Beechcroft at Rockstone

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> Beechcroft at Rockstone

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Gillian longed to show Mysie and Geraldine Grinstead to each other,
and the first rub with her hostess occurred when the next morning she
proposed to take a cab and go to Brompton.

'Is not your first visit due to your grandmother?' said Lady
Rotherwood. 'You might walk there, and I will send some one to show
you the way.'

'We must not go there till after luncheon,' said Gillian. 'She is
not ready to see any one, and Bessie Merrifield cannot be spared; but
I know Mrs. Grinstead will like to see us, and I do so want Mysie to
see the studio.'

'My dear' (it was not a favourable my dear), 'I had rather you did
not visit any one I do not know while you are under my charge.'

'She is Phyllis's husband's sister,' pleaded Gillian.

Lady Rotherwood made a little bend of acquiescence, but said no more,
and departed, while Gillian inly raged. A few months ago she would
have acted on her own responsibility (if Mysie would not have been
too much shocked), but she had learnt the wisdom of submission in
fact, if not in word, for she growled about great ladies and
exclusiveness, so that Mysie looked mystified.

It was certainly rather dull in the only half-revivified London
house, and Belgrave Square in Lent did not present a lively scene
from the windows. The Liddesdales had a house there, but they were
not to come up till the season began; and Gillian was turning with a
sigh to ask if there might not be some books in Fly's schoolroom,
when Mysie caught the sound of a bell, and ventured on an expedition
to find her ladyship and ask leave to go to church.

There, to their unexpected delight, they beheld not only Bessie, but
a clerical-looking back, which, after some watching, they so
identified that they looked at one another with responsive eyes, and
Gillian doubted whether this were recompense for submission, or
reproof for discontent.

Very joyful was the meeting on the steps of St. Paul's,
Knightsbridge, and an exchange of 'Oh! how did you come here? Where
are you?'

Harry had come up the day before, and was to go and meet the
travellers at Southampton with his uncle, Admiral Merrifield, who had
brought his eldest daughter Susan to relieve her sister or assist
her. Great was the joy and eager the talk, as first Bessie was
escorted by the whole party back to grandmamma's house, and then
Harry accompanied his sisters to Belgrave Square, where he was kept
to luncheon, and Lady Rotherwood was as glad to resign his sisters to
his charge as he could be to receive them.

He had numerous commissions to execute for his vicar, and Gillian had
to assist the masculine brains in the department of Church
needlework, actually venturing to undertake some herself, trusting to
the tuition of Aunt Ada, a proficient in the same; while Mysie
reverently begged at least to hem the borders.

Then they revelled in the little paradises of books and pictures in
Northumberland Avenue and Westminster Sanctuary, and went to Evensong
at the Abbey, Mysie's first sight thereof, and nearly the like to
Gillian, since she only remembered before a longing not to waste time
in a dull place instead of being in the delightful streets.

'It is a thing never to forget,' she said under her breath, as they
lingered in the nave.

'I never guessed anything could make one feel so,' added Mysie, with
a little sigh of rapture.

'That strange unexpected sense of delight always seems to me to
explain, "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered
into the heart of man to conceive,"' said Harry.

Mysie whispered---

'Beneath thy contemplation
Sink heart and voice opprest!'

'Oh, Harry, can't we stay and see Henry VII.'s Chapel, and Poets'
Corner, and Edward I.'s monument?' pleaded the sister.

'I am afraid we must not, Gill. I have to see after some vases, and
to get a lot of things at the Stores, and it will soon be dark. If I
don't go to Southampton to-morrow, I will take you then. Now then,
feet or cab?'

'Oh, let us walk! It is ten times the fun.'

'Then mind you don't jerk me back at the crossings.'

There are few pleasures greater of their kind than that of the
youthful country cousin under the safe escort of a brother or father
in London streets. The sisters looked in at windows, wondered and
enjoyed, till they had to own their feet worn out, and submit to a
four-wheeler.

'An hour of London is more than a month of Rockquay, or a year of
Silverfold,' cried Gillian.

'Dear old Silverfold,' said Mysie; 'when shall we go back?'

'By the bye,' said Harry, 'how about the great things that were to be
done for mother?'

'Primrose is all right,' said Mysie. 'The dear little thing has
written a nice copybook, and hemmed a whole set of handkerchiefs for
papa. She is so happy with them.'

'And you, little Mouse?'

