The Eldest Son Part 7

Cicely scouted the idea. "Men are always in such a hurry," she said.

"d.i.c.k, you ought to marry and have babies of your own."

"Ah, well! perhaps I shall some day," said d.i.c.k. "Now I must be pushing on, and you oughtn't to keep the horses waiting, Sis.

Good-bye, little chap."

"Aren't you coming back to Kencote?" Cicely asked.

"Not just yet. Going to hack a few more miles. I haven't been on a horse for three weeks."

So Cicely got into her carriage and d.i.c.k's horse was brought round, and they went off in different directions.

Cicely picked up her mother-in-law at her house just outside the park.

Mrs. Graham was waiting for her at her garden gate, in company with a deerhound, a spaniel, and an Irish terrier. She had on a coat and skirt of thick tweed, and a cloth hat with a c.o.c.k's feather.

"I suppose there won't be a tea-party," she said, as she got into the carriage. "I did intend to put on smart clothes, but I found I couldn't be bothered when the time came. They must take me in my rags or not at all. _You_ look smart enough, my girl."

"If I had your figure," said Cicely, "I should never want to wear anything but country clothes."

"Ah! now that's very nice of you," said Mrs. Graham. "I do wear well for fifty-three, and I'm not going to deny it. My face is a bit battered, of course. I must expect that, riding and tramping about in all weathers. But I'm as fit as if I were thirty years younger, and I don't know what more you can ask of life--unless it's to have your own people round you instead of a pack of molly-coddles."

Cicely laughed. Jim Graham had let Mountfield for two years after their marriage to a rich and childless couple, who spent most of their time in working at embroidery, and motoring about the country in a closed-in car, for neither of which pursuits Mrs. Graham had found it in her heart to forgive them.

"Well, _they're_ gone," she said. "And thank goodness for it. I should have let the Lodge and gone away myself if they had stayed here any longer. c.u.mberers of the ground, I call them, and what they wanted with a country house beats me. But you never know who you're going to get for neighbours nowadays. By the by, have you heard that old Parson Marsh has let Blaythorn Rectory for the hunting season?"

Blaythorn was about three miles from Mountfield, on the opposite side to Kencote. Cicely had not heard this piece of news.

"Yes," said Mrs. Graham, "and to a lady of t.i.tle, my dear--Lady George Dubec--no less. I haven't the ghost of an idea who she is. But no doubt your father will know. He is a regular walking peerage--knows who everybody is and whom everybody has married to the third and fourth generation. What accommodation poor old Parson Marsh has for hunters I don't know. I should think the lady must have been done in the eye.

And as for the house--the last time I was in it it smelt so of dogs and tobacco-smoke that even I couldn't put up with it, and Lord knows I'm not particular."

"Where is Mr. Marsh going to live?" asked Cicely.

"Oh, I believe he has sacked his curate on the strength of it, and has taken his rooms. I don't know why he should have wanted a curate at all, except that he's so bone-idle, and I'm sure he can't afford one.

He owes Joynes the butcher over forty pounds. But, good gracious, Cicely, don't encourage me to gossip. I'm getting a regular old hag.

It's the influence of your late tenants, my dear. They _loved_ village t.i.ttle-tattle, and I had to join in with it whenever we met, because there was nothing else in the wide world I could talk to them about.

The worst of it is I was acquiring quite a taste for scandal. But I've turned over a new leaf. So has old Marsh I suppose, and is going to pay up all his debts. I wish him well over his difficulties."

With such sprightly talk did Mrs. Graham pa.s.s away the time till they reached Kencote, when she began all over again with Mrs. Clinton as audience. Cicely had gone upstairs to see the twins and Miss Bird, and Mrs. Graham asked point-blank that Mr. Clinton might be informed of her arrival. "I have lots to tell him," she said, "and I want to ask him some questions besides."

Mrs. Clinton rang the bell, without saying anything, and a footman was sent with a message to the Squire, who presently came in, bluff and hearty, but walking with a slight list.

"Ah, Mrs. Graham!" he said as he shook hands. "Come to cheer us up with a little gossip--what? But where are the grandchildren?"

"Dear me! I forgot to ask," said Mrs. Graham. "I suppose it is too cold for them. But I've brought the dogs, Mr. Clinton."

"Oh, the dogs!" said the Squire, with his loud laugh. "No dogs in _this_ house."

"I know," said Mrs. Graham. "And it's such a mistake. Kencote is the only country house I know where there isn't a dog indoors. I never feel that it's properly inhabited."

"It was swarming with them in my grandfather's time," said the Squire, "and I dare say would be now if that mongrel hadn't gone for d.i.c.k when he was a little fellow. Always kept 'em outside since. Outside is the place for a dog."

"I don't agree with you," said Mrs. Graham. "And it isn't like a sportsman to say so. However, we needn't quarrel about that. Who is Lady George Dubec, Mr. Clinton?"

