Books: Herb of Grace

R >> Rosa Nouchette Carey >> Herb of Grace

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

"When one's heart is full of gratitude to a person," went on
Elizabeth in the same grave, low tone, "it is so difficult to find
words. Mr. Herrick, I know all you did for our dear boy--I know
everything." Malcolm started. "Cedric told me; but of course we kept
it from my sister."

"My dear Miss Templeton," began Malcolm in an embarrassed voice, for
he was not prepared for this. But Elizabeth would not let him speak.

"You must let me have my innings," she said, with a delicious laugh.
"I have pent up my feelings for nearly two years, and they must find
vent. Mr. Herrick, you have been our benefactor--Dinah's and mine as
well as Cedric's. When you held out your generous hand to a
stranger--when you saved our poor boy from disgrace and a ruined
career, you did far more than you thought--"

"Miss Templeton, for pity's sake--"

"Please, please, let me finish," a pressure of his arm emphasised
her words; "it is so difficult for a woman to hold her tongue. Dinah
knows nothing of all this; we dare not tell her--it would break her
heart. My sister is too good for this world; you know what I mean
Mr. Herrick--she believes too much in other people's goodness, and
then when they disappoint her she is quite crushed."

"I should have thought Miss Templeton's nature an exceptionally
happy one," returned Malcolm.

"You are right," and Elizabeth spoke with evident feeling; "but
these bright, sunshiny natures have their hours of eclipse. Cedric
is her special darling, the object of her tenderest care; if she
only knew--" but here she paused, as though her emotions were too
strong.

"My dear Miss Templeton"--Malcolm was determined to be heard now, he
should not be suppressed and silenced any more--"you are making far
too much of the trifling service I was able to render to your
brother. What was a small loan?"

"What was it?" here Elizabeth struck in again; "it was, humanly
speaking, life and salvation to a poor weak boy who was on the brink
of despair; who was so desperate, with trouble and misery, that he
might have fallen deeper and deeper if a Good Samaritan had not
passed that way. He has told me since that the thought of Dinah's
unhappiness almost drove him crazy, and that he could not have
answered for himself. Cedric is a dear lad, but he is not strong."

"He has had his lesson. We all enter our kingdom of manhood through
some tribulation, Miss Templeton."

"Ah, true, but we would gladly spare our belongings such a painful
experience. Mr. Herrick, they are waiting for us at the little gate,
and I have only time to say one thing more. I offered to help Cedric
repay his debt, but he refused. I am glad to say he absolutely
refused; he wishes to do it all himself."

"I think all the more of him," was Malcolm's answer; "a little self-
denial will be good for Cedric. He has already paid the first
instalment. Miss Templeton, in return for your confidence, I will be
quite frank with you: I do not need the money, as far as that goes
he is welcome to every penny, but for Cedric's sake I thought it
best to take it. I hope you will understand this."

"I understand you perfectly, and I thank you from my heart for
dealing so wisely with him; but not another word--voices travel far
in this clear silence--and they are just by." Indeed, the next
moment a voice hailed them.

"Hallo, you people," shouted Cedric, "have you been looking for
glowworms or hunting moths? David is quite tired of waiting."

"I am afraid we have dawdled," observed Elizabeth briskly. "Mr.
Herrick and I were deep in conversation. I think we will not come
any farther; I have done my lady's mile, or thereabouts. Good-night,
Mr. Carlyon, I shall be over at the school to-morrow morning--" but
here Elizabeth dropped her voice, and Malcolm heard no more.

She was rather silent when she joined them, and left the
conversation to Cedric. More than once Malcolm wondered what made
her so thoughtful; but when they reached the house, and she bade him
good-night in the hall, there was no coldness or abstraction in her
beaming smile.

"If you sleep as well as you deserve--" she said; but he chose to
misunderstand her.

"I should be hag-ridden and tormented, I fear."

"Oh no, you would have rosy visions of celestial bowers," returned
Elizabeth merrily. "Now; Mike," to the little dachshund, "let us
make tracks for the upper regions. Good-night, Cedric."

As Elizabeth paused at the foot of the staircase, Malcolm thought
what a splendid subject she would make for a picture. The soft
draperies gave her a queenly, aspect, and the white scarf that she
still wore over her head lent her a mystic look; in her hand she
carried a curious brass lamp of some antique design, and at her
bosom were fastened, negligently, a great spray of crimson roses.
"She looks like a St. Elizabeth in this dim lamplight," he thought.
"Those red roses look like a dark stain on her breast. The figure,
the turn of the head, is superb. If only Goliath could see her. Ah,
now she has moved, and the illusion has gone--faded into thin air,"
and then Malcolm smiled at his own conceit and fancy as he took up
his chamber candlestick.