'I have done my translation---not quite well, I am afraid, and made
the little girl's clothes. I wonder if I may go and take them to
her.'

'And Val has finished her crewel cushion, thanks to the aunts,' said
Gillian.

'Fergus's machine, how about that? Perpetual motion, wasn't it?'

'That has turned into mineralogy, worse luck,' said Gillian.

'Gill has done a beautiful sketch of Rockquay,' added Mysie.

'Oh! don't talk of me,' said Gillian. 'I have only made a most
unmitigated mess of everything.'

But here attention was diverted by Harry's exclaiming---

'Hullo! was that Henderson?'

'Nonsense; the Wardours are at Cork.'

'He may be on leave.'

'Or retired. He is capable of it.'

'I believe it was old Fangs.'

The discussion lasted to Belgrave Square.

And then Sunday was spent upon memorable churches and services under
the charge of Harry, who was making the most of his holiday. The
trio went to Evensong at St. Wulstan's, and a grand idea occurred to
Gillian---could not Theodore White become one of those young
choristers, who had their home in the Clergy House.

CHAPTER XVIII. FATHER AND MOTHER

The telegram came early on Monday morning. Admiral Merrifield and
Harry started by the earliest train, deciding not to take the girls;
whereupon their kind host, to mitigate the suspense, placed himself
at the young ladies' disposal for anything in the world that they
might wish to see. It was too good an opportunity of seeing the
Houses of Parliament to be lost, and the spell of Westminster Abbey
was upon Mysie.

Cousin Rotherwood was a perfect escort, and declared that he had not
gone through such a course of English history since he had taken his
cousin Lilias and his sister Florence the same round more years ago
than it was civil to recollect. He gave a sigh to the great men he
had then let them see and hear, and regretted the less that there was
no possibility of regaling the present pair with a debate. It was
all like a dream to the two girls. They saw, but suspense was
throbbing in their hearts all the time, and qualms were crossing
Gillian as she recollected that in some aspects her father could be
rather a terrible personage when one was wilfully careless, saucy to
authorities, or unable to see or confess wrong-doing; and the element
of dread began to predominate in her state of expectation. The bird
in the bosom fluttered very hard as the possible periods after the
arrivals of trains came round; and it was not till nearly eight
o'clock that the decisive halt of wheels was heard, and in a few
moments Mysie was in the dearest arms in the world, and Gillian
feeling the moustached kiss she had not known for nearly four long
years, and which was half-strange, half-familiar.

In drawing-room light, there was the mother looking none the worse
for her journey, her clear brown skin neither sallow nor lined, and
the soft brown eyes as bright and sweet as ever; but the father must
be learnt over again, and there was awe enough as well as
enthusiastic love to make her quail at the thought of her record of
self-will.

There was, however, no disappointment in the sight of the fine, tall
soldierly figure, broad shouldered, but without an ounce of
superfluous flesh, and only altered by his hair having become thinner
and whiter, thus adding to the height of his forehead, and making his
very dark eyebrows and eyes have a different effect, especially as he
was still pallid beneath the browning of many years, though he
declared himself so well as to be ashamed of being invalided.

Time was short. Harry and the Admiral, who were coming to dinner,
had rushed home to dress and to fetch Susan; and Lady Merrifield was
conducted in haste to her bedroom, and left to the almost too excited
ministrations of her daughters.

It was well that attentive servants had unfastened the straps, for
when Gillian had claimed the keys of the dear old familiar box, her
hand shook so much that they jingled; the key would not go into the
hole, and she had to resign them to sober Mysie, who had been untying
the bonnet, with a kiss, and answering for the health of Primrose,
whom Uncle William was to bring to London in two days' time.

'My dear silly child,' said her mother, surprised at Gillian's
emotion.

And the reply was a burst of tears. 'Oh, so silly! so wrong! I have
so wanted you.'

'I know all about it. You told us all, like an honest child.'

'Oh, such dreadful things---the rock---the poor child killed---Cousin
Rotherwood hurt.'

'Yes, yes, I heard! We can't have it out now. Here's papa! she is
upset about these misadventures,' added Lady Merrifield, looking up
to her husband, who stood amazed at the sobs that greeted him.

'You must control yourself, Gillian,' he said gravely. 'Stop that!
Your mother is tired, and has to dress! Don't worry her. Go, if you
cannot leave off.'

