The Honorable Miss Part 4

"I am charmed, _charmed_ to hear it. It is such a relief. For, really Mr. Ingram, some people from Northbury came and sat on that very sofa which you are occupying, who were quite too--oh, well, they were absolutely dreadful. I wonder if Mrs. Meadowsweet has called. I don't remember the name, but I suppose she has. I must look amongst the cards which have absolutely been showered on us and see. I must certainly return her visit and at once. Poor Mr. Meadowsweet--he was in the army perhaps! I am quite glad to know there are people of our position here.

Did you say the army? Or perhaps a retired gentleman,--ah, I see Catherine and Mabel coming back. Which was Mr. Meadowsweet's regiment?"

Poor Mr. Ingram's face grew absolutely pink.

"At some time in his life poor Meadowsweet may have served in the local volunteers," he replied. "He was however, a--ah, Miss Catherine, what tempting strawberries!"

The rector approached the open French window. Mrs. Bertram followed him quickly.

"A--what?" she repeated. "The girls needn't know whom we are talking about. A gentleman who lived on his private means?"

"A gentleman, madam, yes, a _gentleman_,--and he lived on his means,--and he was wealthy. He kept a shop, a draper's shop, in the High Street. Now, young ladies, young ladies--I call this wrong. _Such_ strawberries! Strawberries are my special weakness. Oh, it is cruel of you to tempt me. I ought to be two miles from here now."

"You ought not," said Catherine in a gay voice. "You must sit with us on the lawn, and drink our tea, and eat our strawberries."

Catherine had given a quick, lightning glance at her mother's face.

She saw a cloud there, she guessed the cause. She felt certain that her mother would consult Mr. Ingram on the subject of Beatrice. Mr. Ingram's report was not satisfactory. Delightful! She felt the imp of mischief taking possession of her. She was a girl of many moods and tenses.

At times she could even be sombre. But when she chose to be gay and fascinating she was irresistible. She was only seventeen, and in several ways she was unconventional, even unworldly. In others, however, she was a perfect woman of the world, and a match for her mother.

CHAPTER IV.

TWO LETTERS.

Northbury was so completely out of the world that it only had a postal delivery twice a day. The early post was delivered at eight o'clock, so that the good people of the place could discuss their little items of outside news over their breakfast-tables. The postman went round with his evening delivery at seven. He was not overwhelmed by the aristocracy of Rosendale Manor, and, notwithstanding Mrs. Bertram's open annoyance, insisted on calling there last. He said it suited him best to do so, and what suited Sammy Benjafield he was just as determined to do, as Mrs.

Bertram was to carry out her own schemes.

Consequently, the evening letters never reached the Manor until between eight and half-past. Mrs. Bertram and her daughters dined at seven. They were the only people in Northbury who ate their dinner at that aristocratic hour; tea between four and five, and hot, substantial and unwholesome suppers were the order of the day with the Northbury folk.

_Very_ substantial these suppers were, and even the Rector was not proof against the hot lobster and rich decoctions of crab with which his flock favored him at these hours.

For the very reason, however, that heavy suppers were in vogue at Northbury, Mrs. Bertram determined to adhere to the refinement of a seven-o'clock dinner. Very refined and very simple this dinner generally was. The fare often consisting of soup made out of vegetables from the garden, with a very slight suspicion of what housekeepers call stock to start it; fish, which meant as often as not three simple but fresh herrings; a morsel of meat curried or hashed would generally follow; and dessert and sweets would in the summer be blended into one; strawberries, raspberries or gooseberries from the garden forming the necessary materials. Cream did not accompany the strawberries, and the rich wine in the beautiful and curiously-cut decanters was placed on the table for show, not for use.

But then the dinners at the Manor were so exquisitely served. Such napery, such china, such sparkling and elegant gla.s.s, and such highly-polished plate. Poor little Clara, the serving-maid, who had not yet acquired the knack of telling a lie with _sang froid_ absolutely trembled, as she spread out her snowy table-cloths, and laid her delicate china and gla.s.s and silver on the board.

"It don't seem worth while," she often remarked to the cook. "For what's an' erring? It seems wicked to eat an' erring off sech plates as them."

"It's a way the quality have," retorted Mrs. Masters, who had come from London with the Bertrams and did not mean to stay. "They heats nothing, and they lives on _sham_. Call _this_ soup! There, Clara, you'll be a sham yourself before you has done with them."

Clara thought this highly probable, but she was still young and romantic, and could do a great deal of living on make-beliefs, like many other girls all the world over.

As the Bertrams were eating their strawberries off delicate Sevres plates on the evening of the day when Mr. Ingram had disclosed the parentage of poor Beatrice Meadowsweet, the postman was seen pa.s.sing the window.

Benjafield had a very slow and aggravating gait. The more impatient people were for their letters, the more tedious was he in his delivery.

Benjafield had been a fisherman in his day, and had a very sharp, withered old face. He had a blind eye, too, and walked by the aid of a crutch but it was his boast that, notwithstanding his one eye and his lameness, no one had ever yet got the better of him.

"There's Benjafield!" exclaimed Mabel. "Shall I run and fetch the letters, mother?"

Mrs. Bertram rose slowly from her seat at the head of the board.

"The post is later than ever," she remarked; "it is past the half-hour.

I shall go myself and speak to Benjafield."

She walked slowly out through the open window. She wore an evening dress of rusty black velvet with a long train. It gave her a very imposing appearance, and the effect of her evening dress and her handsome face and imperious manners were so overpowering that the old postman, as he hobbled toward her, had to mutter under his breath:

"Don't forget your game leg, Benjafield, nor your wall eye, and don't you be tooken down nor beholden to n.o.body."

"Why is the post so late?" inquired Mrs. Bertram. "It is more than half-past eight."

"Eh!" exclaimed Benjafleld.

"I asked why the post was so late."

"Eh? I'm hard of hearing, your ladys.h.i.+p."

He came a little nearer, and leered up in the most familiar way into the aristocratic face of Mrs. Bertram.

"Intolerable old man," she muttered, aloud: "Take the letters from him, Catherine, and bring them here."

Then raising her voice to a thin scream, she continued:

"I shall write to the general post-office on this subject; it is quite intolerable that in any part of England Her Majesty's Post should be entrusted to incapable hands."

Old Benjafield, fumbling in his bag, produced two letters which he presented to Catherine. He did so with a dubious, inquiring glance at her mother, again informed the company generally that he was hard of hearing, and hobbled away.

One of the letters, addressed in a manly and das.h.i.+ng hand, was for Catherine. The other, also in manly but decidedly cramped writing, was addressed to Mrs. Bertram.

She started when she saw the handwriting, instantly forgot old Benjafield, and disappeared into the house.

When she was gone Mabel danced up to her sister's side, and looked over her shoulder at the thick envelope addressed in the manly hand.

"Kate, it's from Loftie!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, it's from Loftie," responded Catherine. "Let us come and sit under the elm-tree and read what he says, May."

The girls seated themselves together on a rustic bench, tore open the thick letter, and acquainted themselves with its contents.

"Dearest,--I'm coming home to-morrow night. _Must_ see the mater.

Have got into a fresh sc.r.a.pe. Don't tell anyone but May--I mean about the sc.r.a.pe.

"Your devoted brother,

"LOFTUS."

Catherine read this letter twice, once to herself, then aloud for Mabel's benefit.