CHAPTER XI

"A LITTLE EGOTISTICAL, PERHAPS"

We always like those who admire us, but do not always
like those whom we admire.
--LA ROCHEFOUCAULD.

Trifles make perfection, and perfection is no trifle.
--MICHAEL ANGELO.

The bedrooms at the Wood House opened on a wide corridor which
extended the whole length of the house. It was known by the name of
the Red Gallery, probably from the great stained-glass window
through which the sunset glow filtered on summer evenings, and
reflected purple and crimson stains on the tessellated pavement of
the hall below. By some odd coincidence, a figure of the Thuringian
queen St. Elizabeth was the subject of the window. Something in the
figure and the pose of the crowned head of the saint reminded
Malcolm of Elizabeth Templeton; but the meek beauty of the upturned
face resembled Dinah.

The gallery was carpeted, and comfortably furnished with easy-chairs
and one or two oak settles; the walls were covered with pictures. On
winter afternoons, when a great beech log burnt cheerily in the
fireplace, it must have been a pleasant place for a twilight gossip
before dressing for dinner. As the family was small, several of the
bedrooms had never been used; they were twelve in number, and an
artist friend of the sisters had suggested that each chamber should
bear the name of a month of the year. By a happy conceit which had
greatly delighted them, he had with his own hand not only
illuminated the name, but had with exquisite taste painted a spray
of flowers that were typical of each month. For example, over
Elizabeth's door--June--hung a lovely cluster of crimson and white
roses; while Dinah, who had appropriated September, had a cluster of
blackberries and traveller's joy.

When Malcolm had taken possession of the guest-room--April--he had
gazed admiringly at a festoon of pink apple-blossoms over his door,
but when he had praised the novel adornment with his wonted
enthusiasm, the sisters modestly disclaimed all credit.

"It was not our idea," observed Elizabeth regretfully; "neither
Dinah nor I had the genius to evolve it. It was our friend, Mr. Leon
Power. You will know his name; his 'Andromache' was so much talked
about last year.'"

"Of course, every one knows Leon Power," returned Malcolm quickly.
"A friend of mine, Mr. Keston, quite swears by him."

"We know Mr. Keston's pictures well," observed Dinah in her placid
way. "I hear he is to have Mr. Logan's house for the summer, and
then we shall have the pleasure of making his acquaintance. I assure
you, Mr. Herrick, that it was all Mr. Power's idea. He used to come
down for a few days and paint a door at a time. We loved to sit in
the gallery and watch him. You have no idea how it interested us."

When Elizabeth, still carrying her antique lamp, passed swiftly down
the gallery, she paused as usual at her sister's door. Dinah was
sitting in a carved oak chair by the open window with a reading-lamp
beside her. Her evening dress was replaced by a white muslin
wrapper, which made her look younger than ever. The red edges of the
St. Thomas a Kempis that she had been reading was the only spot of
colour about her.

"You are later than usual, dear," she said gently. "Did you go all
the way to Rotherwood?"

"In this garb! My dear child, supposing I had met the vicar! Oh no,
we only walked to the usual trysting-place. Well, Dinah"--seating
herself in a comfortable easy-chair beside her--"what do you think
of our new friend?"

"I was going to ask you that question," returned her sister in a
disappointed voice. "I did so want to know your opinion; but you are
so dreadfully quick, Betty. Of course I like him; he is very
gentlemanly and agreeable, and I think clever."

"Oh, I should say there was no doubt of his cleverness." Then Dinah
brightened up as though she had received a personal compliment.

"I am so glad you think so. The society of a clever, cultured man
like Mr. Herrick must be so good for Cedric; and then he is so
pleasant, and has so much to say on every subject, and he has such
original ideas. Really, poor dear Mr. Carlyon was quite cast into
the shade this evening."

"Oh, there I differ from you. Mr. Carlyon is original too, and can
hold his own with any one;" and Elizabeth spoke with some warmth,
almost with asperity, and her sister looked at her rather anxiously.

"Dear Betty, I meant no disparagement of Mr. Carlyon. He is such a
favourite with all of us that we are not likely to undervalue him.
It struck me once or twice that he was not quite in his usual
spirits."

"He is a little worried about his father," returned Elizabeth. "He
thinks Theo does not look after him properly. But we were talking
about Mr. Herrick, were we not?"

Elizabeth was not quite herself. Something in Dinah's speech had
ruffled her. She was a little quick-tempered and impulsive; but she
soon recovered herself.