The bracing tone made Gillian swallow her tears, the more easily
because of the familiarity of home atmosphere, confidence, and
protection; and a mute caress from her mother was a promise of
sympathy.

The sense of that presence was the chief pleasure of the short
evening, for there were too many claimants for the travellers'
attention to enable them to do more than feast their eyes on their
son and daughters, while they had to talk of other things, the
weddings, the two families, the home news, all deeply interesting in
their degree, though not touching Gillian quite so deeply as the
tangle she had left at Rockstone, and mamma's view of her behaviour;
even though it was pleasant to hear of Phyllis's beautiful home in
Ceylon, and Alethea's bungalow, and how poor Claude had to go off
alone to Rawul Pindee. She felt sure that her mother was far more
acceptable to her hostess than either of the aunts, and that, indeed,
she might well be so!

Gillian's first feeling was like Mysie's in the morning, that nothing
could go wrong with her again, but she must perforce have patience
before she could be heard. Harry could not be spared for another day
from his curacy, and to him was due the first tete-a-tete with his
mother, after that most important change his life had yet known, and
in which she rejoiced so deeply. 'The dream of her heart,' she said,
'had always been that one of her sons should be dedicated;' and now
that the fulfilment had come in her absence, it was precious to her
to hear all those feelings and hopes and trials that the young man
could have uttered to no other ears.

Sir Jasper, meantime, had gone out on business, and was to meet the
rest at luncheon at his mother's house, go with them to call on the
Grinsteads, and then do some further commissions, Lady Rotherwood
placing the carriage at their disposal. As to 'real talk,' that
seemed impossible for the girls, they could only, as Mysie expressed
it, 'bask in the light of mamma's eyes' and after Harry was gone on
an errand for his vicar, there were no private interviews for her.

Indeed, the mother did not know how much Gillian had on her mind, and
thought all she wanted was discussion, and forgiveness for the
follies explained in the letter, the last received. Of any
connection between that folly and the accident to Lord Rotherwood of
course she was not aware, and in fact she had more on her hands than
she could well do in the time allotted, and more people to see.
Gillian had to find that things could not be quite the same as when
she had been chief companion in the seclusion of Silverfold.

And just as she was going out the following letter was put into her
hands, come by one of the many posts from Rockstone:---

'MY DEAR GILLIAN---I write to you because you can explain matters, and
I want your father's advice, or Cousin Rotherwood's. As I was on the
way to Il Lido just now I met Mr. Flight, looking much troubled and
distressed. He caught at me, and begged me to go with him to tell
poor Kalliope that her brother Alexis is in Avoncester Jail. He knew
it from having come down in the train with Mr. Stebbing. The charge
is for having carried away with him L15 in notes, the payment for a
marble cross for a grave at Barnscombe. You remember that on the day
of the accident poor Field was taking it in the waggon, when he came
home to hear of his child's death.

'The receipt for the price was inquired for yesterday, and it
appeared that the notes had been given to Field in an envelope. In
his trouble, the poor man forgot to deliver this till the morning;
when on his way to the office he met young White and gave it to him.
Finding it had not been paid in, nor entered in the books, and
knowing the poor boy to have absconded, off went Mr. Stebbing, got a
summons, and demanded to have him committed for trial.

'Alexis owned to having forgotten the letter in the shock of the
dismissal, and to having carried it away with him, but said that as
soon as he had discovered it he had forwarded it to his sister, and
had desired her to send it to the office. He did not send it direct,
because he could only, at the moment, get one postage-stamp. On this
he was remanded till Saturday, when his sisters' evidence can be
taken at the magistrates meeting. This was the news that Mr. Flight
and I had to take to that poor girl, who could hardly be spared from
her mother to speak to us, and how she is to go to Avoncester it is
hard to say; but she has no fear of not being able to clear her
brother, for she says she put the dirty and ragged envelope that no
doubt contained the notes into another, with a brief explanation,
addressed it to Mr. Stebbing, and sent it by Petros, who told her
that he had delivered it.

'I thought nothing could be clearer, and so did Mr. Flight, but
unluckily Kalliope had destroyed her brother's letter, and had not
read me this part of it, so that she can bring no actual tangible
proof, and it is a much more serious matter than it appeared when we
were talking to her. Mr. White has just been here, whether to
condole or to triumph I don't exactly know. He has written to Leeds,
and heard a very unsatisfactory account of that eldest brother, who
certainly has deceived him shamefully, and this naturally adds to the
prejudice against the rest of the family. We argued about Kalliope's
high character, and he waved his hand and said, "My dear ladies, you
don't understand those Southern women---the more pious, devoted doves
they are, the blacker they will swear themselves to get off their
scamps of men." To represent that Kalliope is only one quarter Greek
was useless, especially as he has been diligently imbued by Mrs.
Stebbing with all last autumn's gossip, and, as he confided to Aunt
Ada, thinks "that they take advantage of his kindness!"

