Kate Coventry Part 7

"Unless he came to propose for one of us," suggested John, who was carving a ham at the side-table.

"Some one on business for _me_, probably," remarked Aunt Horsingham, drawing herself up and looking more stately than usual.

"Mr. Hayc.o.c.k!" announced the butler, throwing open the door with a flourish; and while all our untimely visitor's preparations, such as wiping his shoes, arranging his dress, etc., were distinctly audible outside, we looked at each other in mute astonishment, and I own I _did_ feel the guilty one amongst the party.

The Squire made his entrance in a state of intense trepidation. Having been forcibly deprived of his white hat in the hall, he had nothing but natural means to resort to for concealment of his confusion. Had it not been for an enormous silk handkerchief (white spots on a yellow ground) with which he blew his nose and wiped his brow at short and startling intervals his condition would have been pitiable in the extreme. The "Squire's" dress too was of a more florid style than is usual in these days of sad-coloured attire. A bright blue neckcloth, well starched, and of great depth and volume; a buff waistcoat, with ma.s.sive gilt b.u.t.tons; a gra.s.s-green riding-coat of peculiar shape and somewhat scanty material; white cord trousers, York tan gaiters, and enormous double-soled shooting-shoes, pierced and strapped, and clamped and hobnailed, completing a _tout ensemble_ that almost upset my aunt's gravity, and made me, nervous as I felt, stuff my pocket-handkerchief into my mouth that I might not laugh outright.

"Fine morning, Lady Horsingham," observed the Squire, as if he had come all that distance at this early hour on purpose to impart so valuable a piece of information--"fine morning, but cold," he repeated, rubbing his hands together though the perspiration stood on his brow. "I don't recollect a much finer morning at this time of year," he resumed, addressing Cousin John after a pause, during which he had ceremoniously shaken hands with each of us in succession.

"Will you have some breakfast?" asked Lady Horsingham, whose cold and formal demeanour contrasted strangely with the nervous excitement of her visitor.

"No, thank you--if you please," answered the Squire in a breath. "I breakfasted before I left home. Early hours, Lady Horsingham--I think your ladys.h.i.+p approves of early hours--but I'll ask for a cup of tea, if you please." So he sat down to a weak cup of lukewarm tea with much a.s.sumed gusto and satisfaction.

It was now time for Cousin Amelia to turn her battery on the Squire; so she presently attacked him about his poultry and his garden and his farm, the honest gentleman's absent and inconsequent replies causing my aunt and John to regard him with silent astonishment, as one who was rapidly taking leave of his senses; whilst I who knew, or at least guessed, the cause of his extraordinary behaviour began heartily to wish myself back in Lowndes Street, and to wonder how this absurd scene was going to end.

"Your dahlias must have suffered dreadfully from these early frosts,"

said Cousin Amelia, shaking her ringlets at the poor man in what she fancies her most bewitching style.

"Beautifully," was the bewildered reply, "particularly the shorthorns."

"You never sent us over the Alderney calf you promised, Mr. Hayc.o.c.k,"

pursued the lady, now adroitly changing her ground. "I begin to think you are not to be depended on."

"You do me injustice, Miss Horsingham; indeed you do," broke out the Squire in a white heat and with a deprecating glance at me. "I a.s.sure you I sent over a very fine cutting, with a pot and everything, directions for matting it in winter and transplanting after a year. If you never got it I'll discharge my gardener; I will, upon my word."

"I have got such a Cochin China to show you," persisted his tormentor, determined to renew the charge. "When you've finished breakfast I'll take you to the poultry-yard if you like."

"Delighted," replied the Squire, looking ruefully around him as if he meditated instant flight--"delighted, I'm sure; but they haven't flowered well this year. I'll teach you how to bud them if you like; but you're aware, Miss Horsingham, that they've no smell."

John could stand it no longer, and was forced to bolt out of the room.

My aunt too rose from the table with something approaching a smile; and the Squire, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his courage to the sticking-place, was following her into the drawing-room, evidently for a private interview, when Cousin Amelia, who seemed to have made up her mind to take bodily possession of him, hurried the visitor off to the billiard-room, there to engage in a match which would probably last till luncheon-time. I never saw anything so hopeless as the expression of the victim's countenance whilst suffering himself to be thus led into captivity. He did summon courage to entreat "Miss Coventry to come and mark"--a favour which, notwithstanding my cousin's black looks, I really had not the heart to refuse him.

