CHAPTER XV

A CLEVESHIRE TEA-PARTY

"And how came Miss Matilda not to marry him?" asked I.

"Oh, I don't know. She was willing enough, I think; but you know, Cousin Thomas would not have been enough of a gentleman for the rector and Miss Jenkyns."

"Well! But they were not to marry him," said I impatiently.

"No; but they did not like Miss Matty to marry below her rank. You know, she was the rector's daughter, and somehow they are related to Sir Peter Arley; Miss Jenkyns thought a deal of that."

"Poor Miss Mattie!" said I.

--CRANFORD (Mrs. Gaskell).

The plentiful experiments, by various nations of late, in the difficult science of government by a democracy, have left some of us strongly of opinion that the ideal form of rule would be the despotism of the angel.

Failing the angel, however, one is reluctantly forced to the conclusion that despotism of any other kind is the very ... well, exactly the other thing.

The despotism of Mrs. Cooper was growing hard for Melicent to bear.

It was curious to watch the infatuated complacency with which she daily presided over that tableful of turbulent young lives, of whose springs of action she knew, and wished to know, nothing.

What she exacted was submission: nothing more. She did not desire to convince her children's understandings; only to hinder them from giving expression to their thoughts. As they sat in empty silence around her, while she prattled of trivialities, she congratulated herself on their docility. Like the Roman conquerors of old--"she made a solitude, and called it peace."

Miss Lathom had had the wit to see, within a week of her first arrival, the kind of service which was required of her. It was not asked that she should approve Mrs. Cooper's judgment; merely that she should not question it. So long as she kept the girls at lessons for the required number of hours, it did not matter how little they learned.

She had adapted herself to circumstances in order to find a _modus vivendi_; for she was poor and ignorant, and would have found it difficult to obtain another post. But sometimes she was frightened, of late, at the heat of the fires which she had kindled.

The animal side of these big, country-bred, well-fed girls was strongly developed, and cried for a vent. Their starved minds gave them no contrast, no resources. They were without the influences of dancing, drilling, tennis, cycling--without the stimulus of sheer hard brain-work, the thrilling interests of school-life and girl-friendships. There was nothing to stem the flood of their growing consciousness of sex. Gwen especially, vigorous and full-blooded, had arrived at a dangerous crisis.

Meanwhile, Melicent was beginning to find life empty and depressing.

From the moment of the arrival of Mrs. Dow's invitation, her cousins discussed Lance Burmester, Alfred Dow, and young Freshfield, from morning to night, except for those monosyllabic portions of time which they spent under their parents' eye. They talked of the way these young men walked, the colour of their eyes, the shape of their collars, the sound of their voices, their little manners and expressions. They meant no harm. They only needed an outlet for that natural craving for romance, which their mother thought proper to ignore.

Melicent laboured hard to find a field for her own superfluous energy. On the first morning after her arrival, she had risen early, made her bed, aired her room, borrowed the housemaid's brush, swept and dusted.

Her aunt did not, for two or three days, discover what she was doing. But when she did, she was scandalised. What would the servants think? Millie showed herself inclined to esteem but lightly the possible amazement of the two clumsy girls who formed the Vicarage staff. But her domestic efforts were straitly forbidden.

On the following morning, awake as usual, and roaming into the schoolroom while the household slumbered, she marked her uncle in the kitchen garden at work, patient and lonely, filling up the hours that must elapse before he could get his breakfast. She went and offered her vacant moments. He replied that her aunt would not like it. She was urgent, and he, wavering, presently allowed her to help him dig potatoes. They did not talk, but she worked with nimble capacity; and when she appeared again next morning, he surprised in himself a sneaking feeling of gladness.

But that day, Mrs. Cooper discovered the new pursuit; and it was stopped.

Millie, however, was not to be defeated. She next turned her attention to her cousin's dress; and, finding some stuff which had been lying in the house for months, cut out and made up blouses for Maddie and Gwen. This last matutinal pursuit found more favour; and henceforth the girl's fingers were fully occupied, though her mind continued to crave.

It was in wild spirits that the party started for Crow Yat, which was a fine old house, standing much lower down the Dale, and for a wonder, built of red brick, and not grey stone. It had been the shooting-lodge and toy of a baronet of George II.'s time, who had tired of it, and sold it to Alfred Dow's ancestor.

There was a drawing-room with four fine doorways, the pediments enriched with Adam's mouldings; and here the stiff-necked, proud old dame received the Vicarage troop with evident desire to show that she considered herself fully as good as they, if not better.

Alfred, a really first-rate specimen of his class, in that riding dress which is the natural garb of the well-to-do Dalesman--who does not drive on his unspeakable roads unless obliged--atoned for his mother's lack of cordiality by the sincerity of his welcome.

He led them through the garden, gathering late roses and dahlias with a lavish hand; then in among the deep lush orchard grass, filling their hands with delicious apples. He sent a boy up the meadow to gather mushrooms for them to take home; but on Melicent's vehemently expressed wish, laughingly allowed them to do it for themselves.

