Chapter 18 The Lady of the Forest by L. T. Meade
THE MARMADUKES
The Marmadukes were not at all a puny family; on the contrary, they were all rather above the ordinary size. Mr. Marmaduke was extremely broad and red and stout; Mrs. Marmaduke was an angular and bony-framed woman, with aquiline features and a figure which towered above all the other ladies present; the lady’s-maid took after her mistress in stature and became Newbolt’s detestation on the spot; the pug dog was so large that he could scarcely be considered thoroughbred; and the parrot was a full-grown bird and the shrillest of its species. The four young Marmadukes took after their parents and were extremely well developed. The eldest girl was thirteen; her name was Clementina; she had a very fat face and a large appetite. The boys, named Dick and Will, were sturdy specimens; and Abigail, or Abby, the youngest of the group, was considerably spoiled and put on many airs, which made her insufferable to Kitty and Phil.
The Marmadukes arrived in a body, and without any efforts on their own parts or the smallest desire that way on the part of the old ladies they took Avonsyde by storm. They seemed to fill the whole house and to pervade the grounds, and to make their presence felt wherever they turned. They entertained themselves and suggested what places they should go to see, and announced the hours at which they would like best to dine and what times they would wish the Avonsyde carriage to be in attendance. Miss Griselda was petrified at what she was pleased to term the manners of the great Babylon. Miss Katharine received several snubs at the style of friends she kept, and only the fact that they were distantly connected with the Lovels, and that their visit must terminate within ten days, prevented Miss Griselda from being positively rude to such unwelcome inmates.
“Phil,” said Rachel on the second morning after the arrival of this obnoxious household, “if Clementina thinks she is going to get the upper hand of me any more she is finely mistaken. What do I care for her Kensington Gardens and that pony she rides in the Row! I don’t suppose she knows how to ride – not really; for I asked her yesterday if she could ride barebacked, and she stared at me, and turned up her lip, and said in such a mincing voice, ‘We don’t do that kind of thing in London.’ Phil, I hate her; I really do! I don’t know how I’m to endure her for the next week. She walks about with me and is so condescending to me; and I can’t endure it – no, I can’t! Oh, I wish I could do something to humble her!”
“Poor Rachel!” said Phil in his sweet, pitying voice, and a tender, beautiful light which is born of sympathy filled his eyes. “I know Clementina is not your sort, Rachel,” he said, “and I only wish she would talk to me and leave you alone.”
Rachel laughed and leaned her hand affectionately on Phil’s shoulder.
“I don’t wish that,” she said. “I don’t want to ease myself by adding to your burdens; you have quite enough with Dick and Will. You must hate them just as much as I hate Clementina.”
“Oh, I don’t hate them at all,” said Phil. “They are not my sort; they are not the style of boys I like best, but I get on all right with them; and as to hating, I never hated any one in all my life.”
“Well, I have,” said Rachel. “And the one I hate most now in all the world is Clementina Marmaduke! Oh, here they are, all coming to meet us; and doesn’t poor Kitty look bored to death?”
Phil glanced wistfully from one sister to another, and then he ran up to Clementina and began to chat to her in a very eager and animated voice. He was evidently suggesting something which pleased her, for she smiled and nodded her head several times. Phil said, “I’ll bring them to you in a moment or two,” and ran off.
“What have you asked Phil to do?” asked Rachel angrily. “He’s not a strong boy – at least, not very strong, and he mustn’t be sent racing about.”
“Oh, then, if he’s not strong he won’t ever get Avonsyde,” returned Clementina. “How disappointed his mother will be. I thought Phil was very strong.”
“You know nothing about it,” said Rachel, getting redder and more angry. “You have no right to talk about our private affairs; they are nothing to you.”
“I only know what my mamma tells me,” said Clementina, “and I don’t choose to be lectured by you, Miss Rachel.”
Here Will and Dick came eagerly forward, squared their shoulders, and said:
“Go it, girls! Give it to her back, Rachel. She’s never happy except when she’s quarreling.”
A torrent of angry words was bubbling up to Rachel’s lips, but here Phil came panting up, holding a great spray of lovely scarlet berries in his hand.
“Here!” he said, presenting it to Clementina. “That is the very last, and I had to climb a good tall tree to get it. Let me twine it round your hat the way Gabrielle used to wear it. Here, just one twist – doesn’t it look jolly?”
The effect on Clementina’s dark brown beaver hat was magical, and the effect on her temper was even more soothing – she smiled and became good-tempered at once. Rachel’s angry words were never spoken, and sunshine being restored the children began to discuss their plans for the day.
