Our Bessie Part 9

"Oh, thank you!" returned Bessie, and she went quickly through the little waiting-room. A young man in knickerbockers, with a couple of large sporting dogs, was talking to the station-master, and looked after her as she pa.s.sed; but Bessie did not notice him particularly; her eyes were fixed on the road, and on a pony-carriage drawn up under the trees.

Miss Sefton waved her whip when she saw Bessie, and drove quickly up to the door. She looked prettier than ever in her dark-blue cambric and large shady hat.

"How do you do, Miss Lambert? I am delighted to see you again. How punctual you are. Jump in. Ford will look after your luggage. This is a very different meeting, is it not, from our last? No snow about, but a very hot sun for June. Where is your sunshade? You will want it. Yes, that is right; put it up--my hat shades me. Now then, Ford, are you ready? Go on, Jack. What are you about, Jill? Are not my ponies pretty, Miss Lambert? Richard gave them to me last birthday, but I am afraid I plagued him a good deal beforehand to provoke such unusual generosity.

There is nothing like teasing when you want a thing."

Bessie smiled, but remained silent; she was tired, and not quite inclined for repartee. They had turned into a long, lovely lane, so narrow that no vehicle could have pa.s.sed them, and the thick hedgerows were full of pink and white briar roses and other wild flowers; on either side lay hop fields. Bessie uttered a delighted exclamation.

"Yes, I told you you would admire our Kentish lanes. They are pretty now, but in the winter they are not quite so pleasant. Well, did Mrs.

Sinclair meet you, as she promised?"

"No, her son came instead; he said his mother was seriously indisposed, and unable to keep her engagement."

"Neville met you. How extremely odd! How on earth did you discover each other? Were you very much embarra.s.sed, Miss Lambert?"

"No; it was a little strange at first, but Mr. Sinclair was very kind and pleasant, and soon put me at my ease."

"Oh, Neville always gets on with ladies; there is certainly no fault to find with him in that respect. His civility is natural to him; he is just as polite to an old woman with a market basket and a few apples tied up in a blue spotted handkerchief as he is to a lady whose dress has been made by Worth."

"I call that true politeness," returned Bessie warmly.

"There is not much of the precious commodity to be found in our days; the young men one meets in society are not cut after that pattern. And so Mrs. Sinclair is ailing again?"

"'Seriously indisposed,' was Mr. Sinclair's expression; and he looked rather grave, I thought."

"My dear creature, Neville always looks grave, as though he were engaged in a criminal investigation. He is a barrister, you see, and he troubles himself if his mother's finger aches. The dear old lady is always ailing, more or less, but there is never much the matter--a creaking door; you know the sort; only Neville always makes the worst of it. Now, look here, Miss Lambert, that is what we call the village--just those few cottages and the inn; there is not even a church; we have to walk over to Melton, a mile and a half away. Isn't that pond pretty, with the ducks on it? and there is a flock of geese. Now we have only to turn down this road and there is The Grange." And as Miss Sefton pointed with her whip, Bessie saw the outlines of a large red house between the trees.

CHAPTER VIII.

AT THE GRANGE.

As Miss Sefton spoke the lane widened before them, and the hedgerows gave place to a short avenue of elms, the sunlight filtering through the thick interlaced branches, and throwing quivering shadows on the white road below; a low white gate opened into a meadow where some cattle were grazing, and on the right hand side was a large, straggling red house, with picturesque stables half smothered in ivy. The hall door stood open and a fine Scotch deerhound lay basking in the afternoon sun; he roused himself lazily as the pony carriage stopped before the door, and as Bessie alighted he came up to her wagging his tail slowly, and put his long, slender nose into her hand.

"What a beautiful creature!" exclaimed Bessie, who was exceedingly fond of all dumb animals. "Look how friendly he is, as though he were welcoming me to The Grange."

Miss Sefton, who was patting the sleek sides of Jack and Jill, looked round carelessly.

"Mac is a good old dog, but he is not always so amiable to strangers; he has his likes and dislikes, as we humans have, only I must tell Richard that he has taken to you--he is his property. Now let us go and find mamma." And Edna locked her arm in Bessie's, and, followed closely by the deerhound, led her into the house.

There was no servant in attendance; a strange hush and stillness seemed to pervade the place. Bessie almost felt oppressed by it. The hall was large and dark, with a smooth, slippery floor, and was panelled in dark oak; oak settles and large carved antique cabinets were ranged round the walls. The great fireplace was filled with green boughs, and a tiger skin, with a huge grinning head and eyes, lay before it. The quiet little country girl had never seen such a hall in her life.

"Take care; our oak floors are slippery to people who are unused to them," observed Edna. "Mamma is in the drawing-room, I suppose." And she opened the door and ushered her companion into a handsome room, with three windows opening on to a lawn. A lady, who was sitting on a couch reading, rose as she perceived the two girls, and crossed the room with a slow, stately step.

"Mamma, I have brought Miss Lambert."

"I am very glad to see her, Edna. My dear," taking Bessie's hand, and kissing her cheek, "you are very welcome for your father's sake."

"Thank you," returned Bessie, with unusual shyness, for Mrs. Sefton's stateliness rather awed her. Both her words and her manner were kind; nevertheless, Bessie found it difficult to respond; even when Mrs.

Sefton had established her in the corner of the couch, and was questioning her with polite interest about her journey, she found herself answering in almost monosyllabic replies, as though she were tongue-tied.

