Beechcroft at Rockstone

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'That you had!' said several voices, and Val very nearly cried again
as she exclaimed: 'Don't be all so tiresome. I shall make mamma a
beautiful crewel cushion, with all the battles in history on it. And
won't she be surprised!'

'I think mamma meant more than that,' said Mysie.

'Oh, Mysie, what shall you do?' asked Primrose.

'I did think of getting to translate one of mamma's favourite German
stories quite through to her without wanting the dictionary or
stumbling one bit,' said Mysie; 'but I am sure she meant something
better and better, and I'm thinking what it is---Perhaps it is making
all little Flossie Maddin's clothes, a whole suit all oneself---Or
perhaps it is manners. What do you think, Gill?'

'I should say most likely it was manners for you,' volunteered Harry,
'and the extra you are most likely to acquire at Rotherwood.'

'I'm so glad,' said Mysie.

'And you, Gill,' inquired Primrose, 'what will you do? Mine is a
copy-book, and Fergus's is the spinning-top-engines, and rule of
three; and Val's is a crewel battle cushion and not crying; and
Mysie's is German stories and manners; and what's yours, Gill?'

'Gill is so grown up, she is too good to want an inside thing'
announced Primrose.

'Oh, Prim, you dear little thing,' cried both elder brother and
sister, as they thought with a sort of pang of the child's opinion of
grown-up impeccability.

'Harry is grown up more,' put in Fergus; 'why don't you ask him?'

'Because I know,' said Primrose, with a pretty shyness, and as they
pressed her, she whispered, 'He is going to be a clergyman.'

There was a call for Mysie and Val from upstairs, and as the younger
population scampered off, Gillian said to her brother---

'Is not it like "occupy till I come"?'

'So I was thinking,' said Harry gravely. 'But one must be as young
as Mysie to throw one's "inside things" into the general stock of
resolutions.'

'Yes,' said Gillian, with uplifted eyes. 'I do---I do hope to do
something.'

Some great thing was her unspoken thought---some great and excellent
achievement to be laid before her mother on her return. There was a
tale begun in imitation of Bessie Merrifield, called "Hilda's
Experiences". Suppose that was finished, printed, published,
splendidly reviewed. Would not that be a great thing? But alas, she
was under a tacit engagement never to touch it in the hours of study.

CHAPTER II. ROCKQUAY

The actual moment of a parting is often softened by the confusion of
departure. That of the Merrifield family took place at the junction,
where Lady Merrifield with her brother remained in the train, to be
carried on to London.

Gillian, Valetta, and Fergus, with their aunt, changed into a train
for Rockstone, and Harry was to return to his theological college,
after seeing Mysie and Primrose off with nurse on their way to the
ancestral Beechcroft, whence Mysie was to be fetched to Rotherwood.
The last thing that met Lady Merrifield's eyes was Mrs. Halfpenny
gesticulating wildly, under the impression that Mysie's box was going
off to London.

And Gillian's tears were choked in the scurry to avoid a smoking-
carriage, while Harry could not help thinking---half blaming himself
for so doing---that Mysie expended more feeling in parting with Sofy,
the kitten, than with her sisters, not perceiving that pussy was the
safety-valve for the poor child's demonstrations of all the sorrow
that was oppressing her.

Gillian, in the corner of a Rockstone carriage, had time for the full
heart-sickness and tumult of fear that causes such acute suffering to
young hearts. It is quite a mistake to say that youth suffers less
from apprehension than does age; indeed, the very inexperience and
novelty add to the alarms, where there is no background of anxieties
that have ended happily, only a crowd of examples of other people's
misfortunes. The difference is in the greater elasticity and power
of being distracted by outward circumstances; and thus lookers-on
never guess at the terrific possibilities that have scared the
imagination, and the secret ejaculations that have met them. How
many times on that brief journey had not Gillian seen her father
dying, her sisters in despair, her mother crushed in the train,
wrecked in the steamer, perishing of the climate, or arriving to find
all over and dying of the shock; yet all was varied by speculations
on the great thing that was to offer itself to be done, and the
delight it would give, and when the train slackened, anxieties were
merged in the care for bags, baskets, and umbrellas.

