Chapter XXVI: A Yorkshire Home

IT was an exquisite summer afternoon. Brunsworthy Hall lay bathed in the still golden sunshine. It was a substantial old brown stone building, with creeper-clad walls. In front of the principal entrance was a sloping green lawn, a group of beech-trees at the farther end cast some welcome shade upon it; old-fashioned flowering beds bordered the lawn on one side, the other was flanked by a rhododendron shrubbery. In the distance, between a broken line of pines and larches, stretched a wide heather and bracken-covered moor. Further still, blue hills bordered the horizon, and this was the scene that Hope, shading her eyes with her hand, looked out upon, as she stood at the open door. Behind her was a cool, fragrant, oak-wainscoted hall. Roses in bowls seemed to predominate over everything else.

Hope, in her white dress, looked singularly sweet and girlish. But she had gained in grace and dignity during these last few months as mistress of Brunsworthy Hall. For three months she had divided her time between managing her husband's property, and nursing him back to convalescence.

Mrs. Dane had helped much in the latter occupation, but Hope had come alone to Brunsworthy to interview agents, look into farm accounts, and order the household generally. She had been much helped by her husband's lawyer, who lived close by, and Mrs. Stern, the old housekeeper, who had lived at The Hall for the previous twenty years. Now she was expecting the arrival of her husband. She had been into his room many times that day. She had filled it with flowers, she had arranged cushions and couches with a view to rest his tired limbs, she had chosen books and papers that would entertain and amuse him, and now she stood waiting for the carriage that was to bring him to her.

When it eventually appeared, and her husband with his mother came up the broad steps, she ran down to meet them.

Lancelot's eyes were twinkling with some of his old humour, though his smile was a little sad, as he said:

"The irony of fate, that the wife should be receiving the husband, and welcoming him to his home."

"Ah," she said, linking her arm in his, and so entering the house with him, "but think what it might have been!"

The servants were gathered in the hall to welcome their master, and he said a few words to them before he mounted the old oak stairs.

When he saw his wife's arrangements for his comfort, he turned to her again.

"I was wondering whether I was not the woman, and you the man a few moments ago; now I see that no man could have produced a room like this!"

"Do you like it?"

Hope's eyes were anxious. Her husband simply took her in his arms and kissed her.

"My darling little wife, you have a fairy's touch. Everything you have done is absolutely perfect."

Hope put her arms round her husband's neck, and laid her head on his breast. Her eyes were fast filling with tears.

"Oh, how I have longed for you! I can hardly believe you are here at last! You must get well and strong. Are you very tired?"

"I feel a Hercules."

He did not look it, but his figure had something of its old alertness and uprightness, his voice the old keen ring in it; and though his face was worn and hollow-cheeked, there was vigour and energy in every line of it.

His hand caressed Hope's hair.

"This is a happy day for both of us," he said softly.

"They married, and lived happily ever after," said Hope, laughter taking the place of tears. "We have had a break between those two statements, but it will make the happiness all the sweeter now."

Then she thought of her mother-in-law, and leaving her husband, went to see if she was comfortable.

Later that day, after dinner was over, and the garden lay in the evening shadows, the three of them walked round the garden paths.

Mrs. Dane was going back to London the next day.

"This must be your honeymoon," she said. "I am not going to spoil it."

And no amount of persuasion would induce her to stay.

As they walked and talked, Hope began to give an account to her husband of all the business she had tried to perform for him.

"I have told the 'pro tem.' bailiff to come up to-morrow morning for you to see him. I hope you will like him. We had three applications, and Mr. Judd helped me in the choice. And, Lancelot, I have been round with Mr. Judd to every farm on the estate. I know where repairs are needed, and who are the best farmers. I feel so full of information about your property that I shall be rather glad to air my knowledge.

"The only thing that I do not quite understand is Yorkshire manners. I have always heard that the lower classes are very independent, and in all my rounds I only got one nice welcome, and that was from an old woman who had been cook here many years ago. Now I come to think of it, she was a Somersetshire woman. She showed me her dairy, which was a picture of neatness and cleanliness; she said it was an honour to show it to me, and that I had the look of a lady who could 'put her hand to things without a thought of soiling her fingers.' I nearly told her what I could do in the way of house-work, only little Mr. Judd looked so important and dignified by my side that I was afraid of shocking him. Then she mentioned your mother, and when I found out that she had known you here many years ago, I could have talked all day."

"That must be Ann Sockett," said Mrs. Dane thoughtfully. "She married one of the farmers here, I remember."

"She is Mrs. Talbot now."

