Читать книгу Eli's Children: The Chronicles of an Unhappy Family - Fenn George Manville - Страница 13

The morning of Mrs Portlock’s party, and Uncle Joseph just returned from his round in the farm, to look smilingly at the preparations that were going on, and very tenderly at Sage, who looked downcast and troubled.

“Well, girls,” he cried, “how goes it? Come, old lady, let it be a good set-out, for Sage here won’t have much more chance for helping you when these holidays are over.”

“I wish she’d give the school teaching up,” said Mrs Portlock, rather fretfully, as she sat gathering her apron into pleats.

“She can give it up if she likes,” said the Churchwarden, heartily. “It’s her own whim.”

“Well, don’t you fidget, Joseph, for Sage and I will do our best.”

“Of course you will, my dears,” he said. “Here, Sage, fill me the old silver mug with ale out of number two.”

“But it is not tapped, uncle.”

“Ah!” he shouted, “who says it isn’t tapped? Why I drove the spigot in night before last on purpose to have it fine. And now, old woman, if you want any lunch, have it, and then go and pop on your black silk and bonnet, while I order round the chaise, and I’ll drive you in to town.”

“No, Joseph, no,” exclaimed Mrs Portlock, who had now gathered the whole of the bottom of her apron into pleats and let them go. “I said last night that I would not go with you any more unless you left the whip at home. I cannot bear to sit in that chaise and see you beat poor Dapple as you do.”

“But I must have a whip, old girl, or I can’t drive.”

“I’m sure the poor horse goes very well without.”

“But not through the snow, my dear,” said Sage’s uncle, giving her another of his droll looks. “Really, old girl, I wouldn’t answer for our not being upset without a whip.”

“But you wouldn’t use it without you were absolutely obliged, Joseph?”

“On my honour as a gentleman,” said Uncle Joseph; and his wife smiled and went up-stairs to get dressed, while Sage took the keys to go down to the cellar and draw the ale, as her uncle walked to the door, and she heard him shouting his orders to Dicky Dykes to harness Dapple and bring him round at once.

Sage stood in the low-ceiled, old-fashioned parlour, with the quaintly-made silver tankard in her hand, waiting for her uncle to come in. There was a smile upon her lip, and as she listened now to the Churchwarden’s loud, hearty voice shouting orders to the different men about the yard, and now to her aunt’s heavy footsteps overhead, she was gazing straight into the great glowing wood fire, whose ruddy flames flickered and danced in the broad, blue-tiled chimney; and though it was so cold that the frost was making silver filigree upon the window panes, she felt all aglow, and kept on picturing in the embers the future that might have place.

“By George!” roared the Churchwarden, coming in. “Hallo! didn’t kick all the snow off. Here, let’s melt it before the tyrant comes down;” and he shone all over his broad face, and his eyes twinkled with mirth, as he held first one boot and then the other to the blaze. “Now, the ale, Sage, my pet. Give’s a kiss first, darling, to give it a flavour.”

He hugged her to his side, and gave her a loud-sounding smack upon the lips, holding her close to him as he smiled down in her eyes.

“And I used to grumble, my pet, because I had no children,” he said, tenderly, “little thinking I should have Sage and Rue to take care of till – Oh! I say. Ha-ha-ha! Look at the colour. Poor little woman then. Was he coming to-day?”

“Please don’t tease me, uncle dear,” she whispered, as she laid her head upon his shoulder, and hid her burning face.

“I won’t then,” he said; but she could feel him chuckling as he went on. “I say though, Sage. I’ve been thinking one ought to have asked him to come and stay here for a few days. Very hospitable, eh? But hardly conventual. That’s not right, is it, schoolmistress? No, no; I mean conventional. No you don’t. I’ve got you tight,” for Sage had tried to run away.

“Then please don’t tease me, uncle.”

“But what will old Vinnicombe say?”

“Uncle dear,” she whispered, appealingly. “There then, my pet, I won’t,” he said. “What time do you expect Jack and Rue?”

