That Stick
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> That Stick
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All this, and that most precious possession at home, combined to give
Lord Northmoor an amount of spirit and life that enabled him to take his
place in the county, emancipate himself from the squire, show an opinion
of his own, and open his mouth occasionally. As Bertha observed, no one
would ever have called him a stick if he had begun like this. To people
like these, humbled and depressed in early life, a little happiness was a
great stimulus.
CHAPTER XXV
THE LOVE
It was not till Christmas that Ida had the opportunity of making her
observations. By that time 'Mite,' as he was supposed to have named
himself, had found the use of his feet, and was acquiring that of his
tongue. In fact, he was a very fine forward child, who might easily have
been supposed to be eighteen months old instead of fifteen, as Ida did
not fail to remark.
He was a handsome little creature, round and fair, with splendid sturdy
legs and mottled arms, hair that stood up in a pale golden crest, round
blue eyes and a bright colour, without much likeness as yet to either
parent, though Lord Northmoor declared that there was an exact
resemblance to his own brother, Charles, Herbert's father, as he first
remembered him. Ida longed to purse up her lips but did not dare, and
was provoked to see her mother taken completely captive by his charms,
and petting him to the utmost extent.
Indeed, Lady Northmoor, who was very much afraid of spoiling him, was
often distressed when such scenes as this took place. 'Mite! Mite, dear,
no!' when his fat little hands had grasped an ivory paper-cutter, and its
blade was on the way to the button mouth. 'No!' as he paused and looked
at her. 'Here's Mite's ball! poor little dear, do let him have it'--and
Mite, reading sympathy in his aunt's face, laughed in a fascinating
triumphant manner, and took a bite with his small teeth.
'Mite! mother said no!' and it was gently taken from his hand, but before
the fingers had embraced the substituted ball, a depreciating look and
word of remonstrance gave a sense of ill-usage and there was a roar.
'Oh, poor little dear! Here--auntie's goody goody--'
'No, no, please, Emma, he has had quite as many as he ought! No, no,
Mite--' and he was borne off sobbing in her arms, while Ida observed,
'There! is that the way people treat their own children?'
'Some people never get rid of the governess,' observed Mrs. Morton, quite
unconscious that but for her interference there would have been no
contest and no tears.
But she herself had no doubts, and was mollified by Mary's plea on her
return. 'He is quite good now, but you see, there is so much danger of
our spoiling him, we feel that we cannot begin too soon to make him
obedient.'
'I could not bear to keep a poor child under in that way.'
'I believe it saves them a great deal if obedience is an instinct,' said
Mary.
It had not been Mrs. Morton's method, and she was perfectly satisfied
with the result, so she only made some inarticulate sound; but she
thought Frank quite as unnatural, when he kept Michael on his knee at
breakfast, but with only an empty spoon to play with! All the tossing
and playing, the radiant smiles between the two did not in her eyes atone
for these small beginnings of discipline, even though her
brother-in-law's first proceeding, whenever he came home, was to look for
his son, and if the child were not in the drawing-room, to hurry up to
the nursery and bring him down, laughing and shouting.
The Tyrolean nurse had been sacrificed to those notions of training which
the Westhaven party regarded as so harsh. Her home sickness and pining
for her mountains had indeed fully justified the 'rampant consciences,'
as to the humanity as well as the expedience of sending her home before
her indulgence of the Kleiner Freiherr had had time to counteract his
parents' ideas, and her place had been supplied by the nurse whom Amice
was outgrowing, so that Ida was disappointed of her intentions of
examining her, and laid up the circumstances as suspicious, though, on
the other hand, her mother was gratified at exercising a bit of patronage
by recommending a nursery girl from Westhaven. The next winter, however,
was not marked by a visit to Northmoor. Ida had been having her full
share of the summer and early autumnal gaieties of Westhaven, and among
the yachts who were given to putting in there was a certain _Morna_,
belonging to Sir Thomas Brady, who had become a baronet by force of
success in speculation. His son, who chiefly used it, showed evident
admiration of Miss Morton's bright cheeks and eyes, and so often resorted
to Westhaven, and dropped in at what she had named Northmoor cottage,
that there was fair reason for supposing that this might result in more
than an ordinary flirtation.
However, at the regatta, when she had looked for distinguished attention
on his part, she felt herself absolutely neglected, and the very next day
the _Morna_ sailed away, without a farewell.