Rockstone and Rockquay had once been separate places---a little
village perched on a cliff of a promontory, and a small fishing
hamlet within the bay, but these had become merged in one, since
fashion had chosen them as a winter resort. Speculators blasted away
such of the rocks as they had not covered with lodging-houses and
desirable residences. The inhabitants of the two places had their
separate churches, and knew their own bounds perfectly well; but to
the casual observer, the chief distinction between them was that
Rockstone was the more fashionable, Rockquay the more commercial,
although the one had its shops, the other its handsome crescents and
villas. The station was at Rockquay, and there was an uphill drive
to reach Rockstone, where the two Miss Mohuns had been early
inhabitants---had named their cottage Beechcroft after their native
home, and, to justify the title, had flanked the gate with two copper
beeches, which had attained a fair growth, in spite of sea winds,
perhaps because sheltered by the house on the other side.

The garden reached out to the verge of the cliff, or rather to a low
wall, with iron rails and spikes at the top, and a narrow, rather
giddy path beyond. There was a gate in the wall, the key of which
Aunt Jane kept in her own pocket, as it gave near access to certain
rocky steps, about one hundred and thirty in number, by which, when
in haste, the inhabitants of Rockstone could descend to the lower
regions of the Quay.

There was a most beautiful sea-view from the house, which compensated
for difficulties in gardening in such a situation, though a very
slight slope inwards from the verge of the cliff gave some protection
to the flower-beds; and there was not only a little conservatory
attached to the drawing-room at the end, but the verandah had glass
shutters, which served the purpose of protecting tender plants, and
also the windows, from the full blast of the winter storms. Miss
Mohun was very proud of these shutters, which made a winter garden of
the verandah for Miss Adeline to take exercise in. The house was
their own, and, though it aimed at no particular beauty, had grown
pleasant and pretty looking by force of being lived in and made
comfortable.

It was a contrast to its neighbours on either side of its pink and
gray limestone wall. On one side began the grounds of the Great
Rockstone Hotel; on the other was Cliff House, the big and seldom-
inhabited house of one of the chief partners in the marble works,
which went on on the other side of the promontory, and some people
said would one day consume Rockstone altogether. It was a very fine
house, and the gardens were reported to be beautifully kept up, but
the owner was almost always in Italy, and had so seldom been at
Rockstone that it was understood that all this was the ostentation of
a man who did not know what to do with his money.

Aunt Adeline met the travellers at the door with her charming
welcome. Kunz, all snowy white, wagged his tight-curled tail amid
his barks, at sight of Aunt Jane, but capered wildly about the Sofy's
basket, much to Valetta's agony; while growls, as thunderous as a
small kitten could produce, proceeded therefrom.

'Kunz, be quiet,' said Aunt Jane, in a solemn, to-be-minded voice,
and he crouched, blinking up with his dark eye.

'Give me the basket. Now, Kunz, this is our cat. Do you hear? You
are not to meddle with her.'

Did Kunz really wink assent---a very unwilling assent?

'Oh, Aunt Jane!' from Val, as her aunt's fingers undid the cover of
the basket.

'Once for all!' said Aunt Jane.

'M-m-m-m-ps-pss-psss!' from the Sofy, two screams from Val and
Fergus, a buffeting of paws, a couple of wild bounds, first on a
chair-back, then on the mantelpiece, where, between the bronze
candlestick and the vase, the Persian philosopher stood hissing and
swearing, while Kunz danced about and barked.

'Take her down, Gillian,' said Aunt Jane; and Gillian, who had some
presence of mind, accomplished it with soothing words, and, thanks to
her gloves, only one scratch.

Meantime Miss Mohun caught up Kunz, held up her finger to him,
stopped his barks; and then, in spite of the 'Oh, don'ts,' and even
the tears of Valetta, the two were held up---black nose to pink nose,
with a resolute 'Now, you are to behave well to each other, from Aunt
Jane.

Kunz sniffed, the Sofy hissed; but her claws were captive. The dog
was the elder and more rational, and when set down again took no more
notice of his enemy, whom Valetta was advised to carry into Mrs.
Mount's quarters to be comforted and made at home there; the united
voice of the household declaring that the honour of the Spitz was as
spotless as his coat!

Such was the first arrival at Rockstone, preceding even Aunt
Adeline's inquiries after Mysie, and the full explanation of the
particulars of the family dispersion. Aunt Ada's welcome was not at
all like that of Kunz. She was very tender and caressing, and
rejoiced that her sister could trust her children to her. They
should all get on most happily together, she had no doubt.

