That Stick ...

‘Oh no, but Hailes knew about him, and so, indeed, did my father.  It seems that three generations ago there was a son who followed the instincts of our race further than usual, and married a jockey’s daughter, or something of that sort.  He was set up in a horse-breeding farm and cut the connection; but it seems that there was always a sort of p. 26communication of family events, so that Hailes knew exactly where to look for an heir.’

‘Not a jockey!’

‘Oh no, nothing so diverting.  That would be fun!’ Bertha said, with a laugh that had no merriment in it.  ‘He is a clerk—an attorney’s clerk!  What do you think of that, Lettice?’

‘Better than the jockey.’

‘Oh, very respectable, they say’—with a sound of disgust.

‘Is he young?’

‘No; caught early, something might be done with him, but there’s not that hope.  He is not much less than forty.  Fancy a creature that has pettifogged, as an underling too, all his life.’

‘Married?’

‘Thank goodness, no, and all the mammas in London and in the country will be running after him.  Not that he will be any great catch, for of course he has nothing—and the poor place will be brought to a low ebb.’

‘And what do you mean to do, Birdie?’

‘Get out of sight of it all as fast as possible!  Forget that horses ever existed except as means of locomotion,’ and Bertha got up and walked towards the window as if restless with pain, then came back.

‘I shall get rid of all I can—and come to live as near as I can to Whitechapel, and slum!  I’m free now.’  Then looking at her cousin’s sorrowful, wistful face, ‘Work, work, work, that’s all that’s good for me.  Soberly, Lettice, this is my plan,’ she added, sitting down again.  ‘I know how it all is left.  This new man is to have enough to go on p. 27upon, so as not to be too beggarly and bring the title into contempt.  He is only coming for to-morrow, having to wind up his business; but I shall stay on till he comes back, and settle what to do with the things here.  Adela and I have our choice of them, and don’t want to leave the place too bare.  Then I shall sell the London house, and all the rest of the encumbrances, and set up for myself.’

‘Not with Adela?’

‘Oh no; Adela means to stick by the old place, and I couldn’t do that for a constancy—oh no,’ with a shudder.

‘Does she?’ in some wonder.

‘Her own people don’t want her.  The Arlingtons are with her now, but I fancy she would rather be sitting with us—or alone best of all, poor dear.  You see, she is a mixture of the angel that is too much for some people.  How she got it I don’t know, not among us, I should think, though she came to us straight out of the schoolroom, or I fancy she would never have come at all.  But oh, Lettice, if you could have seen her how patient she has been throughout with my father, reading him all about every race, just because she thought it was less gall and wormwood to her than to me, and going out to the stables to satisfy him about his dear Night Hawk, and all the rest of it.  When she was away for that fortnight over poor little Michael, I found to the full what she had been, and then after that, back she comes again, as white as a sheet, but all she ever was to my father, and more wonderful than all, setting herself to reconcile him to the notion of this new heir of his—and I do believe, if my father p. 28had not so suddenly grown worse, she would have made us have him up to be introduced—all out of rectitude and duty, you know, for Adela is the shyest of mortals, and recoils by nature from the underbred far more than we do.  In fact, I rather like it.  It gives me a sensation.  I had ten times rather this man were a common sailor, or a tinker, than just a stupid stick of a clerk!’

‘Then Adela means to stay at the Dower House?’

‘Yes, she has rooted herself there by all her love to her poor people, and I fancy, too, that she does not want to bring Amice up among all the Arlington children, who are not after her pattern, so she intends to bear the brunt of it, and not leave Northmoor, unless the new-comers turn out unbearable.’

‘She goes away with her brother now.’

‘Oh yes, she must, and Lord Arlington is fond of her in a way!  Can’t you stay on with me, Lettice?’

‘I wish I could, my dear Birdie, but I am anxious about Mary; I don’t think I must stay later than Sunday.’

‘Yes; you are too devoted a mother for me to absorb.  Never mind, you will be in London, and I shall soon be within reach of you.  You are a comfortable person, Lettice.’

p. 29CHAPTER V

THE PEER