Chapter 7 A Girl of High Adventure by L. T. Meade
THE LITTLE COMTESSE
Margot's last day had dawned at Desmondstown. On the following morning she must leave grand-dad and Madam and young old Aunt Eileen and young old Aunt Norah and young old Aunt Bridget. She must also say good-bye to the boys, to Bruce and Malachi, and she was fully determined somehow or other to manage to give a last good-bye to Phinias Maloney and his wife Annie, and the baby who was so truly young.
Little Margot felt very sad at the thought of going away, and she nestled more snugly than ever into her grandfather's arms and looked up into his stern old face and kissed him on his brown cheek.
"Grand-dad," she said, "how much do you love me now?"
"Ah, worra, then, pushkeen, I'm thinking I love you better than all the rest of the wide world."
"Oh, grand-dad," said Margot, with a sort of gasp, "then you love me better than all the old-youngs. It is wonderfully noble of you, grand-dad. You are a holy man—you are as holy, I'm thinking, as my uncle, John Mansfield."
"Drat John Mansfield!" exclaimed The Desmond.
"You mustn't say 'drat', grand-dad," said Margot, "more particular when you speak of a real holy man. Oh, grand-dad," she continued with a little burst of pain, "I don't want to leave you, I don't."
"You won't, pushkeen, you won't—keep your mind easy."
"But I'm going to-morrow," said Margot. "You can't keep me, for I took a vow. We of Desmondstown don't break vows, do we, grand-dad?"
"You're staying along of me, vow or no vow," said the old man, clasping her tighter than ever to his breast.
It was just at this moment that a commotion was heard in the hall. Young old Aunt Norah was heard to utter her celebrated "whoop." People began to run and to exclaim and the next moment, Fergus Desmond and John Mansfield entered the room side by side.
Margot, although she was intensely happy at Desmondstown, had missed Fergus a good deal and could not understand why her beautiful, extraordinary horse had deserted her, but now she had only time to give him a nod and a smile and then she rushed forward and was clasped in Uncle Jacko's arms. She kissed him over and over and over. Her beautiful eyes grew wet with tears. She turned after a minute and brought him up to her grandfather.
"Here's himself, grand-dad, here's the holy man himself."
Madam had all this time been seated quietly in a corner. She was doing some of the celebrated Irish crochet, which brought in a trifle of money towards the expenses of the place. She glanced now at her son and her son gave her a look which she understood. She went straight up to little Margot.
"You and me, we'll go into the kitchen," she said, "and see about your uncle's tea. Come, acushla machree." She took one of Margot's little hands in one of her own, still small and fine and dainty, and the child without a struggle, but with extreme unwillingness, left the room.
The moment the three men were alone together, The Desmond stood up to his great height.
"I'm obliged to you, John Mansfield," he said, "for looking after my granddaughter. You have acted in a very fair way towards her, I'm thinking; but I want her now for the remainder of my days. You are willing to give her up, eh, John Mansfield?"
"I must give her up," said Mansfield. "I have no say in the matter, alas! She is all the world to me, but I can't keep her against her will and against what is holy and right."
"Don't talk to me of holiness, Mansfield," interrupted The Desmond. "What's settled about my granddaughter? Sit down, man, if you must, you look a bit white and shaky."
"Perhaps, Mansfield, you had best let me speak," said Fergus. "He has had a very hard time, has Mansfield, father, and has behaved like a perfect saint. I'll tell the story and he'll listen and you'll have to agree, for there's no other way out."
"Ah, to be sure, Fergus, you always had the tongue," said The Desmond. "It was havin' ye trained at old Trinity. Well, go ahead, what's settled?"
"You know, of course, that my sister Priscilla married John Mansfield."
"Married John Mansfield," repeated the old man, "one of the Desmonds married you?"
"She did, sir, and she's a good woman. She's real aunt to little Margot."
"I call her a scourge," said The Desmond. "She never did anything that anyone else did. She was the torment of my life. But still for her to demean herself by marrying Farmer Mansfield's son!"
"He's better than she is, father, ten thousand times better," interrupted Fergus. "Don't you turn on him. He's gone through enough. The little one would not be alive now but for his care. Prissy's the same as ever, only a trifle more bitter. She claimed money for the child——"
"Which isn't to be heard of, or thought of," said Mansfield, "but she's a good woman—I won't allow anything else to be said about her."
"Well, let her keep her goodness, but let her keep away from us," said The Desmond. "I'm obliged to you, Mansfield. You have reared up that pretty bit thing and now she is ours, thank the Almighty. I wish I could pay you, not Prissy, but I haven't got it, Mansfield. I'm a poor man, bitter poor, but Fergus, who will be The Desmond, will see after the bit colleen when I am took. I can rest easy in my bed to-night thinking that she's in the same house, the pretty, sweet lamb. And she loves me, too, for that matter, Mansfield. Strange as it is to relate, she is wonderful took up with the old grand-dad."
"Father, you must let me finish my story," said Fergus. "Things are not as smooth as you think."
