Modern Broods; Or, Developments Unlooked For - Charlotte Yonge 4 стр.

Magdalen herself had enough to do in steering along such a substantial craft as poor Mrs. Best, used to church-going along a street, and shrouded under a squirrel mantle of many pounds weight.

Barely in time was the convoy when at last the exhausted lady was helped over the stone stile that led to the churchyard.  Highly picturesque was the grey structure outside, but within modernism had not done much; the chancel was feebly fitted after the ideas of the fifties, but the faded woodwork of the nave was intact, and Magdalen still had to sit in the grim pew of her predecessors.

The girls looks at each other might have suited the entrance to a condemned cell, and the pulpit towered above them with a faded green cushion, that seemed in danger of tumbling down over their heads.

The service was a plain one, but reverent and careful; the music had a considerable element of harmonium mixed with schoolchild voices, and the sermon from an elderly man was a good one; but when the move to go out was made, and the young ones were beyond ear-shot of their elders, the exclamations were, Well, I never thought to have gone back to Georgian era.

Exactly the element of our maiden aunt.

And nobody to be seen.

Naggie, why do they shut one up in boxes?

Just to daunt Flapsys roving eye, Tickle, my dear.

Dont, Polly.  There was nobody to be seen if we hadnt been in a box.  Of course no one comes there but stately old farmers and their smart daughters.  I saw one with a Gainsborough hat, and a bunch of cocks feathers, with a scarlet cactus cocking it up behind.

Flapsy made use of her opportunities, you see.  Being emparocked in a pew cannot daunt her spirit of research.

Now, Nag, I only meant to show you what impossible people they are.

Natives who will repay the study perhaps, continued Agatha, reading as though from a book of travels.  We were able to observe a group of the aborigines at their devotions.  Conspicuous was a not ungraceful young female, whose head, ornamented with a plume of feathers, towered above the enclosure in which she was secluded, while an aged fakir, hakem or medicine man pronounced from a loftier structure resembling a sentry box.

Children, children, thats the wrong way, came Magdalens voice from behind.  You must turn into that lane.  Wait a moment.

They waited till Mrs. Bests lagging steps allowed Magdalen to come up with them, but dead silence fell on them when Mrs. Best observed, You were very merry.  They could not speak of the cause.  Perhaps Magdalen divined something, for she said, We hope to make some improvements, and so indeed does Mr. Earl, but he is very poor.  Besides, newcomers must work slowly.

The doubt whether she had heard Agathas speech made the girls conscious enough to keep from responding, as she meant them to do, by cheerful criticisms, and indeed the task of cheering and dragging on Mrs. Best was quite enough to occupy her.  There was only three years difference in their ages, but this seemed to have made a great interval between one whose métier had been to be youthful and active, and her who had to be staid and dignified.

The early dinner passed in all demureness and formality, and the poor visitor was too much tired for any more services to be thought of for her.  Magdalen explained that when the days would be longer, she thought of walking to Rockstone for evensong, but now the best way was to go to the chapel at Clipstone, which was nearer than either of the others.

There is a lovely little chapel there, beautifully fitted up by Lord Rotherwood and Sir Jasper Merrifield, for the hamlet, she said.

How far? asked Mrs. Best.

About a mile and a half across the fields; further by the road.  You will find your bicycles available when you know the way.

Dont we go to Rockstone? asked Paulina.  I am sure there is a really satisfactory church there.

St. Kenelms, do you mean?  That is not so near as St. Andrews Church, but that is very satisfactory, and I go to one or other of them on week-days.  It is too late to come back on these spring Sundays.

I should not like to live among so many churches, said Mrs. Best, and so far from them all!

You love your old parish church, like a faithful old churchwoman, said Magdalen.  Well, you see, I am faithful enough to go to my parish in the morning, but I think we may be discursive afterwards.  There is a Sunday school in which I was waiting to offer help till our party was made up.

Magdalen had looked twice for a responding smile, first from Agatha, and then from Paulina, but none was awakened.  The girls clustered together in the bedroom, and the word Goody passed between them.

Tempered by respect for my Lord and Sir Jasper, added Agatha.

And avoiding St. Kenelms because it is the real correct church, said Paulina.

Oh, yes! cried Vera.  Mr. Hubert Delrio went to see it in case Eccles and Beamster should have an order.  We must go there.

