Books: The Long Vacation
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Long Vacation
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At St. Andrew's Rock there was a glad meeting with the Travis
Underwoods, who had disposed of themselves at the Marine Hotel, while
they came up with a select party of three Vanderkists to spend the
evening with Clement, Geraldine, and Lancelot, not to mention Adrian,
who had been allowed to sit up to dinner to see his sisters, and was
almost devoured by them. His growth, and the improved looks of both
his uncle and aunt, so delighted Marilda, that Lancelot declared the
Rockquay people would do well to have them photographed "Then" and
"Now," as an advertisement of the place! But he was not without
dread of the effect of the disclosure that had yet to be made, though
Gerald had apparently forgotten all about it as he sat chaffing
Emilia Vanderkist about the hospital, whither she was really going
for a year; Sophy about the engineer who had surveyed the Penbeacon
intended works, and Francie about her Miranda-Mona in strange hands.
The Vanderkists all began life as very pretty little girls, but
showed more or less of the Hollander ancestry as they grow up. Only
Franceska, content with her Dutch name, had shot up into a beautiful
figure, together with the fine features and complexion of the
Underwood twins, and the profuse golden flax hair of her aunt Angela,
so that she took them all by surprise in the pretty dress presented
by Cousin Marilda, and chosen by Emilia. Sophy was round and short,
as nearly plain as one with the family likeness could be, but bright
and joyous, and very proud of her young sister. It was a merry
evening.
In fact, Lance himself was so much carried away by the spirit of the
thing, and so anxious about the performance, that he made all the
rest, including Clement, join in singing Autolycus's song, which was
to precede the procession, to a new setting of his own, before they
dispersed.
But Lance was beginning to dress in the morning when a knock came to
his door.
"A note from Mr. Flight, please, sir."
The note was—-"Circus and Schnetterlings gone off in the night! Shop
closed! Must performance be given up?"
The town was all over red and blue posters! But Lance felt a wild
hope for the future, and a not ill-founded one for the present. He
rushed into his clothes, first pencilling a note—-
"Never say die. L. 0. U."
Then he hurried off, and sent up a message to Miss Franceska
Vanderkist, to come and speak to him, and he walked up and down the
sitting-room where breakfast was being spread, like a panther,
humming Prospero's songs, or murmuring vituperations, till Franceska
appeared, a perfect picture of loveliness in her morning youthful
freshness.
"Francie, there's no help for it. You must take Mona! She has
absconded!"
"Uncle Lance!"
"Yes, gone off in the night; left us lamenting."
"The horrible girl!"
"Probably not her fault, poor thing! But that's neither here nor
there. I wish it was!"
"But I thought-—"
"It is past thinking now, my dear. Here we are, pledged. Can't draw
back, and you are the only being who can save us! You know the
part."
"Yes, in a way."
"You did it with me at home."
"Oh yes; but, Uncle Lance, it would be too dreadful before all these
people."
"Never mind the people. Be Mona, and only think of Alaster and
Angus."
"But what would mamma say, or Aunt Wilmet? And Uncle Clem?" each in
a more awe-stricken voice.
"I'll tackle them."
"I know I shall be frightened and fail, and that will be worse."
"No, it won't, and you won't. Look here, Francie, this is not a
self-willed freak for our own amusement. The keeping up the Church
schools here depends upon what we can raise. I hate bazaars. I hate
to have to obtain help for the Church through these people's idle
amusement, but you and I have not two or three thousands to give away
to a strange place in a lump; but we have our voices. 'Such as I
have give I thee,' and this ridiculous entertainment may bring in
fifty or maybe a hundred. I don't feel it right to let it collapse
for the sake of our own dislikes."
"Very well, Uncle Lance, I'll do as you tell me."
"That's the way to do it, my dear. At least, when you make ready,
recollect, not that you are facing a multitude, but that you are
saving a child's Christian faith; when you prepare, that you have to
do with nobody but Gerald and me; when it comes to 'One, two, three,
and away,' mind nothing but your music and your cue."
"But the dress, uncle?"
"The dress is all safe at the pavilion. You must come up and
rehearse as soon as you have eaten your breakfast. Oh, you don't
know where. Well, one of us will come and fetch you. Good girl,
Francie! Keep up your heart. By the bye, which is Fernan's
dressing-room? I must prepare him."
That question was answered, for Sir Ferdinand's door into the
corridor was opened.
"Lance! I thought I heard your voice."
