Modern Broods; Or, Developments Unlooked For

She spoke so like the Ada of old that it went to Jane’s heart.

She promised that she would return in time to give the very substantial assistance in which all believed, and the more sentimental support in which nobody believed, though her distaste arose tenfold after seeing the bridegroom, who looked like an old satyr, all the more because Maura was like a Greek nymph.  Mrs. Henderson was much grieved, and had tried remonstrance with her sister, but found her quite impervious.

Glad were all the Merrifields to escape to the quiet atmosphere of Beechcroft, where the relations were able to congregate between the Court, the Vicarage, and the more-distant Rotherwood; and the wedding was an ideal one in ecclesiastical beauty, and the festivities of those who had known and loved Lady Merrifield as Miss Lily in early youth, grandmothers who had been her schoolchildren, and were pleased to hear that she was a grandmother herself, and hoped in a year or two to welcome her grandchildren.

Alethea and her little Somervilles she had seen en route to Canada, and Phyllis was to come in due time when Bernard Underwood could be spared from the bank in Colombo, and they would bring their little pair.

In the matter of bridesmaids Gillian certainly had the advantage, for she was amply provided with sisters and cousins, Dolores coming for a few days for the wedding; whereas the six whom Maura had provided for beforehand in Paris were only, as Miss Jane said, “scraped up” with difficulty from former schoolfellows.  Lord Roger’s nieces would not hear of being present.  Paulina was unwillingly pressed into the service, as well as the more willing Vera; but Mysie Merrifield was not to be persuaded to give up her visit to Lady Phyllis, and Aunt Jane could only carry home Valetta, who held the whole as “capital fun,” and liked the acquisition of the white silk and lace and cerise ribbons.  Dolores had negotiated that No. 6 of the Vanderkist girls should spend a year with Miss Mohun for a final polish at the High School at Rock Quay, so as to be with her brother Adrian, who was completing his term at the preparatory school before his launch at Winchester.

Wilfred also returned, father and uncle having decided that he did not merit a game licence, nor to attack the partridges of Beechcroft, and the prospect of the gaieties of Cliffe House consoled him.

Adeline had to endure her husband’s mortification at other disappointments.  The Ducal family was wholly unrepresented.  Even Emily, the connecting link, would not venture on the journey; and the clerical nephew was not sufficiently gratified by Lord Roger’s intention to se ranger to undertake to officiate; and a Bishop, who had enjoyed the hospitality of Rocca Marina, proved to have other engagements.  No clergyman could be imported except Maura’s brother Alexis, who had been two years at work at Coalham under Mr. Richard Burnet, and had just been appointed by the newly-chosen Bishop of Onomootka, and both were to go out with him as chaplains.  In the meantime, while the Bishop was preparing, by tours in England, Alexis undertook the duties of Mr. Flight’s curate, rejoicing in the opportunity of seeing his elder sister, and the old friends with whom he had never been since his unlucky troubles with Gillian Merrifield, now no more.

The delight of receiving him compensated to Kalliope Henderson for much that was distressing to both in Maura’s choice.  The seven years that had passed had made him into a noble-looking man, with a handsome classical countenance, lighted up by earnestness and devotion, a fine voice and much musical skill, together with a bright attractive manner that, all unconsciously on his part, had turned the heads of half the young womanhood of Coalham, and soon had the same effect at Rock Quay.

Vera and Paulina were in a state of much excitement over their white silks, in which the three other sisters took great pleasure in arraying them, and Thekla only wished that Hubert could see them.  She should send him out a photograph, buying it herself with her own money.

She was, of course, to see the wedding, in her Sunday white and broad pink sash, of the appropriateness of which she was satisfied when, at Beechcroft, they met Miss Mohun’s young friend, Miss Vanderkist, in the same garb.  She and her brother had been put under Magdalen’s protection, as Miss Mohun was too much wanted at Cliffe House to look after them; but Sir Adrian, a big boy of twelve, wanted to go his own way, and only handed her over with “Hallo, Miss Prescott! you’ll look after this pussy-cat of ours while Aunt Jane is dosing Aunt Ada with salts and sal volatile.  She—I’ll introduce you!  Miss Prescott, Miss Felicia Vanderkist!  She wants to be looked after, she is a little kitten that has never seen anything!  I’m off to Martin’s.”

