Books: The Pillars of the House, V1

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Pillars of the House, V1

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'Poor little Cherry! I'll come when I can see her in greater peace,
but I must buckle to with the beginning of the year, Fee.'

There was no further disputing the point, but Edgar was always a
great loss. To every one except Clement he was so gentle and
considerate that it was impossible not to think that the strange
things reported of him were not first evoked and then exaggerated by
the zeal of the model chorister: and indeed he led Geraldine to that
inference when he went to her in the sitting-room, where, as before,
she had to remain at home.

'My Cherry, I find I must go back with old Tom. Don't be vexed, my
Whiteheart, I am not going back to Belgium, you know: I can often run
down, but my work ought to begin with the year.'

'You cannot even stay over the Epiphany!'

'Well, I would have made an effort, but I am really wanted; and then
if I am long with that light of the church, Tina, he will get me into
everybody's black books. Never mind, old girl. I'll be for ever
running down. Is any one going to stay with you?'

'Bernard is coming presently; I must try to make him recollect
something about it.'

'You don't mean that child Angel is going.'

'She wishes it, and it seems right.'

'Right to leave a black spot in her memory! If children could but
believe people were sublimated away!'

'Children can believe in the Resurrection of the body as well as we,'
said Cherry reverently.

'Better, too, by a long chalk,' he muttered; then perceiving her
dismayed expression, he added, 'No, no--I'm not talking to Tina, only
he has put me in the humour in which there is nothing he could not
make me dispute--even my Cherry being the sweetest morsel in the
world. There, good-bye for the present, only don't afflict that poor
little Bernard and yourself into too great wretchedness, out of a
sense of duty.'

'No, I do not really grieve,' said Cherry. 'Tears come for
thankfulness. The real sorrow came long ago; we grew up in it, and it
is over now.'

'Right, little one. The mortal coil was very heavy and painful these
last years, and no one can help being relieved that the end has come.
It is the conventionalities that are needlessly distressing. What
earthly purpose can it serve save the amusement of the maids and
children of Bexley, that nine of us should present ourselves a
pitiful spectacle all the way up to the cemetery in veils and
hatbands?'

'Don't talk so, Edgar; you do not know how it jars, though I know you
mean no disrespect.'

'Well, it must be a blessed thing to end by drowning or blowing up,
to save one's friends trouble.'

'Edgar, indeed I cannot bear this! Recollect what a treasure that
dear shattered earthen vessel has held. What a wonderful life of
patient silent resignation it was!'

'Indeed it was,' said Edgar, suddenly softened. 'No lips could tell
what the resolution must have been that carried her through those
years, never murmuring. What must she not have spared my father! Such
devotion is the true woman's heritage.'

Cherry was soothed as she saw the dew on his eye-lashes, but just
then Felix came in to fetch him, and, stooping down, kissed her, and
said in his low and tender but strong voice, 'We leave her with him,
dear child. Recollect--

'"The heart may ache, but may not burst:
Heaven will not leave thee, nor forsake."'

Much as Geraldine had longed for Edgar, his words brought vague
yearning and distress, while Felix's very tone gave support. How
could Edgar say patient, silent, self-devotion was not to be found
except in woman?

So the worn-out body that once had been bright smiling Mary Underwood
was borne to the church she had not entered since she had knelt there
with her husband; and then she was laid beside him in the hillside
cemetery, the graves marked by the simple cross, for which there had
been long anxious saving, the last contribution having been a quarter
of the Bishop's gift to Lancelot. The inscription was on the edges of
the steps, from which the cross rose--

UNDER WODE, UNDER RODE.

EDWARD FULBERT UNDERWOOD,

NINE YEARS CURATE of THIS PARISH,

EPIPHANY, 1855,

AGED 40.

'Thy Rod and Thy Staff comfort me.'

There was room enough for the name of Mary Wilmet, his wife, to be
added at the base of the Rood, that Cross which they had borne, the
one so valiantly, the other so meekly, during their 'forty years in
the wilderness.'

Many persons were present out of respect not only to the former
Curate, but to his hard-working son and daughter, and not only the
daughter's holly-wreath, but one of camellias sent by Sister
Constance, lay upon the pall. When the mourners had turned away, Mr.
Audley saw a slender lad standing by, waiting till the grave was
smoothed to lay on it a wreath of delicate white roses and ferns.
There was no mistaking the clear olive face; and indeed Mr. Audley
had kept up a regular correspondence with Ferdinand Travis, and knew
that the vows made two years ago had been so far persevered in, and
without molestation from father or uncle. He had written an account
of Mrs. Underwood's death, but had received no answer.

