Countess Kate

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> Countess Kate

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

However, by the time the bed was warm the dress was off, and the
child, rolled up in a great loose night-dress of the kind lady's, was
installed in it, feeling--sultry day though it were--that the warm
dryness was extremely comfortable to her chilled limbs. The good
lady brought her some hot tea, and moved away to the window, talking
in a low murmuring voice to Lady de la Poer. Presently a fresh flash
of lightning made her bury her head in the pillow; and there she
began thinking how hard it was that the thunder should come to spoil
her one day's pleasure; but soon stopped this, remembering Who sends
storm and thunder, and feeling afraid to murmur. Then she remembered
that perhaps she deserved to be disappointed. She had been wild and
troublesome, had spoilt Adelaide's birthday, teazed Mary, and made
kind Lady de la Poer grave and displeased.

She would say how sorry she was, and ask pardon. But the two ladies
still stood talking. She must wait till this stranger was gone. And
while she was waiting--how it was she knew not--but Countess Kate was
fast asleep.

CHAPTER VIII.

When Kate opened her eyes again, and turned her face up from the
pillow, she saw the drops on the window shining in the sun, and Lady
de la Poer, with her bonnet off, reading under it.

All that had happened began to return on Kate's brain in a funny
medley; and the first thing she exclaimed was, "Oh! those poor little
fishes, how I must have frightened them!"

"My dear!"

"Do you think I did much mischief?" said Kate, raising herself on her
arm. "I am sure the fishes must have been frightened, and the water-
lilies broken. Oh! you can't think how nasty their great coiling
stems were--just like snakes! But those pretty blue and pink
flowers! Did it hurt them much, do you think--or the fish?"

"I should think the fish had recovered the shock," said Lady de la
Poer, smiling; "but as to the lilies, I should be glad to be sure you
had done yourself as little harm as you have to them."

"Oh no," said Kate, "I'm not hurt--if Aunt Barbara won't be terribly
angry. Now I wouldn't mind that, only that I've spoilt Addie's
birthday, and all your day. Please, I'm very sorry!"

She said this so sadly and earnestly, that Lady de la Poer came and
gave her a kind hiss of forgiveness, and said:

"Never mind, the girls are very happy with their father, and the rest
is good for me."

Kate thought this very comfortable and kind, and clung to the kind
hand gratefully; but though it was a fine occasion for one of the
speeches she could have composed in private, all that came out of her
mouth was, "How horrid it is--the way everything turns out with me!"

"Nay, things need not turn out horrid, if a certain little girl would
keep herself from being silly."

"But I AM a silly little girl!" cried Kate with emphasis. "Uncle
Wardour says he never saw such a silly one, and so does Aunt
Barbara!"

"Well, my dear," said Lady de la Poer very calmly, "when clever
people take to being silly, they can be sillier than anyone else."

"Clever people!" cried Kate half breathlessly.

"Yes," said the lady, "you are a clever child; and if you made the
most of yourself, you could be very sensible, and hinder yourself
from being foolish and unguarded, and getting into scrapes."

Kate gasped. It was not pleasant to be in a scrape; and yet her
whole self recoiled from being guarded and watchful, even though for
the first time she heard she was not absolutely foolish. She began
to argue, "I was naughty, I know, to teaze Mary; and Mary at home
would not have let me; but I could not help the tumbling into the
pond. I wanted to get out of the way of the lightning."

"Now, Kate, you ARE trying to show how silly you can make yourself."

"But I can't bear thunder and lightning. It frightens me so, I don't
know what to do; and Aunt Jane is just as bad. She always has the
shutters shut."

"Your Aunt Jane has had her nerves weakened by bad health; but you
are young and strong, and you ought to fight with fanciful terrors."

"But it is not fancy about lightning. It does kill people."

"A storm is very awful, and is one of the great instances of God's
power. He does sometimes allow His lightnings to fall; but I do not
think it can be quite the thought of this that terrifies you, Kate,
for the recollection of His Hand is comforting."

"No," said Kate honestly, "it is not thinking of that. It is that
the glare--coming no one knows when--and the great rattling clap are
so--so frightful!"

"Then, my dear, I think all you can do is to pray not only for
protection from lightning and tempest, but that you may be guarded
from the fright that makes you forget to watch yourself, and so
renders the danger greater! You could not well have been drowned
where you fell; but if it had been a river--"

"I know," said Kate.