"What—why? What do you mean? Who dares to interfere between me and mine? I'll have him ducked in the horse-pond, that I will."
"Father, you must take things easy," said Fergus. "You can't duck him in the horse-pond, for he's too far away."
"Why, he's here, close by. I could lay me hand on him if I'd a mind," said The Desmond. "Bedad, and I will, too, if I'm further roused. He's coming holiness over me when he's an out-and-out scoundrel."
"If you mean John Mansfield, father, he's the best man I know," said Fergus. "He's put up with Prissy and that's enough. Anyone who can do that must have the spirit of the Lord in him, say I."
"She's a good woman," murmured Mansfield. He turned his head a little aside. This interview was trying him inexpressibly.
"Now father, you listen," said Fergus. "Mansfield is the best of the best, and he'll give up the child whom he loved and reared and taught all she knows, for that matter. He'll give her up without asking a penny piece."
"I will so," said Mansfield, "it is the will of the Almighty."
"Then whyever are ye trying to frighten me?" said The Desmond, sinking back into his big grandfather chair.
"It is because of this," said Fergus, "things are fairly smooth, but not as smooth as you think. Mansfield has nothing to do with it, so, for the Lord's sake, don't you turn on him. You forget that our Kathleen married a French nobleman."
"A Frenchy!" exclaimed The Desmond. "I hate the whole lot of 'em."
"Well, hate them or not, father, you have got to put up with the fact that the child has got two grandfathers; you are one, and the Comte St. Juste of the château near Arles is the other. This good fellow and I had an interview with the Comte and it seems he has been all these years searching and searching for the child of his only son, who died. He didn't even know whether it was a boy or girl, but he knew there was a child and he couldn't find it. Well, we brought him the tidings and luckily for us he speaks English, and so does Madame la Comtesse, his young second wife. He's reasonable enough and he promises a big 'dot' to the little one."
"A dot! What's a dot?" cried The Desmond. "A full stop I suppose you mean, we don't want a full stop."
"No, father, it's the French for a dowry. It means a lot of money. He wanted to have the child altogether, but when we spoke to him, he was amenable to reason. He will give her a lot of money—I can't tell you the exact sum, but with what he can give and what we can give, the little one will be well off—very well off—only the condition is this: She is to spend half her time with him and half her time with you. He's very old—very much more feeble than you are, father, and he wants Mansfield and me to bring her over to the château near Arles at once. She is to stay there three months and then you shall have her for three months. It's reasonable and I've promised, and it must be done."
"You say he is older than me," said The Desmond, "and a Frenchy, too, bedad. Look at me, do I look young now?"
"No, you have got a bit of a disappointment, but she will be back with you in three months."
The Desmond turned his head aside and it was only Mansfield who noticed his shaking hands.
"My little bit, my little own," he murmured, "my pushkeen, my little own."
Mansfield got up very softly and left the room. In a few minutes he returned with some hot whisky and water, which he gave the old man.
"You must take it, sir," he said. "You are shook up, the same as I am, but she'll be back with you soon, for I'll bring her to you myself."
There was a great excitement in the house when it was announced by Fergus that Margot St. Juste, according to the French law, was a Comtesse, and that she was to go immediately, that very day, to her French grandfather's château outside Arles.
The place was in a kind of turmoil, but the old man did not appear. Little Margot rushed in and clasped her arms round his neck.
"Grand-dad, I won't go."
"Ye must, pushkeen."
"Grand-dad, is your heart a-breaking?"
"Will you forget me when ye are away, alanna?"
"Never—never—never! As long as you live and as long as I live. Uncle John promises to bring me back to you faithful and true. And when he comes may he stay for a couple of days?"
"He may stay forever and ever, if he doesn't bring that wicked woman, his wife. She married beneath her, but she's a scold, for all that."
"I don't know what a scold is," said little Margot, "but I always said she was a wicked woman. Grand-dad, she didn't marry beneath her, she married far, far, far above her."
"Yes, child, perhaps you are right. Let's see when you'll be coming back to me, pushkeen."
"This is the 5th of June," said little Margot.
"June one, July two, August three," said the old man. "Ye'll be back with me on the fifth of September."
"I will that; I'll be mad to come back. You and Madam will keep watching and waiting for me."
"Don't you doubt it, acushla, don't you doubt it."
"And you won't grow any older, grand-dad, for that would be quite too terrible."
"No fear of that," said The Desmond. "I'll keep up for your sake, acushla mavourneen."
"And I for yours," said little Margot. Then she kissed the old man, and left Desmondstown.
The little old trunk was packed and Malachi took it to the gate where the same funny, springless little cart was waiting for it. Bruce and Fergus and the three young old Miss Desmonds accompanied Margot to the little cart. She rode on Fergus's shoulder up the avenue. It was Malachi who lifted her into the cart. Phinias Maloney was there to drive her to the station and Phinias Maloney's young wife and the baby and the other children were all clustering round to bid the little Comtesse good-day.