True-hearted as Gillian was, there was something hopeful and
refreshing in the sight of that fair, smiling face, and the touch of
the soft hand, in the room that was by no means unfamiliar, though
she had never slept in the house before. It was growing dark, and
the little fire lighted it up in a friendly manner. Wherever Aunt
Jane was, everything was neat; wherever Aunt Adeline was, everything
was graceful. Gillian was old enough to like the general prettiness;
but it somewhat awed Val and Fergus, who stood straight and shy till
they were taken upstairs. The two girls had a very pretty room and
dressing-room---the guest chamber, in fact; and Fergus was not far
off, in a small apartment which, as Val said, 'stood on legs,' and
formed the shelter of the porch.

'But, oh dear! oh dear!' sighed Val, as Gillian unpacked their
evening garments, 'Isn't there any nice place at all where one can
make a mess?'

'I don't know whether the aunts will ever let us make a mess,' said
Gillian; 'they don't look like it.'

At which Valetta's face puckered up in the way only too familiar to
her friends.

'Come, don't be silly, Val. You won't have much time, you know; you
will go to school, and get some friends to play with, and not want to
make messes here.'

'I hate friends!'

'Oh, Val!'

'All but Fly, and Mysie is gone to her. I want Mysie.'

So in truth did Gillian, almost as much as her mother. Her heart
sank as she thought of having Val and Fergus to save from scrapes
without Mysie's readiness and good humour. If Mysie were but there
she should be free for her 'great thing.' And oh! above all, Val's
hair---the brown bush that Val had a delusion that she 'did' herself,
but which her 'doing' left looking rather worse than it did before,
and which was not permitted in public to be in the convenient tail.
Gillian advanced on her with the brush, but she tossed it and
declared it all right!

However, at that moment there was a knock. Mrs. Mount's kindly face
and stout form appeared. She had dressed Miss Ada and came to see
what she could do for the young people, being of that delightful
class of old servants who are charmed to have anything young in the
house, especially a boy. She took Valetta's refractory mane in hand,
tied her sash, inspected Fergus's hands, which had succeeded in
getting dirty in their inevitable fashion, and undertook all the
unpacking and arranging. To Val's inquiry whether there was any
place for making 'a dear delightful mess' she replied with a curious
little friendly smile, and wonder that a young lady should want such
a thing.

'I'm afraid we are all rather strange specimens of young ladies,'
replied Gillian; 'very untidy, I mean.'

'And I'm sure I don't know what Miss Mohun and Miss Ada will say'
said good Mrs. Mount.

'What's that? What am I to say?' asked Aunt Jane, coming into the
room.

But, after all, Aunt Jane proved to have more sympathy with 'messes'
than any of the others. She knew very well that the children would
be far less troublesome if they had a place to themselves, and she
said, 'Well, Val, you shall have the boxroom in the attics. And
mind, you must keep all your goods there, both of you. If I find
them about the house, I shall---'

'Oh, what, Aunt Jane?'

'Confiscate them,' was the reply, in a very awful voice, which
impressed Fergus the more because he did not understand the word.

'You need not look so much alarmed, Fergus,' said Gillian; 'you are
not at all the likely one to transgress.'

'No,' said Valetta gravely. 'Fergus is what Lois calls a regular old
battledore.'

'I won't be called names,' exclaimed Fergus.

'Well, Lois said so---when you were so cross because the poker had got
on the same side as the tongs! She said she never saw such an old
battledore, and you know how all the others took it up.'

'Shuttlecock yourself then!' angrily responded Fergus, while both
aunt and sister were laughing too much to interfere.

'I shall call you a little Uncle Maurice instead,' said Aunt Jane.
'How things come round! Perhaps you would not believe, Gill, that
Aunt Ada was once in a scrape, when she was our Mrs. Malaprop, for
applying that same epithet on hearsay to Maurice.'

This laugh made Gillian feel more at home with her aunt, and they
went up happily together for the introduction to the lumber-room, not
a very spacious place, and with a window leading out to the leads.
Aunt Jane proceeded to put the children on their word of honour not
to attempt to make an exit thereby, which Gillian thought
unnecessary, since this pair were not enterprising.

The evening went off happily. Aunt Jane produced one of the old
games which had been played at the elder Beechcroft, and had a
certain historic character in the eyes of the young people. It was
one of those variations of the Game of the Goose that were once held
to be improving, and their mother had often told them how the family
had agreed to prove whether honesty is really the best policy, and
how it had been agreed that all should cheat as desperately as
possible, except 'honest Phyl,' who _couldn't_; and how, by some
extraordinary combination, good for their morals, she actually was
the winner. It was immensely interesting to see the identical much-
worn sheet of dilapidated pictures with the padlock, almost close to
the goal, sending the counter back almost to the beginning in search
of the key. Still more interesting was the imitation, "in very
wonderful drawing, devised by mamma, of the career of a true knight---
from pagedom upwards---in pale watery Prussian-blue armour, a crimson
scarf, vermilion plume, gamboge spurs, and very peculiar arms and
legs. But, as Valetta observed, it must have been much more
interesting to draw such things as that than stupid freehand lines
and twists with no sense at all in them.

