Scenes and Characters, or, Eighteen Months at Beechcroft

She was up almost with the light, to despatch whatever household affairs could be settled without Emily, before the time came for the children’s lessons; many hours were spent on these, while she was continually harassed by Phyllis’s dulness, Ada’s inattention, and the interruption of work to do for Emily, and often was she baffled by interference from Jane or Emily.  She was conscious of her unfitness to teach the children, and often saw that her impatience, ignorance, and inefficiency, were doing mischief; but much as this pained her, she could not speak to her father without compromising her sister, and to argue with Emily herself was quite in vain.  Emily had taken up the principle of love, and defended herself with it on every occasion, so that poor Lily was continually punished by having her past follies quoted against herself.

Each day Emily grew more selfish and indolent; now that Lily was willing to supply all that she neglected, and to do all that she asked, she proved how tyrannical the weak can be.

The whole of her quarter’s allowance was spent in dress, and Lily soon found that the only chance of keeping her out of debt was to spend her own time and labour in her behalf; and what an exertion of patience and kindness this required can hardly be imagined.  Emily did indeed reward her skill with affectionate thanks and kind praises, but she interfered with her sleep and exercise, by her want of consideration, and hardened herself more and more in her apathetic selfishness.

Some weeks after Easter Lilias was arranging some books on a shelf in the schoolroom, when she met with a crumpled piece of music-paper, squeezed in behind the books.  It proved to be Miss Weston’s lost song, creased, torn, dust-stained, and spoiled; she carried it to Emily, who decided that nothing could be done but to copy it for Alethea, and apologise for the disaster.  Framing apologies was more in Emily’s way than copying music; and the former task, therefore, devolved upon Lily, and occupied her all one afternoon, when she ought to have been seeking a cure for the headache in the fresh air.  It was no cure to find the name of Emma Weston in the corner, and to perceive how great and irreparable the loss of the paper was to her friend.  The thought of all her wrongs towards Alethea, caused more than one large tear to fall, to blot the heads of her crotchets and quavers, and thus give her all her work to do over again.

The letter that she wrote was so melancholy and repentant, that it gave great pain to her kind friend, who thought illness alone could account for the dejection apparent in the general tone of all her expressions.  In answer, she sent a very affectionate consoling letter, begging Lily to think no more of the matter; and though she had too much regard for truth to say that she had not been grieved by the loss of Emma’s writing, she added that Lily’s distress gave her far more pain, and that her copy would have great value in her eyes.

The beginning of June now arrived, and brought with it the time for the return of Claude and Lord Rotherwood.

The Marquis’s carriage met him at Raynham, and he set down Claude at New Court, on his way to Hetherington, just coming in to exchange a hurried greeting with the young ladies.

Their attention was principally taken up by their brother.

‘Claude, how well you look!  How fat you are!’ was their exclamation.

‘Is not he?’ said Lord Rotherwood.  ‘I am quite proud of him.  Not one headache since he went.  He will have no excuse for not dancing the polka.’

‘I do not return the compliment to you, Lily,’ said Claude, looking anxiously at his sister.  ‘What is the matter with you?  Have you been ill?’

‘Oh, no! not at all!’ said Lily, smiling.

‘I am sure there is enough to make any one ill,’ said Emily, in her deplorable tone; ‘I thought this poor parish had had its share of illness, with the scarlet fever, and now it has turned to a horrible typhus fever.’

‘Indeed!’ said Claude.  ‘Where?  Who?’

‘Oh! the Naylors, and the Rays, and the Walls.  John Ray died this morning, and they do not think that Tom Naylor will live.’

‘Well,’ interrupted Lord Rotherwood, ‘I shall not stop to hear any more of this chapter of accidents.  I am off, but mind, remember the 30th, and do not any of you frighten yourselves into the fever.’

He went, and Lily now spoke.  ‘There is one thing in all this, Claude, that is matter of joy, Tom Naylor has sent for Robert.’

‘Then, Lily, I do most heartily congratulate you.’

‘I hope things may go better,’ said Lily, with tears in her eyes.  ‘The poor baby is with its grandmother.  Mrs. Naylor is ill too, and every one is so afraid of the fever that nobody goes near them but Robert, and Mrs. Eden, and old Dame Martin.  Robert says Naylor is in a satisfactory frame—determined on having the baby christened—but, oh! I am afraid the christening is to be bought by something terrible.’

