That Stick

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> That Stick

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'Oh, she is much more good-natured. We call her Bertha; at least, she
told us that we might call her anything but that horrid Cousin Bertha, as
she said. But she's old, thirty-six years old, and not a bit pretty, and
she says such odd things, one doesn't know what to do. She thought I
made myself useful and could wash and iron,' said Ida, as if this were
the greatest possible insult, in which Sibyl acquiesced.

'And she thought I should know the factory girls, just the hands,' added
Ida, greatly disgusted. 'As if I should! But ma says low tastes are in
the family, for she is going to live in London, and go and sit with the
shop-girls in the evening. Still I like her better than Lady Adela, who
keeps herself to herself. Mamma says it is pride and spite that her
plain little sickly girl hasn't come to be my Lady.'

'What, doesn't she speak to them?' said Sibyl, quite excited.

'Oh yes, she calls, and shakes hands, and all that, but one never seems
to get on with her. And Emily Trotman, she's the doctor's daughter, such
a darling, told me _such_ a history--so interesting!'

'Tell me, Ida, there's a dear.'

'She says they were all frightfully dissipated' (Ida said it quite with a
relish)--'the old Lord and Mr. Morton, Lady Adela's husband, you know,
and Miss Bertha--always racing and hunting and gambling and in debt.
Then there came a Captain Alder, who was ever so much in love with Miss
Bertha, but most awfully in debt to her brother, and very passionate
besides. So he took him out in his dog-cart with a fiery horse that was
sure to run away.'

'Who did?'

'Captain Alder took Mr. Morton, though they begged and prayed him not,
and the horse ran away and Mr. Morton was thrown out and killed.'

'Oh!' with extreme zest. 'On purpose?'

'Miss Bertha was sure it was, so that she might have all the fortune, and
so she told him, and flung the betrothal ring in his face, and he went
right off, and never has been heard of since.'

'Well, that _is_ interesting. Do you think he shot himself?'

'No, he was too mean. Most likely he married a hideous millionaire: but
the Mortons were always dreadful, and did all sorts of wicked things.'

'I declare it's as good as any tale--like the sweet one in the _Young
Ladies' Friend_ now--"The Pride of Pedro." Have you seen it?'

'No, indeed, uncle and aunt only have great old stupid books! They
wanted me to read those horrid tiresome things of Scott's, and Dickens's
too, who is as old as the hills! Why, they could not think of anything
better to do on their wedding tour but to go to all the places in the
Waverley novels.'

'Why, they are as bad as history! Jim brought one home once, and pa
wanted me to read it, but I could not get on with it--all about a stupid
king of France. I'm sure if I married a lord I'd make him do something
nicer.'

'I mean ma to do something more jolly,' said Ida, 'when we get more
money, and I am come out. I mean to go to balls and tennis parties, and
I shall be sure to marry a lord at some of them.'

'And you will take me,' cried Sibyl.

'Only you must be very genteel,' said Ida. 'Try to learn style, _do_,
dear. It must be learnt young, you know! Why, there's Aunt Mary, when
she has got ever so beautiful a satin dress on, she does not look half so
stylish as Lady Adela walking up the road in an old felt hat and a
shepherd's-plaid waterproof! But they all do dress so as I should be
ashamed. Only think what a scrape that got Herbert into. He was coming
back one Saturday from his tutor's, and he saw walking up to the house an
awfully seedy figure of fun, in an old old ulster, and such a hat as you
never saw, with a knapsack on her back, and a portfolio under her arm.
So of course he thought it was a tramp with something to sell, and he
holloaed out, "You'd better come out of this! We want none of your
sort." She just turned round and laughed, which put him in such a rage,
that though she began to speak he didn't wait, but told her to have done
with her sauce, or he would call the keepers. He thinks she said, "You'd
better," and I believe he did move his stick a little.'

'Ida, have done with that!' cried Herbert's voice close to her. 'Hold
your tongue, or I'll--' and his hand was near her hair.

'Oh, don't, don't, Herbert. Let me hear,' cried Sibyl.

'That's the way girls go on,' said Herbert fiercely, 'with their nonsense
and stuff.'

'But who--?'

'If you go on, Ida--' he was clutching her braid.

Sibyl sprang to the defence, and there was a general struggle and romp
interspersed with screams, which was summarily stopped by Mr. Rollstone
explaining severely, 'If you think that is the deportment of the
aristocracy, Miss Ida, you are much mistaken.'

'Bother the aristocracy!' broke out Herbert.

