‘Well, I like those lads,’ said Lady Cuxhaven; ‘they are on the way to become true gentlemen. But, mamma, why shouldn’t you have Clare to stay with you? You like her, and she is just the person to save you the troubles of hospitality to the Hollingford people, and we should all be so much more comfortable if we knew you had her with you.’
‘Yes, Clare would do very well,’ said Lady Cumnor; ‘but isn’t it in her school-time or something? We must not interfere with her school so as to injure her, for I am afraid she is not doing too well as it is; and she has been so very unlucky ever since she left us—first her husband died, and then she lost Lady Davies’ situation, and then Mrs. Maude’s, and now Mr. Preston told your father it was all she could do to pay her way in Ashcombe, though Lord Cumnor lets her have the house rent-free.’
‘I can’t think how it is,’ said Lady Harriet. ‘She’s not very wise, certainly; but she is so useful and agreeable, and has such pleasant manners. I should have thought any one who wasn’t particular about education would have been charmed to keep her as a governess.’
‘What do you mean by not being particular about education? Most people who keep governesses for their children are supposed to be particular,’ said Lady Cuxhaven.
‘Well, they think themselves so, I’ve no doubt; but I call you particular, Mary, and I don’t think mamma was; but she thought herself so, I am sure.’
‘I can’t think what you mean, Harriet,’ said Lady Cumnor, a good deal annoyed at this speech of her clever, heedless, youngest daughter.
‘Oh dear, mamma, you did everything you could think of for us; but you see you’d ever so many other engrossing interests, and Mary hardly allows her love for her husband to interfere with her all-absorbing care for the children. You gave us the best of masters in every department, and Clare to dragonize and keep us up to our preparation for them, as well as ever she could; but then you know, or rather you didn’t know, some of the masters admired our very pretty governess, and there was a kind of respectable veiled flirtation going on, which never came to anything, to be sure; and then you were often so overwhelmed with your business as a great lady—fash—ionable and benevolent, and all that sort of thing—that you used to call Clare away from us at the most critical times of our lessons to write your notes, or add up your accounts, and the consequence is that I’m about the most ill-informed girl in London. Only Mary was so capitally trained by good, awkward Miss Benson, that she is always full to overflowing with accurate knowledge, and her glory is reflected upon me.’
‘Do you think what Harriet says is true, Mary?’ asked Lady Cumnor, rather anxiously.
‘I was so little with Clare in the schoolroom. I used to read French with her; she had a beautiful accent, I remember. Both Agnes and Harriet were very fond of her. I used to be jealous for Miss Benson’s sake, and perhaps’—Lady Cuxhaven paused a minute—‘that made me fancy that she had a way of flattering and indulging them—not quite conscientious, I used to think. But girls are severe judges, and certainly she had had an anxious enough lifetime. I am always so glad when we can have her, and give her a little pleasure. The only thing that makes me uneasy now is the way in which she seems to send her daughter away from her so much; we never can persuade her to bring Cynthia with her when she comes to see us.’
‘Now, that I call ill-natured,’ said Lady Harriet; ‘here is a poor dear woman trying to earn her livelihood, first as a governess, and what could she do with her daughter then, but send her to school? and after that, when Clare is asked to go visiting, and is too modest to bring her girl with her—besides all the expense of the journey, and the rigging out—Mary finds fault with her for her modesty and economy.’
‘Well, after all, we are not discussing Clare and her affairs, but trying to plan for mamma’s comfort. I don’t see that she can do better than ask Mrs. Kirkpatrick to come to the Towers—as soon as her holidays begin, I mean.’
‘Here is her last letter,’ said Lady Cumnor, who had been searching for it in her escritoire, while her daughters were talking. Holding her glasses before her eyes, she began to read, “‘My wonted misfortunes appear to have followed me to Ashcombe”—um, um, um, that’s not it—“Mr Preston is most kind in sending me fruit and flowers from the Manor-house, according to dear Lord Cumnor’s kind injunction.” Oh, here it is! “The vacation begins on the 11th, according to the usual custom of schools in Ashcombe; and I must then try and obtain some change of air and scene, in order to fit myself for the resumption of my duties on the 10th of August.” You see, girls, she would be at liberty, if she has not made any other arrangement for spending her holidays. To-day is the 15th.’
‘I’ll write to her at once, mamma,’ Lady Harriet said. ‘Clare and I are always great friends; I was her confidant in her loves with poor Mr. Kirkpatrick, and we’ve kept up our intimacy ever since. I know of three offers she had besides.’
‘I sincerely hope Miss Bowes is not telling her love-affairs to Grace or Lily. Why, Harriet, you could not have been older than Grace, when Clare was married!’ said Lady Cuxhaven, in maternal alarm.
‘No; but I was well versed in the tender passion, thanks to novels. Now I daresay you don’t admit novels into your schoolroom, Mary; so your daughters wouldn’t be able to administer discreet sympathy to their governess in case she was the heroine of a love-affair.’
‘My dear Harriet, don’t let me hear you talking of love in that way; it is not pretty. Love is a serious thing.’
‘My dear mamma, your exhortations are just eighteen years too late. I’ve talked all the freshness off love, and that’s the reason I’m tired of the subject.’
This last speech referred to a recent refusal of Lady Harriet’s, which had displeased Lady Cumnor, and rather annoyed my lord; as they, the parents, could see no objection to the gentleman in question. Lady Cuxhaven did not want to have the subject brought up, so she hastened to say,—
‘Do ask the poor little daughter to come with her mother to the Towers; why, she must be seventeen or more; she would really be a companion to you, mamma, if her mother was unable to come,’ said Lady Cuxhaven.
‘I was not ten when Clare married, and I’m nearly nine-and-twenty,’ added Lady Harriet.
‘Don’t speak of it, Harriet; at any rate you are but eight-and-twenty now, and you look a great deal younger. There is no need to be always bringing up your age on every possible occasion.’
‘There was need of it now, though. I wanted to make out how old Cynthia Kirkpatrick was. I think she can’t be far from eighteen.’
‘She is at school at Boulogne, I know; and so I don’t think she can be as old as that. Clare says something about her in this letter: “Under these circumstances” (the ill-success of her school), “I cannot think myself justified in allowing myself the pleasure of having darling Cynthia at home for the holidays; especially as the period when the vacation in French schools commences differs from that common in England; and it might occasion some confusion in my arrangements if darling Cynthia were to come to Ashcombe, and occupy my time and thoughts so immediately before the commencement of my scholastic duties as the 8th of August, on which day her vacation begins, which is but two days before my holidays end.” So, you see, Clare would be quite at liberty to come to me, and I dare say it would be a very nice change for her.’
‘And Hollingford is busy seeing after his new laboratory at the Towers, and is constantly backwards and forwards. And Agnes wants to go there for change of air, as soon as she is strong enough after her confinement. And even my own dear insatiable “me” will have had enough of gaiety in two or three weeks, if this hot weather lasts.’