"Does it strike you, Die, that Mr. Herrick is quite aware of his own
cleverness, and that he rather prides himself on being original and
out of the common. Oh, I mean nothing unkind," as Dinah looked
rather grave at this. "I like him exceedingly. I should be an
ungrateful wretch if I did not," she added to herself. "He is a good
man, I am sure of that; and," with a merry laugh, "I am also sure
that to know him will be a liberal education."

Though Dinah joined in the laugh, she was evidently discomposed by
her sister's observation. "I am afraid you think him conceited," she
said regretfully.

"Oh dear, no; a little egotistical, perhaps--I might even say a
little opinionative; but then we all have our faults, and I fancy he
will improve greatly on acquaintance. When I know him better, Die, I
shall delight in arguing with him. There is no use arguing with Mr.
Carlyon, he always gives in to me at once; but Mr. Herrick would
fight it out to the bitter end."

Dinah shook her head at this lukewarm praise. Elizabeth's opinion
was of the utmost moment to her. She relied on it with a simple
faith that astonished strangers. Malcolm was right in suspecting
that the younger sister was the moving spirit of the house.
Elizabeth's vigorous mind, her clear insight, and strong common-
sense, made her quick to judge and discriminate. As Dinah knew, she
very seldom made a mistake in her opinion of a person. Dinah's
charitable nature was rather prone to overestimate her friends and
acquaintances--"all her geese were swans." As Elizabeth often said,
when she cared for any one she simply could not see their faults.
"If we were all as blind as Dinah," her sister would say, "the world
would be a happier place;" but all the same she loved and reverenced
the simple goodness and sweetness that by a divine alchemy
transmuted base metal into gold.

Elizabeth was quite aware why Dinah shook her head so
disapprovingly. Cedric's hero had found favour in her eyes, and she
wished her other self--for so she tenderly termed Elizabeth--to do
homage to him likewise; but Elizabeth's gratitude and her wholesome
liking were not disposed to hero-worship. "Mr. Herrick was very
nice, and a great acquisition, and she was quite sure they would
soon be good friends;" and as Elizabeth always meant what she said,
Dinah felt tolerably satisfied with this verdict.

"And now let me hear about Mr. Carlyon, Betty," she observed
cheerfully. "I do hope his holiday was not spoiled by Theo's
shiftless ways."

"Oh, as to that," returned Elizabeth impatiently, "Theo will be Theo
to the end of her days. It is a mystery to me how good people can be
so aggravating. Her brother always declares that she is really a
good woman."

"I should certainly think he was right, dear."

"Her goodness is rather microscopic then," returned Elizabeth drily.
"Mr. Carlyon--our Mr. Carlyon, you know--told me that it fretted him
sadly to see how his father's little comforts were neglected. Theo
puts her parochial work before her home duties. He said the meals
were badly served and badly cooked; that Theo often came in late for
dinner and took a hasty meal in her bonnet; that in the evening
there was no sociality--his father wrote his sermons or buried
himself in his books, and Theo worked at her accounts or dropped
asleep from sheer fatigue on the couch."

"Poor Mr. Carlyon, he deserves a better daughter; but Theo has
always been a restless, bustling sort of mortal. I suppose David--we
really must call him David between ourselves, Betty, to distinguish
him--I suppose he will have his father as usual in August?"

"Oh dear, yes; and Mrs. Pratt will lead them both a life. She always
does; I never saw such, a woman. I mean to give her a bit of my mind
one of these days."

"She is almost as trying as Theo," returned Dinah with a smile. "I
think David gives in to her too much for the sake of peace."

"So I often tell him." "I wish Mr. Charrington would invite Mr.
Carlyon to the vicarage. Mrs. Finch is such a comfortable soul; she
thinks nothing a trouble. But I suppose such an idea would never
enter the vicar's head."

"Oh dear, no. But after all it does not matter, Die; nothing would
induce Mr. Carlyon to leave his son's roof. I do not believe that
any amount of creature comforts or learned conversations would tempt
him away from his boy. I think their affection for each other is one
of the most touching things I know."

"Indeed it is, Betty," and Dinah looked at her sister rather
wistfully; but Elizabeth was too much engrossed with her subject to
notice her.

"David's attachment to his father is quite beautiful," she went on;
"but I cannot help wondering over it sometimes. He seems as proud of
that shabby, mild-spoken little man as though he were a bishop in
lawn sleeves, and not a broken-down, hard-working curate-in-charge,
who preaches dull, dry little sermons."

"But his life is his best sermon, Betty!"