"And try to get self-command. That is the great thing, after all,
that would hinder things from being horrid!" said Lady de la Poer,
with a pleasant smile, just as a knock came to the door, and the maid
announced that it was five o'clock, and Miss's things were quite
ready; and in return she was thanked, and desired to bring them up.

"Miss!" said Kate, rather hurt: "don't they know who we are?"

"It is not such a creditable adventure that we should wish to make
your name known," said Lady de la Poer, rather drily; and Kate
blushed, and became ashamed of herself.

She was really five minutes before she recovered the use of her
tongue, and that was a long time for her. Lady de la Poer meantime
was helping her to dress, as readily as Josephine herself could have
done, and brushing out the hair, which was still damp. Kate
presently asked where the old lady was.

"She had to go back as soon as the rain was over, to look after a
nephew and niece, who are spending the day with her. She said she
would look for our party, and tell them how we were getting on."

"Then I have spoilt three people's pleasure more!" said Kate
ruefully. "Is the niece a little girl?"

"I don't know; I fancy her grown up, or they would have offered
clothes to you."

"Then I don't care!" said Kate.

"What for?"

"Why, for not telling my name. Once it would have been like a fairy
tale to Sylvia and me, and have made up for anything, to see a
countess--especially a little girl. But don't you think seeing me
would quite spoil that?"

Lady de la Poer was so much amused, that she could not answer at
first; and Kate began to feel as if she had been talking foolishly,
and turned her back to wash her hands.

"Certainly, I don't think we are quite as well worth seeing as the
Crystal Palace! You put me in mind of what Madame Campan said. She
had been governess to the first Napoleon's sisters; and when, in the
days of their grandeur, she visited them, one of them asked her if
she was not awe-struck to find herself among so much royalty.
'Really,' she said, 'I can't be much afraid of queens whom I have
whipped!'"

"They were only mock queens," said Kate.

"Very true. But, little woman, it is ALL mockery, unless it is the
SELF that makes the impression; and I am afraid being perched upon
any kind of pedestal makes little faults and follies do more harm to
others. But come, put on your hat: we must not keep Papa waiting."

The hat was the worst part of the affair; the colour of the blue edge
of the ribbon had run into the white, and the pretty soft feather had
been so daggled in the wet, that an old hen on a wet day was
respectability itself compared with it, and there was nothing for it
but to take it out; and even then the hat reminded Kate of a certain
Amelia Matilda Bunny, whose dirty finery was a torment and a by-word
in St. James's Parsonage. Her frock and white jacket had been so
nicely ironed out, as to show no traces of the adventure; and she
disliked all the more to disfigure herself with such a thing on her
head for the present, as well as to encounter Aunt Barbara by-and-by.

"There's no help for it," said Lady de la Poer, seeing her
disconsolately surveying it; "perhaps it will not be bad for you to
feel a few consequences from your heedlessness."

Whether it were the hat or the shock, Kate was uncommonly meek and
subdued as she followed Lady de la Poer out of the room; and after
giving the little maid half a sovereign and many thanks for having so
nicely repaired the damage, they walked back to the palace, and up
the great stone stairs, Kate hanging down her head, thinking that
everyone was wondering how Amelia Matilda Bunny came to be holding by
the hand of a lady in a beautiful black lace bonnet and shawl, so
quiet and simple, and yet such a lady!

She hardly even looked up when the glad exclamations of the four
girls and their father sounded around her, and she could not bear
their inquiries whether she felt well again. She knew that she owed
thanks to Mary and her father, and apologies to them all; but she had
not manner enough to utter them, and only made a queer scrape with
her foot, like a hen scratching out corn, hung her head, and answered
"Yes."

They saw she was very much ashamed, and they were in a hurry besides;
so when Lord de la Poer had said he had given all manner of thanks to
the good old lady, he took hold of Kate's hand, as if he hardly
ventured to let go of her again, and they all made the best of their
way to the station, and were soon in full career along the line,
Kate's heart sinking as she thought of Aunt Barbara. Fanny tried
kindly to talk to her; but she was too anxious to listen, made a
short answer, and kept her eyes fixed on the two heads of the party,
who were in close consultation, rendered private by the noise of the
train.

"If ever I answer for anyone again!" said Lord de la Poer. "And now
for facing Barbara!"

"You had better let me do that."

