The Heiress of Wyvern Court Part 3

"I beg your pardon," lisped the child, thinking she ought to speak.

"No, no; a lady is very like a king--she never does wrong or needs pardon; 'tis this great lout of a boy here that is the aggressor."

Whereupon the somewhat awkward, shy lad on the hearth laid down knife and toasting-fork, and came towards her.

"Well, whoever you are, will you please sit here?" said he, setting her a chair by the table, and taking another himself behind the urn.

"With a lady in the room, you'll never do that," said the gentleman, spying comically at him from where he still stood on the hearth, as the boy began to brew the tea.

"Oh no, thank you; I couldn't manage the urn," said Inna.

"I thought not," growled Oscar, a big, handsome, fair-haired boy of eleven, with grey-blue eyes. "And now, here I am without a cup for you."

Inna had not taken the seat he offered her by the table, but had glided round to the gentleman on the hearth. Oscar made a bolt from the room to fetch a cup and saucer.

"Won't you say you will like to have me here, Uncle--Uncle Jonathan?"

she asked hesitatingly. Such a mite she was, glancing up at the tall red-haired gentleman turning grey, such blushes coming and going in her cheeks.

"My dear little lady, I think you're just the one element wanting in our male community: a little girl in our midst will save us from settling down into the savages we're fast becoming," replied the gentleman, glancing down in an amused way at her from his superior height.

"Well, isn't that welcome enough?" he asked, still with that comical smile, as Inna gave a puzzled glance at him, as if not quite comprehending his high talk, and fumbling in her dress pocket.

"I have a letter that will tell you all about me--why I've come, you know," said she.

"Ah yes, Dr. Willett's letter," he remarked, taking the missive from her and balancing it between his finger and thumb. Just then Oscar came back with a rush.

"I know all about you, and who you are," said he, putting down the cup and saucer he had brought with a clatter. "You're a sort of half-cousin of mine, and a great-niece of Uncle Jonathan's," he blurted out.

"Well, since you know so much, suppose you come here and enlighten your new half-cousin as to who I am. She has mistaken me for her uncle--and naturally too, since you, as host for the time being, were rude enough not to introduce us."

At this reproach Oscar left his tea-making, and approached the two: Inna with burning cheeks, at her mistake about this unknown gentleman, not her uncle.

"Well, this is Mr. Barlow--Dr. Barlow, some people call him, but he's no such thing; he's a surgeon, and the one who plays David to Uncle Jonathan--you understand?" questioned the boy, with humour sparkling in his blue-grey eyes.

"Yes," nodded Inna shyly; "his very dear friend, you mean."

"Yes, that's about the figure," was the response, while the two bowed with ceremony.

"And now, I am--tell Mr. Barlow who I am, please," pleaded the small maiden.

"Well, this is Miss Inna Weston, the daughter of a certain Mercy Willett, niece of Jonathan Willett, Doctor, who lived here years ago, before my time. Now, old man, come to tea." With this, the boy slapped the other on the arm with pleasant familiarity, and went back to his tea-making.

Mr. Barlow led Inna to her seat, and saw her comfortable there, taking his own chair beside her, while Oscar sat with his back to the fire--like a cat on a frosty night, Mr. Barlow told him. Inna wondered where her uncle was, but asked no questions as yet--only munched away at her toast in her dainty way, and sipped her tea, trying hard to feel that she was at home. As for Oscar, he made such sloppy work with the urn, that Mr. Barlow had to say presently--

"Don't make a sea of the table, boy. You see what incapable creatures we are, Miss Inna. I never could make tea, and your own eyes tell you what Oscar can do."

"I suppose Uncle Jonathan makes tea when he is here," was Inna's reply.

At which the two gentlemen looked comically at each other.

"Well, I can't say I ever saw the doctor come down from the clouds enough for that," observed Mr. Barlow dryly; "but I hope his little great-niece--am I right in the pedigree, Oscar?--will set us to rights, and bring in the age of civilisation for us."

Inna could but laugh a tinkling laugh at this, and asked timidly, "Do you live here, Mr. Barlow?"

"No, dear; but I'm here morning, noon, and night. My head-quarters are at Mrs. Tussell's, whose name ought to be, now, guess what?"