"I wonder how soon I shall be able to look into things myself," said Lancelot. "I suppose I must let this man—what is his name, Hope?—Mathews?—I suppose he must have a chance first."

"Yes," said Hope decidedly. "The doctor said you must have a very easy life for the next two months, and then you would be quite yourself again. Mr. Mathews will take all the business part from you. You and I are going to enjoy ourselves in a selfish fashion for two whole months. Then you can be engrossed in your farms and fields and coverts. I shall be engrossed in my housekeeping, and garden, and perhaps my poultry-yard. But for the present we are going to be engrossed with each other."

"I am sure," he said, "you deserve a rest and holiday if any one does, and I shall see that you get it."

Mrs. Dane had wandered away from them. This old house and garden were full of memories to her—some happy ones, some sad. She had spent all her young married life in it, had buried the one she loved best in the little churchyard a few miles away, and there was not a corner or spot that she did not know and love.

Hope took her husband indoors soon, fearing he would be fatigued, and then, wrapping a shawl round her, she went out again to look for her mother-in-law.

She found her on the stone terrace on the west side of the house. It was a spot which overlooked most of the country round. First there was the old walled kitchen garden below, then beyond it the small village, a stretch of grass meadows, then almost on the horizon a little turreted church standing on the edge of the heather moor. It was towards this that Mrs. Dane was looking. She was resting her arms on the stone balustrade, and it was not till Hope gently touched her that she was aware of her presence.

Were there tears in her eyes as she looked round? Hope almost thought so.

"Am I disturbing you?" she asked, with a little hesitation.

Mrs. Dane put her arm round her, and drew her to herself.

"Dear child, you must not think of me. Is Lancelot very tired?"

"He says not. Oh, mother, I wish you were not leaving us. Since I have been here by myself and heard the people talk about you, I feel that you ought to be here and not I. Was it not a great trial leaving it when you did?"

"Yes, it was. But I had my boys to think of. I wanted to give them a good education, and I wanted to keep in touch with them. Also I was hard pressed for money at the time of my dear husband's death, so I was advised to let the place."

"But you always hoped to come back one day?"

Mrs. Dane did not answer.

Hope clasped her hands caressingly round her arm.

"My happiness makes your disappointment, mother. Oh, why did you let me meet Lancelot? And why won't you live with us altogether, and let me take the place of a daughter?"

Mrs. Dane smiled.

"Don't you think it is a happiness for me to feel that I have a daughter-in-law who will always give me a warm welcome here? I have been picturing your life here in the future, dear. And I hope that, as years go on, you will find that the same God who brought you together, will bless you increasingly. Married life brings cares and responsibilities, but it also brings much happiness. And I can safely say that I believe Lancelot will never disappoint you. I know what he has been as a son. I know what he will be as a husband."

Hope did not answer. She looked dreamily away to the little church in the distance. At last she said slowly:

"And perhaps one day I shall stand where you do, and feel that all my hopes are in that churchyard. Then I wonder if I shall be able to live my life as nobly and sweetly as you do. I wonder if I shall ever have as big a heart of sympathy and love, as firm and unclouded a faith—"

"Hush, hush!"

Mrs. Dane was shaking her head most disapprovingly.

"I hope you will be a far better woman than I ever shall be. Now, don't you think it is time we were returning to the house?"

"Ah, well," said Hope, as she took her mother-in-law's hint, and walked back with her into the drawing-room. "I shall never be able to say that I was without an example of what a wife and mother should be!"

Nothing would induce Mrs. Dane to prolong her stay. She was determined that the young couple should be left alone, and she departed the next day, promising to pay them a visit in the autumn before the winter set in.

Hope always looked back to those summer months as a time of exquisite rest and delight.

She had much to do. It was not an idle life. There were a great many necessary alterations and repairs in the house itself, for the furniture was old and shabby, and wanted considerable renewing; and there was a good bit of outdoor and estate business with which Hope helped her husband. But the very contact with a keen vigorous intellect like Lancelot's, the sense of his love and care in every detail of her life, was both soothing and invigorating. And she loved the country around her. The moor fascinated her; she would go up to it in the cool of the evening, and baring her head, would inhale long breaths of the fresh, sweet, heather-scented air. Wandering knee-deep in the bracken, she would gather armfuls of the heather and ferns, and come home laden with spoils, astonishing the servants, who could not understand the pleasure of seeing "rubbish" preferred to the choice flowers produced by the garden and hothouses.

Lancelot smiled and understood.

"Ah!" he said to her one day. "Wait till I get a little stronger, and we can ride over the moors together!"