"Ah, you are right there," and Elizabeth's beaming look was good to
see. "David sometimes tells me that his father's patience with Theo
is almost angelic. 'I don't know how he bears it,' he said once. 'I
am not particular about food myself, and would dine cheerfully on
bread and cheese any day; but I hate a smoky chimney and dust; and
really that Bridget of theirs is a terrible female, and one of the
worst specimens of a maid-of-all-work that I ever knew. I took to
dusting the place myself, but Theo never noticed it.' Well, well,
it's a queer world, Die. Now it is late and I am keeping you up,"
and then the sisters kissed each other affectionately, and Elizabeth
withdrew to her own room.

Dinah sat still in her chair, and there was a thoughtful, almost a
perplexed look on her face.

"I wish I could understand it," she said to herself; "but in some
things Betty is so reserved. People who only know her a little would
never find it out. They persist that she is frankness itself, but
there are limits that no one can overstep--even I dare not." Here
Dinah paused. "But she knows very well that I should never ask her
the question."

"All the same," a moment later, "I am sorely puzzled. Is it only a
friendship between those two, or is it something else on David
Carlyon's part? Once or twice I have seen him looking at her as a
man only looks at one woman."

"If I could venture to give her a hint, to beg her to be careful!
Elizabeth is so careless. She has no idea of her own attractions,
and how irresistible she can be. It is all very well for her to say
she is older than David, and that she takes a sisterly interest in
him because Theo is so unsatisfactory; but there is no need to give
him so much of her company. Oh, no need at all, and it will only
make people talk." And here the careful elder sister sighed as
though she were oppressed with her responsibilities.

"Elizabeth is only thirty," she went on. "Why, that is quite young
nowadays, and after all David is not more than three or four years
younger. It is not the age that matters, or David's poverty, for
Betty has plenty of money of her own. But he is not good enough for
her. She is such a grand creature--when she marries she ought to
have a husband worthy of her--one whom she could honour and obey as
well as love--a man of intellect and power." Had a name suddenly
occurred to Dinah, for as she rose hastily a girlish blush came to
her cheek? "I am quite ashamed of myself," she whispered. "If there
is one thing or person I detest it is a match-maker. How could such
an idea come into my head!" But whatever idea it was, Dinah soon
banished it, and before long both the sisters were sleeping sweetly
on their lavender-scented pillows.

Malcolm saw little of his hostesses the next day. Elizabeth spent
the greater part of the day at Rotherwood, and Dinah was busy with
her household duties. He and Cedric played tennis the most of the
morning. Then they lounged about the garden and woodlands in their
flannels, and chatted and smoked endless cigarettes, and after
luncheon Cedric ordered out the dog-cart and showed his friend some
of the beauties of the surrounding neighbourhood. They drove back
through Rotherwood, and as they turned the corner by the church they
came upon Mr. Carlyon. Malcolm did not recognise him at first in his
straw hat, until he hailed them in a cheery voice.

"Hallo, Cedric, are you going to cut me? Look here, my dear fellow,
you and Mr. Herrick must have some tea at my digging. It is a few
steps farther. The mare looks hot. Why don't you put her up at 'The
Plough' and let her have a feed and a rub down?" And as Cedric
approved of this arrangement, Malcolm was obliged to acquiesce,
though he was inwardly bored by the delay.

They had been out for hours, and he was rather weary of the lad's
chatter. Some new acquaintances of the name of Jacobi had been the
subject of Cedric's talk--a brother and sister living in Gresham
Gardens. It was in vain that Malcolm had repeated more than once
that he knew nothing of them. Cedric would not take the hint, and he
held forth on the brother's cleverness and the sister's beauty. To
listen to the boy one might have thought the Jacobis were much above
the average of human beings--that there must be something idyllic,
angelic, and altogether seraphic in their persons and dispositions;
but Malcolm, who knew his man, discounted largely from this, and
kept his amusement and incredulity to himself.

But the name of Jacobi palled on him at last, and he was counting
the milestones between him and the Wood House rather anxiously, when
they saw Mr. Carlyon standing on the curb with his straw hat very
much tilted over his eyes.

No maiden lady of uncertain age loved her tea better than Malcolm.
Nevertheless, the curate's invitation did not please him.

As he got down from the dog-cart he thought regretfully of the cool,
shady drawing-room at the Wood House, and the pretty tea-table with
its silver urn and old-fashioned china. Cedric was so thoughtless.
Of course his sisters would be expecting them. Carlyon seemed a
pleasant fellow, but he was not sure that he desired a closer
acquaintance with him. Malcolm was inclined to be a little distant,
but neither of his companions seemed to notice it. A low white
cottage, standing back in a shady little garden, was their
destination. As Mr. Carlyon unlatched the gate, Cedric said in an
audible aside--

"It is not washing-day, is it, David? I hope Mother Pratt has her
kettle boiling, for Herrick and I are as thirsty as fish."