Ida at first could hardly believe it. When she did, the conviction came
upon her that his son's attachment had been reported to Sir Thomas, and
that the young man had been summoned away against his will. It would
have been different, no doubt, had Herbert still been heir-presumptive.
'That horrid little Mite!' said she.
Whether her heart or her ambition had been most affected might be
doubtful. At any rate, the disappointment added to the oppression of a
heavy cold on the chest, which she had caught at the regatta, and which
became severe enough to call for the doctor.
Thus the mother and daughter did not go to Northmoor. At a ball given on
board a steam yacht just before Christmas Ida caught a violent cold on
the chest, the word congestion was uttered, and an opinion was pronounced
that as she had always weak lungs, a spring abroad would be advisable.
Mrs. Morton wrote a letter with traces of tears upon it, appealing to her
brother-in-law to assist her as the only hope of saving her dearest
child, and the quarries had done so well during the last year that he was
able to respond with a largesse sufficient for her needs, though not for
her expectations.
Mrs. Morton would have liked to have taken Constance as interpreter, and
general aid and assistant; but Constance was hard at work, aspiring to a
scholarship, at a ladies' college, and it was plain that her sister was
not so desirous of her company as to make her mother overrule her wishes
as a duty.
In fact, Ida had found a fellow-traveller who would suit her much better
than Constance. Living for the last year in lodgings near at hand was a
Miss Gattoni, daughter of an Italian courier and French lady's maid. As
half boarder at a third-rate English school, she had acquired education
enough to be first a nursery-governess, and later a companion; and in her
last situation, when she had gone abroad several times with a rheumatic
old lady, she had recommended herself enough to receive a legacy which
rendered her tolerably independent. She was very good-natured, and had
graduated in the art of making herself acceptable, and, as she really
wished to go abroad again, she easily induced Mrs. Morton and Ida to
think it a great boon that she should join forces with them, and as she
was an experienced traveller with a convenient smattering of various
tongues, she really smoothed their way considerably and lived much more
at her ease than she could have done upon her own resources, always
frequenting English hotels and boarding-houses.
Mrs. Morton and Ida were of that order of tourists who do not so much
care for sights as for being on a level with those who have seen them;
and besides, Ida was scarcely well or in spirits enough for much exertion
till after her first month at Nice, which restored her altogether to her
usual self, and made her impatient of staying in one place.
It is not, however, worth while to record the wanderings of the trio,
until in the next summer they reached Venice, where Ida declared her
intention of penetrating into the Dolomites. There was an outcry. What
could she wish for in that wild and savage country, where there was no
comfortable hotel, no society, no roads--nothing in short to make life
tolerable, whereas an hotel full of Americans of extreme politeness to
ladies, and expeditions in gondolas, when one could talk and have plenty
of attention, were only too delightful?
That peaks should be more attractive than flirtations was inexplicable,
but at last in secret confabulation Ida disclosed her motive, and in
another private consultation Mrs. Morton begged Miss Gattoni to agree to
it, as the only means of satisfying the young lady, or putting her mind
at rest about a fancy her mother could not believe in; though even as she
said, 'it would be so very shocking, it is perfectly ridiculous to think
my brother Lord Northmoor would be capable,' the shrewd confidante
detected a lingering wish that it might be so!
Maps and routes were consulted, and it was decided that whereas to go
from Venice through Cadore would involve much mule-riding and rough
roads, the best way would be to resort to the railway to Verona, and
thence to Botzen as the nearest point whence Ratzes could be reached.
CHAPTER XXVI
IDA'S WARNING
Botzen proved to be very hot and full of smells, nor did Mrs. Morton care
for its quaint old medieval houses, but Ida's heart had begun to fail her
when she came so near the crisis, and on looking over the visitors' book
she gave a cry. 'Ah, if we had only known! It is all of no use.'
'How?' she was asked.
'That horrid Mrs. Bury!'
'There?'
'Of course she is. Only a week ago she was here. If she is at Ratzes,
of course we can do nothing.'
'And the road is _affreux_, perfectly frightful,' said Mademoiselle. 'I
have been inquiring about it. No access except upon mules. A whole
day's journey--and the hotel! Bah, it is _vilain_!'
'If Ida is bent on going she must go without me,' said Mrs. Morton.
'I--I have had enough of those horrid beasts. Ida's nonsense will be the
death of me.'