"Yes, here's a pretty kettle of fish! Our Miranda has absconded,
poor child. Happy thing you brought down Francie; nobody else could
take the part at such short notice. You must pacify Marilda, silence
scruples, say it is her duty to Church, country, and family. Can't
stop!"
"Lance, explain-—do! Music-mad as usual!" cried Sir Ferdinand,
pursuing him down-stairs in despair.
"I _must_ be music-mad; the only chance of keeping sane just now.
There's an awful predicament! Can't go into it now, but you shall
hear all when this is over."
Wherewith Lance was lost to view, and presently burst into St.
Kenelm's Vicarage, to the relief of poor Mr. Flight, who had tried to
solace himself with those three words as best he might.
"All right. My niece, Franceska Vanderkist, who took the part
before, and who has a very good soprano, will do it better as to
voice, if not so well as to acting, as the Little Butterfly."
"Is she here?"
"Yes, by good luck. I shall have her up to the pavilion to rehearse
her for the afternoon."
"Mr. Underwood, no words can say what we owe you. You are the saving
of our Church education."
Lance laughed at the magniloquent thanks, and asked how the
intimation had been received.
It appeared that on the previous evening O'Leary had come to him,
and, in swaggering fashion, had demanded twenty pounds as payment for
his step-daughter's performance at the masque. Mr. Flight had
replied that she had freely promised her services gratuitously for
the benefit of the object in view. At this the man had scoffed,
talked big about her value and the meanness of parsons, and
threatened to withdraw her. Rather weakly the clergyman had said the
question should be considered, but that he could do nothing without
the committee, and O'Leary had departed, uttering abuse.
This morning "Sweetie Bob," the errand-boy, had arrived crying, with
tidings that the shop and house were shut up; nobody answered his
knock; Mother Butterfly had "cut" in the night, gone off, he
believed, with the circus, and Miss Lydia too; and there was two-and-
ninepence owing to him, besides his-—his-—his character!
He knew that Mother Butterfly had gone to the magistrates' meeting
the day before, and paid her fine of twenty-five pounds, and he also
believed that she had paid up her rent, and sold her shop to a
neighbouring pastry-cook, but he had never expected her to depart in
this sudden way, and then he began to shed fresh tears over his two-
and-ninepence and his character.
Mr. Flight began to reassure him, with promises to speak for him as
an honest lad, while Lance bethought himself of the old organist's
description of that wandering star, "Without home, without country,
without morals, without religion, without anything," and recollected
with a shudder that turning-point in his life when Edgar had made him
show off his musical talent, and when Felix had been sharp with him,
and the office of the 'Pursuivant' looked shabby, dull, and dreary.
Nothing more could be done, except to make bold assurances to Mr.
Flight that Mona's place should be supplied, and then to hurry home,
meeting on his way a policeman, who told him that the circus was
certainly gone away, and promised to let him know whither.
He was glad to find that Gerald had not come down-stairs, having
overslept himself in the morning after a wakeful night. He was
dressing when his uncle knocked at his door.
"Here is a shock, Gerald! I hope it is chiefly to our masque.
These people have absconded, and carried off our poor little Mona."
"What? Absconded? My sister! I must be after them instantly,"
cried Gerald, wildly snatching at his coat.
"What good would that do? you can't carry her off vi et armis."
"Send the police."
"No possibility. The fine is paid, the rent and all. They have
gone, it seems, with the circus."
"Ah! Depend upon it that fellow has paid the fine, and bought the
poor child into slavery with it. Carried her off in spite of our
demurring, and the Vicar's prosecution. I must save her. I'll go
after and outbid."
"No hurry, Gerald. A circus is not such a microscopical object but
that it can be easily traced. A policeman has promised to find out
where, and meanwhile we must attend to our present undertaking."
Gerald strode up and down the room in a fiery fit of impatience and
indignation, muttering furious things, quite transformed from the
listless, ironical youth hitherto known to his family.
"Come," Lancelot said, "our first duty is to do justice to our part;
Francie Vanderkist will take Mona."
"Hang Mona! you care for nothing on earth but your fiddling and
songs."
"I do not see that being frantic will make any difference to the
situation. All in our power is being done. Meanwhile, we must
attend to what we have undertaken."
Gerald rushed about a little more, but finally listened to his
uncle's representation that the engrossing employment was good to
prevent the peril of disturbing the two whom they were so anxious to
spare. Fely came running up with a message that Aunt Cherie and Anna
had been sent for to see about the decorations of the art stall, and
that they would have to eat their breakfast without them.
