Out in the Forty-Five Part 54

Flora brings news that Annas is to see the Princess next Thursday, but she has made up her mind to tarry longer in London, and will not go back with us. I asked where she was going to be, and Flora said at Mr Raymond's.

"What, all alone?" said Hatty.

"Oh, no!" answered Flora; "Mr Raymond's mother is there."

I did not know that Mr Raymond had a mother.

Annas had a letter this morning from Lady Monksburn: the loveliest letter, says Flora, that ever woman penned. Mr Raymond said, when he had read it (which she let him do) that it was worthy of a martyr's mother.

"Is Mr Raymond coming round?" said I.

"What, in politics?" replied Flora, with a smile. "I don't quite know, Cary. I doubt if he will turn as quickly as you did."

"As I did? What can you mean, Flora?"

"Did you not know you had become of a very cool politician a very warm one?" she said. "I remember, when you first went with me to Abbotscliff, Angus used to tease you about being a Whig: and you once told me you knew little about such matters, and cared less."

I looked back at myself, as it were, and I think Flora must be right. I certainly thought much less of such things six months ago. I suppose hearing them always talked of has made a change in me.

There is another thing that I have been thinking about to-night. What is it in my Aunt Kezia that makes her feel so strong and safe to lean upon--so different from other people? I should never dream of feeling in that way to Grandmamma: and even Father,--though it is pleasant to rely on his strength and kindness, when one wants something done beyond one's own strength,--yet he is not restful to lean on in the same way that she is. Is she so safe to hold by, because she holds by G.o.d?

This is Grandmamma's last Tuesday, as Lent begins to-morrow, and I believe she would as soon steal a diamond necklace as have an a.s.sembly in Lent. I had been walking a great deal, as I have carried my Aunt Kezia these last few days to see all manner of sights, and I was very tired; so I crept into a little corner, and there Ephraim found me.

By the way, it is most diverting to carry my Aunt Kezia to see things.

My Uncle Charles has gone with us sometimes, and Ephraim some other times: but it is so curious to watch her. She is the sight, to me. In the first place, she does not care a bit about going to see a thing just because everybody goes to see it. Then she has very determined ideas of her own about everything she does see. I believe she quite horrified my Uncle Charles, one day, when he carried us to see a collection of beautiful paintings. We stopped before one, which my Uncle Charles told us was thought a great deal of, and had cost a mint of money.

"What's it all about?" said my Aunt Kezia.

"'Tis a picture of the Holy Family," he answered, "by the great painter Rubens."

"Now, stop a bit: who's what?" said my Aunt Kezia, and set herself to study it. "Who is that old man that hasn't shaved himself?"

"That, Madam, is Saint Joseph."

"Never heard of him before. Oh, do you mean Joseph the carpenter? I see. Well, and who is that woman with the child on her knee? Why ever does not she put him some more clothes on? He'll get his death of cold."

"My dear Madam, that is the Blessed Virgin!"

"I hope it isn't," said my Aunt Kezia, bluntly. "I'll go bail she kept her linen better washed than that. But what's that queer thing sprawling all over the sky?"

"The Angel Gabriel, Madam."

"I hope he hasn't flown in here and seen this," said my Aunt Kezia. "I should say, if he have, he didn't feel flattered by his portrait."

My Aunt Kezia did not seem to care for fine things--smart clothes, jewels, and splendid coaches, or anything like that. She was interested in the lions at the Tower, and she liked to see any famous person of whom my Uncle Charles could tell her; but for Ranelagh she said she did not care twopence. There were men and women plenty wherever you went, and as to silks and laces, she could see them any day over a mercer's counter. Vauxhall was still worse, and Spring Gardens did not please her any better.

But when, in going through the Tower, we came to the axe which beheaded my Lady Jane Grey, she showed no lack of interest in that. And the next day, when my Uncle Charles said he would show us some of the fine things in the City, and we were driving in Grandmamma's coach towards Newgate, my Aunt Kezia wanted to know what the open s.p.a.ce was; and my Uncle Charles told her,--"Smithfield."

"Smithfield!" cried she. "Pray you, Mr Desborough, bid your coachman stop. I would liever see this than a Lord Mayor's Show."

"My dear Madam, there is nothing to see," answered my Uncle Charles, who seemed rather perplexed. "This is not a market-day."

"There'll be plenty I can see!" was my Aunt Kezia's reply; and, my Uncle Charles pulling the check-string, we alighted. My Aunt Kezia stood a moment, looking round.

"You see, there is nothing to see," he observed.