'I don't see much good in going on with that woman there,' said Ida
gloomily. 'She would be sure to stifle all inquiry.'
'A good thing too,' muttered poor, weary Mrs. Morton.
Ida turned the leaves of the visitors' book till she found the names of
Lord and Lady Northmoor, and then, growing more eager as obstructions
came in her way, and not liking to turn back as if on a fool's errand,
she suggested to Miss Gattoni that questions might be asked about their
visit. The Tyrolean patois was far beyond her, and not too
comprehensible to her friend, but there was a waiter who could speak
French, and the landlady's German was tolerable.
The milord and miladi were perfectly remembered, as well as their long
detention, but the return had been by way of Italy, so they had not
revisited Botzen with their child the next spring.
'But,' said the hostess, 'there is a young woman in the next street who
can tell you more than I. She offered herself as a nurse.'
This person was at once sent for. She was the same who had been
mentioned by Mrs. Bury, but she had exchanged the peasant costume, which
had, perhaps, only been assumed to please the English ladies, for the
townswoman's universal endeavour at French fashion, which by no means
enhanced her rather coarse beauty, which was more Italian than Austrian.
Italian was the tongue which chiefly served as a medium between her and
Miss Gattoni, though hers was not pure enough to be easily understood.
Mrs. Morton and Ida put questions which Miss Gattoni translated as best
she could, and made out as much as possible of the answers. It was
elicited that she had not been allowed to see the English miladi. All
had been settled by the signora who came yearly, and they had rejected
her after all her trouble; the doctor had recommended her, and though her
_creatura_ would have been just the right age, and that little
_ipocrila's_ child was older, ever so much older--she spread out her
hands to indicate infinity.
'Ah!' said Ida, 'I always thought so.'
'Ask her how much older,' demanded Mrs. Morton.
The replies varied from nearly _un sanestre_ to _tre settimane_--and no
more could be made of that question.
'Where was the foster-child?'
Again the woman threw up her hands to indicate that she had no
notion--what was it to her? She could not tell if it were alive or dead;
but (upon a leading question) it had not been seen since Hedwige's
departure nor after return. Was it boy or girl? and, after some
hesitation, it was declared to have been _un maschio_.
There was more, which nobody quite understood, but which sounded abusive,
and they were glad to get rid of her with a couple of _thalers_.
'Well?' said Ida triumphantly.
'Well?' echoed her mother in a different tone. 'I don't know what you
were all saying, but I'm sure of this, that that woman was only looking
to see what you wanted her to say. I watched the cunning look of her
eyes, and I would not give that for her word,' with a gesture of her
fingers.
'But, ma, you didn't understand! Nothing could be plainer. The doctor
recommended her, and sent her over in proper time, but she never saw any
one but Mrs. Bury, who, no doubt, had made her arrangements. Then this
other woman's child was older--nobody knows how much--but we always
agreed that nobody could believe Mite, as they call him, was as young as
they said. And then that other child was a boy, and it has vanished.'
'I don't believe she knew.'
'No, I do not think she did,' chimed in Miss Gattoni. 'This _canaille_
will say anything!'
'I believe the woman,' said Ida obstinately. 'Her evidence chimes in
with all my former conclusions.'
The older ladies both had a strong misgiving that the conclusions had
formed the evidence, and Mrs. Morton, though she had listened all along
to Ida's grumbling, was perfectly appalled at the notion of bringing such
a ridiculous accusation against the brother-in-law, against whom she
might indeed murmur, but whom she knew to be truthful and self-denying.
She ventured to represent that it was impossible to go upon this
statement without ascertaining whether the Grantzen child was alive, or
really dead and buried at Ratzes, and that the hostess of the inn would
have been better evidence, but--
He that of purpose looks beside the mark,
Might as well hoodwinked shoot as in the dark,
and Ida was certain that all the people at Ratzes had been bribed, and
that no one would dare to speak out while Mrs. Bury kept guard there.
Indeed, for that lady to guess at such suspicions and inquiries would
have been so dreadful that Ratzes was out of the question, much to the
relief of the elders, dragged along by the masterful maiden against their
better judgment, though indeed Miss Gattoni gave as much sympathy in her
_tete-a-tetes_ with Ida as she did to her mother in their consultations.
They were made to interview the doctor, but he knew as little about the
matter as the disappointed _balia_, and professed to know much less. In
point of fact, though he had been called in after the accident, Mrs. Bury
had not thought much of his skill, and had not promoted after-visits.