The stranger did look very shy.  She was a slight creature, not yet seventeen, with an abundant mass of long golden silk hair tied loosely, and a very lovely face and complexion, so small that she was a miniature edition of Lady Ivinghoe.

Her name was Wilmet Felicia, but the latter half had been always used in the family, and there was something in the kitten grace that suited the arbitrary contractions well.  In fact, Jane Mohun had been rather startled to find that she had the charge of such a little beauty, when she saw how people turned around at the station to look, certainly not at Valetta, who was a dark bright damsel of no special mark.

At church, however, every one was in much too anxious a state to gaze at the coming procession to have any eyes to spare for a childish girl in a quiet white frock.  St. Andrew’s had never seen such a crowded congregation, for it was a wedding after Mr. White’s own heart, in which nobody dared to interfere, not even his wife, whatever her good taste might think.  So the church was filled, and more than filled, by all who considered a wedding as legitimate gape seed, and themselves as not bound to fit behaviour in church.  On such an occasion Magdalen, being a regular attendant, and connected with the bridesmaids, was marshalled by a churchwarden into a reserved seat; but there they were dismayed by the voices and the scrambling behind them, which, in the long waiting, the Vicar from the vestry vainly tried to subdue by severe looks; and Felicia, whose notions of wedding behaviour were moulded on Vale Lecton and Beechcroft, looked as if she thought she had got into the house of Duessa, amid all Pride’s procession, as in the prints in the large-volumed “Faërie Queene.”

And when, on the sounds of an arrival, the bridegroom stood forth, the resemblance to Sans Foy was only too striking, while the party swept up the church, the bride in the glories of cobweb veil, white satin, &c., becomingly drooping on her uncle’s arm, while he beamed forth, expansive in figure and countenance, with delight.  Little Jasper Henderson, anxious and patronising to his tiny brother Alexis, both in white pages’ dresses picked out with cerise, did his best to support the endless glistening train.

The bridesmaids’ costumes taxed the descriptive powers of the milliners in splendour and were scarcely eclipsed by the rich brocade and lace of Mrs. White, as she sailed in on Captain Henderson’s arm; but her elaborate veil and feathery bonnet hardly concealed the weary tedium of her face, though to the shame, well nigh horror, of her sister, she was rouged.  “I must, I must,” she said; “he would be vexed if I looked pale.”

It was true that “he” loved her heartily, and that he put all the world at her service; but she had learnt where he must not be offended, and was on her guard.  Hers had been the last wedding that Jane had attended in St. Andrew’s.  “Did she repent?” was Jane’s thought.  No, probably not.  She had the outward luxuries she had craved for, and her husband was essentially a good man, though not of the caste to which her instincts belonged—very superior in nature and conscience to him to whom his blinded vanity was now giving his beautiful niece, a willing sacrifice.

It was over!  More indecorous whispering and thronging; and the procession came down the aisle, to be greeted outside by a hail of confetti and rice; the schoolboys, profiting by the dinner interval, and headed by Adrian, had jostled themselves into the foreground, and they ran headlong to the portico of Cliffe House to renew the shower.

And there, unluckily, Mr. White recognised the boy, and, pleased to have anything with a title to show, turned him round to the bridegroom, with, “Here, Lord Roger, let me introduce a guest, Sir Adrian Vanderkist.”

“Ha, I didn’t know poor Van had left a son.  I knew your father, my boy.  Where was it I saw him last?  Poor old chap!”

“You must come in to taste the cake, my boy,” began Mr. White.

“Thank you, Mr. White, I must get back to Edgar’s.  Late already.  The others are off.”

“Not a holiday!  For shame!  He’ll excuse you.  I’ll send a note down to say you must stay to drink the health of your father’s old friend.”

Those words settled the matter with Adrian.  The holiday was enticing, and might have overpowered the chances of a scholarship, for which he was working; but he had begun to know that there were perplexities from which it was safer to retreat; and that he had never transgressed his Uncle Clement’s warning might be read in the clear open face that showed already the benefits, not only of discipline, but of self-control.  So obedience answered the question; though, as he again thanked and refused, he looked so dogged as he turned and walked off, that Ethel Varney whispered to Vera that at school he was called, “the Dutchman, if not the Boer.”