"Nothing to see!" she made answer. "There are the fires to see, and the martyrs, and the angels around, and the devils, and the men well-nigh as ill as devils. There is the land to see that they saved, and the Church that their blood watered, and the greatness of England that they preserved. Ay, and there is the Day of Judgment, when martyrs and persecutors will have their reward--and you and I, Mr Desborough, shall meet with ours. My word, but there is enough to see for them that have eyes to see it!"

"Oh!--ah!" said my Uncle Charles.

My Aunt Kezia said no more, except a few words which I heard her whisper softly to herself,--"'They shall reign for ever and ever.' 'The n.o.ble army of martyrs praise Thee.'" Then, as she turned back to the coach, she added, "I thank you, Sir. It was worth coming to London to look at that. It makes one feel as if one got nearer to them."

And I thought, but did not say, that I should never be nearer to them than I had been that winter night, when Colonel Keith helped me to carry the basket into the gates of that grim, black pile beyond. He was there yet. If I had been a bird, to have flown in and sung to him!--or, better, a giant, to tear away locks and bars, and let him out! And I could do _nothing_.

But here I am running ever so far from Grandmamma's Tuesday, and the news Ephraim brought.

Annas has seen the Princess Caroline. She liked her, and thought her very gentle and good. But she held out no hope at all, and did not seem to think that anything which she could say would influence her father.

She would lay the matter before him, but she could promise no more.

However, she appointed another day, about a month hence, when Annas may go to her again, and hear the final answer. So Annas must wait for that.

Ephraim and Annas seem to be great friends. Is it not shockingly selfish of me to wish it otherwise? I do not quite know why I wish it.

But sometimes I wonder--no, I won't wonder. It will be all right, of course, however it be arranged. Why should I always want people to care for me, and think of me, and put me first? Cary Courtenay, you are growing horribly vain and selfis.h.!.+ I wonder at you!

It is settled now that we go home the week after Easter Day. We, means my Aunt Kezia, and Flora, and Hatty, and me. I do not know how four women are to travel without a gentleman, or even a serving-man: but I suppose we shall find out when the time comes. I said to my Aunt Kezia that perhaps Grandmamma would lend us Dobson.

"Him!" cried she. "Dear heart, but I'd a vast deal liever be without him! He would want all the coach-pockets for his silk stockings, and would take more waiting on than Prince Charlie himself. I make no account of your grand gentlemen in plush, that pick up baskets with the tips of their fingers! (My Aunt Kezia cannot get over that.) Give me a man, or a woman either, with some brains in his head, and some use in his hands. These southern folks seem to have forgotten how to use theirs. I watched that girl Martha dusting the other day, and if I did not long to s.n.a.t.c.h the duster out of her hands and whip her with it!

She just drew it lazily across the top of the table,--never troubled herself about the sides,--and gave it one whisk across the legs, and then she had done. I'd rather do my work myself, every bit of it, than have such a pack of idle folks about me--ay, ten times over, I would!

They don't seem to have a bit of gumption. They say lawyers go to Heaven an inch every Good Friday; but if those lazy creatures get there or anywhere else in double the time, I wonder! And just look at the way they dress! A good linsey petticoat and a quilted linen bed-gown was good enough for a woman that had her work to do, when I was young; but now, dear me! my ladies must have their gowns, and their muslin ap.r.o.ns of an afternoon, and knots of ribbon in their hair. I do believe they will take to wearing white stockings, next thing! and gloves when they go to church! Eh dear, girls! I tell you what, this world is coming to something!"

Later in the evening, Miss Newton came up to me, with her fan held before her laughing face.

"My dear Miss Courtenay, what curious things your worthy Aunt does say!

She asked me just now why I came into the world. I told her I did not know, and the idea had never before occurred to me: and she said, 'Well, then, it is high time it did, and some to spare!' Do all the people in c.u.mberland ask you such droll questions?"

I said I thought not, but my Aunt Kezia did, often enough.

"Well, she is a real curiosity!" said Miss Newton, and went away laughing.

Brocklebank Fells, April the 10th, 1746.

At least I begin on the 10th, but when I shall finish is more than I can tell. Things went on happening so fast after the last page I writ, that I neither had time to set them down, nor heart for doing it. Prince William of Hanover (whom the Whigs call Duke of c.u.mberland) left Edinburgh with a great army, not long after I writ; but no news has yet reached us of any hostile meeting betwixt him and the Prince. Mr Raymond saith Colonel Keith's chances may depend somewhat upon the results of the battle, which is daily expected. Nevertheless, he adds, there is no chance, for the Lord orders all things.

My Aunt Kezia and Mr Raymond have taken wonderfully to one another.

Hatty said to her that she could not think how they got on when they chanced on politics.

"Bless you, child, we never do!" said my Aunt Kezia. "We have got something better to talk about. And why should two brothers quarrel because one likes red heels to his shoes and the other admires black ones?"