Calm was restored by a summons to a round game, but Sibyl's curiosity was
of course insatiable, and as she sat next to Herbert, she employed
various blandishments and sympathetic whispers, and after a great deal of
fuss, and 'What will you give me if I tell?' to extract the end of the
story, 'Did he call the keeper?'

'Oh yes, the old beast! His name's Best, but it ought to be Beast! He
guffawed ever so much worse than she did!'

'Well, but who was it?'

And after he had tried to make her guess, and teased his fill, he owned,
'Mrs. Bury--a sort of cousin, staying with Lady Adela. She isn't half a
bad old party, but she makes a guy of herself, and goes about sketching
and painting like a blessed old drawing-master.'

'A lady? and not a young lady.'

'Not as old as--as Methuselah, or old Rolypoly there, but I believe she's
a grandmother. If she'd been a boy, we should have been cut out of it.
Oh yes, she's a lady--a born Morton; and when it was over she was very
jolly about it--no harm done--bears no malice, only Ida makes such an
absurd work about every little trifle.'

CHAPTER XV
THE PIED ROOK

Constance Morton was leaning on the rail that divided the gardens at
Northmoor from the park, which was still rough and heathery. Of all the
Morton family, perhaps she was the one who had the most profited by the
three years that had passed since her uncle's accession to the title.
She had been at a good boarding-house, attending the High School in
Colbeam, and spending Saturday and Sunday at Northmoor. It had been a
happy life, she liked her studies, made friends with her companions, and
enjoyed to the very utmost all that Northmoor gave her, in country beauty
and liberty, in the kindness of her uncle and aunt, and in the religious
training that they were able to give her, satisfying longings of her
soul, so that she loved them with all her heart, and felt Northmoor her
true home. The holiday time at Westhaven was always a trial. Mrs.
Morton had tried Brighton and London, but neither place agreed with Ida:
and she found herself a much greater personage in her own world than
elsewhere, and besides could not always find tenants for her house. So
there she lived at her ease, called by many of her neighbours the
Honourable Mrs. Morton, and finding listeners to her alternate accounts
of the grandeur of Northmoor, and murmurs at the meanness of its master
in only allowing her 300 pounds a year, besides educating her children,
and clothing two of them.

Ida considered herself to be quite sufficiently educated, and so she was
for the society in which she was, or thought herself, a star, chiefly
consisting of the families of the shipowners, coalowners, and the like.
She was pretty, with a hectic prettiness of bright eyes and cheeks, and
had a following of the young men of the place; and though she always
tried to enforce that to receive attentions from a smart young mate, a
clerk in an office, a doctor's assistant, or the like, was a great
condescension on her part, she enjoyed them all the more. Learning new
songs for their benefit, together with extensive novel reading, were her
chief employments, and it was the greater pity because her health was not
strong. She dreamt much in a languid way, and had imagination enough to
work these tales into her visions of life. Her temper suffered, and
Constance found the atmosphere less and less congenial as she grew older
and more accustomed to a different life.

She was a gentle, ladylike girl, with her brown hair still on her
shoulders, as on that summer Saturday she stood looking along the path,
but with her ears listening for sounds from the house, and an anxious
expression on her young face. Presently she started at the sound of a
gun, which caused a mighty cawing among the rooks in the trees on the
slopes, and a circling of the black creatures in the sky. A whistling
then was heard, and her brother Herbert came in sight in a few minutes
more, a fine tall youth of sixteen, with quite the air and carriage of a
gentleman. He had a gun on his shoulder, and carried by the claws the
body of a rook with white wings.

'Oh, Herbert,' cried Constance in dismay, 'did you shoot that by
mistake?'

'No; Stanhope would not believe there was such a crittur, and betted half
a sov that it was a cram.'

'But how could you? Our uncle and aunt thought so much of that poor dear
Whitewing, and Best was told to take care of it. They will be so vexed.'

'Nonsense! He'll come to more honour stuffed than ever he would flying
and howling up there. When I've shown him to Stanhope, I shall make that
old fellow at Colbeam come down handsomely for him. What a row those
birds kick up! I'll send my other barrel among them.'

'Oh no, don't, Bertie. Uncle Frank has one of his dreadful headaches
to-day.'

'Seems to me he is made of headaches.'

'Yes, Aunt Mary is very anxious. Oh, I would have done anything that you
had not vexed them now and killed this poor dear pretty thing!' said
Constance, stroking down the glossy feathers of the still warm victim,
and laying them against her cheek, almost tearfully.