'Of course Mr. Flight, and all who really know Alexis and Kalliope,
feel the accusation absurd; but it is only too possible that the
Avoncester magistrates may not see the evidence in the same light, as
its weight depends upon character, and the money is really missing,
so that I much fear their committing him for trial at the Quarter
Sessions. It will probably be the best way to employ a solicitor to
watch the case at once, and I shall speak to Mr. Norton tomorrow,
unless your father can send me any better advice by post. I hope it
is not wicked to believe that the very fact of Mr. Norton's being
concerned might lead to the notes finding themselves.

'Meantime, I am of course doing what I can. Kally is very brave in
her innocence and her brother's, but, shut up in her mother's
sickroom, she little guesses how bad things are made to look, or how
Greek and false are treated as synonymous.

'Much love to your mother. I am afraid this is a damper on your
happiness, but I am sure that your father would wish to know. Aunt
Ada tackles Mr. White better than I do, and means if possible to make
him go to Avoncester himself when the case comes on, so that he
should at least see and hear for himself.---Your affectionate aunt,
J. M.'

What a letter for poor Gillian! She had to pocket it at first, and
only opened it while taking off her hat at grandmamma's house, and
there was only time for a blank feeling of uncomprehending
consternation before she had to go down to luncheon, and hear her
father and uncle go on with talk about India and Stokesley, to which
she could not attend.

Afterwards, Lady Merrifield was taken to visit grandmamma, and Bessie
gratified the girls with a sight of her special den, where she wrote
her stories, showing them the queer and flattering gifts that had
come to her in consequence of her authorship, which was becoming less
anonymous, since her family were growing hardened to it, and
grandmamma was past hearing of it or being distressed. It was in
Bessie's room that Gillian gathered the meaning of her aunt's letter,
and was filled with horror and dismay. She broke out with a little
scream, which brought both Mysie and Bessie to her side; but what
could they do? Mysie was shocked and sympathising enough, and Bessie
was trying to understand the complicated story, when the summons came
for the sisters. There were hopes of communicating the catastrophe
in the carriage; but no, the first exclamation of 'Oh, mamma!' was
lost.

Sir Jasper had something so important to tell his wife about his
interviews at the Horse Guards, that the attempt to interrupt was
silenced by a look and sign. It was a happy thing to have a father
at home, but it was different from being mamma's chief companion and
confidante, and poor Gillian sat boiling over with something very
like indignation at not being allowed even to allow that she had
something to tell at least as important as anything papa could be
relating.

She hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry that the Grinsteads
proved to be out of town; but at any rate she might be grateful to
Lady Rotherwood for preventing a vain expedition---a call on another
old friend, Mrs. Crayon, the Marianne Weston of early youth, and now
a widow, as she too was out. Then followed some shopping that the
parents wanted to do together, but at the door of the stores Lady
Merrifield said---

'I have a host of things to get here for the two brides. Suppose,
papa, that you walk home with Gillian across the Park. It will suit
you better than this fearful list.'

Lady Merrifield only thought of letting father and daughter renew
their acquaintance, and though she saw that Gillian was in an agony
to speak about something, did not guess what an ordeal the girl felt
it to have to begin with the father, unseen for four years, and whose
searching eyes and grave politeness gave a sense of austerity, so
that trepidation was spoiling all the elation at having a father, and
such a father, to walk with.

'Well, Gillian,' he said, 'we have a great deal of lee way to make
up. I want to hear of poor White's children. I am glad you have had
the opportunity of showing them some kindness.'

'Oh, papa! it is so dreadful! If you would read this letter.'

'I cannot do so here,' said Sir Jasper, who could not well make trial
of his new spectacles in Great George Street. What is dreadful?'

'This accusation. Poor Alexis! Oh! you don't know. The accident
and all---our fault---mine really,' gasped Gillian.

'I am not likely to know at this rate,' said Sir Jasper. 'I hope you
have not caught the infection of incoherency from Lord Rotherwood.
Do you mean his accident?'

