CHAPTER XXX.
HOME AND FRIENDS.
THAT very evening, notwithstanding her supposed fatigue, the little world of Farafield was roused to welcome Lucy. The rector and his wife, going out for a drive in the cool of the evening, drew up their pony at the door, and left a card and their kind regards, and hoped Miss Trevor was not tired with her journey; and a little later, when Lucy and Jock were preparing to stroll out as they had been in the habit of doing, upon the common, they were stopped by a visit from Mrs. Rushton and her son and daughter. “We always come out after dinner in the hot weather,” the visitor explained, “and it is so delightful to have an object for our walk. I hope you have had a good rest, my dear. What a pleasure,” said Mrs. Rushton, taking Lucy’s hands in hers, and looking at her with enthusiasm, “to see you at home again and looking so well!”
Lucy was confused by the warmth and effusion of this unexpected greeting. Her guardian’s wife had never taken much notice of her in the old days; but she was pleased at the same time, for affection is always pleasant, and it was agreeable to find that she had more friends than she was aware of. Raymond, of whom she remembered nothing, except that she had seen him at the railway station, was an ordinary young man, still in his morning suit, by license of the summer, and the after-dinner walk; and wholly undistinguishable from any other young man in that universal garb. He said, “How d’ye do?” and taking his right hand out of his pocket, presented it to her, not without embarrassment. Lucy gave it him back at once with a great inclination to laugh. She felt herself a great deal older, and more experienced than Raymond, though he was two-and-twenty and had taken his degree.
“I hope you will not find Farafield dull,” said Mrs. Rushton; “we must do what we can to make you like us, Lucy. Have you seen a good deal of society in town? Oh, I know you could not go out; but Lady Randolph is always having company. I suppose you would meet her nephew, Sir Thomas. I hear he is expected at the Hall.”
“Yes,” said Lucy. “He is on his way to Scotland. He came down here with us to-day.”
“Oh, he is on his way to Scotland? Isn’t this a little out of the way to Scotland, Ray? I know when we went we had to go a hundred miles round, your father said, to get to that big junction; but we can’t always calculate on Sir Thomas. He is a gay deceiver; with that jolly laugh of his, didn’t you quite fall in love with him, Lucy? I always say he is the most dangerous man I know.”
“I like him very much,” Lucy said.
“And so does Ray. He is quite captivating to young people. He has always been so kind to Ray. One forgets the little stories that are current about him when one comes under the spell. Did you like his aunt equally well, Lucy? Opinions are divided on that score.”
“She was very kind to me,” said Lucy; “no one ever took so much care of me. She did not talk of it, but one felt all round one—”
“But still you did not care for her? That is what I have always heard—very kind, and that sort of thing; but not attractive.”
“Indeed, I am very fond of Lady Randolph,” Lucy said, with a flush of annoyance. Her visitor laughed and coughed, confused and disconcerted, though Lucy could not tell why.
“Oh, I only say what I have heard!” she said. “I don’t know much of her myself. Sir Thomas is the only member of the family whom I know; and I always frankly admit I think him charming—whatever may be his little faults.”
All this time Raymond stood swaying about from one leg to another, with his hands in his pockets. He had received the best of educations, as his mother proudly declared; but this had not conferred ease of manner or social grace. Lucy could not help longing that he would sit down; but it seemed to be against the young man’s principles. He stood between her and the window, swaying about like a cloud upon the wind, but solid enough to shut out the light. Miss Rushton was a very big girl of sixteen in short frocks, who kept half behind her mother, and took shelter under her wing.
“And what are you going to do, my dear, now you have come back? I hope we shall see a great deal of you. You will find yourself a little lost here just for the first The Fords are excellent people, but you will find yourself a little lost. You must run over to us whenever you feel dull. To-morrow there is some croquet going on—are you fond of croquet? You must come early and have a game, and stay to dinner. In this hot weather we never dress for dinner, for we always have a walk in the cool of the evening. Is that a bargain?” said Mrs. Rushton graciously. “And you must bring little Jock. Do you walk with him as you used to do, Lucy? I think, as a girl, you were the very best sister in the world.”
“Jock and I ride,” said Lucy; “he was always fond of riding. Lady Randolph sent the horses and the groom, and Jock’s pony. She thought I might have them here.”