'This is kind, Ferdinand,' he said, 'it will gratify them.'

'May I see any of them?' the youth asked.

'Felix and Lance will be most glad.'

'I only received your letter yesterday evening. Dr. White forwarded
it to me in London, and I persuaded my father to let me come down.'

'You are with your father?'

'Yes; he came home about a fortnight ago. I was going to write to
you. O Mr. Audley, if you are not in haste, can you tell me whether
I can see my dear Diego's grave?'

'The Roman Catholic burial-ground is on the other side of the town. I
think you will have to go to Mr. Macnamara for admittance. Come home
with me first, Fernan.'

'Home!' he said warmly. 'Yes, it has always seemed so to me! I have
dreamt so often of her gentle loving face and tender weak voice. She
was very kind to me;' and he raised his hat reverently, as he placed
the flowers upon the now completed grave. 'I saw that all were here
except the little ones and Geraldine,' he added. 'How is she?'

'As well as usual. Wilmet is a good deal worn and downcast, but all
are calm and cheerful. The loss cannot be like what that of their
father was.'

'Will they go on as they are doing now?'

'I trust so. I am going down to the family consultation. The London
cousin is there.'

'Then perhaps I had better not come in,' said Ferdinand, looking
rather blank. 'Shall I go down to Mr. Macnamara first?'

'Had you rather go alone, or shall I send Lance to show you the way?'

'Dear little Lance, pray let me have him!'

'It is a longish walk. Is your lameness quite gone?'

'Oh yes, I can walk a couple of miles very well, and when I give out
it is not my leg, but my back. They say it is the old jar to the
spine, and that it will wear off when I have done growing, if I get
plenty of air and riding. This will not be too much for me, but I
must be in time for the 3.30 train, I promised my father.'

'Is he here alone?'

'Yes, my uncle is in Brazil. My father is here for a month, and is
very kind; he seems very fairly satisfied with me; and he wants me to
get prepared for the commission in the Life Guards.'

'The Life Guards!'

'You see he is bent on my being an English gentleman, but he has some
dislike to the University, fancies it too old-world or something;
and, honestly, I cannot wish it myself. I can't take much to books,
and Dr. White says I have begun too late, and shall never make much
of them.'

'If you went into the Guards, my brother might be a friend to you.'

'My back is not fit for the infantry,' said Ferdinand, 'but I can
ride anything; I always could. I care for nothing so much as horses.'

'Then why not some other cavalry regiment?'

'Well, my father knows a man with a son in the Life Guards, who has
persuaded him that it is the thing, and I don't greatly care.'

'Is he prepared for the expensiveness?'

'I fancy it is the recommendation,' said Ferdinand, smiling with a
little shame; 'but if you really see reason for some other choice
perhaps you would represent it to him. I think he would attend to you
in person.'

'Have you positively no choice, Fernan?'

'I never like the bother of consideration,' said Ferdinand, 'and in
London I might have more chance of seeing you and other friends
sometimes. I do know that it is not all my father supposes, but he
thinks it is all my ignorance, and I have not much right to be
particular.'

'Only take care that horses do not become your temptation,' said Mr.
Audley.

'I know,' gravely replied Ferdinand. 'The fact is,' he added, as they
turned down the street, 'that I do not want to go counter to my
father if I can help it. I have not been able to avoid vexing him,
and this is of no great consequence. I can exchange, if it should not
suit me.'

'I believe you are right,' said the Curate; 'but I will inquire and
write to you before the application is made. Wait, and I will send
out Lance. But ought you not to call at the Rectory?'

'I will do so as I return,' said Ferdinand; and as Mr. Audley entered
the house, he thought that the making the Cacique into an English
gentleman seemed to have been attained as far as accent, mind, and
manner went, and the air and gesture had always been natural in him.
His tone rather than his words were conclusive to the Curate that his
heart had never swerved from the purpose with which he had stood at
the Font; but the languor and indolence of the voice indicated that
the tropical indifference was far from conquered, and it was an
anxious question whether the life destined for him might not be
exceptionally perilous to his peculiar temperament of nonchalance and
excitability.