'Well, you are not going to tell them. Perhaps they won't miss it. I
would not have done it if Stanhope had not been such a beast,' said
Herbert.

'I shall not tell them, of course,' said Constance; 'but, if I were you,
I should not be happy till they knew.'

'Oh, that's only girl's way! I can't have the old Stick upset now, for
I'm in horrid want of tin.'

'Oh, Bertie, was it true then?'

'What, you don't mean that they have heard?'

'That you were out at those Colbeam races!'

'To be sure I was, with Stanhope and Hailes and a lot more. We all went
except the little kids and Sisson, who is in regular training for as
great a muff as the governor there. Who told him?'

'Mr. Hailes, who is very much concerned about his grandson.'

'Old sneak; I wonder how he ferreted it out. Is there no end of a jaw
coming, Con?'

'I don't know. Uncle Frank seemed quite knocked down and wretched over
it. He said something about feeling hopeless, and the old blood coming
out to be your ruin.'

'Of course it's the old blood! How did he miss it, and turn into the
intolerable old dry fogey that he is, without a notion of anything fit
for a gentleman?'

'Now, Herbert--'

'Oh yes. You should just hear what the other fellows say about him.
Their mothers and their sisters say there is not so stupid a place in the
county, he hasn't a word to say for himself, and they would just as soon
go to Portland at once as to a party here.'

'Then it is a great shame! I am sure Aunt Mary works hard to make it
pleasant for them!'

'Oh yes, good soul, she does, she can't help it; but when people have
stuck in the mud all their lives, they can't know any better, and it is
abominably hard on a fellow who does, to be under a man who has been an
office cad all his life, and doesn't know what is expected of a
gentleman! Screwing us all up like beggars--'

'Herbert, for shame! for shame! As if he was obliged to do anything at
all for us!'

'Oh, isn't he? A pretty row my mother would kick up about his ears if he
did not, when I must come after him at this place, too!'

'I think you are very ungrateful,' said Constance, with tears, 'when they
are so good to us.'

'Oh, they are as kind as they know how, but they don't know. That's the
thing, or old Frank would be ashamed to give me such a dirty little
allowance. He has only himself to thank if I have to come upon him for
more. Found out about the Blackbird colt, has he? What a bore! And tin
I must have out of him by hook or by crook if he cuts up ever so rough.
I must send off this bird first by the post to confute Stanhope and make
him eat dirt, and then see what's to be done.'

'Indeed, Bertie, I don't think you will see him to-night. His head is
dreadful, and Aunt Mary has sent for Mr. Trotman.'

'Whew! You have not got anything worth having, I suppose, Conny?'

'Only fifteen shillings. I meant it for-- But you shall have it, dear
Bertie, if it will only save worrying them.'

'Fifteen bob! Fifteen farthings you might as well offer. No, no, you
soft little monkey, I must see what is to be made of him or her ladyship,
one or the other, to-day or to-morrow. If they know I have been at the
place it is half the battle. Consequence was! Provided they don't smell
out this unlucky piebald! I wish Stanhope hadn't been such a beast!'

At that moment, too late to avoid her, Lady Northmoor, pale and anxious,
came up the path and was upon them. 'Your uncle is asleep,' she began,
but then, starting, 'Oh, Conny. Poor Whitewing. Did you find him?'

Constance hung her head and did not speak. Then her aunt saw how it was.

'Herbert! you must have shot him by mistake; your uncle will be so
grieved.'

Herbert was not base enough to let this pass. He muttered, 'A fellow
would not take my word for it, so I had to show him.'

She looked at him very sadly. 'Oh, Herbert, I did not think you would
have made that a reason for vexing your uncle!'

The boy was more than half sorry under those gentle eyes. He muttered
something about 'didn't think he would care.'

She shook her head, instead of saying that she knew this was not the
truth; and unable to bear the sting, he flung away from her, carrying the
rook with him, and kicking the pebbles, trying to be angry instead of
sorry. And just then came a summons to Lady Northmoor to see the doctor.