‘I do not think those fevers are often very infectious,’ said Claude.

‘So papa says,’ replied Emily; ‘but Robert looks very ill.  He is wearing himself out with sitting up.  Making himself nurse as well as everything else.’

This was very distressing, but still Claude scarcely thought it accounted for the change that had taken place in Lilias.  Her cheek was pale, her eye heavy, her voice had lost its merry tone; Claude knew that she had had much to grieve her, but he was as yet far from suspecting how she was overworked and harassed.  He spoke of Eleanor’s return, and she did not brighten; she smiled sadly at his attempts to cheer her, and he became more and more anxious about her.  He was not long in discovering what was the matter.

The second day after his return Robert told them at the churchyard gate that Tom Naylor was beginning to mend, and this seemed to be a great comfort to Lily, who walked home with a blither step than usual.  Claude betook himself to the study, and saw no more of his sisters till two o’clock, when Lily appeared, with the languid, dejected look which she had lately worn, and seemed to find it quite an effort to keep the tears out of her eyes.  Ada and Phyllis were in very high spirits, because they were going to Raynham with Emily and Jane, and at every speech of Ada’s Lily looked more grieved.  After the Raynham party were gone Claude began to look for Lily.  He found her in her room, an evening dress spread on the bed, a roll of ribbon in one hand, and with the other supporting her forehead, while tears were slowly rolling down her cheeks.

‘Lily, my dear, what is the matter?’

‘Oh! nothing, nothing, Claude,’ said she, quickly.

‘Nothing! no, that is not true.  Tell me, Lily.  You have been disconsolate ever since I came home, and I will not let it go on so.  No answer?  Then am I to suppose that these new pearlins are the cause of her sorrow?  Come, Lily, be like yourself, and speak.  More tears!  Here, drink this water, be yourself again, or I shall be angry and vexed.  Now then, that is right: make an effort, and tell me.’

‘There is nothing to tell,’ said Lily; ‘only you are very kind—I do not know what is the matter with me—only I have been very foolish of late—and everything makes me cry.’

‘My poor child, I knew you had not been well.  They do not know how to take care of you, Lily, and I shall take you in hand.  I am going to order the horses, and we will have a gallop over the Downs, and put a little colour into your cheeks.’

‘No, no, thank you, Claude, I cannot come, indeed I cannot, I have this work, which must be done to-day.’

‘At work at your finery instead of coming out!  You must be altered, indeed, Lily.’

‘It is not for myself,’ said Lily, ‘but I promised Emily she should have it ready to wear to-morrow.’

‘Emily, oh?  So she is making a slave of you?’

‘No, no, it was a voluntary promise.  She does not care about it, only she would be disappointed, and I have promised.’

‘I hate promises!’ said Claude.  ‘Well, what must be, must be, so I will resign myself to this promise of yours, only do not make such another.  Well, but that was not all; you were not crying about that fine green thing, were you?’

‘Oh, no!’ said Lily, smiling, as now she could smile again.

‘What then?  I will know, Lily.’

‘I was only vexed at something about the children.’

‘Then what was it?’

‘It was only that Ada was idle at her lessons; I told her to learn a verb as a punishment, she went to Emily, and, somehow or other, Emily did not find out the exact facts, excused her, and took her to Raynham.  I was vexed, because I am sure it does Ada harm, and Emily did not understand what I said afterwards; I am sure she thought me unjust.’

‘How came she not to be present?’

‘Emily does not often sit in the schoolroom in the morning, since she has been about that large drawing.’

‘So you are governess as well as ladies’-maid, are you, Lily?  What else?  Housekeeper, I suppose, as I see you have all the weekly bills on your desk.  Why, Lily, this is perfectly philanthropic of you.  You are exemplifying the rule of love in a majestic manner.  Crying again!  Water lily once more?’

Lily looked up, and smiled; ‘Claude, how can you talk of that old, silly, nay, wicked nonsense of my principle.  I was wise above what was written, and I have my punishment in the wreck which my “frenzy of spirit and folly of tongue” have wrought.  The unchristened child, Agnes’s death, the confusion of this house, all are owing to my hateful principle.  I see the folly of it now, but Emily has taken it up, and acts upon it in everything.  I do struggle against it a little; but I cannot blame any one, I can do no good, it is all owing to me.  We have betrayed papa’s confidence; if he does not see it now it will all come upon him when Eleanor comes home, and what is to become of us?  How it will grieve him to see that we cannot be trusted!’