"My dear fellow, I have no idea," and Mr. Carlyon looked a little
alarmed. "Just look after Mr. Herrick for a few minutes while I
tackle the good lady."

"I don't believe Mrs. Pratt will bring the tea-things for another
half-hour," observed Cedric cheerfully. "Poor old Davie, it is awful
hard lines for him to have such a landlady. She imposes on him
shamefully."

"Why does he put up with it?" returned Malcolm drily. He was not in
the humour to discuss Mr. Carlyon's household arrangements. The room
into which Cedric had ushered him was a very pleasant one. It was
rather low, but a side window with a cushioned recess looked out on
a small lawn, with beautifully-kept flower-beds and long borders
filled with old-fashioned herbaceous flowers, where brown bees were
humming in the sunshine.

"Mrs. Pratt evidently keeps a good gardener," he said, as he took
note of the neatly-shaven and carefully--swept paths.

"David is the gardener," returned Cedric laughing. "The garden is
his hobby. He is at work sometimes at six o'clock in the morning. It
is rather a good garden, as you see; but when David first came to
the White Cottage it was a perfect wilderness. A lone widder woman
cannot be expected to attend to house and garden too," he continued
in a lackadaisical voice. "Hallo, Davy, what cheer, my lad? Are the
fates propitious?"

"Not exactly," in a depressed tone. "I am afraid it is washing-day,
and that Mrs. Pratt will keep us waiting. I filled the kettle for
her myself, but it has got to boil; but if you don't mind waiting--"
in a still more embarrassed manner.

"What's the matter, good friends?" observed a cheery voice. "Can I
be of any use and assistance? I am not afraid of a dozen Mrs.
Pratts. May I join your tea-party, Mr. Carlyon? I was just going to
ask Mrs. Finch for a cup, but as I passed I saw Cedric at the
window," and before any could answer Elizabeth had advanced into the
room with a smile that seemed to evoke responsive smiles on every
face.

"Thank goodness! Bet," exclaimed her brother devoutly; "we shall get
along now."

"Oh yes, we shall get along," and Elizabeth took off her hat and
hastily smoothed her hair. "Now for the Pratt woman and tea. Au
revoir, gentlemen." And then she vanished, and after a moment's
hesitation Mr. Carlyon followed her.

CHAPTER XII

MR. CARLYON'S TEA-PARTY

If there be a smile on our lips, those around us will
soon smile; and our happiness will become the truer and
deeper as we see that these others are happy.
--MAETERLINCK.

Smiles are as catching as tears.
--MAETERLINCK.

What a sudden change in the atmosphere! If a fresh moorland breeze
had swept through the little sitting-room at the White Cottage it
could not have effected a more beneficial change.

A few words from a brisk, cheerful young woman had acted like magic;
Mr. Carlyon lost his harassed look, Malcolm's bored expression had
vanished, while Cedric's fervent "Thank goodness! Bet, we shall get
along now," was inwardly echoed by his friends.

Malcolm's good-humour returned, and he gave his undivided attention
to the flower-borders, and enlarged in his poetical way on the
beauties of the Iceland and Shirley poppies.

"They are like fine court ladies," he observed to Cedric, "they are
so smart and dainty and graceful. What a charming combination of
colour! Your friend Carlyon must have an artistic eye."

"I expect it was Elizabeth's idea," returned Cedric lazily; "she is
quite gone on poppies. She and David are rival gardeners, and have
no end of discussions. My word, to listen to them one would think
they were a later edition of Adam and Eve."

Now, why did Malcolm frown at this boyish speech, and drop the
subject hastily? But Cedric only stretched himself with a yawn and
went on--

"It is my private opinion that David knows very little about it,
except what he gets from gardening books. But he is so full of
hobbies, and so energetic, and so determined not to be beaten, and
takes such a lot of trouble, that even Elizabeth is astonished at
the results. She comes down here and gives him ideas, and then he
works them out, or he potters about our place and talks to Johnson,
and gets hints that way."

"I never saw such a fellow for picking other people's brains,"
continued Cedric enthusiastically. "Why, he got a splendid degree at
Oxford; I remember how surprised his own father was."

"Carlyon has a father then?" Though Malcolm was so lukewarm on the
subject of the young curate's merits, he felt some degree of
curiosity about him.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30