Nor did he ever mention the temptation or his own resistance.  Only Mr. White asked Miss Mohun to bring him to the dance which was to be given in the evening, telling her of his refusal of the invitation to wedding cake and champagne and she—mindful of her duty to her charge as hinted by Clement Underwood—had not granted the honour of his presence on the score of his school obligations.

The afternoon was spent in desultory wanderings about the gardens, Magdalen and her sisters being invited guests, and Vera in a continual state of agitated expectation.  Had not Wilfred Merrifield always been a cavalier of her own?  And here he was, paying no attention to her, with all the embellishment of her bridesmaid’s adornments, and squiring instead that little insignificant Felicia, in a simple hat, and hair still on her shoulders; whilst she had to put up with nothing better than a young Varney, who was very shy, and had never probably mastered croquet.

She was an ill-used mortal; and why had she not Hubert to show how superior she was to them all, in having a piece of property of her own to show off?

There was Paula, too, playing animated tennis with that clerical brother of the bride, who had been talking to Magdalen about the frescoes of St. Kenelm’s (as if she, Vera, had not the greatest right to know all about those frescoes!).  Even little Thekla was better off, for she was reigning over a merry party of the little ones, which had been got up for the benefit of the small Hendersons, and of which Theodore White had constituted himself the leader, being a young man passionately devoted to little children.

So when the guests dispersed to eat their dinner at their homes and dress for the dance, Vera was extremely cross.  Each of the other three had some delightful experiences to talk over; but whether it was Mr. Theodore’s fun in acting ogre behind the great aloe, or Mr. Alexis’s achievements with the croquet ball, or his information about the Red Indians and Onomootka, she was equally ungracious to all; she scolded Thekla for crumpling her skirt, and was quite sure that Paula had on the wrong fichu that was meant for her.  Each bridesmaid had been presented with a bracelet, like a snake with ruby eyes; but Vera, fingering hers with fidgeting petulance, seemed to have managed to loosen the clasp, and when arranging her dress for the evening thought that her snake had escaped.

Upstairs and downstairs she rushed in hopes of finding it.  The cab in which they had returned was gone home to come again, and there was the chance that it might be there or in the Cliffe House gardens; and then the others tried to console her, but they were not able to hinder a violent burst of crying, which scandalised Thekla.

“I am sure you couldn’t cry more if you had lost Hubert’s, and that would be something worth crying about.”

Hubert’s was an ingeniously worked circle of scales of Californian gold, the first ornament that Vera had ever possessed, and that all the sisters had set great store by.  But with an outcry of joy Vera exclaimed, “Here’s the snake all safe!  I pushed the other up my arm because it looked so plain and dull, and it was that which came off.”

“That is a great deal worse than losing the snake,” said Thekla.  “He has a nasty face, and I don’t like him, with his red eyes.”

“Don’t be silly,” returned Vera; “this is a great deal more valuable.”

“Surely the value is in the giver,” said Paula; to which Vera returned in the same vein, “Don’t be silly and sentimental, Polly.”

She was so much cheered by the recovery of the snake that they brought her off to the evening dance without a fresh fit of ill-humour, and she sprang out under the portico of Cliffe House, with her spirits raised to expectation pitch.

But disappointment was in store for her.  It was not disappointment in other eyes.  Paula had all the attention she expected or desired, she danced almost every time and did not reckon greatly on who might be her partner.  What pleased and honoured her most was being asked to dance by Captain Henderson himself.

What was it to Vera, however, that partners came to her, young men of Rock Quay whom she knew already and did not care about?  And she never once had the pleasure of saying that she was keeping the next dance for Wilfred Merrifield!  To her perceptions, he was always figuring away with Felicia Vanderkist, her golden hair seemed always gleaming with him; and though this was not always the case, as the nephew of the house was one of those who had duties to guests and was not allowed by his aunts to be remiss, yet whenever he was not ordered about by them, he was sure to be found by Felicia’s side.

Vera’s one consolation was that Alexis White took her to supper.  To be sure he was a clergyman, and had stood talking to Lady Flight half the time, and his conversation turned at once to Hubert Delrio’s frescoes; but then he was very handsome, and graceful in manner, and he sympathised with her on the loss of her bracelet, and promised to have a search for it by daylight in the gardens.

CHAPTER XX—FLEETING

“And variable as the shadeBy the light quivering aspen made.”—Scott.

