Maurice relieved his feelings by heartily rowing all the officials, but he could obtain no redress, as he knew full well the whole time, nor would any train pick them up for full three hours.
So indignant was he, that amus.e.m.e.nt rendered Albinia patient, especially when he took to striding up and down the platform, devising cases in which the delay might be actionable, and vituperating the placability of Mr. Kendal, who having wrapt up his wife in plaids and seated her on the top of the luggage, had set his back to the wall, and was lost to the present world in a book.
"Never mind, Maurice," said Albinia; "in any other circ.u.mstances we should think three hours of each other a great boon."
"If anything could be an aggravation, it would be to see Albinia philosophical."
"You make me so on the principle of the Helots and Spartans."
It was possible to get to Hadminster by half-past seven, and on to Bayford by nine o"clock, but Fairmead lay further from the line, and the next train did not stop at the nearest station, so Maurice agreed to sleep at Bayford that night; and this settled, set out with his sister to explore the neighbourhood for eatables and church architecture. They made an ineffectual attempt to rouse Mr. Kendal to go with them, but he was far too deep in his book, and only muttered something about looking after the luggage. They found a stale loaf of bread, and a hideous church, but it was a merry walk, and brought them back in their liveliest mood, which lasted even to p.r.o.nouncing it "great fun" that the Hadminster flies were all at a ball, and that the omnibus must convey them home by the full moonlight.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Slowly the omnibus rumbled over the wooden bridge, and then with a sudden impulse it thundered up to the front door.
Albinia jumped out, and caught Sophy in her arms, exclaiming, "And how are you all, my dear?"
"We had quite given you up," Gilbert was saying. "The fire is in the library," he added, as Mr. Kendal was opening the drawing-room door, and closing it in haste at the sight of a pale, uninviting patch of moonlight, and the rush of a blast of cold wind.
"And how is grandmamma? and the children? My Sophy, you don"t look well, and where"s Lucy?"
Ere she could receive an answer, down jumped, two steps at a time, a half-dressed figure, all white stout legs and arms which were speedily hugging mamma.
"There"s my man!" said Mr. Kendal, "a good boy, I know."
"No!" cried the bold voice.
"No?" (incredulously) what have you been doing?"
"I broke the conservatory with the marble dog, and--" he looked at Gilbert.
"There"s my brave boy," said Mr. Kendal, who had suffered so much from his elder son"s equivocation as to be ready to overlook anything for the sake of truth. "Here, Uncle Maurice, shake hands with your G.o.dson, who always tells truth."
The urchin folded his arms on his bosom, and looked like a young Bonaparte.
"Where"s your hand? said his uncle. "Wont you give it to me?"
"No."
"He will be wiser to-morrow, if you are so good as to try him again,"
said Albinia, who knew nothing did him more harm than creating a commotion by his caprices; "he is up too late, and fractious with sleepiness. Go to bed now, my dear."
"I shall not be wiser to-morrow," quoth the child, marching out of the room in defiance.
"Monkey! what"s the matter now?" exclaimed Albinia; "I suppose you have all been spoiling him. But what"s become of Lucy?"
"Gilbert said she was at the Dusautoys," replied Sophy; "but if you would but come to grandmamma! She found out that you were expected, and she is in such a state that we have not known what to do."
"I"ll come, only, Sophy dear, please order tea and something to eat.
Your uncle looks ravenous."
She broke off, as there advanced into the room a being like Lucy, but covered with streams and spatters of flowing sable tears, like a heraldic decoration, over face, neck, and dress.
All unconscious, she came with outstretched hands and words of welcome, but an astonished cry of "Lucy!" met her, and casting her eyes on her dress, she screamed, "Oh goodness! it"s ink!"
"Where can you have been? what have you been doing?"
"I--don"t know--Oh! it was the great inkstand, and not the scent--Oh!
it is all over me! It"s in my hair!" shuddering. "Oh, dear! oh dear! I shall never get it out!" and off she rushed, followed by Gilbert, and was soon heard calling the maids to bring hot water to her room.
"What is all this?" asked Mr. Kendal.
"I do not know," mournfully answered Sophy.
Albinia left the library, and taking a candle, went into the empty drawing-room. The moonlight shone white upon the table, and showed the large cut-gla.s.s ink-bottle in a pool of its own contents; and the sofa-cover had black spots and stains as if it had partaken of the libation.
Sophy saw, and stood like a statue.
"You know nothing, I am sure," said Albinia.
"Nothing!" repeated Sophy, with a blank look of wretchedness.
"If you please, ma"am," said the nurse at the door, "could you be kind enough to come to Mrs. Meadows, she will be quieter when she has seen you?"
"Sophy dear, we must leave it now," said Albinia. "You must see to their tea, they have had nothing since breakfast."
She hastened to the sick room, where she found Mrs. Meadows in a painful state of agitation and excitement. The nurse said that until this evening, she had been as usual, but finding that Mrs. Kendal was expected, she had been very restless; Miss Kendal was out, and neither Miss Sophy nor Mr. Gilbert could soothe her.
She eagerly grasped the hand of Albinia who bent down to kiss her, and asked how she had been.
"Oh! my dear, very unwell, very. They should not leave me to myself so long, my dear. I thought you would never come back," and she began to cry, and say, "no one cared for an old woman."
Albinia a.s.sured her that she was not going away, and restrained her own eager and bewildered feelings to tranquillize her, by prosing on in the lengthy manner which always soothed the poor old lady. It was a great penance, in her anxiety to investigate the mysteries that seemed to swarm in the house, but at last she was able to leave the bedside, though not till she had been twice summoned to tea.
Sophy, lividly pale, was presiding with trembling hands; Gilbert, flushed and nervous, waiting on every one, and trying to be lively and at ease, but secret distress was equally traceable in each.
She durst only ask after the children, and heard that her little namesake had been as usual as good and sweet as child could be. And Maurice?
"He"s a famous fellow, went on capitally," said Gilbert.
"Yes, till yesterday," hoa.r.s.ely gasped Sophy, sincerity wrenching out the protest by force.
"Ah, what has he been doing to the conservatory?"