Countess Kate

But then he said, “There, Emily;” and she found herself folded up in such arms as had never been round her before, with the very sweetest of kisses on her cheeks, the very kindest of eyes, full of moisture, gazing at her as if they had been hungry for her.  Even when the embrace was over, the hand still held hers; and as she stood by the new aunt, a thought crossed her that had never come before, “I wonder if my mamma was like this!”

There was some explanation of how the travellers had come on, &c., and it was settled that they were to stay to dinner; after which Mrs. Umfraville went away with Lady Barbara to take off her bonnet.

Colonel Umfraville came and sat down by his sister on the sofa, and said, “Well Jane, how have you been?”

“Oh! much as usual:” and then there was a silence, till she moved a little nearer to him, put her hand on his arm, looked up in his face with swimming eyes, and said, “O Giles!  Giles!”

He took her hand, and bent over her, saying, in the same grave steady voice, “Do not grieve for us, Jane.  We have a great deal to be thankful for, and we shall do very well.”

It made that loving tender-hearted Aunt Jane break quite down, cling to him and sob, “O Giles—those dear noble boys—how little we thought—and dear Caergwent too—and you away from home!”

She was crying quite violently, so as to be shaken by the sobs; and her brother stood over her, saying a kind word or two now and then, to try to soothe her; while Kate remained a little way off, with her black eyes wide open, thinking her uncle’s face was almost displeased—at any rate, very rigid.  He looked up at Kate, and signed towards a scent-bottle on the table.  Kate gave it; and then, as if the movement had filled her with a panic, she darted out of the room, and flew up to the bedrooms, crying out, “Aunt Barbara, Aunt Jane is crying so terribly!”

“She will have one of her attacks!  Oh!” began Lady Barbara, catching up a bottle of salvolatile.

“Had we not better leave her and Giles to one another?” said the tones that Kate liked so much.

“Oh! my dear, you don’t know what these attacks are!” and away hurried Lady Barbara.

The bonnet was off now, leaving only a little plain net cap under it, round the calm gentle face.  There was a great look of sadness, and the eyelids were heavy and drooping; but there was something that put Kate in mind of a mother dove in the softness of the large tender embrace, and the full sweet caressing tone.  What a pity that such an aunt must know that she was an ill-behaved child, a misfortune to her lineage!  She stood leaning against the door, very awkward and conscious.  Mrs. Umfraville turned round, after smoothing her hair at the glass, smiled, and said, “I thought I should find you here, my little niece.  You are Kate, I think.”

“I used to be, but my aunts here call me Katharine.”

“Is this your little room?” said Mrs. Umfraville, as they came out.  The fact was, that she thought the sisters might be happier with their brother if she delayed a little; so she came into Kate’s room, and was beginning to look at her books, when Lady Barbara came hurrying up again.

“She is composed now, Emily.  Oh! it is all right; I did not know where Katharine might be.”

Kate’s colour glowed.  She could not bear that this sweet Aunt Emily should guess that she was a state prisoner, kept in constant view.

Lady Jane was quiet again, and nothing more that could overthrow her spirits passed all the evening; there was only a little murmur of talk, generally going on chiefly between Lady Barbara and Mrs. Umfraville, though occasionally the others put in a word.  The Colonel sat most of the time with his set, serious face, and his eye fixed as if he was not attending, though sometimes Kate found the quick keen brilliance of his look bent full upon her, so as to terrify her by its suddenness, and make her hardly know what she was saying or doing.

The worst moments were at dinner.  She was, in the first place, sure that those dark questioning eyes had decided that there must be some sad cause for her not being trusted to drink her tea elsewhere; and then, in the pause after the first course, the eyes came again, and he said, and to her, “I hope your good relations the Wardours are well.”

“Quite well—thank you,” faltered Kate.

“When did you see them last?”

“A—a fortnight ago—” began Kate.

“Mr. Wardour came up to London for a few hours,” said Lady Barbara, looking at Kate as if she meant to plunge her below the floor; at least, so the child imagined.

The sense that this was not the whole truth made her especially miserable; and all the rest of the evening was one misery of embarrassment, when her limbs did not seem to be her own, but as if somebody else was sitting at her little table, walking upstairs, and doing her work.  Even Mrs. Umfraville’s kind ways could not restore her; she only hung her head and mumbled when she was asked to show her work, and did not so much as know what was to become of her piece of cross-stitch when it was finished.

There was some inquiry after the De la Poers; and Mrs. Umfraville asked if she had found some playfellows among their daughters.

“Yes,” faintly said Kate; and with another flush of colour, thought of having been told, that if Lady de la Poer knew what she had done, she would never be allowed to play with them again, and therefore that she never durst attempt it.

“They were very nice children,” said Mrs. Umfraville.

“Remarkably nice children,” returned Lady Barbara, in a tone that again cut Kate to the heart.

Bed-time came; and she would have been glad of it, but that all the time she was going to sleep there was the Lord Chancellor to think of, and the uncle and aunt with the statue faces dragging her before him.

Sunday was the next day, and the uncle and aunt were not seen till after the afternoon service, when they came to dinner, and much such an evening as the former one passed; but towards the end of it Mrs. Umfraville said, “Now, Barbara, I have a favour to ask.  Will you let this child spend the day with me to-morrow?  Giles will be out, and I shall be very glad to have her for my companion.”