Consideration was not possible just then, for when Mr. Audley opened
the door, he found that he had been impatiently waited for, and
barely time was allowed to him to send Lance to Ferdinand Travis,
before he was summoned to immediate conference with Thomas Underwood,
who, on coming in, had assumed the management of affairs, and on
calling for the will, was rather displeased with Felix's protest
against doing anything without Mr. Audley, whom he knew to have been
named guardian by his father. The cousin seemed unable to credit the
statement; and Wilmet had just found the long envelope with the black
seal, exactly as it had lain in the desk, which had never been
disturbed since the business on their father's death had been
finished.

There was the old will made long before, leaving whatever there was
to leave unconditionally to the wife, with the sole guardianship of
the children; and there was the codicil dated the 16th of October
1854, appointing Charles Somerville Audley, clerk, to the
guardianship in case of the death of the mother, while they should
all, or any of them, be under twenty-one, and directing that in that
contingency the property should be placed in his hands as trustee,
the interest to be employed for their maintenance, and the capital to
be divided equally among them, each receiving his or her share on
coming of age. All this was in Edward Underwood's own handwriting,
and his signature was attested by the Rector and the doctor.

Thomas Underwood was more 'put out,' than the management of such an
insignificant sum seemed to warrant. He was no doubt disappointed of
his cousin's confidence, as well as of some liberal (if domineering)
intentions; and he was only half appeased when Edgar pointed to the
date, and showed that the arrangement had been made before the
renewal of intercourse. 'It was hardly fair to thrust a charge upon a
stranger when there was a relation to act. Poor Edward, he ought to
have trusted,' he said. There was genuine kindness of heart in the
desire to confer benefits, though perhaps in rather an overbearing
spirit, as well as disappointment and hurt feeling that his cousin
had acquiesced in his neglect without an appeal. However, after
asking whether Mr. Audley meant to act, and hearing of his decided
intention of doing so, he proceeded to state his own plans for them.
The present state of things could not continue, and he proposed that
Wilmet and Geraldine should go as half boarders to some school, to be
prepared for governesses. Felix--could he write shorthand? 'Oh yes;
but--' Then he knew of a capital opening for him, a few years, and he
would be on the way to prosperity: the little ones might be boarded
with their old nurse till fit for some clergy orphan schools; if the
means would not provide for all, there need be no difficulty made on
that score.

Mr. Audley saw Felix's start of dismay and glance at him, but knowing
as he did that the lad was always more himself when not interfered
with, and allowed to act for himself, he only said, 'It is very kind
in you, sir, but I think Felix should be consulted.'

'It is impossible!' began Felix hastily.

'Impossible! It is quite impossible, I would have you to understand,
that a lot of children like you should keep house together, and on
such an income as that. Quite preposterous.'

'As for that,' said Felix, still unsubmissively, 'it is only what we
have been doing, except for the name of the thing, for the last three
years on the same means.'

'You don't mean to tell me that you have kept things going on such
means without a debt?'

'Of course we have! We never let a bill run,' said Felix, slightly
indignant.

'Now mind, I'm not insulting you, Felix, but I know what the women
are and what they tell us. Are you sure of that? No debts--honour
bright?'

'None at all!' said Felix, with an endeavour at calmness, but glowing
hotly. 'I help my sister make up her books every Saturday night. We
always pay ready money.'

'Humph,' said Mr. Underwood, still only half convinced. 'Living must
be cheap at Bexley.'

'You had better explain a little, Felix,' said Mr. Audley.

Felix did bring himself to say, 'I am sub-editor now, and get 100
pounds a year, besides being paid for any article I write. Wilmet has
25 pounds a year and her dinner, and Angela's at school, so there are
only five of us constantly dining at home, and with Mr. Audley's two
guineas a week we can do very well.'

'What, you lodge here?'

'Did not you know that?' said Felix surprised.

Mr. Underwood gave a whistle, and the Curate felt his cheeks growing
redder and redder, as he perceived that seven-and-twenty was not
considered as so very much older than eighteen. Edgar understood and
smiled, but Felix only thought he was suspected of making a good
thing of his lodger, and was beginning something awkward about, 'It
is all kindness,' when Mr. Audley broke in--

'Of course nothing is settled yet, but--but I believe I shall change
my quarters. A smaller house would be better for them; but I think
the children should keep together. Indeed, my dear friend said he
chiefly appointed me that Felix might be kept at their head.'

