Johnny Ludlow Sixth Series Part 23

Oliver laughed, and held back the low gate for her. But as he pa.s.sed in after her, a perceptible s.h.i.+ver shook his frame. It was gone in a moment; but in that moment it had shaken him from head to foot. Jane saw it.

"Surely you have not caught a chill, Oliver?"

"Not at all; I am warm with my walk. I don't know why I should have s.h.i.+vered," he added. "It was like the feeling you have when people say somebody's 'walking over your grave.'"

Mr. Preen received his son coldly, but not unkindly; Mrs. Preen did the same; she was led by her husband's example in all things. Tea, though it was so early, was prepared at once, with a substantial dish for the traveller; and they sat down to it in the parlour.

It was a long room with a beam running across the low ceiling. A homely room, with a coa.r.s.e red-and-green carpet and horse-hair chairs. A few ornaments of their own (for the furniture belonged to the house), relics of better days, were disposed about; and Jane had put on the table a gla.s.s of early primroses. The two windows, tall and narrow, answered to those in the b.u.t.tery. Oliver surveyed the room in silent dismay: it wore so great a contrast to the French salons at Tours to which he was accustomed. He gave them the details of his aunt's death and of her affairs.

When tea was over, Mr. Preen shut himself into the b.u.t.tery; Mrs. Preen retired to the kitchen to look after Nancy, who had to be watched, like most young servants, as you watch a sprightly calf. Jane and Oliver went out again, Jane taking the way to the Inlets. This time she sat down facing the brook. The dark trees were behind them, the clear stream flowed past in a gentle murmur; nothing but fields beyond. It was a solitary spot.

"What do you call this place--the Inlets?" cried Oliver. "Why is it called so?"

"I'm sure I don't know: because of those two openings from the road, I suppose. I like to sit here; it is so quiet. Oliver, how came Aunt Emily to sink all her money in an annuity?"

"For her own benefit, of course; it nearly doubled her income. She did it years ago."

"And you did not know that she had nothing to leave?"

"No one knew. She kept the secret well."

"It is very unfortunate for _you_."

"Yes--compared with what I had expected," sighed Oliver. "It can't be helped, Jane, and I try not to feel disappointed. Aunt Emily in life was very kind to me; apart from all selfish consideration I regret and mourn her."

"You will hardly endure this dreary place after your gay and happy life at Tours, Oliver. Duck Brook is the f.a.g-end of the world."

"It does not appear to be very lively," remarked Oliver, with a certain dry sarcasm. "How was it that the Pater came to it?"

"Well, you know--it was a living, and we had nothing else."

"I don't understand."

"When Uncle Gilbert died, there was no other of our uncles, those who were left, who could help papa; at least they said so; and I a.s.sure you we fell into great embarra.s.sment as the weeks went on. It was impossible to remain in Jersey; we could pay no one; and what would have been the ending but for papa's falling in with Captain Falkner, I can't imagine.

Captain Falkner owns a good deal of land about here; but he is in difficulties himself and cannot be here to look after it; so he offered papa the agency and a house to live in. I can tell you, Oliver, it was as a G.o.dsend to us."

"Do you mean to say that my father is an agent?" cried the young man, his face dyed with a red flush.

Jane nodded. "That, and nothing less. He looks after the estate and is paid a hundred pounds a-year salary, and we live rent free. Lately he has taken something else, something different; the agency of some new patent agricultural implements."

Oliver Preen looked very blank. He had been living the life of a gentleman, was imbued with a gentleman's notions, and this news brought him the most intense mortification.

"He will expect you to help him in the b.u.t.tery," continued Jane.

"In the what?"

"The b.u.t.tery," laughed Jane. "It is the room where papa keeps his accounts and writes his letters. Letters come in nearly every morning now, inquiring about the new agricultural implements; papa has to answer them, and wants some of his answers copied."

"And he has only a hundred a year!" murmured Oliver, unable to get over that one item of information. "Aunt Emily had from eight to nine hundred, and lived up to her income."