Kate’s eyes glistened, and she thought of stern Proserpine.

“My dear Emily, you do not know what you ask.  She will be far too much for you.”

“I’ll take care of that,” said Mrs. Umfraville, smiling.

“And I don’t know about trusting her.  I cannot go out, and Jane cannot spare Bartley so early.”

“I will come and fetch her,” said the Colonel.

“And bring her back too.  I will send the carriage in the evening, but do not let her come without you,” said Lady Barbara earnestly.

Had they told, or would they tell after she was gone to bed?  Kate thought Aunt Barbara was a woman of her word, but did not quite trust her.  Consent was given; but would not that stern soldier destroy all the pleasure?  And people in sorrow too!  Kate thought of Mrs. Lacy, and had no very bright anticipations of her day; yet a holiday was something, and to be out of Aunt Barbara’s way a great deal more.

She had not been long dressed when there was a ring at the bell, and, before she had begun to expect him, the tall man with the dark lip and grey hair stood in her schoolroom.  She gave such a start, that he asked, “Did you not expect me so soon?”

“I did not think you would come till after breakfast: but—”

And with an impulse of running away from his dread presence, she darted off to put on her hat, but was arrested on the way by Lady Barbara, at her bedroom door.

“Uncle Giles is come for me,” she said, and would have rushed on, but her aunt detained her to say, “Recollect, Katharine, that wildness and impetuosity, at all times unbecoming, are particularly so where there is affliction.  If consideration for others will not influence you, bear in mind that on the impression you make on your uncle and aunt, it depends whether I shall be obliged to tell all that I would willingly forget.”

Kate’s heart swelled, and without speaking she entered her own room, thinking how hard it was to have even the pleasure of hoping for ease and enjoyment taken away.

When she came down, she found her aunt—as she believed—warning her uncle against her being left to herself; and then came, “If she should be too much for Emily, only send a note, and Bartley or I will come to fetch her home.”

“She wants him to think me a little wild beast!” thought Kate; but her uncle answered, “Emily always knows how to deal with children.  Good-bye.”

“To deal with children!  What did that mean?” thought the Countess, as she stepped along by the side of her uncle, not venturing to speak, and feeling almost as shy and bewildered as when she was on the world alone.

He did not speak, but when they came to a crossing of a main street, he took her by the hand; and there was something protecting and comfortable in the feel, so that she did not let go; and presently, as she walked on, she felt the fingers close on hers with such a quick tight squeeze, that she looked up in a fright and met the dark eye turned on her quite soft and glistening.  She did not guess how he was thinking of little clasping hands that had held there before; and he only said something rather hurriedly about avoiding some coals that were being taken in through a round hole in the pavement.

Soon they were at the hotel; and Mrs. Umfraville came out of her room with that greeting which Kate liked so much, helped her to take off her cloak and smooth her hair, and then set her down to breakfast.

It was a silent meal to Kate.  Her uncle and aunt had letters to read, and things to consult about that she did not understand; but all the time there was a kind watch kept up that she had what she liked; and Aunt Emily’s voice was so much like the deep notes of the wood-pigeons round Oldburgh, that she did not care how long she listened to it, even if it had been talking Hindostanee!

As soon as breakfast was over, the Colonel took up his hat and went out; and Mrs. Umfraville said, turning to Kate, “Now, my dear, I have something for you to help me in; I want to unpack some things that I have brought home.”

“Oh, I shall like that!” said Kate, feeling as if a weight was gone with the grave uncle.

Mrs. Umfraville rang, and asked to have a certain box brought in.  Such a box, all smelling of choice Indian wood; the very shavings that stuffed it were delightful!  And what an unpacking!  It was like nothing but the Indian stall at the Baker Street Bazaar!  There were two beautiful large ivory work-boxes, inlaid with stripes and circles of tiny mosaic; and there were even more delicious little boxes of soft fragrant sandal wood, and a set of chessmen in ivory.  The kings were riding on elephants, with canopies over their heads, and ladders to climb up by; and each elephant had a tiger in his trunk.  Then the queens were not queens, but grand viziers, because the queen is nobody in the East: and each had a lesser elephant; the bishops were men riding on still smaller elephants; the castles had camels, the knights horses; and the pawns were little foot-soldiers, the white ones with guns, as being European troops, the red ones with bows and arrows.  Kate was perfectly delighted with these men, and looked at and admired them one by one, longing to play a game with them.  Then there was one of those wonderful clusters of Chinese ivory balls, all loose, one within the other, carved in different patterns of network, and there were shells spotted and pink-mouthed, card-cases, red shining boxes, queer Indian dolls; figures in all manner of costumes, in gorgeous colours, painted upon shining transparent talc or on soft rice-paper.  There was no describing how charming the sight was, nor how Kate dwelt upon each article; and how pleasantly her aunt explained what it was intended for, and where it came from, answering all questions in the nicest, kindest way.  When all the wool and shavings had been pinched, and the curled-up toes of the slippers explored, so as to make sure that no tiny shell nor ivory carving lurked unseen, the room looked like a museum; and Mrs. Umfraville said, “Most of these things were meant for our home friends: there is an Indian scarf and a Cashmere shawl for your two aunts, and I believe the chessmen are for Lord de la Poer.”

“O Aunt Emily, I should so like to play one game with them before they go!”