Miss Griselda had given a certain amount of freedom to all the young folk, and under supervision – that is, in the company of Robert, the groom – they might visit any part of the forest not too far away. When the eager question was asked now, “What shall we do with ourselves?” Phil replied instantly, “Let’s go into the forest. Let’s visit Rufus’ Stone.”
Rachel’s eyes danced at this, and she looked eagerly and expectantly at her little cousin.
“You have none of you seen the Stone,” proceeded Phil. “There are splendid trees for climbing round there, and on a fine day like this it will be jolly. We can take our lunch out, and I’ll show you lots of nests, Will.”
“I’ll go on one condition,” said Rachel – “that we ride. Let’s have our ponies. It is too horrid to be cooped up in a wagonette.”
“Oh, we’d all much rather ride!” exclaimed the Marmaduke children.
“Bob can drive the pony-cart to the Stone,” proceeded Rachel, “and meet us there with our luncheon things. That will do quite well, for as there are such a lot of us we won’t want a groom to ride as well. We know every inch of the road from here to the Stone – don’t we, Phil?”
“Yes,” answered Phil softly.
“Well, that’s splendid,” said Clementina, who felt that her berries were very becoming and who imagined that Rachel was looking at them enviously. “But have you got horses enough to mount us all?”
“We’ve got ponies,” said Rachel. “Rough forest ponies; jolly creatures! You shall have Brownie, as you’re such a good rider; he’s nice and spirited – isn’t he, Phil?”
“Yes,” replied Phil. “But I think Clementina would have a jollier time with Surefoot; he goes so easily. I think he’s the dearest pony in the world.”
“But he’s your own pony, Phil. You surely are not going to give up your own pony?”
Phil laughed.
“I’m not going to give him up,” he said; “only I think I’d like to ride Brownie this morning.”
Rachel scarcely knew why she felt ashamed at these words; she certainly had no intention of offering her horse to Clementina.
“What queer ways Phil has,” she thought to herself. And then she saw a softened look in Clementina’s eyes and her heart gave a sharp little prick.
Half an hour later the riding party set out, and for a time all went smoothly. Rachel was trying to curb her impatience; Clementina amused herself by being condescending to Philip; and Dick, Will, Kitty, and Abby rode amicably together. But the party was ill-assorted, and peace was not likely long to reign. Surefoot was an extremely nice pony, and Clementina rode well in front, and after a time began to give herself airs, and to arrange her fresh and very becoming habit, as if she were riding in the Row. Surefoot was gentle, but he was also fresh; and when Clementina touched him once or twice with her riding-whip, he shook himself indignantly and even broke into a canter against her will.
“You must not touch Surefoot with a whip,” sang out Rachel. “He does not need it and it is an insult to him.”
Clementina laughed scornfully.
“All horses need the whip now and then,” she said; “it freshens them up and acts as a stimulant. You don’t suppose, Rachel, that I don’t know? I rather think there are very few girls who know more about riding than I do. Why, I have had lessons from Captain Delacourt since I can remember.”
“Is Captain Delacourt your riding-master?” asked Rachel in an exasperating voice. “If so, he can’t be at all a good one; for a really good riding-master would never counsel any girl to use the whip to a willing horse.”
“Did your riding-master give you that piece of information?” inquired Clementina in a voice which she considered full of withering sarcasm. “I should like to know his name, in order that I might avoid him.”
Rachel laughed.
“My riding-master was Robert,” she said, “and as he is my aunt’s servant, you cannot get lessons from him even if you wish to. You need not sneer at him, Clementina, for there never was a better rider than Robert, and he has taught me nearly everything he knows himself. There isn’t any horse I couldn’t sit, and it would take a very clever horse indeed to throw me.”
Clementina smiled most provokingly, and raising her whip gave gentle little Surefoot a couple of sharp strokes. The little horse quivered indignantly, and Rachel glanced at Phil, who was riding behind on Brownie.
“Oh, Phil,” she called out, “Clementina is so unkind to your horse. It is well for you, Clementina, that you are on Surefoot’s back. He is so sweet-tempered he won’t resent even cruelty very much; but if you dared to whip my horse, Ruby, you would have good reason to repent of your rashness.”
Rachel was riding on a red-coated pony, a half-tamed creature with promises of great beauty and power by and by, but at present somewhat rough and with a wild, untamed gleam in his eyes. Clementina glanced all over Ruby, but did not deign another remark. She was forming a plan in her mind. By hook or by crook she would ride Ruby home and show to the astonished Rachel what Captain Delacourt’s pupil was capable of.
The children presently reached their destination, where Bob and the light cart of refreshments awaited them. The day was very balmy and springlike, and the most fastidious could not but be pleased and the most ill-tempered could not fail for a time, at least, to show the sunny side of life. The children made merry. Rachel and Clementina forgot their disputes in the delights of preparing salads and cutting up pies; Phil, the Marmaduke boys, and Abby went off on a foraging expedition; and Kitty swung herself into the low-growing branch of a great oak tree, and lazily closing her eyes sang softly to herself.