“Certainly, Lucy,” Mrs. Rushton said, with many nods of her head. “That I am sure your guardians would approve. And what a lucky thing for you, Ray! Now you can get up all sorts of delightful parties. Emmy is beginning to ride very nicely too, and you like it, don’t you, dear? They will be so glad to join. I am so delighted to have found something in which you can all join.”
“It will be very jolly,” said Raymond. That and “How d’ye do?” was all that he contributed to the conversation. And Emmy said nothing at all, except, in shy murmurs of assent, and stifled explosions of laughter when her mother said anything she thought amusing. The two young people preceded Mrs. Rushton down-stairs when she had said all she had to say; but she came back again, once more seized Lucy’s two hands, and added a parting word in her ear.
“I see that friend of yours, that Mrs. Stone, coming this way. She is very well in her own place, Lucy; oh, very nice! I thought she behaved badly to me about Emmy; but that is neither here nor there. Everybody speaks very highly of her—in her own place. But you must not let her get you into her hands, dear. She is dreadfully managing, and by hook or by crook she will have her own way. But you are in a different sphere altogether. Don’t forget, my dear Lucy, that you are in a different sphere. I felt that I must just say this. You know what an interest I take in you. Dear child!” said Mrs. Rushton with enthusiasm, giving Lucy a sudden and tender kiss of irrestrainable feeling; “who would not take an interest in you, so young and so nice and so lonely? Till to-morrow, dear—”
Mrs. Stone met Mrs. Rushton going down. “So it is true that Lucy has come back,” said that able tactician. “I heard a rumor, and was coming to inquire, when they told me she was here.”
“Just come. My husband being her guardian, I felt that she had a special claim upon me, poor dear child. I am afraid she is tired with her journey, and agitated with all the associations. I have only been there a moment; I would not stay. I felt it was kindness to postpone a longer visit.”
“Thank you for the hint,” said Mrs. Stone, calmly pursuing her way upstairs; and she too took Lucy into her arms, if not with enthusiasm, yet with the most affectionate interest; she kissed her, and then held her at arm’s length, and looked into her face, “You are very welcome back, my dear,” she said, “but, Lucy, there is something new in your face.”
“Is there?” said Lucy faintly. “I am a little tired; and then there are so many other things that are new.”
Mrs. Stone looked round the room, with such disdain of the shop upholstery as was natural to a woman who possessed a parlor furnished with Chippendales. She said, “Ah, I see they have been doing something here;” then added, “Lucy, you must not trifle with me; it is not that. But,” she said, “your hat is on the table; you were going out? it is a sweet evening, and we can talk just as well on the common. Come, and we will discuss the whole matter out of doors.”
Lucy was grateful to be released, for the night was warm, and Jane, Mrs. Ford’s maid, had come up with a taper in her hand, and was threatening to light the gas. Mrs. Ford was determined that Lucy should want for nothing, and no consideration of time or season was permitted to interfere with the proper hours for doing everything in this well-regulated house. Therefore, though it was somewhat late for Jock, Lucy put on her hat gratefully, and suffered her hand to be drawn through the arm of her considerate friend, and drew a long and grateful breath as she got out upon the breezy sweep of the common, which even in the twilight showed a faint flush of the heather. “How sweet it is! this is the one thing which is unchanged,” she said.
“Do you find the place changed, Lucy?”
“Perhaps it is me, Mrs. Stone.”
“You should say I, my love. Yes, no doubt it is you, Lucy. It could not be otherwise; you have been in so different a sphere, and how could you help feeling it? I think I can understand you. Lady Randolph is—well, I don’t know what she is. I confess that I have a little prejudice against her.”
“Indeed, you should not have any prejudice,” said Lucy earnestly; “she is so good and so kind—oh, far too good and kind for anything I deserve.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Stone with a smile. “I understand; a woman with a great deal of tact, Lucy, who knows what is best for you, and takes her measures accordingly; oh, yes, I am quite sure Lady Randolph is highly refined, and a thorough lady, and would do nothing that was unbecoming, whereas our good Mrs. Ford is just— Mrs. Ford, and a very good woman. I think it would have been better, Lucy—we have all our little vanities—if your excellent father had sent you to me.”
