Scenes and Characters, or, Eighteen Months at Beechcroft Part 27

'Very likely; but I don't care for the Hetherington folks; they do not know how to make the holly in the church fit to be seen, and they will not sing the good old Christmas carols. Andrew Grey is worth all the Hetherington choir put together.'

'Possibly; but how are they to mend, if their Marquis contents himself with despising them?' said Claude.

'That is too bad, Claude. When you heard how submissively I listened to the Baron, and know I mean to abide by what he said, you ought to condole with me a little, if you have not the grace to lament my absence on your own account. Why, I thought myself as regular a part of the feast as the mince-pies, and almost as necessary.'

Here a request for some music put an end to his lamentations. Lilias was vexed by the uncertainty about the ball, and was, besides, too tired to play with spirit. She saw that Emily was annoyed, and she felt ready to cry before the evening was over; but still she was proud of her exploit, and when, after the party was gone, Emily began to represent to her the estimate that her aunt was likely to form of her character, she replied, 'If she thinks the worse of me for carrying the broth to those poor old people, I am sure I do not wish for her good opinion.'

Mr. Mohun was not propitious when the question of Lily's going to the ball was pressed upon him. He said that he thought her too young for gaieties, and, besides, that late hours never agreed with her, and he advised her to wait for the 30th of July.

Lilias knew that it was useless to say any more. She was much disappointed, and at the same time provoked with herself for caring about such a matter. Her temper was out of order on Christmas Day; and while she wondered why she could not enjoy the festival as formerly, with thoughts fitted to the day, she did not examine herself sufficiently to find out the real cause of her uncomfortable feelings.

The clear frost was only cold; the bright sunshine did not rejoice her; the holly and the mistletoe seemed ill arranged; and none of the pleasant sights of the day could give her such blitheness as once she had known.

She was almost angry when she saw that the Westons had left off their mourning, declaring that they did not look like themselves; and her vexation came to a height when she found that Alethea actually intended to go to the ball with Mrs. Carrington. The excited manner in which she spoke of it convinced Mr. Mohun that he had acted wisely in not allowing her to go, since the very idea seemed to turn her head.

CHAPTER XV: MINOR MISFORTUNES

'Loving she is, and tractable though wild.'

In a day or two Lady Rotherwood and her daughter called at the New Court. On this occasion Lilias was employed in as rational and lady- like a manner as could be desired--in practising her music in the drawing-room; Emily was reading, and Ada threading beads.

Lady Rotherwood greeted her nieces very affectionately, gave a double caress to Adeline, stroked her pretty curls, admired her beadwork, talked to her about her doll, and then proceeded to invite the whole family to a Twelfth-Day party, given for their especial benefit. The little Carringtons and the Weston girls were also to be asked. Emily and Lilias were eagerly expressing their delight when suddenly a trampling, like a charge of horse, was heard in the hall; the door was thrown back, and in rushed Reginald and Phyllis, shouting, 'Such fun!--the pigs are in the garden!'

At the sight of their aunt they stopped short, looking aghast, and certainly those who beheld them partook of their consternation.

Reginald was hot and gloveless; his shoes far from clean; his brown curls hanging in great disorder from his Scotch cap; his handkerchief loose; his jacket dusty--but this was no great matter, since, as Emily said, he was 'only a boy.' His bright open smile, the rough, yet gentleman-like courtesy of his advance to the Marchioness, his comical roguish glance at Emily, to see if she was very angry, and to defy her if she were, and his speedy exit, all greatly amused Lady Florence, and made up for what there might have been of the wild schoolboy in his entrance.

Poor Phyllis had neither the excuse of being a schoolboy nor the good-humoured fearlessness that freed her brother from embarra.s.sment, and she stood stock-still, awkward and dismayed, not daring to advance; longing to join in the pig-chase, yet afraid to run away, her eyes stretched wide open, her hair streaming into them, her bonnet awry, her tippet powdered with seeds of hay, her gloves torn and soiled, the colour of her brown holland ap.r.o.n scarcely discernible through its various stains, her frock tucked up, her stockings covered with mud, and without shoes, which she had taken off at the door.

'Phyllis,' said Emily, 'what are you thinking of? What makes you such a figure? Come and speak to Aunt Rotherwood.'

Phyllis drew off her left-hand glove, and held out her hand, making a few sidelong steps towards her aunt, who gave her a rather reluctant kiss. Lily bent her bonnet into shape, and pulled down her frock, while Florence laughed, patted her cheek, and asked what she had been doing.

'Helping Redgie to chop turnips,' was the answer.

Afraid of some further exposure, Emily hastily sent her away to be made fit to be seen, and Lady Rotherwood went on caressing Ada and talking of something else. Emily had no opportunity of explaining that this was not Phyllis's usual condition, and she was afraid that Lady Rotherwood would never believe that it was accidental. She was much annoyed, especially as the catastrophe only served to divert Mr.

