Read Ebook: Maud Florence Nellie; or Don't care! by Coleridge Christabel R Christabel Rose Staniland Charles Joseph Illustrator

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Ebook has 1030 lines and 55412 words, and 21 pages

"We don't find it lonesome," said Mrs Warren. "It's not above half a mile down that path to the village, and there's a good many of us scattered about in the lodges and gardens to make company for each other."

Mrs Warren was a pleasant-looking woman, well spoken, with a refined accent and manner, being indeed the daughter of a former gardener at Ashcroft Hall.

"Well," said Mrs Stroud, "there's something about them glades as I should find depressing. With a street, if you don't see the end of it, at least you know there's fellow-creatures there, if you did see it; but there's no saying what may be down among those green alleys. To say nothing that one does associate overhanging trees with damp."

"Well, we have to keep good fires, but, you see, there's plenty of fuel close by. And how did you leave your brother and his young family? I've often thought I'd like to renew the acquaintance."

"Well, they have their health," said Mrs Stroud. "But there, Charlotte, young people are always an anxiety, and them girls do want a mother's eye."

"No doubt they do, poor things. Why, the eldest must be quite a young woman."

"Has she any prospects?" asked Mrs Warren.

"Well, girls will have their feelings," said Mrs Warren. "And isn't the next one growing up too?"

"Ah," said Mrs Stroud, with a profound sigh.

"There's worse faults than being too backward after all, and that there Florence is indeed a trial. I tell my brother that good service is the only chance for her, and that I should consult you about it."

"I thought she was in a shop."

Here Mrs Stroud entered on a long account of Florence's appearance, character, and recent history, ending with: "So, Charlotte, seeing that she's that flouncy and that flighty that she'll come to no good as she is, I thought if you could get her under the housekeeper here for a bit it would be a real kindness to my poor brother."

"But Mrs Hay would never look at a girl that was flighty and flouncy. The servants are kept as strict and old-fashioned as possible--plain straw bonnets on Sunday, and as little liberty as can be. No doubt they learn their business well, but I do think if there was a lady at the head she might see her way to making things a bit pleasanter for young people. 'Tis a dull house, even for Miss Geraldine herself, and has been ever since the time you know of."

"Ay," said Mrs Stroud mysteriously, "and it's that there unlucky Harry that Florence takes after--more's the pity. Well, tell me about your young folk."

"Well, Ned, you know, is under his father--his wife is a very nice steady girl--and Bessie's got the Roseberry school; she got a first-class certificate, and is doing well. And Wyn--we're rather unsettled in our minds about Wyn. He don't seem quite the build, the father thinks, for a keeper, and he don't do much but lead about poor Mr Edgar's pony chaise and attend to his birds and beasts for him. Mr Edgar seems to fancy him, and we're glad to do anything for the poor young gentleman. But Bessie, she says that it's all very well for the present, but it leads to nothing. Wyn declares he'll be Mr Edgar's servant when he grows up. But there, poor young gentleman! there's no counting on that--but of course Wyn might take to that line in the end, and be a gentleman's valet."

"And Mr Alwyn, that Wyn was named after, haven't never come home?"

"Never--nor never will, to my thinking. The place is like to come to Miss Geraldine, unless Mr Cunningham leaves it to Mr James, his nephew." Mrs Warren was only relating well-known facts, as she delivered herself of this piece of dignified gossip with some pride even in the misfortunes of the great family under whose shadow she lived, and Mrs Stroud sighed and looked impressed.

"Well," she said, "small and great have their troubles, and Mr Alwyn were no better than Harry, and where one is the other's likely to be."

"I've always felt a regret," said Mrs Warren, "that we couldn't take better care of Harry when he was sent to us here. And I've been thinking, Elizabeth, that if John Whittaker would trust us with Florence I should be glad to have her here for a time, and see if I could make anything of her. It would be a change, and if she's got with idle girls, it would separate her from them."

"Well, there'd be no streets here for her to run in," said Mrs Stroud. "You're very kind, Charlotte, but I doubt you don't know what a handful that there girl is!"

"I've seen a good many girls in my time," said Mrs Warren, smiling, "though my Bessie is a quiet one; and if she finds herself a bit dull at first, it's no more than she deserves, by your account of her, poor thing!"