Meanwhile in the beautiful and celebrated town of Arles in South France great and intense excitement was going on, for Madame la Comtesse St. Juste was making what she considered suitable preparations for the arrival of her husband's granddaughter. She had from her own stores supplied innumerable frocks in French style for the little one to wear. Not only did she provide frocks, but daintily frilled petticoats and chapeaux of the very best, and open-work silk stockings and little delicate kid shoes to match the frocks—in short, she had a complete wardrobe suitable for the very small Comtesse, who was to be the future delight of that adorable one, her Alphonse.
The railway journey was very long and little Margot was tired. She loved her Irish grandfather, but thought nothing at all about her French one. She was troubled in her mind, too, at the thought of parting with her beloved Uncle John.
"Oh, Jacko, my Latin and Greek," she sobbed. They were getting very close to Arles when she said this, and John Mansfield took her in his big arms and kissed her over and over again, telling her that she must be a very good little girl and that she was indeed lucky to have not only one but two such loving grandparents.
"I would much rather have only one," said little Margot. "I don't understand the double. Why should there be a double, Uncle John? Why, I'd even put up with——"
"With what, mavourneen?"
"Why, herself, the good woman, to be near you," said the child.
"My darling, we must all fit ourselves for the position that Providence assigns," remarked good John Mansfield, and then they reached the great station and found themselves in the stately town, for Arles is very south and very warm and exceedingly picturesque.
Mansfield made enquiries and discovered that a carriage was waiting for la petite Comtesse. Into this the little Margot stepped. John Mansfield followed her. The ugly brown trunk was placed beside the coachman, and they drove in the direction of the château, which was quite a mile outside the town of Arles.
They found Madame la Comtesse waiting to greet them. She wore a most wonderful dress, which she considered according to her own ideas, le juste milieu. On her head was a chapeau, which consisted mostly of large violets. Her dress was pale green, with a triste little bow of black just under the chin. She bounded down the steps and clasped la petite Comtesse in her arms.
"I am thy belle grand'mère," she said. "My pigeon, my little cabbage, look at me, I am thy belle grand'mère in very truth."
"But you are young," said Margot. "My Irish grandmother is beautiful and old."
"Ah, but never mind, little strange one, it cannot be helped. The Irish grand'mère is old—the French grand'mère is young, très bien. Come with me and I will introduce thee to thy grandpère—eh, but he has got the years and well do they suit mon Alphonse. Thy grandpère is adorable, my little cabbage."
The French grandpère was certainly very different from the Irish grandfather, and little Margot looked at him out of her soft black eyes with a puzzled mingling of admiration and surprise.
"Ah, but thou art indeed come, mon enfant!"
The old Comte reclined just as of old, on his down pillows. He was covered just as he was a week past with a soft crimson plush coverlet. He looked anxiously out of his sunken black eyes into the soft black eyes of la petite Comtesse.
"Thou art here—thou art my own, thou wast born of my Henri. Kiss me, little one, press thy rosy lips on mine."
Little Margot did what she was told.
"My grandfather of Ireland," she said, "is much bigger than you, grandfather of France. You will not perhaps live very long."
"Ah, but mon enfant, don't say anything so shocking. Fi donc, fi donc," exclaimed the little Comtesse, bending over her beloved Alphonse and kissing him passionately, then she turned to the child. "A la bonne heure," she cried, "thou shalt have a dot that will astonish thee, and the notary has come and he will make out the amount that was promised M. Mansfield, of the English Church."
"I wish to say one thing," remarked John Mansfield. "This is the sixth of June, I will return for the child on the sixth of September, but during that time I wish her to learn."
"Ah, oui, m'sieur, certainement! What would you wish la petite Comtesse to acquire?"
"Not Latin and not Greek," interrupted Margot. "My good uncle, the holiest man in the world, teaches me those languages."
"There is a school where I will send thee, petite. There thou shalt acquire the French in all its perfection, and thou shalt learn the dancing. Ah! bravo! everything shall be as it should he. Thou must prepare for an excellent marriage, ma chère petite Comtesse."
"What is a marriage?" asked Margot.
"It is—ah, but thou must not know yet. Digest well my counsels. I shall pray to le bon Dieu for the success of votre mari, that is to be. M'sieur, you are a religieux?"
"He is a holy man," said Margot.
"Ah, oui, oui, mon enfant—I know all that, but, nevertheless, I am tout à fait Français and I love the French the best of all people in the world."
"And I love the English and the Irish," said Margot.
"Ah well, wait a while, ma pauvre chérie. Thou wilt soon see for thyself. When the marriage time comes on—then will happen the rejoicing, and I can dress thee, ah well! I have thy little garments already arranged, but the avocat is waiting. The dot must be settled once and for all on this brilliant petite Comtesse, and then M'sieur, you will tell those good people in Ireland and your own sacred household what good has befallen la petite."
"I like it not at all," said Margot to herself. She stood looking disconsolately out of one of the windows and remembered The Desmond and the old place gone to rack and ruin, and hated the idea of being left alone with grand'mère and grandpère of the French nation.
"It troubles me," she thought, "why did I ever leave my little home with my beloved Jacko?"