“Yes,” said Lucy with a sigh; but there was no enthusiasm in the assent. Mrs. Stone was slightly disappointed. She gave the girl’s arm a soft pressure.
“You must let us help you to get through this second beginning: things will never be so bad again. You will get used to the alteration, and your interests will spring up. What are you doing about little Jock, my dear?”
“Nothing,” said Lucy; “he is still so little, and I have no one else. Do you think, really, I ought to send him, such a little fellow, away from me to some real school? He was at Mrs. Russell’s, but that was not like a real school, and I went to see him whenever I liked.”
“Ah! perhaps too often,” said Mrs. Stone, with another pressure of her young friend’s arm. “I have something to say about that after. But, Lucy, listen. I will tell you what I was thinking. Frank St. Clair, whom you may remember, my nephew, is coming to stay with me again. He is not very well, poor fellow! I will tell you his story some time. He has been unfortunate.”
“He who was so kind, who came to see papa?”
“Your father interested him so much, dear! He used to come back and tell me all the clever acute things he said. Yes, Frank St. Clair. This is one of my disappointments, Lucy, Frank was the pride of all our family. We all seemed to have a share in him; his father died young, his mother was poor, and we all helped. He was the cleverest boy I ever saw. At school he was extraordinary; no one could stand against him, and you can imagine how proud we all were. Am I boring you with my story, Lucy?”
“How could you think so? I am like Jock about a story; there is nothing I like so much, especially if at the end there is was anything—anything that could be done.”
“I don’t know what you could do, my dear,” Mrs. Stone said, with a smile, “but your sympathy is sweet. He was not quite so successful at the University, there is such competition, but still he did very well, and also in his work at the bar. For he is a barrister,” said Mrs. Stone, with a thrill of pride in her voice, “he has been called, and was just at the beginning of his career, when his health failed. Can you imagine such a disappointment, such a commentary upon the vicissitudes of life! Just when he was in a position to justify all our hopes his health gave way.”
“I am so sorry,” Lucy looked up at her friend with the profoundest pity in her blue eyes, but something else besides, a spark of hidden interest, the gleam with which an explorer’s eyes shine when he finds some new sphere of discovery, a new world to conquer. Lucy had not been very happy in her first venture, but she jumped at the thought of a second venture, if it might be found practicable. It was she now who pressed Mrs. Stone’s arm, clinging closely to it “I am so sorry! I hope he may soon get better. Is there nothing that could be done?”
“Rest is all he wants, my dear, rest and a relief from anxiety, and something to do quietly, that will not strain him. As soon as I knew you were coming back I immediately thought of Jock. Poor Frank is very independent; he would be less unhappy if he had something to do. And it is providential for you, for Jock must begin to have something done for his education; I consider it quite providential for you.”
“If Mr. St. Clair would be so kind. But would he like it, a gentleman, and a lawyer, and so clever?” said Lucy, puzzled. “Jock is such a little, little fellow.”
“He will take Jock,” said Mrs. Stone, with tranquil assurance. “He would not take any little boy, of course, but Jock is exceptional, Jock is your brother, and you know my interest in you, Lucy. Yes, my dear, do not be afraid, Frank will take Jock. And now that this is settled—and I wanted to make your mind easy on the subject—let us talk of other things. What is all this story about the Russells, Lucy? You have not allowed Bertie to—he has not, I hope, really acquired any— It is so difficult to speak to you on such a subject, but you know I am a kind of guardian too. I should not approve of Bertie Russell. I could never give my consent—”
“To what?” said Lucy, with great surprise. “Is it about his book, Mrs. Stone? It was not my fault, indeed, it was not any one’s fault. I suppose he never thought that people would take any notice. It was just a mistake, a foolish thing to do. I think even Lady Randolph, though she was so angry, got to see that at last.”
“Then there is nothing more, Lucy; you can assure me, on your word, that there is nothing more?”
Lucy was more surprised than ever.
“What should there be more?” she said.
Mrs. Stone laughed, and made no reply.
“So Lady Randolph was angry,” she said. “I don’t wonder; so was I. We all have the same feeling toward you, Lucy,” and here Mrs. Stone laughed again, evidently perceiving a humorous aspect of the question which was unknown to Lucy. “We are all so—fond of you, my dear. Did you see much of the Randolph family when you were there?”
“Only Sir Tom.”
