Sophy's chamber, which is the largest and most out of the way; and we had some good fun, first in finding seats, for there were only two chairs in the room, and then in playing hunt the slipper and all sorts of games. I am afraid we got rather too noisy at last, for my Aunt Kezia looked in with,--

"Girls, are you daft? I protest you make nigh as much racket as the gentlemen themselves!"

What Mr Keith did with himself I do not know. I think he went off for a walk somewhere. I know he tried to persuade Angus to go with him, but Angus said he wanted his share of the fun. I heard Mr Keith say, in a low voice,--

"What would your father say, Angus?"

"Oh, my father's a minister, and they are bound to be particular," said Angus, carelessly. "I can't pretend to make such a fash as he would."

I did not hear what Mr Keith answered, but I believe he went on talking about it. When I got up-stairs with the rest, however, I missed Flora; and going to our room to look for her, I found her crying. I never saw Flora weep before.

"Why, Flora!" said I, "what is the matter with you?"

"Nothing with me, Cary," she said, "but a great deal with Angus."

"You do not like his being at the supper?" I said. I hardly knew what to say, and I felt afraid of saying either too much or too little. It seems so difficult to talk without hurting people.

"Not only that," she said. "I do not like the way he is going on altogether. I know my father would be in a sad way if he knew it."

I told Flora what I had heard Angus say to Mr Keith.

"Ah!" she said, with another sob, "Angus would not have said that three months ago. I was sure it must have been going on for some time. He has been in bad company, I feel certain. And Angus always was one to take the colour of his company, just as a gla.s.s takes the colour of anything you pour in. What can I do? Oh, what can I do? If he will not listen to Duncan--"