"I believe my brother 'll send her off straight," said Mrs Stroud. "It's downright friendly of you, Charlotte, and Florrie shall come, if I have to bring her myself."

Mrs Warren was a kind and conscientious woman; but she would hardly have proposed to burden herself with such a maiden as Florence was described to be but for circumstances which had always dwelt on her mind with a sense of regret and responsibility. When Harry Whittaker had, as his aunt put it, made Rapley too hot to hold him, he had been sent to Ashcroft to try if his cousin could make him fit for an under-keeper's place, alongside of his own son Ned. Harry's spirit of adventure and active disposition were not unfitted for such work, and the plan looked hopeful.

At that time Ashcroft Hall had been a gayer place than it was now. Mr Cunningham was still a young man, taking his full share in society, and his two sons were active, high-spirited youths of sixteen and twenty, devoted to sport and to amusements of all kinds. Alwyn, the eldest, was at home at the time when Harry Whittaker was sent to Ashcroft. He had the sort of grace and good-nature which wins an easy pardon, at any rate among old friends and dependents, for a character for idleness and extravagance, and naturally he and his brother were intimate and companionable with the young keepers, side by side with whom they had grown up. It was quite new to Harry Whittaker to spend long days in a gentleman's company, fishing and shooting, joining in conversation, and often sharing meals together; but he contrived, with tact, to adapt himself to the mixture of freedom and deference with which his cousin treated the young squires.

It was a happy relation, and one which is often productive of much good to both parties; but neither Alwyn Cunningham nor Harry Whittaker was good company for the other. Alwyn took a fancy to the saucy, sharp lad, and encouraged him in talcs of mischievous daring, and Harry was quick to perceive that, as he put it, "the young gentleman was not so mighty particular after all."

A good deal went on that was not for the good of any of the lads, and at last came a great crash, the particulars of which no one except those actually involved ever knew.

There was an old house near Ashcroft Hall called Ravenshurst, which had the reputation of being haunted. It belonged to a Mr and Mrs Fletcher, who came there occasionally with their one daughter and entertained the neighbourhood. At last, on the occasion of a great ball, there was an alarm of the Ravenshurst ghost, a pursuit, and, it was said, a discovery that Alwyn Cunningham, assisted by Harry Whittaker, had played a trick. The affair was hushed up, and no one ever knew exactly what had happened; but a little girl had been frightened into serious illness, and at the same time some valuable jewels belonging to Mrs Fletcher had disappeared.

All that was known to the Ashcroft public was that Harry Whittaker was brought before Mr Cunningham and other magistrates the next morning on the charge of having stolen the jewels, but that the case was dismissed from absolute want of evidence, and also on Alwyn Cunningham declaring on oath that Harry Whittaker had never been near the place from which the jewels had disappeared. Ned Warren was out of the scrape, having been with his father all night. All that he could or would say of the matter was that he had told Harry that "it wasn't their place to frighten the gentlefolk, whatever Mr Alwyn might say," and had so kept out of the affair.

But the lost jewels were never found, and the exact mode of their disappearance was never clearly known outside the families of those concerned, and the magistrates who had refused to commit Harry Whittaker. But after that interview neither Alwyn Cunningham nor Harry Whittaker had ever been seen in Ashcroft again. It was known that the young gentleman and his father had had a desperate quarrel, and that Mr Cunningham never intended to forgive him.

In spite of Alwyn's oath and the magistrates' decision, the loss of the jewels hung over the memory of the two foolish youths with a cloud of suspicion. Most of the Ashcroft people thought that young Whittaker had stolen them, and had been screened by Alwyn Cunningham.

Mr Fletcher, the owner of the jewels, soon after died, and the family in the natural course of things left Ravenshurst at the end of their tenancy.

Whether Edgar Cunningham had had any share in the practical joke or knew anything of the fate of its authors no one could tell, for shortly after his health had failed from an unexplained accident in which his spine had been injured, and he had been an invalid ever since.

Since those events Ashcroft Hall had been a very dull and dreary place.

Mr Cunningham went very little into society, and only entertained a few old friends in the shooting season. Mr Edgar found what interests he could for himself, when his health allowed him to pursue any interests at all; and the girl, Geraldine, lived entirely apart from her father and brother, under charge of a governess who had been with her for many years.