“Only Sir Tom! that makes you smile. By the way, he is all the Randolph family, I believe: and he is nice, Lucy? I have met him, and I thought him very pleasant; but he has not a very good character, I am afraid. He has been what people call wild; but now that he is getting old, no doubt he is mending his ways.”
Mrs. Stone gave Lucy a keen glance of inquiry as she said this; but as a matter of fact, Lucy at eighteen honestly thought Sir Thomas old, and made no protest, which satisfied her friend. She said, after a pause,
“Now I have a pleasant surprise to give you. Katie Russell is here; I am looking for a situation for her. She has finished her education, and I wish to place her in a thoroughly nice family.”
“Oh,” cried Lucy, with pained surprise, “I thought that Mrs. Russell— I thought that now they were all to be at home.”
“Since she came into that money? Oh, no, it is not enough for that; besides, even if it were more than it is, Katie ought to do something to make a life for herself. It was a great godsend, the money, but it is not enough for any great change in their life.”
“I thought—it was enough to live on,” said Lucy, feeling a great flush of shame come over her face. It had not given her much satisfaction in any way, but to hear that it was a failure altogether struck her a very keen and unexpected blow.
“Oh, no, my dear, no,” said Mrs. Stone, all unaware of Lucy’s interest in the matter; “a pittance! merely enough to give them a little more comfort, joined to what they have.”
Lucy went home rather subdued after this interview. She did not see Katie, who was out with Miss Southwood, and she was rather glad to escape that meeting. She called Jock back from his wanderings among the heather, and led him home, with his little arms twined round hers. Lucy felt very much subdued, perhaps because she was tired. She drew little Jock very close to her, and felt something like the twilight dimness stealing into her mind.
“Are you tired?” she said; “you ought to be in bed. I think I am tired too; Jock, are you glad to be at home?”
“I don’t know if it’s home,” said Jock, looking up at her with his big eyes.
“Neither do I,” said Lucy drearily. “But it is all we have for home,” she added, with a sigh. “Anyhow, it is you and me, Jock; things can not be so very bad so long as there is you and me.”
To this Jock assented with a reservation.
“I suppose I shall have to go to school, Lucy; all the other fellows go to school.”
“I have got a tutor for you, dear; you will not have to go away. Mr. St. Clair, that used to come and see papa. It is providential, Mrs. Stone says.”
“What, that fat fellow in the black coat? I don’t mind,” said Jock. “I think he is a duffer, he’s so fat; but I don’t mind. You don’t know what that means, Lucy.”
“You should not say such naughty words; that is what you learned at school,” said Lucy, with disapproval. “I don’t think you learned anything else there.”
“Duffer is not a naughty word: it means just nothing; but I don’t mind him at all,” said Jock, with indulgence. He was quite willing to undergo the experiment. “I should like to have another try,” he said.
When they got to the house it was as dark as an August evening ever is, and Mrs. Ford, with a candle in her hand, was beginning to fasten up the windows and doors. She had again put on her stern aspect, and looked very severe and solemn, as she followed them upstairs. “It is a great deal too late for that child,” she said. “He ought to have been in bed an hour ago. So you have had visitors, Lucy? I think they might have been so civil as to ask for me. After all, though the house may be kept for your convenience, it’s me that am the mistress of it. And I expect civility, if there’s nothing more to be looked for. I do expect that.”
“I am very sorry, Aunt Ford.”
“You must be something more than sorry. You must let them see you won’t stand it. As for that Mrs. Rushton, I think she is insufferable. She wants to keep you in her set. And Raymond, what does he want here the first evening? You never knew Ray Rushton; whatever they may say, don’t you put any faith in them, Lucy. She’s a designing woman; and I mistrust her, bringing her son the first day.”
“You tell me to put no faith in Mrs. Rushton, and she tells me to beware of Mrs. Stone, and they both shake their heads about Lady Randolph,” said Lucy, with a smile that was not happy. “If I am to do what you all tell me, don’t you think, Aunt Ford, I shall be very lonely? for these are all the friends I have.”
“My pet,” said Mrs. Ford, “don’t you be afraid; you’ll get friends in plenty; friends always turn up for a girl who is—a good girl,” she added, after a momentary pause. Perhaps she had not intended originally to conclude her sentence in this simple and highly moral way.