Game after game they played, the gentleman apparently abandoning himself to his fate. Sprawling over the table, making the most ridiculous blunders in counting, missing the most palpable of cannons, and failing to effect the easiest of hazards; the lady brandis.h.i.+ng her mace in the most becoming att.i.tudes, drooping her long hair over the cus.h.i.+ons, and displaying the whiteness of her hand and slender symmetry of her fingers, as she requested her astonished adversary to teach her "how to make a bridge," or "pocket the red," or "screw it off the white," and lisped out "how hard it was to be disappointed by that provoking kiss!" The Squire made one or two futile attempts to engage me in a game, but Cousin Amelia was determined to have him all to herself; and as it was getting near the time at which I take Aunt Deborah her broth--for poor Aunt Deborah, I am sorry to say, is very ill in bed--I made my escape, and as I ran upstairs heard the billiard-room bell ring, and Squire Hayc.o.c.k summon up courage to "know if Lady Horsingham was at leisure, as he wished to see her for five minutes alone in the drawing-room."

People may say what they like about superst.i.tion and credulity and old women's tales, but I _have_ faith in presentiments. Didn't I get up from my work and walk to the window at least a dozen times to watch for Cousin John coming home that wet day two years ago when he broke his leg with the harriers, and yet he had only gone out for a morning's canter on the best horse he ever had in his life? Didn't I feel for eight-and-forty hours as if something too delightful was going to happen to me the week that Brilliant was bought and sent home, looking like an angel in a horse's skin? That reminds me I never go to see him now; I hope I am not inconstant to my old friends. And what was it but a presentiment that made my heart beat and my knees knock together when I entered my own room to-day before luncheon and saw a brown paper parcel on the table, addressed, evidently by the shop people, to "Miss Coventry, Dangerfield Hall"? How my fingers trembled as I untied the thread and unfolded the paper; after all, it was nothing but a packet of worsteds! To be sure, I hadn't ordered any worsteds, but there might possibly be a note to explain; so I shook every skein carefully, and turned the covering inside out, that the doc.u.ment, if there should be one, might not escape my vigilance. How could my presentiments deceive me? Of course there was a note--after all, where was the harm? Captain Lovell had most politely sent me all these worsteds for a cus.h.i.+on I had once talked about working, and very naturally had enclosed a note to say so; and nothing to my mind could be kinder or more welcome than the contents. I am not going to say what they are, of course; though for that matter I easily could, since I have got the note by me at this moment, and have read it over to-day besides more than once. After all, there is nothing like a letter. Who does not remember the first letter received in one's childish days, written in a fair round text for childish eyes, or perhaps even _printed_ by the kind and painstaking correspondent for the little dunce of a recipient. Who has not slept with such a letter carefully h.o.a.rded away under the pillow, that morning's first light might give positive a.s.surance of the actual existence of our treasure. Nor is the little urchin the only glad supporter of our admirable postal inst.i.tutions. Manly eyes moisten with tears of joy over those faint delicate lines traced by _her_ hand whose gentle influence has found the _one_ soft place. Woman hides away in her bosom, close to her loving heart, the precious sc.r.a.p which a.s.sures her, visibly, tangibly, unerringly, that he is hers and hers alone. Words may deceive, scenes of bliss pa.s.s away like a dream. Though ever present to the mind it requires an effort to disentangle the realities of memory from the illusions of imagination; but a letter is proof positive; there it is in black and white. You may read it again and again; you may kiss it as often as you please; you may prize it and study it and pore over it, and find a new meaning in every fresh perusal, a hidden interpretation for every magic word. Nothing can unsay it, nothing can deprive you of it; only don't forget to lock it up carefully, and mind you don't go leaving about your keys.

I had hardly read my note over a second time before Cousin Amelia bounced into the room without knocking. I should have locked the door had I known she was coming; as it was, I had only time to pop the note into my dress (the seal made a great scratch just below my neck) before she was upon me, and throwing herself into my arms with a most unusual excess of affections exclaimed,--

"Give me joy, Kate--give me joy--he's gone to mamma--he's in the drawing-room with her now--O Kate, what shall I do?"

"My dear Amelia," I exclaimed, as the delightful thought flashed across me that, after all, the Squire's visit might have been for my cousin, though I must say I wondered at his taste, "am I to congratulate you on being Mrs. Hayc.o.c.k? I do indeed from my heart. I am sure he is an excellent, amiable man, and will make you a capital husband."

"That he will!" exclaimed Cousin Amelia; "and such a nice place and gardens, and a very good fortune too. Upon my word, Kate, I begin to think I'm a lucky girl, though to be sure with my advantages I might expect to make a good match. He's not so old, Kate, after all; at least not so old as he looks; and he's very good-tempered, I know, because his servants say so. I shall alter that tumble-down house of his, and new-furnish the drawing-room. Of course he'll take me to London for two or three months every year in the season. I wonder if he knows about Mr. Johnson--not that I ever _cared_ for _him_--and, of course, a poor curate like that one couldn't think of it. Do you know, Kate, I thought his manner was very _odd_ the other day when he dined here; though he sat next _you_ he kept looking at _me_, and I remarked once that he coloured up, oh! so red. Poor fellow, I see it all now.