“By about four o’clock, uncle dear.”

“That’s right, my pet, and now you must bustle. See that there’s plenty of jolly good fires, for I hate people to come and find the place chilly. Let’s give ’em a warm reception, and I’ll see if I can’t fill up some of old Vinnicombe’s wrinkles out of his face. Let me see, I want some more tobacco. Hah!” he cried, after a deep draught, “that’s good ale. Taste it, pet.”

Sage took the tankard with a smile, raised the creaking lid, and put her lips to it to please him.

“Fine, ain’t it, lass?”

“Capital, uncle.”

“I say, Sage, if that don’t make old Vinnicombe smile I’m a Dutchman. By the way, my dear, shall I ask Cyril Mallow to drop in?”

“Uncle!” cried Sage, turning pale.

“Well, why not? He has no pride in him, not a bit. And if he wants gentlemen to meet, why, there’s Paulby and Vinnicombe. Hang it all, my girl, if I liked to set up for a gentleman I dare say I could, after you had toned me down and mended my manners, and oiled my axles with grammar grease, eh?”

“Oh, no, no, uncle; don’t think of it,” she said, imploringly.

“Just as you like, my dear; ’tis your party like, and it’s for you to choose. He is a bit cocky and priggish, and a bit gallant, but my darling knows how to keep him in his place.”

“Oh, yes, uncle, of course,” said Sage, hastily; “but Rue will be here, you know, and it might set her thinking of his brother Frank.”

“Hah! Yes; I had forgotten that,” said the Churchwarden, thoughtfully. “To be sure! she did think a little about him, didn’t she? Hullo!”

“I want Sage,” cried Mrs Portlock down the stairs.

“Yes, aunt, dear.”

“Hold that wrapper to the fire, my dear, ready for your uncle,” and she threw down a great white cashmere belcher to her niece.

“Here! Hoi! I say, old girl, I’m not going to wear that thing.”

“Yes, dear, it’s a very long drive, and the air is very cold.”

The Churchwarden sank into a chair, and, raising the lid of the tankard, gazed into it despondently.

“Tyranny, tyranny, tyranny!” he groaned. “Oh! why did I ever marry such a woman as this?”

“Now don’t talk nonsense, Joseph,” cried his wife, rustling down into the room so wrapped up that she looked double her natural size, what with cloak, and boa, and a large muff. “Put it round your uncle’s neck, Sage, the frost is very severe.”

The Churchwarden threw his head back ready for Sage to tie on the wrapper, uttering a low moan the while, and then sighed as he stood up and walked – at first slowly and then with alacrity – into the hall to put on his hat.

“I can’t get into my coat with this thing on,” he roared. “Come and give us a lift.”

Sage ran laughingly into the hall to help the greatcoat on to his broad shoulders just as the four-wheeled chaise came crunching to the front door, Dapple giving a loud snort or two, and stamping upon the frozen gravel.

Just then the Churchwarden gave a comical look at his niece, rushed to the corner by the eight-day clock, and made a great deal of rattling as he took up the whip and gave it a sharp lash through the air, and a crack on the broad balustrade.

Sage heard her aunt start, and her uncle chuckled.

“Now, old lady,” he said. “That’s right, Sage, plenty of rugs, or we shall have her frozen. That’s it, old girl, right leg first. Hold his head still, Dicky. There you are; tuck that rug round you. There, that’s better,” he cried, taking his seat and fastening the apron. “Let him go, Dicky. Tck!”

He started Dapple, and then stood up in the chaise with a quick motion, raising the whip as he set his teeth, and seemed about to strike the cob a tremendous blow, making Mrs Portlock jump and seize his arm, when he subsided, looking round at Sage with a comical expression in his eye, but pulled up short.

“Here. Hi! I say. Yah! artful. Here you, Luke Ross, you’re three hours before your time,” he cried.