"What! do you think I am afraid?" and Kate thought the smile on his
lip very cruel, as she could not hear his words.

"I don't do you much injustice in thinking so," as he shrugged up his
shoulders like a boy going to be punished; "but I think Barbara
considers you as an accomplice in mischief, and will have more mercy
if I speak."

"Very well! I'm not the man to prevent you. Tell Barbara I'll
undergo whatever she pleases, for having ever let go the young lady's
hand! She may have me up to the Lord Chancellor if she pleases!"

A little relaxation in the noise made these words audible; and Kate,
who knew the Lord Chancellor had some power over her, and had formed
her notions of him from a picture, in a history book at home, of
Judge Jefferies holding the Bloody Assize, began to get very much
frightened; and her friends saw her eyes growing round with alarm,
and not knowing the exact cause, pitied her; Lord de la Poer seated
her upon his knee, and told her that Mamma would take her home, and
take care Aunt Barbara did not punish her.

"I don't think she will punish me," said Kate; "she does not often!
But pray come home with me!" she added, getting hold of the lady's
hand.

"What would she do to you, then?"

"She would--only--be dreadful!" said Kate.

Lord de la Poer laughed; but observed, "Well, is it not enough to
make one dreadful to have little girls taking unexpected baths in
public? Now, Kate, please to inform me, in confidence, what was the
occasion of that remarkable somerset."

"Only the lightning," muttered Kate.

"Oh! I was not certain whether your intention might not have been to
make that polite address to an aquatic bird, for which you pronounced
Mary not to have sufficient courage!"

Lady de la Poer, thinking this a hard trial of the poor child's
temper, was just going to ask him not to tease her; but Kate was
really candid and good tempered, and she said, "I was wrong to say
that! It was Mary that had presence of mind, and I had not."

"Then the fruit of the adventure is to be, I hope, Look Before you
Leap!--Eh, Lady Caergwent?"

And at the same time the train stopped, and among kisses and
farewells, Kate and kind Lady de la Poer left the carriage, and
entering the brougham that was waiting for them, drove to Bruton
Street; Kate very grave and silent all the way, and shrinking behind
her friend in hopes that the servant who opened the door would not
observe her plight--indeed, she took her hat off on the stairs, and
laid it on the table in the landing.

To her surprise, the beginning of what Lady de la Poer said was
chiefly apology for not having taken better care of her. It was all
quite true: there was no false excuse made for her, she felt, when
Aunt Barbara looked ashamed and annoyed, and said how concerned she
was that her niece should be so unmanageable; and her protector
answered,

"Not that, I assure you! She was a very nice little companion, and
we quite enjoyed her readiness and intelligent interest; but she was
a little too much excited to remember what she was about when she was
startled."

"And no wonder," said Lady Jane. "It was a most tremendous storm,
and I feel quite shaken by it still. You can't be angry with her for
being terrified by it, Barbara dear, or I shall know what you think
of me;--half drowned too--poor child!"

And Aunt Jane put her soft arm round Kate, and put her cheek to hers.
Perhaps the night of Kate's tears had really made Jane resolved to
try to soften even Barbara's displeasure; and the little girl felt it
very kind, though her love of truth made her cry out roughly, "Not
half drowned! Mary held me fast, and Lord de la Poer pulled me out!"

"I am sure you ought to be extremely thankful to them," said Lady
Barbara, "and overcome with shame at all the trouble and annoyance
you have given!"

Lady de la Poer quite understood what the little girl meant by her
aunt being dreadful. She would gladly have protected her; but it was
not what could be begged off like punishment, nor would truth allow
her to say there had been no trouble nor annoyance. So what she did
say was, "When one has ten children, one reckons upon such things!"
and smiled as if they were quite pleasant changes to her.

"Not, I am sure, with your particularly quiet little girls," said
Aunt Barbara. "I am always hoping that Katharine may take example by
them."

"Take care what you hope, Barbara," said Lady de la Poer, smiling:
"and at any rate forgive this poor little maiden for our disaster, or
my husband will be in despair."

"I have nothing to forgive," said Lady Barbara gravely. "Katharine
cannot have seriously expected punishment for what is not a moral
fault. The only difference will be the natural consequences to
herself of her folly.--You had better go down to the schoolroom,
Katharine, have your tea, and then go to bed; it is nearly the usual
time."