Mr Cunningham was not popular or intimately known. The vicar of Ashcroft was a stranger, who had come to the place since the break-up at the Hall, and was only on terms of distant courtesy with its inhabitants, excepting with little Geraldine, who was brought up by her governess to the ordinary village interests of a squire's daughter.

A NEW EXPERIENCE.

Mrs Stroud and Mrs Warren before they parted arranged the details of Florence's proposed visit. She was to come for three months, during which time her father was to pay a small sum for her board, and put her entirely in the hands of her cousin, Mrs Warren. If the latter thought fit, she would send her to learn "the dressmaking" in the village, and if she did not choose to trust her out of her sight, she could teach her dairy-work, and employ her as seemed best. At the end of three months, if Florence behaved herself, and appeared likely to be of any use, a situation in a superior line of service should be found for her, and if she proved incurably troublesome it was always possible to send her home.

"Well, Charlotte," said Mrs Stroud, "'tis a work of charity, and I hope you won't repent undertaking of it."

"I'd be sorry to think that another of those young things was to be thrown away," said Mrs Warren. "There was a deal to like in poor Harry. Maybe he's doing well in foreign parts, and has pushed himself up again; but that's what a girl never can do, once she lets herself go. I'll try my best for Florence."

If anything could have set Florence against any scheme, it would have been the fact that it was proposed for her benefit by her Aunt Stroud; but she dearly loved novelty, and, being of an active temper, was getting very tired of hanging about at home with nothing to do, and with a general sense of being in disgrace; so when Mrs Stroud arrived full of the idea, so far from opposing it, she rushed upstairs at once, and began to turn over her things to see if they were fit for her visit.

"I'm sure, Aunt Lizzie," said Matty gratefully, "it's a real kindness of anyone to take Florrie. I couldn't say how tiresome she is, with nothing to do. I know she isn't growing up the sort of girl she ought to be, and yet I don't see how to help it."

"I don't think it's a girl's duty to think of anything of the sort," said Martha colouring angrily.

"It ain't her duty to be forward and peacocky, Martha Jane," said Mrs Stroud impressively, "far from it; but when a good chance offers itself, and a respectable young man comes forward, she should turn him over in her mind."

"He don't want any turning," said Matty, with a toss of the head. "What you're alluding to, aunt, wouldn't be to my taste at all."

"Hoity-toity, your taste indeed! You're nearly as perverse in your way as Florrie, Martha Jane. Young Mr Clements is a very steady young man, and a very good match for you, and looks at you constant whenever he has the chance. It's your duty to let him say his say, and turn the thing over--"

"No, no! Aunt Lizzie," said Martha, in tears. "I don't want him to say anything--I don't want him to say anything at all--it quite upsets me!"

"Upsets you, indeed! No, Martha Jane, there's no one more against flirty ways than I am; but a young woman should be able to receive proper attentions without being shook to the foundations either! A good offer is to her credit, and she can say yes or no, civil and lady-like. But in my opinion, Martha Jane, this is a case for saying yes." Matty offered no explanation, but if she had had Florence's tongue at that minute she might have surprised Mrs Stroud. Perhaps if she had not had a sneaking kindness for the attentive Mr Clements, his striking dissimilarity to every hero who ever adorned the pages of fiction would not have struck her so forcibly, nor would his attentions have been so upsetting.

Love of novelty was a strong element in Florence's adventurous nature, and she started off for Ashcroft in very good spirits, and enjoyed the short journey by rail from Rapley to Ashdown Junction exceedingly. She had never been away from home before. The mere sitting in the railway carnage and watching her fellow-travellers was a delight; her round, rosy face beamed with satisfaction, and she had nursed a crying baby, and put it to sleep, and screamed out of window to ask questions of the porter for a nervous old lady before she arrived at her destination, and jumped out on the platform at Ashdown, where she was to be met.

There was a little bustle of arrival. A gentleman got out, and the porters ran for his luggage, and presently one came up to Florence, saying:

"Young woman for the keeper's lodge at Ashcroft? You're to go back in the trap that fetched Mr James's luggage. He's riding himself."

"And who's Mr James?" said Florence cheerfully, as her box was found and she was conducted out of the station.

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