Appetite for breakfast was lacking, but Lance forced himself to
swallow, as one aware of the consequences of fasting for agitation's
sake, and he nearly crammed Gerald; so that Adrian and Fely laughed,
and he excused himself by declaring that he wanted his turkey-cock to
gobble and not pipe. For which bit of pleasantry he encountered a
glare from Gerald's Hungarian eyes. He was afraid on one side to
lose sight of his nephew, on the other he did not feel equal to
encounter a scolding from Marilda, so he sent Adrian and Fely down to
the Marine Hotel to fetch Franceska, while he stole a moment or two
for greeting Clement, who was much better, and only wanted more
conversation than he durst give him.
CHAPTER XXI. THE MASQUE
Your honour's players, hearing your amendment,
Are come to play a pleasant comedy.
Taming of the Shrew.
Poor Franceska! First she encountered Cousin Marilda's wonder and
displeasure, and the declaration that Uncle Lance went absolutely
crazy over his musical mania. She had seen it before in poor Edgar,
and knew what it came to. She wanted to telegraph at once to Alda to
ask her consent or refusal to Franceska's appearance; but Sir
Ferdinand stopped this on the ground that the circumstances could not
be explained, and told her to content herself with Clement's opinion.
This she sent Sophy and Emilia to ascertain, before she would let
them and the boys escort Francie to her destination. Clement, not
yet up, had to hold a lit de justice, and pronounce that Uncle Lance
was to be fully trusted to ask nothing unbecoming or unnecessary, and
that Francie would have nothing to do with any one except him and
Gerald.
"Besides," said Emilia, as they walked up, "nobody will find it out.
The posters are all over the town, 'Mona, Miss Ludmilla
Schnetterling.'"
So the sisters were received with a murmur on their delay. The
pretty dress prepared for Mona was found to be too small for the tall
shapely Franceska, and Sophy undertook to alter it, while poor
Francie's troubles began.
Whether it was that Uncle Lance and Gerald were in a secret state of
turmoil, or that their requirements were a good deal higher than for
the Vale Leston audience, or perhaps that she had no inheritance of
actress traditions, they certainly were a great deal sharper with her
than they had been ever before or with Ludmilla.
Gerald derided her efforts sarcastically, and Uncle Lance found fault
good-humouredly but seriously, and she was nearly in tears by eleven
o'clock, when the procession was to take place. She was quite
surprised when Lance turned to her and said—-
"Thank you, my dear, you are doing capitally. I shall be proud of my
daughter Mona."
Quite in spirits again, she was sewn by Sophy into her still
unfinished dress, her beautiful light golden flax tresses were
snooded, her Highland scarf pinned on her shoulder, and she hurried
to her uncle, now be-robed and be-wigged, with Gerald in full
Highland garb, looking very much disgusted, especially when her uncle
said—-
"Well done, Francie. You'll cut that poor little thing out in looks
and voice, if not in acting."
"Oh, uncle, I sang so horridly."
"You can do better if you try; I wish there was time to train you.
We'll do the 'logs duet' once more after this tomfoolery. Ha!
Captain Armytage. You are an awful pirate, and no mistake. Where
did you get that splendid horse-pistol?"
"From my native home, as well as my sword; but I wrote to Willingham
for the rest. This will be an uncommonly pretty march-past. The
girls look so well, and all out of doors too."
This was decidedly a great advantage, the trees, grass, and blue sky
lending a great grace to the scene. The procession started from the
garden entrance of the hotel, headed by the town band in uniform, and
the fire brigade likewise, very proud of themselves, especially the
little terrier whom nothing would detach from one of the firemen.
Then came the four seasons belonging to the flower stall,
appropriately decked with flowers, the Italian peasants with flat
veils, bright aprons, and white sleeves, Maura White's beauty
conspicuous in the midst, but with unnecessary nods and becks. Then
came the "mediaeval" damsels in ruffs and high hats, the Highland
maidens, with Valetta and Primrose giggling unmanageably; and Aunt
Jane's troop of the various costumes of charity children, from the
green frocks, long mittens, and tall white caps, and the Jemima
Placid flat hats and long waists, down to the red cloaks, poke straw
bonnets, and blue frocks of the Lady Bountiful age. These were
followed by the merry fairies and elves; then by the buccaneers and
the captive prisoners; and the rear was brought up by MacProspero, as
Lord Rotherwood called him, with his niece on his arm and his nephew
by his side.
When the central stall, or bothie, in the Carrara grounds was
reached, after passing in full state and order over two of the
bridges, the procession halted before a group of the Rotherwood
family, Sir Jasper and Lady Merrifield, Lady Flight, and other local
grandees, with the clergy, who had declined to walk in procession.