The bracelet came to light in the gardens of Cliffe House the next morning, and Alexis White walked over to the Goyle to return it safely, little guessing, when he set forth to enjoy the sight of the purple moors, and to renew old recollections, what a flutter of gratified vanity would be excited in one silly little breast, though he only stayed ten minutes, and casually asked whether the sisters were coming to Lady Flight’s garden party.  Everybody was going there.  Miss Mohun even took Felicia, as it was on a Saturday’s holiday; and, unwittingly, she renewed all the agitation caused by Wilfred’s admiration, and that of others, to the all-unconscious girl.  Vera could no longer think herself the reigning belle of Rock Quay, though she talked of Felicia as a schoolgirl or a baby, or a horrid little forward chit!  Her excitement was, however, divided between Wilfred and Mr. Alexis White, who could not look in her direction without putting her in a state of eagerness.

In this, however, she was not alone.  Half the ladies were interested about him; his manners were charming, his voice in church beautiful, and his destination as chaplain to a missionary bishop made him doubly interesting; while he himself, even though his mind was set on higher things, was really enjoying his brief holiday, and his sister, Mrs. Henderson, was delighted to promote his pleasure, and garden parties and the like flourished as long as weather permitted; and as Vera was a champion player, she was sure to be asked to the tournaments, and to have to practise for them.

Inopportunely there arrived a letter from Hubert, requiring an answer about the form of ornament in the moulding of the fourteenth century!  Paula dutifully went to the library, looked out and traced two or three examples, French and English.  Nothing remained but for Vera to write the letter after the early dinner.  However, she went to sleep in a hammock, and only roused herself to recollect that there was to be tea and lawn tennis at Carrara.

“Won’t you just write to Hubert first?”

“Oh, bother, how can I now?  Don’t worry so!”

“But, Flapsy, he really needs it without loss of time.”

“I’m sure he has no right to make me his clerk in that horrid peremptory way, as if one had nothing else to do but wait on his fads.”

“Flapsy, how can you?” broke out even Thekla.

“Surely it is the greatest honour,” said Paula.

“Well, do it yourself then, I’m not going to be bothered for ever.”

Thekla went off, in great indignation, to beg “sister” to speak to Flapsy, and beg her not to use dear Hubert so very very badly, which of course Magdalen refused to do, and Thekla had her first lesson on the futility of interfering with engaged folk; Paula meanwhile sent off the despatch, with one line to say that Vera was too busy to write that day.

There had been two or three letters from Hubert, over which Vera had looked cross, but had said nothing; and at last she came down from her own room, and announced passionately, “There!  I have done with Mr. Hubert Delrio, and have written to tell him so!”

“Vera, what have you done?”

“Written to tell him I have no notion of a man being so tiresome and dictatorial!  I don’t want a schoolmaster to lecture me, and expect me to drudge over his work as if I was his clerk.”

“My dear,” said Magdalen, “have you had a letter that vexed you?  Had you not better wait a little to think it over?”

“No!  Nonsense, Maidie!  He has been provoking ever so long, and I won’t bear it any longer!” and she flounced into a chair.

“Provoking!  Hubert!” was all Paulina could utter, in her amazement and horror.

“Oh, I daresay you would like it well enough!  Always at me to slave for him with stupid architectural drawings and stuff, as if I was only a sort of clerk or fag!  And boring me to read great dull books, and preaching to me about them, expecting to know what I think!  Dear me!”

“Those nice letters!” sighed Paula.

“Nice!  As if any one that was one bit in love would write such as that!  No, I don’t want to marry a schoolmaster or a tyrant!”

“How can you, Flapsy?” went on Paula, so vehemently that Magdalen left the defence thus far to her; “when he only wishes for your sympathy and improvement.”

The worst plea she could have used, thought the elder sister, as Vera broke out with, “Improvement, indeed!  If he cared for me, he would not think I wanted any improving!  But he never did!  Or he would have taken Pratt and Povis’ offer, and I should have been living in London and keeping my carriage!  Or he would have taken me to Italy!  But that horrid home of his, and his mother just like a half-starved hare!  I might have seen then it was not fit for me; but I was a child, and over-persuaded among you all!  But I know better now, and I know my own mind, as I didn’t then.  So you need not talk!  I have done with him.”

