"Shall you be at Sirenwood to-morrow, Cecil?" asked Mrs. Poynsett, as she was wheeled to her station by the fire after dinner. "Will you kindly take charge of a little parcel for me? One of the Miss Strangeways asked me to look for some old franks, so Anne and I have been turning out my drawers."
"Are they for sale?" asked Raymond.
"Yes," said Cecil. "Bee Strangeways is collecting; she will pay for all that are new to her, and sell any duplicates."
"Has she many?" asked Mrs. Poynsett, glad of this safe subject.
"Quantities; and very valuable ones. Her grandfather knew everybody, and was in the Ministry."
"Was he?" said Raymond, surprised.
"Lord Lorimer?" said Mrs. Poynsett. "Not when I knew them. He was an old-fashioned Whig, with some peculiar crotchets, and never could work with any Cabinet."
"Beatrice told me he was," said Cecil, stiffly.
"I rather think he was Master of the Buckhounds for a little while in the Grey Ministry," said Mrs. Poynsett, "but he gave it up because he would not vote with ministers on the poor laws."
"I knew I was not mistaken in saying he was in the Ministry," said Cecil.
"The Master of the Buckhounds is not in the Cabinet, Cecil," said her husband.
"I never said he was. I said he was in office," returned the infallible lady.
Mrs. Poynsett thought it well to interrupt by handing in an envelope franked by Sir Robert Peel; but Cecil at once declared that the writing was different from that which Bee already owned.
"Perhaps it is not the same Sir Robert," said Mrs. Poynsett.
"She got it from the Queen, and they are all authenticated. The Queen newspaper, of course" (rather petulantly).
"Indisputable," said Raymond; "but this frank contained a letter from the second Sir Robert to my father."
Mrs. Poynsett made a sign of acquiescence, and Cecil pouted in her dignified way, though Mrs. Poynsett tried to improve matters by saying, "Then it appears that Miss Strangeways will have a series of Peel autographs, all in fact but the first generation."
Common sense showed she was right, but Cecil still felt discontented, for she knew she had been resisted and confuted, and she believed it was all Mrs. Poynsett's doing instead of Raymond's.
And she became as mute as Anne for the next half-hour, nor did either Raymond or his mother venture on starting any fresh topic, lest there might be fresh jarring.
Only Anne presently came up to Mrs. Poynsett and tenderly purred with her over some little preparation for Miles.
Certainly Anne was the most improved in looks of all the three brides, who had arrived just a year ago. The thin, scraggy Scotch girl, with the flabby, washed-out look alternating with angular rigidity was gone, but the softening and opening of her expression, the light that had come into her eyes, and had made them a lovely blue instead of pale gray; the rose-tint on her cheeks, the delicate rounded contour of her face, the improved carriage of her really fine figure, the traces of style in the braiding of her profuse flaxen hair, and the taste that was beginning to conquer in the dress, were all due to the thought that the Salamanca might soon be in harbour. She sat among them still as a creature whose heart and spirit were not with them.
That some change must come was felt as inevitable by each woman, and it was Mrs. Poynsett who began, one forenoon when her son had brought a lease for her to sign. "Raymond," said she, "you know Church-house is to be vacant at Michaelmas. I wish you would look at it, and see what repairs it wants, and if the drawing-room windows could be made to open on the lawn."
"Are you hoping to tempt Miles to settle there?"
"No, I fear there is no hope of that; but I do not think an old broken-backed invalid ought to engross this great house."
"Mother, I cannot hear you say so! This is your own house!"
"So is the other," she said, trying to smile, "and much fitter for my needs, with Susan and Jenkins to look after me."
"There is no fit place for you but this. You said that once."
"Under very different circumstances. All the younger boys were still under my wing, and needed the home, and I was strong and vigorous. It would not have been acting right by them to have given up the place; but now they are all out in the world, and I am laid by, my stay here only interferes with what can be much better managed without me or my old servants."
"I do not see that. If any one moves, it should be ourselves."
"You are wanted on the spot continually. If Sirenwood were in the market, that might not be so much amiss."
"I do not think that likely. They will delay the sale in the hope of Eleonora's marrying a rich man; besides, Mr. Charnock has set his mind upon Swanslea. I hope this is from nothing Cecil has said or done!"
"Cecil wishes to part then? She has said nothing to me, but I see she has to you. Don't be annoyed, Raymond; it is in the nature of things."
"I believe it is all Lady Tyrrell's doing. The mischief such a woman can do in the neighbourhood!"
"Perhaps it is only what any friend of Cecil would advise."
"It is the very reverse of what I intended," said Raymond, shading his face.
"My dear Raymond, I know what you meant, and what you wish; but I am also certain it is for no one's happiness to go on in this way."
He groaned.
"And the wife's right comes first."
"Not to this house."
"But to this man. Indeed I see more hope of your happiness now than I did last year."
"What, because she has delivered herself over bound hand and foot to Camilla Vivian?"
"No, because she is altered. Last year she was merely vexed at my position in the house. Now she is vexed at my position with you."
"Very unjustly."
"Hardly so. I should not have liked your father to be so much devoted to his mother. Remember, jealousy is a smoke that cannot exist without some warmth."
"If she had any proper feeling for me, she would show it by her treatment of you."
"That would be asking too much when she thinks I engross you."
"Mother, while you show such marvellous candour and generosity, and she-"
"Hush! Raymond, leave it unsaid! We cannot expect her to see more than her own side of the question. She has been put into an avowedly trying position, and does not deserve hard judgment for not being happy in it. All that remains is to relieve her. Whether by my moving or yours is the question. I prefer the Church-house plan."
"Either way is shame and misery to me," broke out Raymond in a choked voice.
"Nonsense," said his mother, trying to be cheerful. "You made an impracticable experiment, that's all. Give Cecil free scope, let her feel that she has her due, and all will come right."
"Nothing can be done till after the Wil'sbro' business," said Raymond, glad of the reprieve. He could not bear the prospect of banishment for his mother or himself from the home to which both were rooted; and the sentence of detachment from her was especially painful when she seemed his only consolation for his wife's perverseness. Yet he was aware that he had been guilty of the original error, and was bound to give such compensation to his wife as was offered by his mother's voluntary sacrifice. He was slow to broach the subject, but only the next morning came a question about an invitation to a dull house.
"But," said Cecil, "it is better than home." She spoke on purpose.
"I am sorry to hear you say so."
"I can't call it home where I am but a guest."
"Well, Cecil, my mother offers to leave the home of her life and retire into Church-house."
Cecil felt as if the screw she had been long working had come off in her hands. She frowned, she gazed, collecting her senses, while Raymond added, "It is to my intense grief and mortification, but I suppose you are gratified."