Yet Herbert Morton was a better boy than he seemed at that moment; his
errors were chiefly caused by understanding _noblesse oblige_ in a
different way from his uncle. Moreover, it would have been better for
him if his tutor had lived beyond the neighbourhood of Northmoor, where
he heard, losing nothing in the telling, the remarks of the other pupils'
mothers upon his uncle and aunt; more especially as it was not generally
the highest order of boy that was to be found there. If he had heard
what the fathers said, he would have learnt that, though shy and devoid
of small talk, and of the art of putting guests together, Lord Northmoor
was trusted and esteemed. He might perhaps be too easily talked down; he
could not argue, and often gave way to the noisy Squire; but he was
certain in due time to see the rights of a question, and he attended
thoroughly to the numerous tasks of an active and useful county man,
taking all the drudgery that others shirked. While, if by severe stress
he were driven to public speaking, he could acquit himself far better
than any one had expected. The Bishop and the Chairman of the Quarter
Sessions alike set him down on their committees, not only for his rank,
but for his industry and steadiness of work. Nor had any one breathed
any imputation upon the possession of what used to be known as gentility,
before that good word was degraded, to mean something more like what Mrs.
Morton aspired to. Lord and Lady Northmoor might not be lively, nor a
great accession to society, but the anticipations of either amusement or
annoyance from vulgarity or arrogance were entirely disappointed. No one
could call them underbred, or anything but an ingrain gentleman and lady,
while there were a few who could uphold Lady Northmoor as thoroughly
kind, sweet, sensible, and helpful to her utmost in all that was good.

All this, however, was achieved not only unconsciously but with severe
labour by a man whose powers could only act slowly, and who was not to
the manner born. Conscientiousness is a costly thing, and Strafford's
watchword is not to be adopted for nothing. The balance of duties, the
perplexities of managing an impoverished and involved estate, the
disappointment of being unable to carry out the responsibilities of a
landlord towards neglected cottagers, the incapacity of doing what would
have been desirable for the Church, and the worry and harass that his
sister-in-law did not spare, all told as his office work had never done,
and in spite of quiet, happy hours with his Mary, and her devoted and
efficient aid whenever it was possible, a course of disabling neuralgic
headaches had set in, and a general derangement of health, which had
become alarming, and called for immediate remedy.

CHAPTER XVI
WHAT IS REST?

'Rest, there is nothing for it but immediate rest and warm baths,' said
Lady Northmoor to Constance, who was waiting anxiously for the doctor's
verdict some hours later. 'It is only being overdone--no, my dear, there
is nothing really to fear, if we can only keep business and letters out
of his way for a few weeks, my dear child.'

For Constance, who had been dreadfully frightened by the sight of the
physician's carriage, which seemed to her inexperienced eyes the omen of
something terrible, fairly burst into tears of relief.

'Oh, I am so glad!' she said, as caresses passed--which might have been
those of mother and daughter for heartfelt sympathy and affection.

'You will miss your Saturdays and Sundays, my dear,' continued the aunt,
'for we shall have to go abroad, so as to be quite out of the way of
everything.'

'Never mind that, dear aunt, if only Uncle Frank is better. Will it be
long?'

'I cannot tell. He says six weeks, Dr. Smith says three months. It is
to be bracing air--Switzerland, most likely.'

'Oh, how delightful! How you will enjoy it!'

'It has always been a dream, and it is strange now to feel so downhearted
about it,' said her aunt, smiling.

'Uncle Frank is sure to be better there,' said Constance. 'Only think of
the snowy mountains--

Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains;
They crown'd him long ago
On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,
With a diadem of snow.'

And the girl's eyes brightened with an enthusiasm that the elder woman
felt for a moment, nor did either of them feel the verse hackneyed.

'Ah, I wish we could take you, my dear,' said Lady Northmoor; then, 'Do
you know where Herbert is?'

'No,' said Constance. 'Oh, aunt, I am so sorry! I don't think he would
have done it if the other boys had not teased him.'

'Perhaps not; but, indeed, I am grieved, not only on the poor rook's
account, but that he should have the heart to vex your uncle just now.
However, perhaps he did not understand how ill he has been all this week.
And I am afraid that young Stanhope is not a good companion for him.'

'I do not think he is,' said Constance; 'it seems to me that Stanhope
leads him into that betting, and makes him think it does not signify
whether he passes or not, and so he does not take pains.'

Herbert was not to be found either then or at dinner-time. It turned out
that he had taken from the stables the horse he was allowed to ride, and
had gone over to display his victim to Stanhope, and then on to the
bird-stuffer; had got a meal, no one wished to know how, only returning
in time to stump upstairs to bed.

He thus avoided an interview with his uncle over the rook, unaware that
his aunt had left him the grace of confession, being in hopes that,
unless he did speak of his own accord, the vexatious knowledge might be
spared to one who did not need an additional annoyance just then.