“Yes, sir. I thought I might help a little, and – ”

“You thought you might help a little, and – G’on with you – get out. G’long!” and the Churchwarden flicked and lashed at Luke Ross, as he stepped to the side of the chaise and shook hands, while Sage, with her heart beating fast, drew back into the porch, seeing her uncle begin poking at the new arrival with the butt of the whip-handle.

Then the cob was started again with another pretended furious cut, which made Sage’s aunt catch at her uncle’s arm; and then as, frightened, fluttering, and yet happy, she saw Luke coming towards her, the Churchwarden’s voice came roaring through the wintry air —

“Here! I say, Luke Ross, remember what I said. I mean it – seriously.”

“Sage, my dear Sage!” Those were the next words Sage Portlock heard, as Luke took her hand to lead her, trembling and nervous, into the hall.

“I hardly hoped for such good fortune,” he cried, as Sage gently disengaged herself from his clasp, and stood gazing rather sadly in his face; “but oh! pray, pray don’t look at me like that, darling, I’m here to go down on my knees to you, Sage. There,” he cried, “I will, to beg pardon – to tell you I was a weak, jealous fool – that I know you could not help Cyril Mallow coming and admiring you (he’d have been a fool if he hadn’t!) – that you’re the best, and dearest, and truest, and sweetest, and most innocent-hearted of girls – that I love you more dearly than ever, and that I’ve been a miserable wretch ever since last night.”

“Don’t do that, Luke,” she said, as he literally went upon his knees; “it hurts me.”

“And I’d suffer anything sooner than give you a moment’s pain,” he cried, springing to his feet; and they stood now in the middle of the old parlour. “But you haven’t forgiven me, Sage,” he said, piteously.

“Yes, Luke, I’ve forgiven you, but I want you to know and trust me better. Your words seemed so cruel to me, and if you knew me you would not have said them. I did not know that Cyril Mallow when he called did so that he might see me, and we hardly exchanged a dozen words.”

“And if you had exchanged a thousand, sweet, what then?” cried Luke, proudly. “I was a jealous idiot, and ought to have known better; but it has been a lesson to me on my weakness, and now I am going to wait patiently till I can say what your uncle wishes.”

Sage was silent, for she was thinking it was her duty to tell him that, after the sad little trouble that had come between them, it would be better for them to be more distant for a time; but she could not say it with his eyes looking appealingly at her. She had felt so proud of him for his manly bearing and straightforward honesty of purpose. The words would not come, and somehow the next minute she was sobbing in his arms as he whispered those two words, but in such a tone —

“My darling!”

She started from him guiltily the next moment, and ran up-stairs, and stayed till there was a fresh crunching of wheels and the trampling of a horse’s hoofs, when she came down again to welcome her sister and her husband, John Berry – a bluff, middle-aged farmer to whom Rue had been married some five years, and they had come now to spend a few days, bringing their two little girls.

“Ah, Luke, my man of wisdom, how are you? Sage, my dear, give us a kiss. Bless you, how well you look. How am I? Hearty, and so’s Rue.”

Sage was kissing her sister affectionately the next moment, heartily glad to see her looking so rosy and well, but blushing redder as she whispered merrily —

“Oh! I am sorry we came and interrupted you. You look so guilty, Sagey. When’s it to be?”

“Not for years to come, dear,” said Sage, as she busied herself with Lotty and Totty, their two golden-haired little children, who were so wrapped up that they were, as John said, warm as toasts.

He plumped himself into a chair directly, to take one on each knee. Then Sage and Rue busied themselves in taking off pelisses and woollen leggings, and reducing the little things into a less rounded shape, while John sat as stolid and serious as a judge, evidently being very proud of his two little ones, as he was of his handsome young wife.

“And now, John, you’d like a tankard of ale, wouldn’t you?” cried Sage.

“Well, I don’t know,” said John, quietly; “a mug of squire’s ale is nice, if Luke there will have one too.”

“Oh! I’ll join,” said Luke, heartily; and, after drawing it, Sage went up with Rue to her room, and she began to tease her about Luke, but ended with an affectionate embrace.