"Lady George Dubec?" repeated the Squire. "I suppose she's the wife--or the widow rather--of George Dubec, the Duke of Queenstown's brother, and a pretty good rascal _he_ was. Got killed in a railway accident in America two or three years ago, and it was the best thing that could have happened to him. Wish they'd kill off a few more like him. I didn't know he was married. Why do you ask?"

"She has taken Blaythorn Rectory to hunt from. She came down yesterday or the day before."

"Blaythorn Rectory! To hunt from!'" exclaimed the Squire. "Well, that's the most extraordinary thing! Are there any stables there? I never heard of Marsh keeping anything but an old pony, and the whole place must be in the depths of dilapidation."

"Well, I don't know. But there she is. And you don't know _who_ she is. I thought you knew who everybody was, Mr. Clinton."

"Wait a minute," said the Squire, and he went over to a table where there were books of reference. "No, there's no marriage here," he said, turning over the pages of one of them, "except his first marriage thirty years ago. Poor Lady Bertha Grange that was, and he drove her into her grave within five years. The fellow was a brute and a blackleg. I was at school with him, and he was sacked. And I was at Cambridge with him and he was sent down, for some disgraceful business, I forget what. Then he was in the Guards, and had to clear out of the service within a year for some precious shady racing transaction. The fellow had every possible chance, and he _couldn't_ run straight. He went abroad after that, but used to turn up occasionally. n.o.body would have anything to do with him. I believe he settled down in America, if he could ever be said to settle down anywhere. I know he was in some scandalous divorce case. One used to hear his name come up occasionally, and always in an unsavoury sort of way. He was a wrong 'un, through and through, but a good-looking blackguard in his young days, and women used to stick up for him."

"Well, he seems to be better out of the world than in it," said Mrs.

Graham. "But what about his widow? You say she isn't down there."

"No, but this book is out of date. I've got a later one in my room.

I'll send for it."

The new book gave the information required. Lord George Dubec had married five years before Miss Virginia Vanreden, of Philadelphia.

"Oh, an American!" said Mrs. Graham. "Well, I suppose I must go and call on her. Even if I don't like her I shall be doing my duty to my neighbours in providing them with gossip. Not that I like gossip--I detest it. Still, one must find _some_thing to talk about. Shall you call on her, Mrs. Clinton?"

The Squire answered. "Oh, I think not," he said. "I don't like hunting--er! hum! ha!"

"You don't like hunting women," said Mrs. Graham imperturbably. "I know you don't, Mr. Clinton. That's another point between us. But we're very good friends all the same."

"Oh, of course, of course," said the Squire. "Nearly put my foot in it that time, Mrs. Graham, eh? Ha! ha! Well, with such old friends one can afford to make a mistake or two. No, I think we'll leave Lady George Dubec alone. She won't be here long, and I've no wish to be mixed up with anybody belonging to George Dubec--alive or dead. I had the utmost contempt for the fellow. Besides, I don't like Americans, and any woman who would have married him after the life he'd led ...

well, she may be all right, but I don't want to know her--that's all.

I _should_ like to know, though, how she got hold of Blaythorn Rectory, of all places, or why she has come to Meadshire to hunt. The country pleases _us_ all right, and we're quite content with our sport, but we're not generally honoured by strangers in that way."

"I dare say I can find out all about it," said Mrs. Graham. "And when I do I'll let you know."

Cicely was sitting on the great roomy shabby sofa in the schoolroom, with a twin on either side of her, and Miss Bird upright in the corner, alternately tatting feverishly a pattern of lace thread and dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. For the subject of conversation was her approaching departure, and, as she said, with all the kindness that had been showered on her and the affection that she felt she never would lose, it was no use pretending that she was glad she was going away, for she was not, but, on the contrary, very sorry.

"Nancy and I are going to write to her once a week regularly," said Joan. "We did think of writing every day at first, but we probably shouldn't keep it up."

"The spirit is willing, but the flesh might be weak," said Nancy. "And there's no sense in overdoing things. Anyhow, we have promised that we will never love Miss Prim half as much as we love our darling Starling, and she is pleased at that, aren't you, Starling darling?"

"Of course I am pleased to be loved," replied Miss Bird; "but indeed, Nancy, I should not like you to set yourself against your new governess on my account; it is not necessary and you can love one person without visiting it on another and I do not like you to call her Miss Prim."

"She is sure to be," said Nancy elliptically. "We must call her something, and that's as good a name as any till we see what she is like."

"If you don't treat her respectfully she won't stay," said Cicely.

"We haven't treated Starling respectfully, but _she_ has stayed all right," said Joan. "I suppose you know we are going to have lessons besides, Sis--drawing, and music, and deportment, and all sorts of things."

"Oh, we're going to be well finished off while we're about it," said Nancy. "We shall be ready to fill _any_ position, from the highest to the lowest."