Lady de la Poer warmly kissed the child, and then remained a little
while with the aunts, trying to remove what she saw was the
impression, that Kate had been complaining of severe treatment, and
taking the opportunity of telling them what she herself thought of
the little girl. But though Aunt Barbara listened politely, she
could not think that Lady de la Poer knew anything about the
perverseness, heedlessness, ill-temper, disobedience, and rude
ungainly ways, that were so tormenting. She said no word about them
herself, because she would not expose her niece's faults; but when
her friend talked Kate's bright candid conscientious character, her
readiness, sense, and intelligence, she said to herself, and perhaps
justly, that here was all the difference between at home and abroad,
an authority and a stranger.

Meantime, Kate wondered what would be the natural consequences of her
folly. Would she have a rheumatic fever or consumption, like a child
in a book?--and she tried breathing deep, and getting up a little
cough, to see if it was coming! Or would the Lord Chancellor hear of
it? He was new bugbear recently set up, and more haunting than even
a gunpowder treason in the cellars! What did he do with the seals?
Did he seal up mischievous heiresses in closets, as she had seen a
door fastened by two seals and a bit of string? Perhaps the Court of
Chancery was full of such prisons! And was the woolsack to smother
them with, like the princes in the Tower?

It must be owned that it was only when half asleep at night that Kate
was so absurd. By day she knew very well that the Lord Chancellor
was only a great lawyer; but she also knew that whenever there was
any puzzle or difficulty about her or her affairs, she always heard
something mysteriously said about applying to the Lord Chancellor,
till she began to really suspect that it was by his commands that
Aunt Barbara was so stern with her; and that if he knew of her fall
into the pond, something terrible would come of it. Perhaps that was
why the De la Poers kept her name so secret!

She trembled as she thought of it; and here was another added to her
many terrors. Poor little girl! If she had rightly feared and loved
One, she would have had no room for the many alarms that kept her
heart fluttering!

CHAPTER IX.

It may be doubted whether Countess Kate ever did in her childhood
discover what her Aunt Barbara meant by the natural consequences of
her folly, but she suffered from them nevertheless. When the summer
was getting past its height of beauty, and the streets were all sun
and misty heat, and the grass in the parks looked brown, and the
rooms were so close that even Aunt Jane had one window open, Kate
grew giddy in the head almost every morning, and so weary and dull
all day that she had hardly spirit to do anything but read story-
books. And Mrs. Lacy was quite poorly too, though not saying much
about it; was never quite without a head-ache, and was several times
obliged to send Kate out for her evening walk with Josephine.

It was high time to be going out of town; and Mrs. Lacy was to go and
be with her son in his vacation.

This was the time when Kate and the Wardours had hoped to be
together. But "the natural consequence" of the nonsense Kate had
talked, about being "always allowed" to do rude and careless things,
and her wild rhodomontade about romping games with the boys, had
persuaded her aunts that they were very improper people for her to be
with, and that it would be wrong to consent to her going to Oldburgh.

That was one natural consequence of her folly. Another was that when
the De la Poers begged that she might spend the holidays with them,
and from father and mother downwards were full of kind schemes for
her happiness and good, Lady Barbara said to her sister that it was
quite impossible; these good friends did not know what they were
asking, and that the child would again expose herself in some way
that would never be forgotten, unless she were kept in their own
sight till she had been properly tamed and reduced to order.

It was self-denying in Lady Barbara to refuse that invitation, for
she and her sister would have been infinitely more comfortable
together without their troublesome countess--above all when they had
no governess to relieve them of her. The going out of town was sad
enough to them, for they had always paid a long visit at Caergwent
Castle, which had felt like their home through the lifetime of their
brother and nephew; but now it was shut up, and their grief for their
young nephew came back all the more freshly at the time of year when
they were used to be kindly entertained by him in their native home.

But as they could not go there, they went to Bournemouth and the
first run Kate took upon the sands took away all the giddiness from
her head, and put an end to the tired feeling in her limbs! It
really was a run! Aunt Barbara gave her leave to go out with
Josephine; and though Josephine said it was very sombre and savage,
between the pine-woods and the sea, Kate had not felt her heart leap
with such fulness of enjoyment since she had made snow-balls last
winter at home. She ran down to the waves, and watched them sweep in
and curl over and break, as if she could never have enough of them;
and she gazed at the grey outline of the Isle of Wight opposite,
feeling as if there was something very great in really seeing an
island.