"The worst is that we cannot spend all the hundred. Papa has back debts upon him. Have you brought home any money, Oliver?"

"None to speak of," he answered; "there was none to bring. Aunt Emily's next quarter's instalment would have been due this week; but she died first, you see. She lived in a furnished house; and as to the few things she had of her own, and her personal trinkets, Aunt Margaret Preen came down and swooped upon them. Jane, how have you managed to put up with the lively state of affairs here?"

"And this lively spot--the f.a.g-end of the world. It was Emma Paul first called it so. I put up with it because I can't help myself, Oliver."

"Who is Emma Paul?"

"The daughter of Lawyer Paul, of Islip."

"Oh," said Oliver, slightingly.

"And the nicest girl in the world," added Jane. "But I can tell you this much, Oliver," she continued, after a pause: "when we came first to Duck Brook it seemed to me as a haven of refuge. Our life in Jersey had become intolerable, our life here was peaceful--no angry creditors, no daily applications for debts that we could not pay. Here we were free and happy, and it gave me a liking for the place. It is dull, of course; but I go pretty often to see Emma Paul, or to take tea at Mrs. Jacob Chandler's, and at Crabb Cot when the Todhetleys are staying there. Sam brings the gig for me in the evening, when I don't walk home. You will have to bring it for me now."

"Oh, there's a gig, is there?"

"Papa has to keep that for his own use in going about the land: sometimes he rides."

"Are the debts in Jersey paid, Jane?"

A shadow pa.s.sed over her face, and her voice dropped to a whisper.

"No. It makes me feel very unhappy sometimes, half-frightened. Of course papa hopes he shall not be found out here. But he seems to have also two or three old debts in this neighbourhood, and those he is paying off."

The sun, setting right before them in a sea of red clouds, fell upon their faces and lighted up the sadness of Oliver's. Then the red ball sank, on its way to cheer and illumine another part of the world, leaving behind it the changes which set in after sunset. The bright stream became grey, the osiers bordering it grew dark. Oliver shook himself. The whole place to him wore a strange air of melancholy. It was early evening yet, for the month was only February; but the spring had come in with a kindly mood, and the weather was bright.

Rising from the bench, they slowly walked up the nearest Inlet, side by side, and gained the high road just as a pony-chaise was pa.s.sing by, an elderly gentleman and a young lady in it; Mr. and Miss Paul.

"Oh, papa, please pull up!" cried the girl. "There's Jane Preen."

She leaped out, almost before the pony had stopped, and ran to the pathway with outstretched hands.

"How pleasant that we should meet you, Jane! Papa has been taking me for a drive this afternoon."

Oliver stood apart, behind his sister, looking and listening. The speaker was one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen, with a blus.h.i.+ng, dimpled face, a smiling mouth displaying small white teeth, shy blue eyes, and bright hair. Her straw hat had blue ribbons and her dress was one of light silk. Never in his life, thought Oliver, had he seen so sweet a face or heard so sweet a voice.

"Have you been for a walk?" she asked of Jane.

"No," answered Jane. "We have been down the Inlet, and sitting to watch the sun set. This is my brother, Emma, of whom you have heard. He arrived this afternoon, and has left Tours. Will you allow me to introduce him to you? Oliver, this is Miss Paul."

Mr. Oliver Preen was about to execute a deep bow at a respectful distance, after the manner of the fas.h.i.+onable blades of Tours, and swung off his hat to begin with; but Emma Paul, who was not fas.h.i.+onable at all, but sociable, inexperienced and unpretending, held out her hand.

She liked his looks; a slender young fellow, in deep mourning, with a fair, mild, pleasing face.

"Papa," she said, turning to the gig, which had drawn up close to the foot-path, "this is Mr. Oliver Preen, from France. He has come home, Jane says."

John Paul, a portly, elderly gentleman, with iron-grey hair and a face that looked stern to those who did not know him, bent forward and shook hands with the stranger.

Emma began plunging into all sorts of gossip, for she liked nothing better than to talk. Jane liked it too.