Kate, you shall be one of my bridesmaids--perhaps it will be _your_ turn to be a bride some of these days; who knows!"

Just then Gertrude tapped at the door.

"Miss Coventry, if you please, her ladys.h.i.+p wishes to see you in the drawing-room."

My cousin's face fell several inches.

"Some mistake, Gertrude," she exclaimed. "It's me isn't it, that mamma wants?"

"Her ladys.h.i.+p bid me tell Miss Kate she wished to see her _immediately_," was my maid's reply; so I tripped downstairs with a beating heart, and crossed the hall just in time to see Squire Hayc.o.c.k riding leisurely away from the house (though it was bitter cold and a hard frost, the first of the season), and looking up at the window, doubtless in hopes of an encouraging wave from the white handkerchief of his _fiancee_ presumptive.

Short as was the interval between my own door and that of the drawing-room I had time to run over in my mind the whole advantages and disadvantages of the flattering proposal which I was now convinced had been made on my behalf. If I became Mrs. Hayc.o.c.k (and I saw clearly that I had not mistaken the Squire's meaning on our return from hunting), I should be at the head of a handsome establishment, should have a good-tempered, easy-going, pleasant husband, who would let me do just what I liked and hunt to my heart's content; should live in the country, and look after the poor, and feed hens and chickens, and sink down comfortably into a contented old age. I need not separate from Aunt Deborah, who would never be able to do without me; and I might, I am sure, turn the Squire with the greatest ease round my little finger. But then there certainly were great objections. I could have got over the colour of his hair, though a red head opposite me every morning would undoubtedly be a trial; but the freckles! No, I do not think I could do my duty as a wife by a man so dreadfully freckled. I'm certain I couldn't love him; and if I didn't love him I oughtn't to marry him, and I thought of the sad, sad tale of Lucy, Lady Horsingham, whose ghost was now in the nightly habit of haunting Dangerfield Hall. The struggles that poor thing must have gone through, the leaden hours of dull, torpid misery, the agonizing moments of acute remorse, the perpetual spirit-wearing conflict between duty and inclination, much to the discomfiture of the former; and the haunting face of Cousin Edward continually rising on that heated imagination, pleading, reproaching, suing till she loved him, if possibly more madly in his absence than when he was by her side. I too was beginning to have a "Cousin Edward" of my own; Frank Lovell's image was far too often present in my mind. I did not choose to confess to myself how much I liked him; but the more I reflected on Mr. Hayc.o.c.k's proposal the more I felt how impossible it would be never to _think_ of Frank any more.

"No!" I said inwardly, with my hand on the drawing-room door, "I will _not_ give him up. I have his note even now in my bosom; _he_ cares for _me_, at any rate. I am happier to-day than I have been for months, and I will _not_ go and destroy it all with my own hand." I opened the door, and found myself in the formidable presence of Aunt Horsingham.

Her ladys.h.i.+p looked colder and more reserved, if possible, than ever.

She motioned me stiffly to take a chair, and plunged at once into the subject in her dry, measured tones.

"Before I congratulate you, Kate," she began, "on such an unlooked-for piece of good fortune as has just come to my knowledge, I am bound to confess, much to my astonishment----"

"Thank you, aunt," I put in; "that's complimentary, at any rate."

"I should wish to say a few words," proceeded my aunt, without heeding the interruption, "on the duties which will now devolve upon you, and the line of conduct which I should advise you to pursue in your new sphere. These hoydenish manners, these ridiculous expeditions, these scampers all over the country, must be renounced forthwith. Unbecoming as they are in a young unmarried female, a much stricter sense of decorum, a vastly different repose and reserve of manner, are absolutely essential in a wife; and it is as a _wife_, Kate, that I am now addressing you."

"A wife, aunt!" I exclaimed; "whose, I should like to know?"

"This is an ill-chosen time for jesting, Kate," said my aunt with a frown. "I cannot congratulate you on your good taste in turning so important a subject into ridicule. Mr. Hayc.o.c.k has proposed to you; you have accepted him. Whilst poor Deborah is so ill I am your natural guardian, and he has with great propriety requested my consent; although, in the agitation very natural to a man so circ.u.mstanced,"

added my aunt, smothering a smile, "it was with some difficulty that I made out exactly what he meant."