Aunt Ada, being subject to asthmatic nights, never came down to
breakfast, and, indeed, it was at an hour that Gillian thought
fearfully early; but her Aunt Jane was used to making every hour of
the day available, and later rising would have prevented the two
children from being in time for the schools, to which they were to go
on the Monday. Some of Aunt Jane's many occupations on Saturday
consisted in arranging with the two heads of their respective
schools, and likewise for the mathematical class Gillian was to join
at the High School two mornings in the week, and for her lessons on
the organ, which were to be at St. Andrew's Church. Somehow Gillian
felt as if she were as entirely in her aunt's hands as Kunz and the
Sofy had been!

After the early dinner, which suited the invalid's health, Aunt Jane
said she would take Valetta and Fergus to go down to the beach with
the little Varleys, while she went to her district, leaving Gillian
to read to Aunt Ada for half an hour, and then to walk with her for a
quiet turn on the beach.

It was an amusing article in a review that Gillian was set to read,
and she did it so pleasantly that her aunt declared that she looked
forward to many such afternoon pastimes, and then, by an easier way
than the hundred and a half steps, they proceeded down the hill, the
aunt explaining a great deal to the niece in a manner very gratifying
to a girl beginning to be admitted to an equality with grown-up
people.

'There is our old church,' said Aunt Ada, as they had a glimpse of a
gray tower with a curious dumpy steeple.

'Do you go to church there!'

'I do---always. I could not undertake the hill on Sundays; but Jane
takes the school-children to the St. Andrew's service in the
afternoon.'

'But which is the parish church?'

'In point of fact, my dear; it is all one parish. Good morning, Mr.
Hablot. My niece, Miss Gillian Merrifield. Yes, my sister is come
home. I think she will be at the High School. He is the vicar of
St. Andrew's,' as the clergyman went off in the direction of the
steps.

'I thought you said it was all one parish.'

'St. Andrew's is only a district. Ah, it was all before your time,
my dear.'

'I know dear Uncle Claude was the clergyman here, and got St.
Andrew's built.'

'Yes, my dear. It was the great work and thought with him and Lord
Rotherwood in those days that look so bright now,' said Aunt Ada.
'Yes, and with us all.'

'Do tell me all about it,' entreated Gillian; and her aunt, nothing
loth, went on.

'Dear Claude was only five-and-twenty when he had the living. Nobody
would take it, it was such a neglected place. All Rockquay down
there had grown up with only the old church, and nobody going to it.
It was a great deal through Rotherwood. Some property here came to
him, and he was shocked at the state of things. Then we all thought
the climate might be good for dear Claude, and Jane came to live with
him and help him, and look after him. You see there were a great
many of us, and Jane---well, she didn't quite get on with Alethea, and
Claude thought she wanted a sphere of her own, and that is the way
she comes to have more influence than any one else here. And as I am
always better in this air than anywhere else, I came soon after---even
before my dear fathers death. And oh! what an eager, hopeful time it
was, setting everything going, and making St. Andrew's all we could
wish! We were obliged to be cautious at the old church, you know,
because of not alarming the old-fashioned people. And so we are
still---'

'Is that St. Andrew's? Oh, it is beautiful. May I look in?'

'Not now, my dear. You will see it another time.'

'I wish it were our church.'

'You will find the convenience of having one so near. And our
services are very nice with our present rector, Mr. Ellesmere, an
excellent active man, but his wife is such an invalid that all the
work falls on Jane. I am so glad you are here to help her a little.
St. Andrew's has a separate district, and Mr. Hablot is the vicar;
but as it is very poor, we keep the charities all in one. Rotherwood
built splendid schools, so we only have an infant school for the
Rockstone children. On Sunday, Jane assembles the older children
there and takes them to church; but in the afternoon they all go to
the National Schools, and then to a children's service at St.
Andrew's. She gets on so well with Mr. Hablot---he was dear Claude's
curate, you see, and little Mrs. Hablot was quite a pupil of ours.
What do you think little Gerald Hablot said---he is only five---"Isn't
Miss Mohun the most consultedest woman in Rockquay?"'

'I suppose it is true,' said Gillian, laughing, but rather awestruck.