There had not been time to summon him when the birth took place, and Mrs.
Bury thought her experience more useful afterwards than his treatment was
likely to be. So he was a slighted and offended man, whose testimony,
given in good German, only declared the secretiveness, self-sufficiency,
and hard-neckedness of Englander!
And Ida's state of mind much resembled that of the public when resolved
to believe in the warming-pan.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE YOUNG PRETENDER
The denunciation of the Young Pretender was not an easy matter even in
Ida's eyes. It was one thing to have a pet grievance and see herself as
a heroine, righting her dear injured brother's wrongs, and another to
reproach two of the quietest most matter-of-fact people in the world with
the atrocious frauds of which only a wicked baronet was capable.
She was not sorry that the return to England was deferred by the tenants
of the house at Westhaven wanting to stay on; and when at length a
Christmas visit was paid at Northmoor, Mite was an animated little
personage of three and a quarter, and, except that he could not
accomplish a _k_, perfect in speaking plainly and indeed with that pretty
precision of utterance that children sometimes acquire when baby language
has not been foolishly fastened. Indeed, his pet name of Mite was only
for strictly private use. Except to his nearest relatives, he was always
Michael.
Mrs. Morton was delighted with him, and would have liked to make up for
her knowledge of Ida's suspicions by extra petting, and by discovering
resemblances to all the family portraits as well as to his parents, none
of which any one else could see. She lived upon thorns lest Ida should
burst out with some accusation, but Ida had not the requisite impudence,
and indeed, in sight of the boy with his parents, her 'evidence' faded
into such stuff as dreams are made of.
There was some vexation, indeed, that Louisa the nursery-maid, whom Mrs.
Morton had recommended, had had to be dismissed.
'I am sorry,' said Mrs. Morton, 'for, as I told you, her father was the
mate aboard the _Emma Jane_, my poor father's ship, you know, and went
down with poor pa and my poor dear Charlie. And her mother used to char
for us, which was but her due.'
'Yes, I know,' said Mary; 'Frank and I were both very sorry, and we would
have found her another place, but she would go home. You see, we could
not keep her in the nursery, for we must have a thoroughly trustworthy
person to go out with Michael.'
'What! Can't your fine nurse?'
'Eden? It is her one imperfection. It is some weakness of the spine,
and neither she nor I can be about with Michael as long as it is good for
him. I thought he must be safe in the garden, but it turned out that
Louisa had been taking him down to the village, and there meeting a
sailor, who I believe came up in a collier to Colbeam.'
'Oh, an old friend from Westhaven?'
'Sam Rattler,' suggested Ida. 'Don't you remember, mamma, Mrs. Hall said
they were sweethearting, and she wanted to get her out of the way of
him.'
'Perhaps,' said Lady Northmoor, 'but I should have forgiven it if she had
told me the truth and not tempted Mite. She used to make excuses to Eden
for going down to the village, and at last she took Mite there, and they
gave him sweets at the shop not to tell!'
'Did he?' said Ida, rather hoping the model boy would have failed.
'Oh yes. The dear little fellow did not understand keeping things back,
and when his papa was giving him his nightly sugar-plum, he said, "Blue
man gave me a great striped sweet, and it stuck in my little teeth"; and
then, when we asked when and where, he said, "Down by Betty's, when I was
out with Cea and Louie"; and so it came out that she had taken him into
the village, met this man, brought him into the grounds by the little
gate, and tried to bribe Mite to say nothing about it. Cea told us all
about it,--the little girl who lives with Miss Morton. Of course we
could never let him go out with her again, and you would hardly believe
what an amount of falsehoods she managed to tell Eden and me about it.'
'Ah, if you had lived at Westhaven you would have found out that to be so
particular is the way to make those girls fib,' said Mrs. Morton.
'I hope not. I think we have a very good girl now, trained up in an
orphanage.'
'Oh, those orphanage girls are the worst of all. I've had enough of
them. They break everything to pieces, and they run after the lads worst
of all, because they have never seen one before!'
To which Mary answered by a quiet 'I hope it may not turn out so.'
There were more agitating questions to be brought forward. Herbert had
behaved very fairly well ever since the escapade of the pied rook; the
lad kept his promise as to betting faithfully in his uncle's absence, and
though it had not been renewed, he had learnt enough good sense to keep
out of mischief.