Then, at the clanging of a great bell, they came back to the house, where, in the elegant, panelled dining-parlour, sat Mrs. Dow, presiding over a real Cleveshire tea--jam tarts, cheese-cakes, currant sandwiches, cartwheels, turnovers--pastry in all its forms; ham that must be tasted to be thoroughly appreciated, cut in wafer slices; heather honey in the comb; peaches, great, luscious, Victoria plums, black Hamburg grapes, the despair of Sir Joseph's head gardener, who every year saw "they Dows" take the prize over his head at the annual show.

Had Melicent been a little older, she would have been amused at the keenness of the old lady's scrutiny--her suspicious glances from one to the other in search of charms which should explain her son's sudden interest in the Vicarage lasses, an idea fully as repugnant to her as it could have been to the outraged Mrs. Cooper.

To look at the fine young man, with his good physique, excellent morals and clean ancestry, was to make one wonder what better fate would be likely to await one of these ordinary, ill-educated girls, samples of thousands of their kind scattered over the land. And, had the vicar's niece read "Cranford," she might have thought of the silent tragedy of Thomas Holbrook and little Miss Matty.

It was a satisfaction to Mrs. Dow that Alfred took more notice of Melicent than of any of the Miss Coopers. She took her for about the same age as the vicar's youngest; such a child could not be dangerous.

All tea-time young Dow was trying to draw her out, a task which was never easy; but every time he coaxed her out of a statement about Boers and their ways, he roared with appreciation of her crisp, incisive style.

Tea was half over when a horse was heard to clatter into the stable-yard. Melicent, who happened to be seated exactly opposite Gwen, saw her face suddenly suffused with an overwhelming, unbecoming blush. A minute later, a shadow darkened the window, and a voice called in greeting. It was Freshfield.

Of course he was invited in to tea, and he expressed himself greatly surprised at the company he found. Gwen had managed to seat herself near one end of the table, an empty chair beside her; to which the agent gravitated naturally.

The conversation flagged, somehow. The rules under which they lived made the girls tongue-tied when in company. Madeline, at nearly eighteen, had no glimmering of the necessity that is laid upon the well-bred to set others at their ease. They were all gauche and heavy, and ate largely.

Tea over, a move was made to the fold-yard to see the beasts; and this done, someone suggested hide-and-seek. Miss Lathom demurred at this; she was uneasy at Freshfield's coming, though she had been privy to his being apprised of their whereabouts. She said with some decision that she was quite sure the vicar would not like it.

"Well, then, look here, Tommy," said Mr. Freshfield, with engaging familiarity, "the vicar must jolly well not be told. See? I hear from all those girls what a trump you are."

Under this pressure, Tommy yielded. But to the surprise of all, Millie declined it altogether.

"If you are sure Uncle Edmund would not like it, I shall not do it," she said simply. "I am always doing what he doesn't like unintentionally, but I won't do it on purpose."

She quietly went indoors to old Mrs. Dow, whose dignity and good sense had attracted her. This was a nature she could understand, a woman who thought no household work beneath her. Mrs. Dow, flattered, offered to show her the dairy. She had made no doubt that so small and pale a thing was town-bred, and was soon filled with astonishment at the knowledge and capacity displayed by the girl. Alfred, coming in, found them discussing the rival methods of African and English farms with much vigour. He came to ask Millie to go and look at some new plantations which, just now, were his particular delight. But as soon as they were out of hearing, he turned to her as if seizing a chance, and said:

"Should you be angry if I ask whether there's anything between your cousin and young Freshfield?"

"I'm not angry," said Millie; "but I know nothing about it. I can't tell you anything."

He took off his cap to run his fingers through his curls, which was a habit Millie had seen her cousins mimic.

"I had a mind to ask you to warn her; think she'd take it?" he asked. "Warn her that he's not in earnest; he's just playing. She's raw and doesn't see over-many young men. But I know for a fact that he's engaged to a girl with a bit o' money."

"Then why does he flirt with Gwen?"

"From something he let drop--something I heard him say--I think he has a bit of a grudge against the vicar. Thinks vicar looks down on him. Would like to put a spoke in his wheel."

Melicent made a small sound of dismay. "What a cad!" she said.

"That's what I think."

"It shows my uncle to have been right in holding a low opinion of him," was the contemptuous verdict.

"Eh, but you hit straight!" he returned, in admiration. "Only, if he'd been better treated the cur wouldn't bite."

They had no chance to say more, for two of the girls, all shyness now wholly cast aside, came charging down the path, and with shrieks warned them to make a dash for home.

Melicent was left in great discomfort. She had knowledge which she could not tell what to do with. She felt, rather than knew, that to warn Gwen would be worse than futile; especially now, when her refusal to play hide-and-seek had irritated all the girls against her, as well as Tommy, whose conscience was sore, and who consequently was for once downright ill-tempered.

Melicent had a dreary walk home. She would have been utterly discouraged but for the fact that she was to see the Helstons again on Monday; and some chance there must be that day for her to tell her friends all that was in her heart.

Life at the Vicarage was too aimless. She had one hundred pounds of her very own, and she was determined somehow to make this yield her two years' good schooling.