“Oh, Flapsy, Flapsy, how can you grieve him so?  You don’t know what you are throwing away!” incoherently cried Paula, collapsing in a burst of tears.  “Maidie, Maidie, why don’t you speak to her, and tell her how wicked it is—and—and—and—”

The rest was cut short by sobs.

“No, Paula, authority or reasoning of mine would not touch such a mood as this.  We must leave it to Hubert himself.  If she really cares for him, she will have recovered from her fit of temper by the time his letter can come, and it may have an effect upon her, if our tongues have not increased her spirit of opposition.  I strongly advise you to say nothing.”

Paula tried to take her sister’s advice, and would have adhered to it, but that Vera would talk and try to make her declare the rupture to have been justified; and this produced an amount of wrangling which did good to no one.  Magdalen really rejoiced when the frequent golf and tennis parties carried Vera on her bicycle out of reach of arguing, even if it took her into the alternative of flirtation.

Thekla cried bitterly, and declared that she should never speak to Flapsy again; but in half an hour’s time was heard chattering about the hedgehog’s meal of cockroaches.  In another week the excitement was over.  The Bishop of Onomootka had come and gone, after holding meetings and preaching sermons at Rock Quay and all the villages round, and had carried off Alexis White with him.

Nothing had come of the intercourse of the latter with his rich uncle, nor of the varieties of encounters with the damsels of Rock Quay, except that society was declared by more than one to have become horridly flat and slow.

Vera was one of these, and the letters received from Hubert Delrio did not stir up a fresh excitement.  There were no persuasions to revoke her decision, no urgent entreaties, no declaration of being heart-broken.  He acquiesced in her assurance that the engagement had been a mistake; and he wrote at more length to Magdalen, avowing that he had for some time past traced discontent in Vera’s letters, and fearing that he had been too didactic and peremptory in writing to her.  He relinquished the engagement with much regret, and should always regard it as having been a fair summer dream—but, though undeserving, he hoped still to retain Miss Prescott’s kindness and friendship, which had been of untold value to him.

A little more zeal and distress would have been much more pleasing to Vera; and she began to be what Agatha and Thekla called cross, and Paula called drooping, and even excited alarm in her, lest Flapsy should be going into a decline.  But a note came to the Goyle which Magdalen read alone, and likewise she cycled alone to Rockstone.

“Miss Mohun, can you give me a few minutes?” said she, as the trim little figure emerged from beneath the copper beeches, basket in hand.

“By all means; I shall not be due at the cutting-out meeting till three o’clock.”

“I wanted to consult you about an invitation that Mrs. White has been so very kind as to give my little sister, Vera.”

“Oh!” quoth Jane Mohun, in a dry sort of tone.

“I know that she had wished to take out one of her own nieces to Rocca Marina, but that Sir Jasper did not wish it, and I thought perhaps it would be easier for you than for Lady Merrifield to tell me whether there is any objection that would apply to Vera.”

“I suppose Vera wishes to go?”

“She is so wild with delight that it would be a serious thing to disappoint her.  Mrs. White is very kind and good, and has thought that she has flagged of late, and has supposed it might be due to poor Hubert Delrio, but, indeed, it was no fault of his.”

“None at all, except for out-growing her.”

“The offer was hinted at to go with Valetta even before we knew it was declined at Clipstone, and that made me anxious to know whether it would be well for me to send Vera.  I suppose she would pick up pronunciation of languages, which would be a great advantage, as she will have to earn her own living, and Mrs. White is so good as to promise lessons in arts and music.  I hear, too, it is quite an English colony, with a church and schools.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. White is a very good and careful man about his workmen.  I have been there at the Henderson’s wedding, and it is a charming place, a castle fit for Mrs. Radclyffe, with English comforts, and an Italian garden and an English village on the mountain side.  My sister would do all that she promises, and would look after any young girl very well; you may quite trust her.”

“Then is there any fear of Italian society?—not that poor Vera has any attraction of that kind,” hesitated Magdalen.

“None at all.  All the society they have is of English travellers coming with introductions.  I fancy it is very dull at times, and that Adeline wants a young person about her.  You need have no fears.  Ah!  I see you still want to know why the Merrifields don’t consent.  It is not their way.  They would not let the Rotherwoods have Mysie to bring up with Phyllis, and—and Val is just the being that needs a mother’s eye over her.  But I really and honestly think that your Vera may quite safely be put under Adeline’s care, and that she is likely to be all the better for it.”