People must suppose she had an apt.i.tude for guessing, Inna thought, and asked with rosy cheeks was it "Fussy"?

"Just the word; only you mustn't tell her so," was the reply; at which Inna shook her head, and said she could not be so rude. Then came the sound of the doctor's gig outside the house, a step and a voice in the pa.s.sage.

"He'll not come in here, dear," Mr. Barlow told Inna, seeing her start and change colour; "he'll have a cup of tea in his den, as we call it,"

at which Oscar nodded, and said, "And a good name too!"

Tea over, Mr. Barlow rose, and said "Good-bye for to-night, Miss Inna; David is going to Jonathan," patted her head, and was gone.

"Is his real name David?" she asked shyly of this cousin she had no idea of finding at Uncle Jonathan's; nor had her mamma either, she decided in her own mind.

"No; William--Billy Barlow they call him in the village, only I didn't say so just now," returned Oscar drily.

"Mind your lessons, Master Oscar," said Mrs. Grant, when she came in to fetch the tea equipage.

"Fudge!" was the boy's response, he and Inna established on the hearth, roasting chestnuts; and they were still there when Dr. Willett surprised them by a footfall close behind them.

Up sprang Inna, like a startled daisy.

"So you're Mercy's little daughter?" said he, by way of greeting.

CHAPTER III.

DR. WILLETT--THE NUTTING EXPEDITION--THE FIRE.

"So you're Mercy's little daughter?" said the doctor, by way of greeting.

"Yes," faltered Inna; but she put her hand in his; this Uncle Jonathan, with whom she had come to live, was all she had in England now, except Oscar and Mr. Barlow, who was n.o.body as yet. The doctor pressed her small hand in his big strong one. Tall--taller than his friend David--was he, with dark hair and beard--at least, they had been dark, but were fast turning grey; his eyes were dark, piercing, and observant, full of fire; still, a kindly face, a kindly manner had he.

"Well, little woman, I've read your mother's letter. I never intended to be troubled with any more children after Oscar fell to my lot; but for your mother's sake, and her mother's before her, I can't shut my door against you. So now stay, and see if you can't open another door on your own account." This is what he said, still holding her hand in his.

"Do you know what door I mean?" he asked, as the child darted an upward glance at him.

"Yes," she nodded, "yes." She could not say more, her heart was thumping so, but her small twining fingers in the doctor's palm told him a great deal.

He patted her on the head, and let her go; he did not kiss her. Inna wished he had when, later on, she was in bed, thinking of the many to-morrows she was to spend in this new uncle's house. Her chamber was up in one of the gables of the quaint old house; the windows overlooked the garden and the home orchard, where, in the former, Michaelmas daisies and sunflowers flaunted in the suns.h.i.+ne when she looked out the next morning, and apples, rosy and golden, were waiting to be gathered in the latter. Birds were twittering and peeping at her through the ivy-wreathed window; away in the stubble fields, under the hills, sheep were straying, all in a glory of golden light; while rooks cawed and clamoured in the many-coloured elms by the house and garden, and all sweet morning freshness was everywhere. You may be sure she soon dressed, and tripped down the old-fas.h.i.+oned staircase--a dainty midge, in blue serge frock and white-bibbed ap.r.o.n. Below, she found Mary, the servant under the housekeeper, laying breakfast in the dining-room; and while the child stood shyly aloof by a window, in came Mrs. Grant with the urn, and her master behind her. Inna stepped forward, but her uncle took no notice of her; he only pa.s.sed on to his seat at the table, took up his letters and newspaper, and, as it were, thus stepped into a world of his own. Oscar stole in like a thief, and began his usual tea-making--placing a cup by his uncle's plate, upon which he laid slices of ham, carved as best he could; Inna, at a nod from him, cutting a piece of bread to keep company with the ham; while Mrs. Grant gave sundry nods, which the boy understood and returned, then she retired from the scene. Not a word was spoken during breakfast-time. Oscar helped himself and Inna to what the table afforded--ham, eggs, rolls, honey, golden b.u.t.ter--all so sweet and clean and homely.

Before the young people had finished, the doctor rose and went tramping out.