"Perhaps it's as well we don't get all our pleasures at once," said Hope. "We have so many things to look forward to, have we not? But I am not a very accomplished horsewoman. I have had so little chance of riding. My aunt never encouraged it, though I had riding-lessons at school."

"You will soon pick it up again."

One day Hope received a letter from Kitty Parr, giving her the sad news of her father's sudden death from heart failure. Kitty wrote in great trouble.

"How I long that you were here! I have no one to help in things. Avice seems quite stunned, and she is no good at business, as you know! We have just been talking to father's lawyer. We shall have to sell most of our things and get out of this old Rectory as fast as we can. I don't mind much for myself, but I'm awfully sorry for Avice. She has no 'Brian'! I'm up to my eyes with bothers, getting father's accounts right, writing letters (Avice answers all the condoling ones), and roaring with crying at intervals. Death is so awful! And father was such a dear. But I get quite bewildered over our future. Brian won't be ready for me for ages yet, and I think Avice and I will have only £100 between us yearly. Is that worse or better than you were? We mean to go into lodgings at Kayminster. That is the nearest town, and every night I frantically count up my accomplishments, and wonder how I am to earn money. I mean to do something, and no one shall prevent me.

"Of course a country life suits me best, but Avice will go to a town, and I must keep with her. I think I shall turn into a shop-girl or servant if I can do nothing else. But I would love to be a farm labourer! I went down to Miss Rill—Mrs. Manners, I mean—and talked to her about myself.

"She said, 'My dear, don't go to London. It isn't the place for poor
people.'

"Then I asked her if I opened a dairy in Kayminster whether she could provide me with the stuff to sell. (You know they keep two cows now.) But she didn't rise to it. I believe she doubted my business capacity. Oh, Hope, dear, I want you badly! Do you think I could get something to do if I went to Canada? Then Avice could have the £100 all to herself and be quite comfortable. I never thought we should be quite so badly off. I do think clergy might have pensions for their widows. Father worked hard for fifty years and at the end of it left us almost penniless. I tell Avice that the organisation of the Church of England leaves a lot to be desired. She of course disagrees. If only some nice rector would come forward and marry her. She'll never be any good in the world except as a clergyman's wife, and I rather pity her household! You see my pen is running away as fast as my tongue does! But I'm writing to take the ache and misery away. I am absolutely miserable, Hope—do comfort me.

"Your loving

"Kitty."

Hope took counsel with her husband over this letter.

"Why not ask her up here a little later? Would you not like to have her?"

"Very much. But what about Avice? I honestly don't like her, Lancelot, though she is so good. She is so lofty and superior in her manner, that she rubs me the wrong way!"

"This trouble may soften her."

"I am sorry—very sorry—for both of them. And I think Kitty will adapt herself better to her new surroundings than Avice. I think Avice has always run in a very narrow groove. I expect she will feel quite lost without a parish."

"I should let them settle down somewhere together before I asked Kitty up here."

"I dare say you are right. Poor little Kitty! I will write to her at once. She was her father's right hand."

So Hope wrote a very loving sympathetic letter to Kitty, and by the same post wrote out to Brian, asking him if there was any chance of his being able to marry at the end of the year, or whether there was any opening for Kitty out there as a mother's help or companion to any young married woman.

"She is so happy in the country," wrote Hope, "and has so many faculties for a farm life, that it seems waste of good material for her to drift into a town, and do nothing."

And after she had written her letter, she went into her husband's study to talk to him.

"I feel that Kitty is a repetition of myself, and the position is such a dreadful one. If you had not married me, Lancelot, what would have become of me? The want of money is a great trial to a girl who has not been brought up to earn her own living!"

Lancelot would not allow this.

"There are plenty of men in the world to look after them. Personally, I hate a moneyed woman. She is so supremely selfish."

Hope laughed merrily.

"And what about men?"

"I dare say they are not much better. Superabundance of wealth seldom improves a fellow-creature."

"But it is no good for you to say in a grand masculine tone that there are plenty of men to look after helpless penniless girls. That is just what there is not. Every one knows that women outnumber the men, and they are quick at recognising this themselves, and are fast learning to be independent. I think you old-fashioned men who make such an outcry against the modern women don't realise that they are the natural result of the modern life. And you must admit that the modern young man does not rush into marriage as his ancestors did. They weigh the pros and cons much more carefully."

"Yes, I think the modern youngster quite as odious as the hoyden girl. I hope that little Kitty is not rushing into wedded life too soon."

"You don't like Brian. You never did."

"I can't say he was an attractive character. He did not look after you as he should have done."

"Oh, Lancelot, what a foolish old thing you are!"

And then the conversation ended, as it often did, by lover-like demonstrations between husband and wife.