Lord Northmoor was not, however, to be spared. He was much better the
next day, Sunday, a good deal exhilarated by the doctor's opinion; and,
though concerned at having to break off his work, ready to enjoy what he
was told was absolutely essential.

The head-keeper had no notion of sparing him. Mr. Best regarded him with
a kind of patronising toleration as an unfortunate gentleman who had the
ill-hap never to have acquired a taste for sport, and was unable to do
justice to his preserves; but towards 'Mr. Morton' there was a very
active dislike. The awkward introduction might have rankled even had
Herbert been wise enough to follow Miss Morton's advice; but his nature
was overbearing, and his self-opinion was fostered by his mother and Ida,
while he was edged on by his fellow-pupils to consider Best a mere old
woman, who could only be tolerated by the ignorance of 'a regular Stick.'

With the under-keeper Herbert fraternised enough to make him
insubordinate; and the days when Lord Northmoor gave permission for
shooting or for inviting his companions for a share in the sport, were
days of mutual offence, when the balance of provoking sneer and angry
insult would be difficult to cast, though the keeper was the most
forbearing, since he never complained of personal ill-behaviour to
himself, whereas Herbert's demonstrations to his uncle of 'that old fool'
were the louder and more numerous because they never produced the
slightest effect.

However, Best felt aggrieved in the matter of the rook, which had been
put under his special protection, and being, moreover, something of a
naturalist, he had cherished the hope of a special Northmoor breed of
pied rooks.

So while, on the way from church, Lady Adela was detaining Lady Northmoor
with inquiries as to Dr. Smith, Best waylaid his master with, 'Your
lordship gave me orders about that there rook with white wings, as was
not to be mislested.'

'Has anything happened to it?' said Frank wearily.

'Well, my lord, I sees Mr. Morton going up to the rookery with his gun,
and I says to him that it weren't time for shooting of the branchers, and
the white rook weren't to be touched by nobody, and he swears at me for a
meddling old leggings, and uses other language as I'll not repeat to your
lordship, and by and by I hears his gun, and I sees him a-picking up of
the rook that her ladyship set such store by, so it is due to myself, my
lord, to let you know as I were not to blame.'

'Certainly not, Best,' was the reply. 'I am exceedingly displeased that
my nephew has behaved so ill to you, and I shall let him know it.'

'His lordship will give it to him hot and strong, the young upstart,'
muttered Best to himself with great satisfaction, as he watched the
languid pace quicken to overtake the boy, who had gone on with his
sister.

Perhaps the irritability of illness had some effect upon the ordinary
gentleness of Lord Northmoor's temper, and besides, he was exceedingly
annoyed at such ungrateful slaughter of what was known to be a favourite
of his wife; so when he came upon Herbert, sauntering down to the
stables, he accosted him sharply with, 'What is this I hear, Herbert? I
could not have believed that you would have deliberately killed the
creature that you knew to be a special delight to your aunt.'

Herbert had reached the state of mind when a third, if not a fourth,
reproach on the same subject on which his conscience was already uneasy,
was simply exasperating, and without the poor excuse he had offered his
aunt and sister, he burst out that it was very hard that such a beastly
row should be made about a fellow knocking down mere trumpery vermin.

'Speak properly, Herbert, or hold your tongue,' said his uncle. 'I am
extremely displeased at finding that you do not know how to conduct
yourself to my servants, and have presumed to act in this lawless,
heartless manner, in defiance of what you knew to be your aunt's wishes
and my orders, and that you replied to Best's remonstrance with
insolence.'

'That's a good one! Insolent to an old fool of a keeper,' muttered
Herbert sullenly.

'Insolence is shameful towards any man,' returned his uncle. 'And from a
foolish headstrong boy to a faithful old servant it is particularly
unbecoming. However, bad as this is, it is not all that I have to speak
of.'

Then Herbert recollected with dismay how much his misdemeanour would tell
against his pardon for the more important act of disobedience, and he
took refuge in a sullen endeavour at indifference, while his uncle,
thoroughly roused, spoke of the sins of disobedience and the dangers of
betting. Perhaps the only part of the lecture that he really heard was,
'Remember, it was these habits in those who came before us that have been
so great a hindrance in life to both you and me, and made you, my poor
boy, so utterly mistaken as to what becomes your position. How much have
you thrown away?'

Herbert looked up and muttered the amount--twelve pounds and some
shillings.

'Very well, I will not have it owed. I shall pay it, deducting two
pounds from your allowance each term till it is made up. Give me the
address or addresses.'

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