Thereupon Mr. Underwood began to expostulate against the sacrifice of
position and talent that Felix was making for the sake of bearing the
burthen of a family that would have pressed heavily on a man double
his age. It was what Felix already knew, much better than when at
sixteen he had made his first venture. He had experienced the effects
of change of station, as well as of exertion, drudgery, and of the
home hardship that no one except Mr. Audley had tried to sweeten. He
saw how Edgar had acquired the nameless air and style that he was
losing, how even Clement viewed him as left behind; and, on the other
hand, he knew that with his own trained and tested ability and
application, and his kinsman's patronage, there was every reasonable
chance of his regaining a gentleman's position, away from that half-
jealous, half-conceited foreman, who made every day a trial to him,
and looked at him with an evil eye as a supplanter in the post of
confidence. But therewith he thought of his father's words, that to
him he left this heavy burthen, and he thought what it would be to
have no central home, no place of holiday-meeting, no rallying-point
for the boys and girls, and to cast off the little ones to hired
service, this alternative never seriously occurred to him, for were
they not all bound to him by the cords of love, and most closely the
weakest and most helpless? Yet his first reply did not convey the
weight of his determination. It was only 'Geraldine is too delicate.'

'Well, well, good advice and treatment might make a change. Or, if
she be fit for nothing else, would not that Sisterhood at Dearport
take her on reasonable terms? Not that I can away with such nonsense,
but your father had his fancies.'

'My father wished us not to break up the home.'

'That was all very well when your poor mother was alive. You have
been a good son to her, but it is impossible that you and your
sister, mere children as you are, should set up housekeeping by
yourselves. Mr. Audley must see it cannot be suffered; it is the
bounden duty of your friends to interfere.'

Mr. Audley did not speak. He knew that Felix could reckon on his
support; and, moreover, that the youth would show himself to greater
advantage when not interfered with. So after pausing to see whether
his guardian would speak, Felix said, 'Of course we are in Mr.
Audley's power, but he knows that we have made some trial, and except
in name we have really stood alone for these three years. Wilmet can
quite manage the house, and it would be misery for ever to us all to
have no home. In short--' and Felix's face burnt, his voice choked,
and his eyes brimmed over with hot indignant tears, as he concluded,
'it shall never be done with my good will.'

'And under the circumstances,' said Mr. Audley, 'I think Felix is
right.'

'Very well,' said Thomas Underwood, much displeased. 'I have no power
here, and if you and that lad think he can take charge of a house and
a dozen children, you must have it your own way. Only, when they have
all gone to rack and ruin, and he is sick of being a little tradesman
in a country town, he will remember what I said.'

Felix forced back his resentful feelings, and contrived to say, 'Yes,
sir, I know it is a great disadvantage, and that you only wish for
our good; but I do not think anything would be so bad for the
children as to be all cast about the world, with no place to go to,
and becoming strangers to one another; and since there is this way of
keeping them together, it seems right.'

The steadiness of his manner struck Mr. Underwood, and the reply was
not unkind.

'You are a good boy at bottom, Felix, and mean well, and I am only
sorry not to be able to hinder you from throwing yourself away for
life by trying to do what is morally impossible, in a foolish spirit
of independence. Do not interrupt. I warn you that I am not to be
appealed to for getting you out of the difficulties you are plunging
into; but of course your brother and sister will be mine as before;
and as I promised myself to do the same by your mother as by your
father--my near cousins both--here is to cover necessary expenses.'

It was a cheque for 150, pounds the same as he had given on the former
occasion; and though Felix had rather not have taken it, he had
little choice, and he brought himself to return cold but respectful
thanks; and Mr. Underwood did not manifest any more displeasure, but
showed himself very kind at the meal that was spread in Mr. Audley's
sitting-room, and even invited Wilmet to accompany Alda, when she
joined the family in a week's time at Brighton, so as to have sea air
for the remainder of her holidays.

Nothing could be more reluctant than was Wilmet at first, but there
was a chorus of persuasions and promises; and the thought of being a
little longer in Alda's presence made her waver and almost consent.

Ferdinand Travis came in, but had only time for a greeting and a
hasty meal, before Mr. Underwood's carriage came round; and, nothing
loth, he gave a lift to the Mexican millionaire to the station with
him and Edgar. So, for the last time, had all the thirteen been at
home together.

CHAPTER X

THE FAMILY COBWEB ON THE MOVE

'Oh! the auld house, the auld house,
What though the rooms were wee;
Oh! kind hearts were dwelling there,
And bairnies full of glee.'
Lady Nairn.

Every one except Edgar would, it was hoped, stay at home till after
the Epiphany, that most marked anniversary of birth and death.