When she came in, there was so much glow on her brown check, and her
eyelids looked so much less heavy, that both the aunts gazed at her
with pleasure, smiled to one another, and Lady Jane kissed her, while
Lady Barbara said, "This was the right thing."

She was to be out as much as possible, so her aunt made a set of new
rules for the day. There was to be a walk before breakfast; then
breakfast; then Lady Barbara heard her read her chapter in the Bible,
and go through her music. And really the music was not half as bad
as might have been expected with Aunt Barbara. Kate was too much
afraid of her to give the half attention she had paid to poor Mrs.
Lacy--fright and her aunt's decision of manner forced her to mind
what she was about; and though Aunt Barbara found her really very
dull and unmusical, she did get on better than before, and learnt
something, though more like a machine than a musician.

Then she went out again till the hottest part of the day, during
which a bit of French and of English reading was expected from her,
and half an hour of needle-work; then her dinner; and then out again-
-with her aunts this time, Aunt Jane in a wheeled-chair, and Aunt
Barbara walking with her--this was rather dreary; but when they went
in she was allowed to stay out with Josephine, with only one interval
in the house for tea, till it grew dark, and she was so sleepy with
the salt wind, that she was ready for bed, and had no time to think
of the Lord Chancellor.

At first, watching those wonderful and beautiful waves was pleasure
enough; and then she was allowed, to her wonder and delight, to have
a holland dress, and dig in the sand, making castles and moats, or
rocks and shipwrecks, with beautiful stories about them; and
sometimes she hunted for the few shells and sea-weeds there, or she
sat down and read some of her favourite books, especially poetry--it
suited the sea so well; and she was trying to make Ellen's Isle and
all the places of the "Lady of the Lake" in sand, only she never had
time to finish them, and they always were either thrown down or
washed away before she could return to them.

But among all these amusements, she was watching the families of
children who played together, happy creatures! The little sturdy
boys, that dabbled about so merrily, and minded so little the "Now
Masters" of their indignant nurses; the little girls in brown hats,
with their baskets full; the big boys, that even took off shoes, and
dabbled in the shallow water; the great sieges of large castles,
where whole parties attacked and defended--it was a sort of
melancholy glimpse of fairy-land to her, for she had only been
allowed to walk on the beach with Josephine on condition she never
spoke to the other children.

Would the Lord Chancellor be after her if she did? Her heart quite
yearned for those games, or even to be able to talk to one of those
little damsels; and one day when a bright-faced girl ran after her
with a piece of weed that she had dropped, she could hardly say
"thank you" for her longing to say more; and many were the harangues
she composed within herself to warn the others not to wish to change
places with her, for to be a countess was very poor fun indeed.

However, one morning at the end of the first week, Kate looked up
from a letter from Sylvia, and said with great glee, "Aunt Barbara!
O Aunt Barbara! Alice and the other Sylvia--Sylvia Joanna--are
coming! I may play with them, mayn't I?"

"Who are they?" said her aunt gravely.

"Uncle Wardour's nieces," said Kate; "Sylvia's cousins, you know,
only we never saw them; but they are just my age; and it will be such
fun--only Alice is ill, I believe. Pray--please--let me play with
them!" and Kate had tears in her eyes.

"I shall see about it when they come."

"Oh, but--but I can't have them there--Sylvia's own, own cousins--and
not play with them! Please, Aunt Barbara!"

"You ought to know that this impetuosity never disposes me
favourably, Katharine; I will inquire and consider."

Kate had learnt wisdom enough not to say any more just then; but the
thought of sociability, the notion of chattering freely to young
companions, and of a real game at play, and the terror of having all
this withheld, and of being thought too proud and haughty for the
Wardours, put her into such an agony, that she did not know what she
was about, made mistakes even in reading, and blundered her music
more than she had over done under Lady Barbara's teaching; and then,
when her aunt reproved her, she could not help laying down her head
and bursting into a fit of crying. However, she had not forgotten
the terrible tea-drinking, and was resolved not to be as bad as at
that time, and she tried to stop herself, exclaiming between her
sobs, "O Aunt Bar--bar--a,--I--can--not--help it!" And Lady Barbara
did not scold or look stern. Perhaps she saw that the little girl
was really trying to chock herself, for she said quite kindly,
"Don't, my dear."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14