There the performers spread themselves out, singing Autolycus's song,
led of course by MacProspero; Lady Rotherwood, with as much dignity
as the occasion permitted, declared the bazaar open, and the Marquis
hoped every one was going to ruin themselves in the cause of
Christian education.
The first idea of "every one" was luncheon, except that Lance laid
hands on his unfortunate Angus and Mona for their duet, in the midst
of which Lord Rotherwood made a raid on them.
"There! I'm sure Prospero never was so cruel as to starve what's-
his-name! Come in and have some food-—it is just by."
They found themselves in a dining-room, in the presence of Lady
Rotherwood, her son and daughter, and a sprinkling of Merrifields and
actors, in full swing of joyous chatter; Mysie and Lady Phyllis
telling all that was specially to be admired, and Lord Rotherwood
teasing them about the prices, and their wicked extortions in the
name of goodness, Gillian snubbing poor Captain Armytage in his
splendid buccaneer dress, Ivinghoe making himself agreeable to
Franceska, whose heightened carnation tints made her doubly lovely
through her shyness. Gerald and Dolores in the less lively vicinity
of the Marchioness carrying on a low-toned conversation, which,
however, enabled Gerald to sustain nature with food better than he
had done at breakfast.
It did not last long. The sellers had to rush off to relieve those
who had begun the sale, and the performance was to commence at three
o'clock, so that the final preparations had to be hurried through.
Geraldine had made the tour of the stalls on the arm of Anna, to
admire them in their first freshness, and put finishing touches
wherever solicited. The Rocca Marina conservatories were in rare
glory, orchids in weird beauty, lovely lilies of all hues, fabulously
exquisite ipomoeas, all that heart could wish. Before them a
fountain played in the midst of blue, pink, and white lotus lilies,
and in a flower-decked house the Seasons dispensed pot-flowers,
bouquets, and button-holes; the Miss Simmondses and their friends
with simpering graces, that made Geraldine glad to escape and leave
them to the young men who were strolling up. At Carrara was the
stall in which she was chiefly interested, and which had been
arranged with a certain likeness to Italian gardens, the statues and
other devices disposed among flowers; the Dirty Boy judiciously
veiled by the Puzzle Monkey, and the front of the summer-house
prolonged by pillars, sham but artistic. Jasper was zealously
photographing group after group, handing his performances over to his
assistant for printing off. Kalliope looked in her costume most
beautiful and dignified. Her sister, grown to almost equal beauty,
was hurrying off to see the masque, flushed and eager, while Gillian
and one or two others were assisting in sales that would be rather
slack till after the performance. Here Geraldine purchased only a
couple of Mouse-traps, leaving further choice to be made after the
stranger purchasers. Here Sir Jasper and General Mohun came up, and
gave her a good deal of curious information about Bernard's bevy of
figures in Indian costumes; and having the offer of such a strong arm
as the General's, she dispensed with Anna, who was really wanted to
help with the very popular photographs.
They passed the refreshments, at present chiefly haunted by Mrs.
Edgar's boys, ready to eat at any time of day; they looked civilly at
the Varley Elizabethans, and found Lady Merrifield in the midst o£
her bothie, made charming with fresh green branches and purple
heather, imported by the Vanderkists.
"That's Penbeacon ling. I know that red tint in the mauve," said
Geraldine; "I'll give you half-a-crown, if your decorations can spare
that spiring spray!" And she put it in her bosom, after touching it
with her lips. "You have a bower for the Lady of the Lake," she
added.
"I'm afraid I'm only Roderick Dhu's mother," laughed Lady Merrifield;
"but I shall have more ladies when the masque is done. Now I have
only Mysie."
"And oh!" cried Mysie, "please set up the nurse in the nursery
gardens right. Wilfred knocked her over, and she won't stand right
for me."
"Perverse woman. There! No, I shall not buy anything now, I shall
wait for Primrose and the refuse. How pretty it does all look! Ah,
Mr. Brownlow," as she shook hands with the curate.
"I left my brother John at your house," he said; "I persuaded him to
run down this morning with my mother and see our doings, and he was
glad of the opportunity of looking in upon the Vicar."
"How very kind of him. We were wishing to know what he thought!"
"No doubt he will be here presently. My mother is at the masque.
There was not a seat for us, so I took him down to St. Andrew's
Rock."
"Not a seat! The five-shilling seats?"
"Not the fraction of one. Numbers standing outside! Pity there
can't be a second performance."