“I’d marry him any time, dear,” she said, “for I think he’s a good fellow, and if you are as happy as I am with dear old John you will be satisfied.”

“But uncle has said that it is not to be till Luke has five hundred a year,” said Sage, dreamily, “and that will not be for a long time; and – and, Rue, dear,” she faltered, “I – I don’t think I feel quite happy about it.”

“Stuff and nonsense, Sagey! Uncle will come round. He wants to see us quite happy.”

“But you misunderstand me, dear,” said Sage, thoughtfully. “I mean that I’m half afraid I’m not doing right in letting Luke Ross believe I love him, because – because – ”

“Because – because you are a goose,” cried Rue, merrily. “I felt just the same about John, and was ready to break it off, and now I think him the dearest and best fellow under the sun. Sage, dear.”

“Yes, Rue.”

“You are in the sugar-plum stage just now, and don’t know your own mind. I like Luke Ross. He’s frank and straightforward. Don’t play with him, for he’s a man to be trusted, and you’re lucky to have him care for you.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Sage, dreamily; “but it is not to be for a long time yet.”

As she spoke she was thinking of the past, and her sister’s love affair with Frank Mallow, who used to follow her whenever she was out for a walk; and then about the trouble at the rectory, when Frank Mallow went off all on a sudden. Of how poor Rue was nearly heartbroken, and used to tell Sage that she would go after him if he sent for her; but he never even wrote to her in spite of all his professions; and then they learned how badly he had behaved; and after that Rue never mentioned his name but in a quiet subdued way, and at her uncle’s wish accepted John Berry – a man of sterling qualities – and she had grown brighter and happier ever since she had been his wife.

The final preparations were made and the table spread long before the Churchwarden and his wife came back, with the chaise loaded up, and Mrs Portlock protesting that she would never go again if Joseph took a whip.

The culprit chuckled as Sage helped him with his overcoat, shouting orders all the while to Luke and John Berry, who were busy bringing in the load of parcels till it seemed wonderful how they could all have been packed into the chaise.

At last the final packet was in, and the cold air shut out; but hardly had the door been closed, and they were standing laughing at Rue’s little girls, who were staggering in and out of the great parlour with packets which they carried by the string, than the bell rang.

“Here’s Vinnicombe!” cried Portlock, and the doctor, in a fur cap tied down over his ears, blue spectacles over his eyes, and his tall lean form muffled in a long thick greatcoat, came in, stamping his feet.

“Here, help me off with this coat, somebody,” growled the doctor. “How do, girls? Take away those children, or I shall tread on ’em. Hate youngsters running about under one’s feet like black beetles. What have you got there?” he added, pointing to the parcels.

“Fal-lals and kickshaws. The old woman’s been pretty well emptying the grocer’s shop.”

“Now, Joseph, that is really too bad,” said Mrs Portlock, full of mild indignation. “Now you know you would persist in buying three-parts of what is there.”

“Humph! Thought you fancied you were going to be snowed up,” growled the doctor, shaking himself free of his coat, and holding out first one leg and then the other for Luke to pull off his goloshes. “That’s right, Luke Ross; I don’t see why you young fellows shouldn’t wait on us old ones. I had lots of trouble with you, you young rascal; fetched out of bed for you often.”

“Well, doctor,” cried Luke, “you see I’m willing enough,” and his cheeks flushed with pleasure to find that in spite of the Churchwarden’s serious treatment of his proposals, he was warmer than ever he had been before.

“There, look sharp, girls,” cried the Churchwarden. “Come, old lady, take off your things. Sage, put the doctor in the chimney-corner to thaw. He’ll soon come round.”

Dr Vinnicombe shook his fist at the speaker, and let Sage lead him to the glowing fire, while the next moment the Churchwarden was having what he called “a glorious cuddle,” four little chubby arms being fast about his great neck, and a couple of pairs of little red lips kissing him all over his rugged, ruddy face.