Mohun and Claude. Of all the family William and Adeline alone took her view of the case. Ada lectured Phyllis on her 'naughtiness,' and plumed herself on her aunt's evident preference, but William was not equally sympathetic. He was indeed as fastidious as Emily herself, and as much annoyed by such misadventures; but he maintained that she was to blame for them, saying that the state of things was not such as it should be, and that the exposure might be advantageous if it put her on her guard in future.

It appeared as if poor Phyllis was to be punished for the vexation which she had caused, for in the course of her adventures with Reginald she caught a cold, which threatened to prevent her from being of the party on Twelfth-Day. She had a cough, which did not give her by any means as much inconvenience as the noise it occasioned did to other people. Every morning and every evening she anxiously asked her sisters whether they thought she would be allowed to go. Another of the party seemed likely to fail. On the 5th of January Claude came down to breakfast later even than usual; but he had no occasion to make excuses, for his heavy eyes, the dark lines under them, his pale cheeks, and the very sit of his hair, were sure signs that he had a violent headache. He soon betook himself to the sofa in the drawing-room, attended by Lily, with pillows, cushions, ether, and lavender. Late in the afternoon the pain diminished a little, and he fell asleep, to the great joy of his sister, who sat watching him, scarcely daring to move.

Suddenly a frightful scream and loud crash was heard in the room above them. Claude started up, and Lily, exclaiming, 'Those tiresome children!' hurried to the room whence the noise had come.

Reginald, Phyllis, and Ada, all stood there laughing. Reginald and Phyllis had been climbing to the top of a great wardrobe, by means of a ladder of chairs and tables. While Phyllis was descending her brother had made some demonstration that startled her, and she fell with all the chairs over her, but without hurting herself.

'You naughty troublesome child,' cried Lily, in no gentle tone. 'How often have you been told to leave off such boyish tricks! And you choose the very place for disturbing poor Claude, with his bad headache, making it worse than ever.'

Phyllis tried to speak, but only succeeded in giving a dismal howl.

She went on screaming, sobbing, and roaring so loud that she could not hear Lily's attempts to quiet her. The next minute Claude appeared, looking half distracted. Reginald ran off, and as he dashed out of the room, came full against William, who caught hold of him, calling out to know what was the matter.

'Only Phyllis screaming,' said Lily. 'Oh, Claude, I am very sorry!'

'Is that all?' said Claude. 'I thought some one was half killed!'

He sank into a chair, pressing his hand on his temples, and looking very faint. William supported him, and Lily stood by, repeating, 'I am very sorry--it was all my fault--my scolding--'

'Hush,' said William, 'you have done mischief enough. Go away, children.'

Phyllis had already gone, and the next moment thrust into Lily's hand the first of the medicaments which she had found in the drawing-room.

The faintness soon went off, but Claude thought he had better not struggle against the headache any longer, but go to bed, in hopes of being better the next day. William went with him to his room, and Lilias lingered on the stairs, very humble, and very wretched.

William soon came forth again, and asked the meaning of the uproar.

'It was all my fault,' said she; 'I was vexed at Claude's being waked, and that made me speak sharply to Phyllis, and set her roaring.'

'I do not know which is the most inconsiderate of you,' said William.

'You cannot blame me more than I deserve,' said Lily. 'May I go to poor Claude?'

'I suppose so; but I do not see what good you are to do. Quiet is the only thing for him.'

Lily, however, went, and Claude gave her to understand that he liked her to stay with him. She arranged his blinds and curtains comfortably, and then sat down to watch him. William went to the drawing-room to write a letter. Just as he had sat down he heard a strange noise, a sound of sobbing, which seemed to come from the corner where the library steps stood. Looking behind them, he beheld Phyllis curled up, her head on her knees, crying bitterly.

'You there! Come out. What is the matter now?'

'I am so very sorry,' sighed she.

'Well, leave off crying.' She would willingly have obeyed, but her sobs were beyond her own control; and he went on, 'If you are sorry, there is no more to be said. I hope it will be a lesson to you another time. You are quite old enough to have more consideration for other people.'

'I am very sorry,' again said Phyllis, in a mournful note.

'Be sorry, only do not roar. You make that noise from habit, I am convinced, and you may break yourself off it if you choose.'

Phyllis crept out of the room, and in a few minutes more the door was softly opened by Emily, returning from her walk.

'I thought Claude was here. Is he gone to bed? Is his head worse?'

'Yes, the children have been doing their best to distract him.

Emily, I want to know why it is that those children are for ever in mischief and yelling in all parts of the house.'

'I wish I could help it,' said Emily, with a sigh; 'they are very troublesome.'

'There must be great mismanagement,' said her brother.

'Oh, William! Why do you think so?'

'Other children do not go on in this way, and it was not so in Eleanor's time.'