Clement at first declared it impossible, for St. Matthew's could not
dispense with him on the great day; and Fulbert grinned, and nudged
Lance at his crest-fallen looks, when he received full leave of
absence for the next three weeks.

But Lance was bursting with reverse troubles. The same post had
brought him a note from his organist; and that 'stupid old Dean' as
he irreverently called him, had maliciously demanded 'How beautiful
are the feet,' with the chorus following, and nobody in the choir was
available to execute the solo but Lance. He had sung it once or twice
before; and if he had the music, and would practise at home, he need
only come up by the earliest train on the Epiphany morning; if not,
he must arrive in time for a practice on the 5th; he would be wanted
at both the festival and Sunday services, but might return as early
as he pleased on Monday the 9th.

Lance did not receive the summons in an exemplary spirit. It is not
certain that he did not bite it. He rolled on the floor, and
contorted himself in convulsions of vexation; he 'bothered' the Dean,
he 'bothered' the Precentor, he 'bothered' the Organist, he
'bothered' Shapcote's sore throat, he 'bothered' Harewood's wool-
gathering wits, he 'bothered' his own voice, and thereby caused
Clement to rebuke him for foolish murmurs instead of joy in his gift.

'A fine gift to rejoice in, to make one be whipped off by an old
fogey, when one most wants to be at home! I thank my stars I can't
sing!' said Fulbert.

'I should thank mine if Bill Harewood had any sense,' said Lance,
sitting up in a heap on the floor. 'He can go quite high enough when
he pleases; only, unluckily, a goose of a jackdaw must needs get into
the cathedral just as Bill had got to sing the solo in "As pants the
hart;" and there he stood staring with his mouth wide open--and no
wonder, for it was sitting on the old stone-king's head! Wasn't Miles
in a rage; and didn't he vow he'd never trust a solo to Harewood
again if he knew it! Oh, I say, Wilmet--Fee, I know! Do let me bring
Bill back with me on Monday morning; and he could go by the six
o'clock train. Oh, jolly!'

'But is he really a nice boy, Lance?' asked Wilmet, doubtfully.

'Oh, isn't he just? You'll see! His father is a Vicar-choral, you
know, lives in our precincts; his private door just opposite ours,
and 'tis the most delicious house you ever saw! You may make as much
row as you please, and nobody minds!'

'I know who Mr. Harewood is. Librarian too, is he not?' said Felix.
'I have heard people laughing about his good-natured wife.'

'Aren't they the people who were so kind to you last year, Lance,'
asked Cherry, 'when you could not come home because of the measles?'

'Of course. Do let me bring him, Fee,' entreated Lance; 'he is no end
of a chap--captain of our form almost always--and such a brick at
cricket! I told him I'd show him the potteries, and your press, and
our organ, and everything--and it is such a chance when we are all at
home! I shall get the fellows to believe now that my sisters beat all
theirs to shivers.'

'Can you withstand that flattering compliment, Wilmet?' said Felix,
laughing. 'I can't!'

'He is very welcome,' said Wilmet; 'only, Lance, he must not stay the
night, for there really is not room for another mouse.'

The little girls had heard so much about Bill Harewood, that they
were much excited; but their sympathy kindly compensated for the lack
of that of the elder brothers. Fulbert pronounced that a cathedral
chorister could never be any great shakes; and Clement could not
forgive one who had been frivolous enough to be distracted by a
jackdaw; but Lance, trusting to his friend's personal attractions to
overcome all prejudice, trotted blithely off to the organist-
schoolmaster, to beg the loan of the music, and received a promise of
a practice in church in the evening. Meantime, he begged Clement to
play the accompaniment for him on the old piano. Neither boy knew
that it had been scarcely opened since their father's hand had last
lingered fondly upon it. Music had been found to excite their mother
to tears; Geraldine resembled Fulbert in unmusicalness, and Wilmet
had depended on school, the brothers on their choir-practice, so that
the sound was like a new thing in the house; nor was any one prepared
either for the superiority of Clement's playing, or for the exceeding
beauty and sweetness of Lance's singing. No one who appreciated the
rare quality of his high notes wondered that he was indispensable;
Geraldine could hardly believe that the clear exquisite proclamation,
that came floating as from an angel voice, could really come from the
little, slight, grubby, dusty urchin, who stood with clasped hands
and uplifted face; and Clement himself--though deferring the
communication till Lance was absent, lest it should make him vain--
confided to Wilmet that they had no such voice at St Matthew's, and
it was a shame to waste him on Anglicans.