Unfortunately, however, he had not the faculty of passing examinations.
He was not exactly stupid or idle, but any kind of study was a bore to
him, and the knowledge he was forced to 'get up' was not an acquisition
that gave him the slightest satisfaction for its own sake, or that he
desired to increase beyond what would carry him through. Naturally, he
had more cleverness than his uncle, and learning was less difficult to
him, but he only used his ability to be sooner done with a distasteful
task, which never occupied his mind for a moment after it was thrown
aside. Thus time after time he had failed in passing for the army, and
now only one chance remained before being reduced to attempting to enter
the militia. And suppose that there he failed?
He remained in an amiable, passive, good-humoured state, rather amused
than otherwise at his mother's impression that it was somehow all his
uncle's fault, and ready to be disposed of exactly as they pleased
provided that he had not the trouble of thinking about it or of working
extra hard.
Mrs. Morton was sure that something could be done. Could not his uncle
send him to Oxford? Then he could be a clergyman, or a lawyer or
anything. Oh dear, were there those horrid examinations there too? And
then those gentlemen that belonged to the ambassadors and envoys--she was
sure Mr. Rollstone had told her any one who had connection could get that
sort of appointment to what they called the Civil Service. What,
examinations again? connection no good? Well, it was shame! What would
things come to? As Mr Rollstone said, it was mere ruin!
Merchant's office? Bah! such a gentleman as her Herbert was, so
connected! What was his uncle thinking of, taking him up to put him down
in that way? It was hard.
And Lord Northmoor was thankful to the tears that as usual choked her,
while he begged her at present to trust to that last chance. It would be
time to think what was to come next if that failed.
Wherewith the victim passed the window whistling merrily, apparently
perfectly regardless of his doom, be it what it might, and with Mite
clinging to his hand in ecstatic admiration.
Constance too was in question. Here she was at eighteen, a ladylike,
pleasant, good girl, very nice-looking, sweet-faced, and thoughtful,
having finished her course at the High School with great credit, but
alas! it was not in the family to win scholarships. She did things well,
but not so brilliantly as cleverer girls, having something of her uncle's
tardiness of power.
Her determination to be a governess was as decided as ever, and it was
first brought before her mother by an offer on Lady Adela's part to begin
with her at once for Amice, who was now eleven years old.
'Really, now!' said Mrs. Morton, stopping short to express her offence.
'That is--' added Ida, equally at a loss.
'But what do you mean, mamma?' said Constance. 'I always intended to be
a teacher; I think it noble, useful work.'
'Oh, my poor child! what have they brought you to? Pretending such
affection, too!'
'Indeed, mamma, I have meant this always. I could not be dependent all
my life, you know. Do listen, mamma; don't Ida--'
'That my Lady Adela should insult us that way, when you are as good as
she!'
'Nonsense, Ida! That has nothing to do with it. It is the greatest
possible compliment, and I am very much pleased.'
'Just to live there, at her beck and call, drudging at that child's
lessons!' sneered Ida.
'Yes, and when I made sure, at least after all the fuss they have made
with you, that your aunt would present you at Court, and make you the
young lady of the house, and marry you well, but there's no trust to be
placed in them--none!'
'Oh, mamma, don't cry. I should not feel it right, unless Aunt Mary
really needed me, and, though she is so kind and dear, she does not
really. My only doubt is--'
'You have a doubt, then?'
'Yes. I should be so much fitter if I could go to one of the ladies'
colleges, and then come back to dear little Amice, but now I have failed,
I don't like to let Uncle Frank spend all that money on me, when I might
be earning eighty pounds for myself.'
'Well, you are a strange girl, with no proper pride for your family,'
said her mother.
And Ida chimed in: 'Yes. Do you think any one will be likely to marry
you? or if you don't care about yourself, you might at least think of
me!'
Mrs. Morton shed her ready tears when talking it over with Lady
Northmoor.
'You see,' said Mary gently, 'I should like nothing better than to have
dear little Conny to live with me like a daughter, but, for one thing, it
would not be fair towards Ida, and besides, it would not be good for her
in case she did not marry to have wasted these years.'
Mrs. Morton by no means appreciated the argument. However, Lord
Northmoor put off the matter by deciding to send Constance to St. Hugh's
Hall, thinking she really deserved such a reward to her diligence.
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