"He _never_ proposed to me; I _never_ accepted him," I broke in, breathless with agitation. "I never _will_ be his wife, aunt; you had no right to tell him so. Write to him immediately--send a man off on horseback to overtake him. I'll put my bonnet on this instant, and walk every mile of the way myself. He's a true-hearted gentleman, and I won't have him made a fool of." I walked up and down the room--I looked Aunt Horsingham full in the face; she was quite cowed by my vehemence. I felt I was mistress now, while the excitement lasted, and she gave in; she even wrote a note to the Squire at my dictation--she dispatched it by a special messenger--she did everything I told her, and never so much as ventured on remonstrance or reproach; but she will never forgive me to her dying hour. There is no victory so complete as that which one obtains over a person who is always accustomed to meet with fear and obedience. Aunt Horsingham rules her household with a rod of iron; n.o.body ever ventures to disagree with her, or so much as to hint an opinion contrary to those which she is known to hold. Such a person is so astonished at resistance as to be incapable of quelling it; the very hardihood of the rebellion ensures its success. When I walked out of the drawing-room to-day I felt that for once I had obtained the victory in a contest with my aunt; that in future I should no longer be the "wild, troublesome Kate," the "black sheep" of the family, the scapegoat on whom were laid the faults and misdemeanours of all, but the master-spirit, the bold, resolute woman, whose value others were able to appreciate, and who was ready and willing to a.s.sert her own independence. In the meantime poor Aunt Deborah had to be informed of what had taken place, and Cousin Amelia to be undeceived in her groundless expectations. That the latter would never forgive me I was well enough acquainted with my own s.e.x to be a.s.sured; but the task required to be done, notwithstanding. Flushed with my triumph, with heightened colour and flas.h.i.+ng eyes, I stalked off towards my chamber and met Cousin John in the hall.

"Good heavens, Kate, what is the matter? What has happened?" exclaimed John in obvious perturbation.

"A piece of news!" was my reply; "a conquest, John! What do you think?

Mr. Hayc.o.c.k has just been here, and _proposed_ for me!"

He flushed up all over his face and temples, and then turned deadly pale; even his lips were quite white and wide apart. How they quivered as he tried to speak unconcernedly! And after all he got out nothing but, "Well, Kate?"

"And I have refused him, John," I said quietly, but in a tone that showed him there was no mistake about it.

"G.o.d bless you, Kate!" was all he replied, and turned away muttering something about "wet things" and his "dressing-room;" but he was going to the wrong door, and had to turn back, though he took care not to let me see his face again.

I can't make John out. At dinner he was just as if nothing had happened; but at all events I'm glad I've refused Mr. Hayc.o.c.k; so I shall read Frank's note over once more and then go to bed.

CHAPTER XIV.

I need quote no more from my diary, as the next few days offered no incident worthy of recording to break the monotony of our life at Dangerfield Hall. Drearier than ever it was, and more especially to me; for I felt that, although undeclared, there was "war to the knife"

between myself, my aunt, and cousin. The latter scarcely spoke to me at all; and my aunt, whose defeat was rankling bitterly in her heart, merely took such sullen notice of me as was absolutely necessitated by the laws of hospitality and the usages of society. Poor Aunt Deborah required to be kept very quiet and free from all worries and annoyances. "The more she slept," the doctor said, "the sooner she would get well enough to move to London for further advice;" so I had not even her to talk to--there was no hunting--the frost got harder and harder--that obstinate weather-c.o.c.k over the stables kept veering from north to north-east--the grooms went to exercise wrapped up in greatcoats and shawl handkerchiefs, and stayed out as short a time as was compatible with the mildest stable discipline; there would be no change of the moon for a week, and it was obvious that I should have but little use for Brilliant and White Stockings before our return to town.

Oh! the hopelessness of a real bitter black frost coming on early in the season, especially when you are not at your own home and your time is limited; to get up morning after morning with the faint hope that the change may have come at last; to see the dry slates and the clear horizon and the iron-bound earth, and to ascertain in your own proper person that the water gets colder and colder every day. You puzzle over the almanac till your eyes ache, and study the thermometer till you get a crick in your neck. You watch the smoke from every farmhouse and cottage within your ken, and still, after curling high up into the pure, rarefied atmosphere, it floats hopelessly away to the southward and corroborates the odious dog-vane that you fondly imagined might have got stuck in its northerly direction. You walk out and ask every labourer you meet whether he "does not think we are going to have a change?" The man looks up from his work, wonders at your solicitude, opines "the gentry folk have queer ways," but answers honestly enough, according to his convictions, in the negative--perhaps giving some local reasons for his opinion, which, if an old man, he will tell you he has never known to fail. Lastly, you quarrel with every one of your non-hunting friends, whose unfeeling observations on "fine seasonable weather" and "healthy, bracing frosts" you feel to be brutal in the extreme.