"Four hundred seats! That's a hundred pounds! We shall beat the
School-board yet!"
So, with the General politely expressing that there was no saying
what Rockquay owed to the hearty co-operation of such birds of
passage as herself and her brothers, she travelled on to the charity
stall, which Miss Mohun had quaintly dressed in the likeness of an
old-fashioned school, with big alphabet and samplers, flourished
copies, and a stuffed figure of a 'cont-rare-y' naughty boy, with a
magnificent fool's cap. She herself sat behind it, the very image of
the Shenstone school-mistress, with wide white cap, black poke-
bonnet, crossed kerchief, red cloak, and formidable rod; and her
myrmidons were in costume to match. It was very attractive, and took
every one by surprise, but Geraldine had had enough by this time, and
listened to Miss Mohun's invitation and entreaty that she would
preside over tea-cups for the weary, in the drawing-room. The
privacy of the houses had been secured by ropes extending from the
stalls to the rails of the garden, and Geraldine was conducted by her
two generals to the verandah, where they installed her, and lingered,
as was usual with her squires, always won by her spirited talk, till
messages came to each of them from below that some grandee was come,
who must be talked to and entertained.
Already, however, Armine Brownlow had brought up his brother, the
doctor-—John or Jock, an old friend-—over, first Clement's district
and then his bed.
"Well, Mrs. Grinstead, I can compliment you much on your brother.
He is very materially better, and his heart is recovering tone."
"I am very glad and thankful! I only wish you had seen him last
week. He was better then, but he had a worry about our little
nephew, which threw him back."
"So he told me. The more quiescent and amused you can keep him, the
more chance of a fair recovery there will be. I am glad he thinks of
dining with the party to-night."
"I am glad he still thinks. I had to come away early, when he had
still left it doubtful."
"I encouraged the idea with all my might."
"Do you think he will be able to go back to his parish?"
"Most assuredly not while every worry tells on him in this manner.
You must, if possible, take him abroad for the winter, before he
begins to think about it."
"He has leave of absence for a year."
"Dating from Easter, I think. Keep him in warm climates as long as
you can. Find some country to interest him without over-fatigue, and
you will, I hope, be able to bring him home fit to consider the
matter."
"That is all you promise?"
"All I dare—-not even to promise-—but to let you hope for."
An interruption came; one of the young ladies had had her skirt
trodden on, and wanted it to be stitched up. Then came Jane Mohun to
deposit a handkerchief which some one had dropped. "I can stay a
moment," she said; "no one will come to buy till the masque is ended.
Oh, this red cloak will be the death of me!"
"You look highly respectable without it."
"I shall only put it on for the coup d'oeil at first. Oh, Geraldine,
what is to be done with that horrid little Maura?"
"The pretty little Greek girl-—Mrs. Henderson's sister?"
"Oh! it is not Mrs. Henderson's fault, nor my sister Ada's either,
except that the little wretch must have come round her. I know Ada
meant to stay away on that very account."
"What account?"
"Ivinghoe's, to be sure! Oh! I forgot. You are so much one of us
that I did not remember that you did not know how the foolish boy was
attracted-—no, that's too strong a word—-but she thought he was, when
they were here to open Rotherwood Park. He did flirt, and Victoria-—
his mother, I mean-—did not like it at all. She would never have
come this time, but that I assured her that Maura was safe at
Gastein!"
"Is it so very undesirable?"
"My dear! Their father was old White's brother, a stone-mason. He
was raised from the ranks, but his wife was a Greek peasant-—and if
you had seen her, when the Merrifield children called her the Queen
of the White Ants! Ivinghoe is naturally as stiff and formal as his
mother, I am not much afraid for him, except that no one knows what
that fever will make of a young man, and I don't want him to get his
father into a scrape. There, I have exhaled it to you, and there is
a crowd as if the masque was done with."
It was, and the four hundred auditors were beginning to throng about
the stalls, strays coming up from time to time, and reporting with
absolute enthusiasm on the music and acting. Marilda was one of
these.
"Well, Cherry, I saw no great harm in it after all, and Francie
looked sweetly pretty, just as poor Alda did when she first came to
us. Lance must make his own excuses to Alda. But Gerald looked
horridly ill! He sang very well, but he had such red spots on his
cheeks! I'd get Clement's doctor to sound him. Lord Rotherwood was
quite complimentary. Now I must go and buy something—-I hear there
is the Dirty Boy-—I think I shall get it for Fernan's new baths and
wash-houses. Then isn't there something of yours, Cherry?"
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