The picnic dinner turned out a grand success; and then Clementina, who was fond of music and who had discovered that Kitty had a particularly sweet voice, called her to her and said that they might try and get up some glees, which would sound delightfully romantic in the middle of the forest. The children sat round in a circle, Clementina now quite in her element and feeling herself absolute mistress of the occasion.
Suddenly Phil got up and strolled away. No one noticed him but Rachel, who sat on thorns for a few minutes; then, when the singing was at its height, she slipped round the oak tree, flew down the glade, and reached the little boy as he was entering a thick wood which lay to the right.
“Phil! Phil! you are going to see her?”
“Oh, don’t, Rachel – don’t follow me now! If we are both missed they will come to look for us, and then the lady’s house will be discovered and she will have to go away. She said if her house was discovered she would have to go away, and oh, Rachel, if you love her – and you say you love her – that would be treating her cruelly!”
“The children won’t miss us,” said Rachel, whose breath came fast and whose cheeks were brightly colored. “The children are all singing as loudly as they can and they are perfectly happy, and Robert is eating his dinner. I won’t go in, Phil; no, of course I won’t go in, for I promised, and I would not break my word, to her of all people. But if I might stay at a little distance, and if I might just peep round a tree and see her, for she may come to talk to you, Phil. Oh, Phil, don’t prevent me! I will not show myself, but I might see without being seen.”
Rachel was trembling, and yet there was a bold, almost defiant look on her face; she looked so like Rupert that Phil’s whole heart was drawn to her.
“You must do what you wish, of course,” he said. “Do you see that giant oak tree at the top of the glade? You can stand there and you can peep your head well round. See, let’s come to it. See, Rachel, you have a splendid view of the cottage from here. Now I will go and try if I can get any tidings of Gabrielle’s tankard. Good-by, Rachel. Remember your promise not to come any nearer.”
Phil ran lightly away, and Rachel saw him go into the little rose-covered porch of the cottage.
He raised the tiny knocker, and in a moment or two Nancy White answered his summons.
“Is the lady – the lady of the forest in, Nancy?” asked the little boy.
“The lady! Bless my heart, if this ain’t Master Phil Lovel! Well, my dear little gentleman, and what may you want?”
“I want the lady. Can I see her? Perhaps she would come out to walk with me for a little, for I want to talk to her on a most important thing.”
“Bless you, my dear, the lady ain’t at home, and if she were she don’t go taking walks at anybody’s bidding. She’s particular and retiring in her ways, the lady is, and when she’s at home she keeps at home.”
“I’m sorry she’s not at home to-day,” said Phil, leaning against the porch and getting back his breath slowly. “It’s a great disappointment, for I find it very difficult to come so far, and what I wanted to say was really important. Good-by, Nancy. Give my love to the lady when you see her.”
“Don’t go yet, Master Philip. You’re looking very white. I hope you’re quite strong, sir.”
“Yes, I’m a strong boy,” said Phil in a slow voice.
“You wouldn’t like to come in and rest for a bit, little master? Maybe I could do what you want as well as my missus.”
“Maybe you could,” said Phil, his eyes brightening. “I never thought of that. No, I won’t come in, thank you, Nancy. Nancy, do you remember the day I was nearly lost in the bog?”
“Of course I do, my dear little man; and a sorry pickle you was when my missus brought you home!”
“Had I anything in my hand when I was brought into the house, Nancy? Please think hard. Had I anything rather important in my hand?”
“You had a bit of a brier clutched tight in one hand. I remember that, my dear.”
“Oh, but what I mean was something quite different – what I mean was a large silver drinking-mug. I cannot remember anything about it since I got lost in the bog, and I am afraid it must have gone right down into the bog. But I thought it just possible that I might have brought it here. You did not see it, did you, Nancy?”
“Well, my dear, is it likely? Whatever else we may be in this house, we ain’t thieves.”
Phil looked distressed.
“I did not mean that,” he said – “I did not mean that. I just thought I might have left it and that I would come and ask. Mother is in great trouble about the mug; it means a great lot to mother, and it was very careless of me to bring it into the forest. I am sorry you did not see it, Nancy.”
“And so am I, Master Lovel, if it’s a-worrying of you, dear. But there, the grandest silver can that ever was made ain’t worth fretting about. I expect it must have slipped into the bog, dear.”
“Good-by, Nancy,” said Phil in a sorrowful, polite little voice, and he went slowly back to where Rachel watched behind the oak tree.