Of course, said Paulina, with a sympathetic nod.

But, said Agatha, there will be an embargo on all acquaintance except the grandees at Clipstone.

I shall never drop old friends, cried Vera.  I am a rock of crystal as regards them, whatever swells may require, if they burst themselves like the frog and the ox.

Well done, crystal rock; but suppose the old friends slide off and drop you? laughed Agatha.

Vera tossed her head; and Thekla ran in to say that Sister was ready.

The walk was shorter and pleasanter than that in the morning, over moorland, but with a good road; but all Magdalen discovered on the walk was that though the girls had attended botanical classes, they did not recognise spear-wort when they saw it, and Agatha thought the old catalogue fashions of botany were quite exploded.  This was a sentiment, and it gave hopes of something like an argument and a conversation, but they were at that moment overtaken by the neighbouring farmers wife, who wanted to give Miss Prescott some information about a setting of eggs, which she did at some length, and with a rapid utterance of dialect that amused, while it puzzled, Magdalen, and her inquiries and comments were decided to be thoroughly good-wife by all save Thekla, who hailed the possible ownership of a hen and chicken as almost equal to that of a bicycle.

Magdalen further discovered that Theklas name in common use was Tickle, or else Tick-tick; Paulina was, of course, Paula or Polly; Vera had her old baby title of Flapsy, which somehow suited her restless nervous motions, and Agatha had become Nag.  Well, it was the fashion of the day, though not a pretty one; but Magdalen recollected, with some pain, her fathers pleasure in the selection of saintly names for his little daughters, and she wondered how he would have liked to hear them thus transmuted.  There had been something bordering on sentiment in her fathers character, and something in Paulinas expression made her hope to see it repeated by inheritance.  She saw the countenance brighten out of the mornings antagonistic air when they entered the little chapel at Clipstone, and saw the altar adorned and carefully decked with white narcissus and golden daffodils.

The little chapel was old and plain, very small, but reverently cared for.  There was no choir, but the chairs of those who could sing were placed near the harmonium, which was played by one of the young ladies from the large gabled house to which the chapel was attached, and the singing had the refined tones that belong to the music of cultivated people.  The congregation was evidently of poor folks from the hamlet, dependants of the great house, and the family itself, a grey-haired, fine-looking general, a tall dark-eyed lady, a tall youth, a schoolboy, and four girlsone of whom was musician, and the other presided over the school children.  The service was reverent, the catechising good and effective, the sermon brief, and summing up in a spiritual and devotional manner; Magdalen was happy, and trusted that Paulina was so likewise.

She expected to hear some commendation as they walked home, but Vera alone kept with her, to examine her on the names and standing of the persons she had seen, on which there was as yet little to tell, for the first move towards acquaintance had not yet been made.  All that was known was that there were Sir Jasper and Lady Merrifield, connections of Lord Rotherwood, who owned most of the Rockstone property, and who with his family had once been staying in the country house where Magdalen had been governess; but it was a long time ago, and she only recollected that there were some nice little girls.  At least she said no more, but her friend thought the more.

I suppose they will call? said Vera.

Most likely they will.

Has nobody called?

Mr. Earl, the Vicar of Arnscombe.  He has promised to tell me how we can be of use here.  I believe there is great want of a lady at the Sunday school.

This did not interest Veraand she went on asking questions about the neighbourhood, and whether any of the Rockstone people had left cards, and whether there were any parties, garden or evening, at Rockstonemore than Magdalen could yet answer, though she was glad to promote any sort of conversation with either of the girls who did not stand aloof from her.

I say, the M.A. (maiden aunt) knows nobody but that old clergyman, who wants her to teach his Sunday school.

Im out of that, thank goodness, said Agatha.

And Sunday schools are a delusion, only hindering the children from going to church with their parents, said Paulina.

And if nobody calls, and they all think her no better than an old governess, how awfully slow it will be, continued Vera.

I do not suppose that will last, said Agatha.  There is Rockstone, remember.

Ten miles off, said Vera disconsolately.  Oh, Nag, Nag, isnt it horrid!  We shall be just smart enough to be taken for swells, and know nobody; and the swells wont have us because she is a governess.  We might as well be upon a desert island at once.

Agatha could not help laughing and repeating