'I declare it makes me quite giddy to count up all she has on her
hands. Nobody can do anything without her. There are so few
permanent inhabitants, and when people begin good works, they go
away, or marry, or grow tired, and then we can't let them drop!'

'Oh! what's that pretty spire, on the rise of the other hill?'

'My dear, that was the Kennel Mission Chapel, a horrid little hideous
iron thing, but Lady Flight mistook and called it St. Kenelm's, and
St. Kenelm's it will be to the end of the chapter.' And as she
exchanged bows with a personage in a carriage, 'There she is, my
dear.'

'Who? Did she build that church?'

'It is not consecrated. It really is only a mission chapel, and he
is nothing but a curate of Mr. Hablot's,' said Aunt Ada, Gillian
thought a little venomously.

She asked, 'Who?'

'The Reverend Augustine Flight, my dear. I ought not to say anything
against them, I am sure, for they mean to be very good; but she is
some City man's widow, and he is an only son, and they have more
money than their brains can carry. They have made that little place
very beautiful, quite oppressed with ornament---City taste, you know,
and they have all manner of odd doings there, which Mr. Hablot
allows, because he says he does not like to crush zeal, and he thinks
interference would do more harm than good. Jane thinks he ought not
to stand so much, but---'

Gillian somehow felt a certain amusement and satisfaction in finding
that Aunt Jane had one disobedient subject, but they were interrupted
by two ladies eagerly asking where to find Miss Mohun, and a few
steps farther on a young clergyman accosted them, and begged that
Miss Mohun might be told the hour of some meeting. Also that 'the
Bellevue Church people would not co-operate in the coal club.'

Then it was explained that Bellevue Church was within the bounds of
another parish, and had been built by, and for, people who did not
like the doctrine at the services of St. Andrew's.

By this time aunt and niece had descended to the Marine esplanade, a
broad road, on one side of which there was a low sea wall, and then
the sands and rocks stretched out to the sea, on the other a broad
space of short grass, where there was a cricket ground, and a lawn-
tennis ground, and the volunteers could exercise, and the band played
twice a week round a Russian gun that stood by the flagstaff.

The band was playing now, and the notes seemed to work on Gillian's
feet, and yet to bring her heart into her throat, for the last time
she had heard that march was from the band of her father's old
regiment, when they were all together!

Her aunt was very kind, and talked to her affectionately and
encouragingly of the hopes that her mother would find her father
recovering, and that it would turn out after all quite an expedition
of pleasure and refreshment. Then she said how much she rejoiced to
have Gillian with her, as a companion to herself, while her sister
was so busy, and she was necessarily so much left alone.

'We will read together, and draw, and play duets, and have quite a
good account of our employment to give,' she said, smiling.

'I shall like it very much,' said Gillian heartily.

'Dear child, the only difficulty will be that you will spoil me, and
I shall never be able to part with you. Besides, you will be such a
help to my dear Jane. She never spares herself, you know, and no one
ever spares her, and I can do so little to help her, except with my
head.'

'Surely here are plenty of people,' said Gillian, for they were in
the midst of well-dressed folks, and Aunt Ada had more than once
exchanged nods and greetings.

'Quite true, my dear; but when there is anything to be done, then
there is a sifting! But now we have you, with all our own Lily's
spirit, I shall be happy about Jane for this winter at least.

They were again interrupted by meeting a gentleman and lady, to whom
Gillian was introduced, and who walked on with her aunt conversing.
They had been often in India, and made so light of the journey that
Gillian was much cheered. Moreover, she presently came in sight of
Val and Fergus supremely happy over a castle on the beach, and
evidently indoctrinating the two little Varleys with some of the
dramatic sports of Silverfold.

Aunt Ada found another acquaintance, a white moustached old
gentleman, who rose from a green bench in a sunny corner, saying,
'Ah, Miss Mohun, I have been guarding your seat for you.'

'Thank you, Major Dennis. My niece, Miss Merrifield.'

He seemed to be a very courteous old gentleman, for he bowed, and
made some polite speech about Sir Jasper, and, as he was military,
Gillian hoped to have heard some more about the journey when they sat
down, and room was made for her; but instead of that he and her aunt
began a discussion of the comings and goings of people she had never
heard of, and the letting or not letting of half the villas in
Rockstone; and she found it so dull that she had a great mind to go
and join the siege of Sandcastle. Only her shoes and her dress were
fitter for the esplanade than the shore with the tide coming in; and
when one has just begun to buy one's own clothes, that is a
consideration.

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