‘Poor Lily!’ said Claude.  ‘It is a bad prospect, but I think you see the worst side of it.  You are not well, and, therefore, doleful.  This, Lily, I can tell you, that the Baron always considered Emily’s government as a kind of experiment, and so perhaps he will not be so grievously disappointed as you expect.  Besides, I have a strong suspicion that Emily’s own nature has quite as much to do with her present conduct as your principle, which, after all, did not live very long.’

‘Just long enough to unsettle me, and make it more difficult for me to get any way right,’ said Lily.  ‘Oh! dear, what would I give to force backward the wheels of time!’

‘But as you cannot, you had better try to brighten up your energies.  Come, you know I cannot tell you not to look back, but I can tell you not to look forward.  Nay, I do tell you literally, to look forward, out of the window, instead of back into this hot room.  Do not you think the plane-tree there looks very inviting?  Suppose we transport Emily’s drapery there, and I want to refresh my memory with Spenser; I do not think I have touched him since plane-tree time last year.’

‘I believe Spenser and the plane-tree are inseparably woven together in your mind,’ said Lily.

‘Yes, ever since the time when I first met with the book.  I remember well roving over the bookcase, and meeting with it, and taking it out there, for fear Eleanor should see me and tell mama.  Phyl, with As You Like It, put me much in mind of myself with that.’

Claude talked in this manner, while Lily, listening with a smile, prepared her work.  He read, and she listened.  It was such a treat as she had not enjoyed for a long time, for she had begun to think that all her pleasant reading days were past.  Her work prospered, and her face was bright when her sisters came home.

But, alas!  Emily was not pleased with her performance; she said that she intended something quite different, and by manner, rather than by words, indicated that she should not be satisfied unless Lily completely altered it.  It was to be worn at the castle the next evening, and Lily knew she should have no time for it in the course of the day.  Accordingly, at half-past twelve, as Claude was going up to bed, he saw a light under his sister’s door, and knocked to ask the cause.  Lily was still at work upon the trimming, and very angry he was, particularly when she begged him to take care not to disturb Emily.  At last, by threatening to awake her, for the express purpose of giving her a scolding, he made Lily promise to go to bed immediately, a promise which she, poor weary creature, was very glad to make.

Claude now resolved to tell his father the state of things, for he well knew that though it was easy to obtain a general promise from Emily, it was likely to be of little effect in preventing her from spurring her willing horse to death.

The next morning he rose in time to join his father in the survey which he usually took of his fields before breakfast, and immediately beginning on the subject on which he was anxious, he gave a full account of his sister’s proceedings.  ‘In short,’ said he, ‘Emily and Ada torment poor Lily every hour of her life; she bears it all as a sort of penance, and how it is to end I cannot tell.’

‘Unless,’ said Mr. Mohun, smiling, ‘as Rotherwood would say, Jupiter will interfere.  Well, Jupiter has begun to take measures, and has asked Mrs. Weston to look out for a governess.  Eh!  Claude?’ he continued, after a pause, ‘you set up your eyebrows, do you?  You think it will be a bore.  Very likely, but there is nothing else to be done.  Jane is under no control, Phyllis running wild, Ada worse managed than any child of my acquaintance—’

‘And poor Lily wearing herself to a shadow, in vain attempts to mend matters,’ said Claude.

‘If Lily was the eldest, things would be very different,’ said Mr. Mohun.

‘Or even if she had been as wise last year as she is now,’ said Claude, ‘she would have kept Emily in order then, but now it is too late.’

‘This year is, on many accounts, much to be regretted,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘but I think it has brought out Lily’s character.’

‘And a very fine character it is,’ said Claude.

‘Very.  She has been, and is, more childish than Eleanor ever was, but she is her superior in most points.  She has been your pupil, Claude, and she does you credit.’

‘Thereby hangs a tale which does me no credit,’ muttered Claude, as he remembered how foolishly he had roused her spirit of contradiction, besides the original mischief of naming Eleanor the duenna; ‘but we will not enter into that now.  I see this governess is their best chance.  Have you heard of one?’

‘Of several; but the only one who seems likely to suit us is out of reach for the present, and I do not regret it, for I shall not decide till Eleanor comes.’