'Yes; they have turned them both off, and now they have gone and put
Alexis in prison.'

'For the accident? I thought it was a fall of rock.'

'Oh no---I mean yes---it wasn't for that; but it came of that, and
Fergus and I were at the bottom of it,' said Gillian, in such
confusion that her words seemed to tumble out without her own
control.

'How did you escape with your lives?'

Was he misunderstanding her on purpose, or giving a lesson on
slipslop at such a provoking moment? Perhaps he was really only
patient with the daughter who must have seemed to him half-foolish,
but she was forced to collect her senses and say---

'I only meant that we were the real cause. Fergus is wild about
geology, and took away a stone that was put to show where the cliff
was unsafe. He showed the stone to Alexis White, who did not know
where it came from and let him have it, and that was the way Cousin
Rotherwood came to tread on the edge of the precipice.'

'What had you to do with it?'

'I---oh! I had disappointed Alexis about the lessons,' said Gillian,
blushing a little;' and he was out of spirits, and did not mind what
he was about.'

'H'm! But you cannot mean that this youth can have been imprisoned
for such a cause.'

'No; that was about the money, but of course he sent it back. He ran
away when he was dismissed, because he was quite in despair, and did
not know what he was about.'

'I think not, indeed!'

'Papa,' said Gillian, steadying her voice, 'you must not, please,
blame him so much, for it was really very much my fault, and that is
what makes me doubly unhappy. Did you read my last letter to mamma?'

'Yes. I understood that you thought you had not treated your aunts
rightly by not consulting them about your intercourse with the
Whites, and that you had very properly resolved to tell them all.
I hope you did so.'

'Indeed I did, and Aunt Jane was very kind, or else I should have had
no comfort at all. Was mamma very much shocked at my teaching
Alexis?'

'I do not remember. We concluded that whatever you did had your
aunts' sanction.'

'Ah! that was the point.'

'Did these young people persuade you to secrecy?'

'Oh no, no; Kalliope protested, and I overpowered her, because---
because I was foolish, and I thought Aunt Jane interfering.'

'I see,' said Sir Jasper, with perhaps more comprehension of the
antagonism than sisterly habit and affection would have allowed to
his wife. 'I am glad you saw your error, and tried to repair it; but
what could you have done to affect this boy so much. How old is he?
We thought of him as twelve or fourteen, but one forgets how time
goes on, and you speak of him as in a kind of superintendent's
position.'

'He is nineteen.'

Sir Jasper twirled his moustache.

'I begin to perceive,' he said, 'you rushed into an undertaking that
became awkward, and when you had to draw off, the young fellow was
upset and did not mind his business. So far I understand, but you
said something about prison.'

The worst part of the personal confession was over now, and Gillian
could go on to tell the rest of the Stebbing enmity, of Mr. White's
arrival, and of the desire to keep his relations aloof from him.

'This is guess work,' said Sir Jasper.

'I think Cousin Rotherwood would say the same' rejoined Gillian, and
then she explained the dismissal, the flight, and the unfortunate
consequences, and that Aunt Jane hoped for advice by the morning's
post.

'I am afraid it is too late for that,' said Sir Jasper, looking at
his watch. 'I must read her letter and consider.'

Gillian gave a desperate sigh, and felt more desperate when at that
moment the very man they had had a glimpse of on Saturday met them,
exclaiming in a highly delighted tone---

'Sir Jasper Merrifield!'

Any Royal Wardour ought to have been welcome to the Merrifields, but
this individual had not been a particular favourite with the young
people. They knew he was the son of a popular dentist, who had made
his fortune, and had put his son into the army to make a gentleman of
him, and prevent him from becoming an artist. In the first object
there had been very fair success; but the taste for art was
unquenchable, and it had been the fashion of the elder half of the
Merrifield family to make a joke, and profess to be extremely bored,
when 'Fangs,' as they naughtily called him among themselves, used to
arrive from leave, armed with catalogues, or come in with his
drawings to find sympathy in his colonel's wife. Gillian had caught
enough from her four elders to share in an unreasoning way their
prejudice, and she felt doubly savage and contemptuous when she
heard---

'Yes, I retired.'

'And what are you doing now?'

'My mother required me as long as she lived' (then Gillian noticed
that he was in mourning). 'I think I shall go abroad, and take
lessons at Florence or Rome, though it is too late to do anything
seriously---and there are affairs to be settled first.'

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