The Fate of Fenella. Various Authors
Читать онлайн книгу.
in a spasm of silent, delighted mirth. She stood on the top steps of the Prospect Hotel, Harrogate, waiting for the coach to come round, and looking across the hotel gardens to the picturesque Stray beyond, upon which a unique game of cricket was just then going forward, to the intense diversion of all beholders. Two little boys had evidently started it on their own hook, and a variety of casuals had dropped in to bear a hand, the most distinguished of these being a nigger minstrel, who, in full war-paint, and with deep lace ruffles falling over his sooty hands, was showing all his white teeth, and batting with a prowess that kept the whole field in action.
"I hope Ronny won't get his pate cracked," said the girl, half aloud, as the four grays drew up with a flourish, and the usual bustle on the steps began. "Good-morning, George!" and she nodded brightly to the good-looking driver, who beamed all over, and touched his hat, for the girl had clambered to many a pleasant drive beside him during the past fortnight.
"Box-seat again!" snapped a spiteful female voice behind her. "I wonder she is allowed to monopolize the best seat as she does, day after day!"
The girl laughed, as, giving a brief glimpse of a soft mass of whiteness above silken hose, she swung lightly up to the perch that was indeed wide enough to accommodate three persons, though the privilege of occupying the third lay entirely within George's jurisdiction, and was never, save to an old favorite, accorded.
"Where are we going to-day?" she said, as she settled herself comfortably, and unfurled a big tan-color sunshade. "Not to any of those tiresome show-places, I hope? I'm so tired of them!"
"No, miss," said George, who refused, even in the teeth of Ronny, to recognize her as anything but a slip of a girl, "we're going for a drive of my own; just dawdling about a bit like, and nowhere in particular."
"Jolly!" she said, sniffing up the pure air as if she loved it, and with that delightful quality of enjoyment in her voice which acts like an elixir on surrounding company. "Do you know, I mean to come up here every year to drink the waters, for I've got to love the place!"
George looked delighted as he glanced round to see if all his cargo was aboard, but as usual everyone was waiting for the inevitable person who is always late, and who will probably be late for his own funeral if he can possibly manage it.
"Most people who come here once, come again, miss," said George, twisting the lash of his whip into a knot. "There's one gentleman who never misses a season, and I was going to ask you, as a favor, if you'd mind his coming on the box-seat this morning? He 'most always had it last year. I told him I must ask a lady's consent, so we're to pick him up outside the Pump-room if you're quite agreeable."
"Is he fat?" said the girl dubiously, and feeling that her drive would be quite spoiled.
"He's as slight as a poplar," said George, his face lightening up, "and he's a gentleman, miss, and you can't say more than that. There's so few of 'em about nowadays!"
The cargo was now complete. The miscellaneous crowd that daily assembled to witness the departure of the coach fell back, the horses stretched out into a gallop, and skirting the hotel garden, with its lounging seats, and cheerful awnings, rounded the corner with a flourish, emerging on the Stray with a musical horn-blowing that made Ronny, in the distance, hold up his little flushed face to his mother, and wave the bat he was so very seldom allowed to use.
The girl waved and kissed her hand lovingly to the boy, and the nigger appropriating the compliment to himself, and promptly returning the same, while he also tried to combine business and pleasure by hitting a ball, lost his balance, and sat down in a large puddle. Quaint and varied were the aspects of life afforded by the Stray, that curious piece of ground secured to the townspeople forever, that in some parts almost resembles a fair; while in others, ancient trees shut in stately houses that have all the dignity and peace of a cathedral close.
In the open a band was playing, nigger minstrels were performing, children played, old maids cackled, pigeons flocked, fortune-tellers plied their craft, and old couples sat side by side like puffins, warming themselves in the sun. Even in this inevitable groaning Salvation Army lasses and lads were there, combining piety and wealth with that astuteness which is so distinguishinga feature of their peculiar religion.
And the thoroughly English scene, so full of human life, and steeped through and through with such a glory of September air and sunshine as even summer had not dared to promise, or even tried to fulfill, gave extraordinary pleasure to the heart, making one feel, with Lucretius, that "he who has grown weary of remaining at home often goes forth, and suddenly returns, inasmuch as he perceived he is nothing better for being abroad."
Down the steep incline in George's smartest style, past the Crown Hotel, that should surely be at the top of the hill, not the bottom, and so to the Pump-room, where with a clash and a clatter he draws up, scanning the crowd of people, who, having drunk their nauseous doses inside, are dawdling and gossiping in true Harrogate fashion before they disperse.
The girl does not take the trouble to look at any of them, not even when George touches his hat, and says, "Here, my lord." Then there is the sensation as of a person ascending the coach, on her side, she indignantly notes, so that she hastily whispers:
"Couldn't he go on your other side, George?"
"Very sorry, miss, but couldn't drive that way," and then she draws her skirts close to her with head turned aside, as her unwelcome coach-fellow swings himself into the seat beside her.
She is so slight, so small, that after all there is ample room and to spare, especially as he answers to the graceful description of him furnished by the driver.
"Do you call this a new drive?" she says to George, as they rattle past the lovely Bogs Valley Gardens, and up the steep ascent to the Spa. "Why—"
"Fenella!" breathlessly exclaimed a voice beside her.
"Frank."
Two aghast, petrified young faces looked into each other; then the girl, recovering herself first, said:
"Pray, how do you come here?"
"And what brings you?" he retorted.
"Gout. What are you laughing at?" she said airily; "haven't I got ancestors? Didn't they drink October ale by the hogshead, and old port by the gallon? And I've got to pay the piper, for I never heard of the liquor hurting them. But talking of ancestors, I've got such a lovely story to tell you. There is a frightfully fat, vulgar woman at our hotel, and you know there are only two things in this sinful world that give me real fits—humbug and vulgarity. Well, this woman never for one single meal lets anybody forget her progenitors, and bawls out at the top of her dreadful voice, 'All my people are cavalry people!" And what do you think? Her uncle keeps a pork shop not far from here, so after all she's perfectly right in her boast, only the cavalry are—Pigs!"
Frank laughed.
"You are as bad as ever, I see," he said, and then glanced at the driver, who had averted his head as much as possible.
"George," said Fenella, putting a coaxing little face round his shoulder, "could you—would you mind putting a bit of cotton wool in your ear on this side, because I want to talk to—to Lord Francis? I've got a bit in my pocket somewhere, I know."
George's face flickered, as he expressed himself quite agreeable, but was rather surprised, as blue-blooded people usually talk before their inferiors as if they had no more hearing and understanding faculties than tables or chairs. When the wool was produced out of a smart little pocket, he proceeded to plug his ear gravely, and even rammed it down hard to show that his intentions were strictly honorable. This business over, Fenella turned round and showed a little laughing face that seemed to have caught all the sunshine of the day, aye, and held it fast.
"I always carry a bit in my pocket for Ronny," she said, "as he gets a touch of earache sometimes. What's that? They can hear us behind? Oh? no, the trot of the horses' feet swallows up our voices. Let them talk. They will say I picked you up!"
"So