‘Emily will not be much pleased,’ said Claude.  ‘It has long been her great dread that Aunt Rotherwood should recommend one.’

‘Ay, Emily’s objections and your aunt’s recommendations are what I would gladly avoid,’ said Mr. Mohun.

‘But Lily!’ said Claude, returning to the subject on which he was most anxious.  ‘She is already what Ada calls a monotony, and there will be nothing left of her by the time Eleanor comes, if matters go on in their present fashion.’

‘I have a plan for her.  A little change will set her to rights, and we will take her to London when we go next week to meet Eleanor.  She deserves a little extra pleasure; you must take her under your protection, and lionise her well.’

‘Trust me for that,’ said Claude.  ‘It is the best news I have heard for a long time.’

‘Well, I am glad that one of my remedies meets with your approbation,’ said his father, smiling.  ‘For the other, you are much inclined to pronounce the cure as bad as the disease.’

‘Not for Lily,’ said Claude, laughing.

‘And,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I think I can promise you that a remedy will be found for all the other grievances by Michaelmas.’

Claude looked surprised, but as Mr. Mohun explained no further, only observing upon the potatoes, through which they were walking, he only said, ‘Then it is next week that you go to London.’

‘There is much to do, both for Rotherwood and for Eleanor; I shall go as soon as I can, but I do not think it will be while this fever is so prevalent.  I had rather not be from home—I do not like Robert’s looks.’

CHAPTER XIX

THE RECTOR’S ILLNESS

‘Thou drooping sick man, bless the guideThat checked, or turned thy headstrong youth.’

The thought of her brother’s kindness, and the effect of his consolation, made Lilias awake that morning in more cheerful spirits; but it was not long before grief and anxiety again took possession of her.

The first sound that she heard on opening the schoolroom window was the tolling of the church bell, giving notice of the death of another of those to whom she felt bound by the ties of neighbourhood.

At church she saw that Mr. Devereux was looking more ill than he yet had done, and it was plainly with very great exertion that he succeeded in finishing the service.  The Mohun party waited, as usual, to speak to him afterwards, for since his attendance upon Naylor had begun he had not thought it safe to come to the New Court as usual, lest he should bring the infection to them.  He was very pale, and walked wearily, but he spoke cheerfully, as he told them that Naylor was now quite out of danger.

‘Then I hope you did not stay there all last night,’ said Mr. Mohun.

‘No, I did not, I was so tired when I came back from poor John Ray’s funeral, that I thought I would take a holiday, and sleep at home.’

‘I am afraid you have not profited by your night’s rest,’ said Emily, ‘you look as if you had a horrible headache.’

‘Now,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I prescribe for you that you go home and lie down.  I am going to Raynham, and I will tell your friend there that you want help for the evening service.  Do not think of moving again to-day.  I shall send Claude home with you to see that you obey my prescription.’

Claude went home with his cousin, and his sisters saw him no more till late in the day, when he came to tell them that Mr. Mohun had brought back Dr. Leslie from Raynham with him, that Dr. Leslie had seen Mr. Devereux, and had pronounced that he had certainly caught the fever.

Lily had made up her mind to this for some time, but still it seemed almost as great a blow as if it had come without any preparation.  The next day was the first Sunday that Mr. Devereux had not read the service since he had been Rector of Beechcroft.  The villagers looked sadly at the stranger who appeared in his place, and many tears were shed when the prayers of the congregation were desired for Robert Devereux, and Thomas and Martha Naylor.  It was announced that the daily service would be discontinued for the present, and Lily felt as if all the blessings which she had misused were to be taken from her.

For some time Mr. Devereux continued very ill, and Dr. Leslie gave little hope of his improvement.  Mr. Mohun and Claude were his constant attendants—an additional cause of anxiety to the Miss Mohuns.  Emily was listless and melancholy, talking in a maundering, dismal way, not calculated to brace her spirits or those of her sisters.  Jane was not without serious thoughts, but whether they would benefit her depended on herself; for, as we have seen by the events of the autumn, sorrow and suffering do not necessarily produce good effects, though some effects they always produce.