"I cannot tell what came over me," she wrote the next day to her mother; "I never felt so bashful and stupid in my life; and yet Mrs. Sefton was most kind and considerate, only her graciousness seemed to crush me. She is very handsome, far handsomer than her daughter, slightly stout, but such a grand looking figure; Miss Sefton and I look like pygmies beside her; but there is one thing that strikes me about her--a sort of hardness when she is not speaking. I never saw a mouth closed so tightly; and then there is no rest in her face. I could not help thinking about father's story as I looked at her; it is not the face of a happy woman. I can imagine that disappointment in her husband has hardened her. I admire her very much; she fascinates and yet repels me, but I do not think I could love her very much. Miss Sefton does, but then her mother dotes on her."

Bessie was devoutly wis.h.i.+ng herself at home during that first quarter of an hour, but after a few minutes Mrs. Sefton's questions ceased, and she touched a silver-mounted gong beside her, and almost as though by magic the door was thrown noiselessly back, and the butler entered with the tea-tray, followed by a footman in smart livery. Bessie wondered what her mother would have thought of the delicate Worcester china that was placed on a low table beside Mrs. Sefton, while a second table was quickly covered with bread and b.u.t.ter and dainty-looking cakes. Edna had thrown off her hat, and had coaxed Bessie to do the same; then she proceeded to wait on her guest. A little table was placed at Bessie's elbow, and all manner of sweet cakes forced on her. The very tea had a different flavor from her mother's tea; it was scented, fragrant, and mellow with rich country cream. Bessie sipped her tea, and crumbled her rich cake, and felt as though she were in a dream. Outside the smooth-shaven lawn stretched before the windows, there was a tennis-net up, and some b.a.l.l.s and rackets were lying on the gra.s.s. Some comfortable wicker chairs were placed under a large elm at the bottom of the lawn.

"Do you play tennis?" asked Edna abruptly, as she noticed Bessie's eyes were wandering to the garden.

"A little; I am fond of the game, but I have not played a great deal; it takes time, and there is so much to do."

"Edna plays beautifully," observed Mrs. Sefton. "It is a fine exercise for young people, if they are moderate and do not over-exert themselves.

We have some neighbors, the Athertons, who come in nearly every day to practice with Edna."

"Does not your brother play with you sometimes?" asked Bessie.

"Richard? Oh, no?" And Edna's lip curled a little disdainfully. "He is far too busy to waste his time on me--he prefers playing cricket with the village lads at Melton. Bye the bye, mamma, I left Richard at the station; he said he had business with Malcolmson, and would not be home much before dinner."

"Indeed, I am sorry to hear it," returned Mrs. Sefton coldly. "Of course it was no use my warning him against any dealings with Malcolmson; Richard will go his own way; but I confess that this infatuation for Malcolmson vexes me much;" and a slight frown crossed Mrs. Sefton's white forehead.

"Was the young man with two splendid dogs that I pa.s.sed in the waiting-room your brother?" asked Bessie, in some surprise.

"Yes, that was Richard," returned Edna; and she added, a little maliciously, "I can see you are a little surprised. I suppose you took him for a young farmer or gamekeeper. Richard is terribly clownish in appearance."

Bessie thought this speech was in very bad taste, but she replied quietly:

"I cannot say I noticed your brother, but one of the dogs attracted my attention, he had such a fine head; I should think Landseer would have enjoyed painting him."

"Oh, that must have been Gelert; every one admires him; I know Neville coveted him. Now we have finished tea, and I dare say you will be glad to get rid of the dust of your journey, so I will undertake to show you your room. Mamma was going to put you into the big spare room, but I insisted that you would prefer a smaller one. Was I right, Miss Lambert?"

"Perfectly right, thank you," returned Bessie, as she rose with alacrity.

Mrs. Sefton's eyes followed her curiously as she crossed the room.

"A healthy, fresh-colored country girl," she said to herself; "quite a little rustic; but she seems a nice, harmless little thing; though why Edna took such a fancy to her rather puzzles me. I thought she would take after her father, but I can see no likeness. What a handsome fellow he was--poor Herbert!--and so gentlemanly." And here Mrs. Sefton sighed; for to her it was always a perilous thing to recall the past. No woman had ever been so foolish as she; she had cast away gold for dross.

While her hostess was indulging in these heavy reflections, Bessie was uttering little staccato exclamations of delight at the sight of the room allotted her.

"What a lovely view!" she had observed, running to the window, for not only was the pretty shady garden to be seen, but some meadows, and a glimpse of a fir wood in the distance; and it all looked so cool and still, and the only objects of moving life were some white lambs feeding by their mothers, and a pretty brown foal with its dam.

"Do you think you will like your room?" asked Edna demurely; but there was a gleam of fun in her eyes as she put the question, for she had a vivid remembrance of Bessie's room at home; the strips of faded carpet, the little iron bedstead, and painted drawers; and yet it had been a haven of rest to her that night, and she had slept very sweetly on the little hard bed.

"It is far too grand for me," returned Bessie candidly. "I shall feel like a fine lady for the first time in my life." And she looked round her with admiring scrutiny, noting every detail--the wax candles and hot-house flowers on the toilet-table, the handsome wardrobe and cheval-gla.s.s, the writing-table with its dainty appendages, and the cosy-looking couch; even the bra.s.s bedstead, with its blue cretonne hangings, and frilled pillow-cases, demanded some fresh comment.

"I think it is a lovely room, and far too good for me," finished Bessie.

"All our rooms are very comfortable," was the careless response; "but one is too used to this sort of thing to notice it. Now shall I send Brandon to help you? She is our maid, and understands hair-dressing perfectly. She will help you unpack and arrange your things."