“An excellent suggestion. If you will give me her direction, I will have a letter conveyed to her immediately,” said Carlyon.
Elinor, feeling herself quite overborne, meekly said that she would write to Miss Beccles.
“And you must not think that you will be lonely,” Nicky assured her. “For we shall come over to visit you, you know.”
She thanked him, but turned once more to Carlyon. “And what is to be done about Mrs. Macclesfield?” she asked.
“It is very uncivil of us, no doubt, but I am inclined to think that we shall do best to let Mrs. Macclesfield pass out of our lives without embarking on explanations which cannot be other than awkward,” he replied.
Upon reflection she was obliged to agree with him.
Chapter VI
Shortly after noon, resigned but by no means reconciled, Mrs. Cheviot was driven to Highnoons by her host. They went in his lordship’s carriage, very sedately, and his lordship beguiled the tedium by pointing out to the lady various landmarks, happy falls of country, or glimpses of woodland, which, he told her, would later on be carpeted with bluebells. Mrs. Cheviot responded with cold civility and inaugurated no topic of conversation.
“This country is not in the grand style,” said Carlyon, “but there are some very pretty rides near Highnoons which I will show you one day.”
“Indeed?” she said.
“Certainly—when you have recovered from your sulks.”
“I am not in the sulks,” she said tartly. “Anyone with the least sensibility would feel for me in this pass you “have brought me to! How can you expect me to be in spirits? You have no sensibility at all, my lord!”
“No, I am afraid that is so,” he replied seriously. “It is an accusation which has often been cast at me, and I believe it to be true.”
She turned her head to look at him in some little curiosity. “Pray, who has accused you of it, sir?” she asked suspiciously.
“My sisters, when I have been unable to enter into their feelings upon-certain events.”
“I am surprised. I had collected that your brothers and sisters were all devoted to you.”
He smiled. “You would wish me to understand, I dare say, that the strong degree of attachment which exists between us has aggravated a naturally overbearing disposition.”
She was obliged to laugh. “I must tell you, my lord, that I find this habit you have got into of reducing to the most uncompromising terms what has been expressed with the utmost delicacy quite odious! What is more, I am much disposed to think that if I had the toothache, and told you I was dying of the pain, you would be at pains to announce to me that one does not die of the toothache!”
“Undoubtedly I should,” he agreed, “if I thought you entertained any fears on that score.”
“Odious!” she said.
They had by this time reached Highnoons, and were driving up the neglected carriage way between dense thickets of overgrown shrubs and trees whose branches almost met over their heads.
“How forcibly it puts one in mind of all one’s favorite romances!” remarked Mrs. Cheviot affably.
“The greater part of those bushes should be cleared away, and the rest pruned,” he responded. “Some of these branches need lopping, and I have seen at least three trees which are dead and must be cut down.”
“Cut down? My dear sir, you will destroy the whole character of the place! I hope there may be a blasted oak. I do not ask if a specter walks the passages with its head under its arm. That would be a great piece of folly!”
“It would,” he agreed, smiling.
“Naturally! The house is clearly haunted. I have not the least doubt that that is why only two sinister retainers can be brought to remain in it. I dare say I shall be found, after a night spent within these walls, a witless wreck whom you will be obliged to convey to Bedlam without more ado.”
“I have a greater dependence on the fortitude of your mind, ma’am.”
The carriage had drawn to a standstill before the house by this time. Elinor allowed herself to be handed out of it, and stood for a moment critically surveying her surroundings.
As much of the pleasure gardens as she could see were overgrown with weeds, and she gave them scant attention. The house itself, now that she saw it in the daylight, she found to be a beautiful building, two hundred years old, with chamfered windows and tall chimneys. It was perhaps built in too long and rambling a style for modem taste, and much of its mellow brickwork was masked by thick tangles of creepers; but Elinor was obliged to own to herself that she was pleasantly surprised by it.
“All that ivy shall be stripped away” said Carlyon, also surveying the frontage.,
“No such thing!” said Elinor. “Only see how it overhangs some of the windows! I dare say one can scarcely see to set a stitch in those rooms on the brightest day! Then, too, consider how the least wind must set the tendrils tapping at the windowpanes like ghostly fingers! How can you talk of stripping it away? You are not at all romantic!”
“No, not at all. Come, you will take cold if you stand any longer in this east wind. Let us go in.”
The door had already been opened by old Barrow. It was apparent to Elinor that this was not Carlyon’s first visit to Highnoons since he had left it in her company on the previous evening. Barrow looked at her certainly with curiosity, but there was no surprise in his face; and a glance round the hall showed Elinor that an attempt had been made to render it habitable.
“Barrow, here is your mistress,” Carlyon said, laying his hat down on the table. “Mrs. Cheviot, you will find Barrow very attentive to your comfort. You will wish to see Mrs. Barrow presently, I dare say, and to give her your orders. Meanwhile, I will conduct you over the house, if you are not too tired by the drive.”
“Not at all,” said Elinor feebly.
“Mrs. Barrow and the young wench your lordship fetched over from the Hall have up the Yellow Room for the mistress,” disclosed the retainer. “Them not thinking mistress would care to sleep in poor Mr. Eustace’s room, not but what he didn’t take and die there, when all’s said. Howsever—”
“Yes, that will do!” interrupted Carlyon. “Mrs. Cheviot, the bookroom you have seen already. The dining parlor is here.” He opened the door into a room on the left of the entrance” lobby. “It is not handsome—none of the rooms here are large, and the pitch is everywhere low—but I have known it when it has looked very pretty.”
“Ay, that you have, my lord,” agreed Barrow with a reminiscent sigh.
“Barrow, be so good as to go and desire Mrs. Barrow to send some coffee to the bookroom for Mrs. Cheviot!”
The retainer having been thus shaken off, Carlyon led Elinor over the rest of the house. She found it rather bewildering, for it was made up of what seemed to be a multitude of small rooms and very long passages. Many of the rooms were wainscoted to the ceiling, and the furniture was all old-fashioned and more often than not coated with dust.
“Most of these apartments have not been in use since my aunt died,” Carlyon explained.
“Why in the name of heaven did no one put the chairs under holland covers?” exclaimed Elinor, her housewifely instincts quite revolted. “Good God, what a task you have set me, my lord!”
“I know very little about these matters, but I imagine you will have your hands full.” He added, “That may keep you from indulging your fancy with thoughts of headless specters.”—She cast him a very speaking look and preceded him into the apartment which had been prepared for her use. This at least showed signs of having been scrubbed and polished, and, since it faced south, the pale spring sunlight came in through the leaded windowpanes and gave it a cheerful aspect. Elinor took off her bonnet and her pelisse and laid them down on the bed. “Well, at all events, Mrs. Barrow showed her good sense in her choice of bedchamber for me,” she observed. “And who, by the by, is the young wench you brought over from the Hall, my lord?”