Thus it was with Lilias.  Grief and anxiety aided her in subduing her will and learning resignation.  She did not neglect her daily duties, but was more exact in their fulfilment; and low as her spirits had been before, she now had an inward spring which enabled her to be the support of the rest.  She was useful to her father, always ready to talk to Claude, or walk with him in the intervals when he was sent out of the sickroom to rest and breathe the fresh air.  She was cheerful and patient with Emily, and devoid of petulance when annoyed by the spirits of the younger ones rising higher than accorded with the sad and anxious hearts of their elders.  Her most painful feeling was, that it was possible that she might be punished through her cousin, as she had already been through Agnes; that her follies might have brought this distress upon every one, and that this was the price at which the child’s baptism was to be bought.  Yet Lily would not have changed her present thoughts for any of her varying frames of mind since that fatal Whitsuntide.  Better feelings were springing up within her than she had then known; the church service and Sunday were infinitely more to her, and she was beginning to obtain peace of mind independent of external things.

She could not help rejoicing to see how many evidences of affection to the Rector were called forth by this illness; presents of fruit poured in from all quarters, from Lord Rotherwood’s choice hothouse grapes, to poor little Kezia Grey’s wood-strawberries; inquiries were continual, and the stillness of the village was wonderful.  There was no cricket on the hill, no talking in the street, no hallooing in the hay-field, and no burst of noise when the children were let out of school.  Many of the people were themselves in grief for the loss of their own relations; and when on Sunday the Miss Mohuns saw how many were dressed in black, they thought with a pang how soon they themselves might be mourning for one whose influence they had crippled, and whose plans they had thwarted during the three short years of his ministry.

During this time it was hard to say whether Lord Rotherwood was more of a comfort or a torment.  He was attached to his cousin with all the ardour of his affectionate disposition, and not one day passed without his appearing at Beechcroft.  At first it was always in the parlour at the parsonage that he took up his station, and waited till he could find some means of getting at Claude or his uncle, to hear the last report from them, and if possible to make Claude come out for a walk or ride with him.  And once Mr. Mohun caught him standing just outside Mr. Devereux’s door, waiting for an opportunity to make an entrance.  He could not, or would not see why Mr. Mohun should allow Claude to run the risk of infection rather than himself, and thus he kept his mother in continual anxiety, and even his uncle could not feel by any means certain that he would not do something imprudent.  At last a promise was extracted from him that he would not again enter the parsonage, but he would not gratify Lady Rotherwood so far as to abstain from going to Beechcroft, a place which she began to regard with horror.  He now was almost constantly at the New Court, talking over the reports, and quite provoking Emily by never desponding, and never choosing to perceive how bad things really were.  Every day which was worse than the last was supposed to be the crisis, and every restless sleep that they heard of he interpreted into the beginning of recovery.  At last, however, after ten days of suspense, the report began to improve, and Claude came to the New Court with a more cheerful face, to say that his cousin was munch better.  The world seemed immediately to grow brighter, people went about with joyful looks, Lord Rotherwood declared that from the first he had known all would be well, and Lily began to hope that now she had been spared so heavy a punishment, it was a kind of earnest that other things would mend, that she had suffered enough.  The future no longer hung before her in such dark colours as before Mr. Devereux’s illness, though still the New Court was in no satisfactory state, and still she had reason to expect that her father and Eleanor would be disappointed and grieved.  Thankfulness that Mr. Devereux was recovering, and that Claude had escaped the infection, made her once more hopeful and cheerful; she let the morrow take thought for the things of itself, rejoicing that it was not her business to make arrangements.

CHAPTER XX

THE LITTLE NEPHEW

‘You must be father, mother, both,   And uncle, all in one.’

Mr. Mohun had much business to transact in London which he could not leave undone, and as soon as his nephew began to recover he thought of setting off to meet Mr. and Mrs. Hawkesworth, who had already been a week at Lady Rotherwood’s house in Grosvenor Square, which she had lent to them for the occasion.  Claude had intended to stay at home, as his cousin was not yet well enough to leave the room; but just at this time a college friend of the Rector’s, hearing of his illness, wrote to propose to come and stay with him for a month or six weeks, and help him in serving his church.  Mr. Devereux was particularly glad to accept this kind offer, as it left him no longer dependent on Mr. Stephens and the Raynham curates, and set Claude at liberty for the London expedition.  All was settled in the short space of one day.  The very next they were to set off, and in great haste; Lily did all she could for the regulation of the house, packed up her goods, and received the commissions of her sisters.