The Visits of Elizabeth — Reading Notes

ad a blue muslin on this morning, and her hair is red with green stripes in it, and she is all white with thick pink cheeks, and across the room she doesn't look at all bad; but close! Goodness gracious she looks a hundred! And I would much sooner have nice white hair and a cap than look like that, wouldn't you? I'll finish this when I come to bed.

[Sidenote: _Sir Dennis Desmond_]

12.30.--What _do_ you think has happened? Sir Dennis sat beside me on the sofa just as he did last night--but I forget, I have not yet told you of yesterday and last night; but never mind now, I must get on. Well, he said I was a perfect _darling_, but that he never could get a chance to say a word to me alone, but that if I would only drop my glove outside my door it would be all right; and I thought that such a _ridiculous_ thing to say, that I couldn't help laughing, and Lady Cecilia happened to be passing, and so she asked me what I was laughing at, and so I told her what he had said, and asked why? There happened to be a pause just then and, as one has to speak rather loud to Lady Cecilia to attract her attention, every one heard, and they all looked _flabergasted;_ and then all shrieked with laughter, and Sir Dennis said so crossly, "Little fool!" and Lady Desmond simply glared at me, and Lady Cecilia said, "Really, Elizabeth!" and Sir Dennis got purple in the face, and Jane Roose whispered, "How could you dare with his wife listening!" and every one talked and chaffed. It was too stupid about nothing; but the astonishing part is, that funny old thing I thought was the mother turns out to be _his wife!_

Imagine! years and years older than him! Jane Roose said he had to marry her because her husband died; but I think that the most absurd reason I ever heard, don't you? Lots of people's husbands die, and they don't have to get married off again at once--so why should that ugly old thing, specially when there are such heaps of nice girls about?

[Sidenote: _A Man of Honour_]

Jane Roose said it was so honourable of him, but I call it crazy--unless, perhaps, he was a great friend of the husband's, who made him promise when he was dying, and he did not like to break his word. How he must have hated it! I wonder if he had ever met her before, or if the husband made him take her, a pig in a poke. I expect that was it, because he never could have done it if he had ever seen her.

I can't think why he is so cross with me, but I am sorry, as he is such a nice man. Now I am sleepy, and it is frightfully late, so I suppose I had better get into bed. Agnès came up, and has been fussing about for the last hour. Best love from your affectionate daughter,

Nazeby Hall, _30th July_.

Dearest Mamma,--Yesterday was the best day we have had yet; the nice men had not to field at all, and the stupid cricket was over at four o'clock, and so we went into the gardens and lay in hammocks, and Miss La Touche had such nice shoes on, but her ankles are thick.

[Sidenote: _Ghosts in the Corridor_]

The Rooses told me it wasn't "quite nice" for girls to loll in hammocks (and they sat on chairs)--that you could only do it when you are married; but I believe it is because they don't have pretty enough petticoats. Anyway, Lady Doraine and that horrid Smith creature made a place for me in the empty hammock between them, and, as I knew my "frillies" were all right, I hammocked too, and it was _lovely_. Lord Valmond and Mr. Wertz were lying near, and they said agreeable things, at least I suppose so, because both of them--Lady Doraine and Mrs. Smith--looked purry-purry-puss-puss. They asked me why I was so sleepy, and I said because I had not slept well the last night--that I was sure the house was haunted. And so they all screamed at me, "Why?" and so I told them, what was really true, that in the night I heard a noise of stealthy footsteps, and as I was not frightened I determined to see what it was, so I got up--Agnès sleeps in the dressing-room, but, of course, _she_ never wakes--I opened the door and peeped out into the corridor. There are only two rooms beyond mine towards the end, round the corner, and it is dimly lit all night. Well, I distinctly saw a very tall grey figure disappear round the bend of the hall! When I got thus far every one dropped their books and listened with rapt attention, and I could see them exchanging looks, so I am sure they know it is haunted, and were trying to keep it from me. I asked Mrs. Smith if she had seen or heard anything, because she sleeps in one of the rooms. She looked perfectly green, but she said she had not heard a sound, and had slept like a top, and that I must have dreamt it.

Then Lady Doraine and every one talked at once, and Lord Valmond asked did any one know if the London evening papers had come. But I was not going to be put off like that, so I just said, "I know you all know it is haunted and are putting me off because you think I'll be frightened; but I assure you I am not, and if I hear the noise again I am going to rush out and see the ghost close."

Then every one looked simply _ahuri_. So I mean to get the ghost story out of Sir Trevor to-night after dinner--I had not a chance yesterday--as I am sure it is interesting. Mrs. Smith looked at me as if she wanted to poison me, and I can't think why specially, can you?

_Twelve p.m._--I asked Sir Trevor if the house is haunted, and he said, "God bless my soul, no!" and so I told him, and he nearly had a fit; so I _know_ it is, but I am not a bit frightened.--Your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

Nazeby Hall, _Sunday._

Dearest Mamma,--Agnès and I go to Aunt Mary's by the 10:30 train to-morrow, and I am not a bit sorry, although I have enjoyed myself, and now I begin to feel quite at home with every one--at least, some of them; but such a tiresome thing happened last night. It was like this: After dinner it was so hot that we all went out on the terrace, and, as soon as we got there, Mrs. Smith and Lady Doraine and the rest said it was too cold, and went in again; but the moon was pretty, so I stayed alone, and presently Lord Valmond came out, and stood beside me. There is such a nice view, you remember, from there, and I didn't a bit want to talk.

[Sidenote: _A Kiss and a Blow_]

He said something, but I wasn't listening, when suddenly I did hear him say this: "You adorable _enfant terrible_, come out and watch for ghosts to-night; and I will come and play the ghost, and console you if you are frightened!" And he put his horrid arm right round my waist, and kissed me--somewhere about my right ear--before I could realise what he was at!

I _was_ in a rage, as you can fancy, Mamma, so I just turned round and gave him the hardest slap I could, right on the cheek! He was furious, and called me a "little devil," and we both walked straight into the drawing-room.

I suppose I looked _savage_, and in the light I could see he had great red finger marks on his face. Anyway, Mrs. Smith, who was sitting on the big sofa near the window alone, looked up, and said in an odious voice, that made every one listen, "I am afraid, Harry, you have not enjoyed cooing in the moonlight; it looks as if our sweet Elizabeth had been difficult, and had boxed your ears!"

That made me _wild_, the impudence! That _parvenue_ calling me by my Christian name! So I just lost my temper right out, and said to her, "It is perfectly true what you say, and I will box yours if you call me 'Elizabeth' again!"

_Tableau!_ She almost fainted with astonishment and fury, and when she could get her voice decent enough to speak, she laughed and said--

"What a charming savage! How ingenuous!"

[Sidenote: _Lord Valmond in Disgrace_]

And then Lady Cecilia did a really nice thing, which shows that she is a brick, in spite of having bulgy eyes, and being absent and tiresome. She came up to me as if nothing had happened, and said, "Come, Elizabeth, they are waiting for you to begin a round game," and she put her arm through mine and drew me into the billiard-room, and on the way she squeezed my arm, and said, in a voice quite low down for her, "She deserved it," and I was so touched I nearly cried. From where I sat at the card-table I could see Mrs. Smith and Lord Valmond, and they were quarrelling. She looked like green rhubarb juice, and he had the expression of "Damn!" all over him.

Of course I did not say good-night to him, and I hope I shall never see him again.--Your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

_Tuesday, 2nd August_.

[Sidenote: _London out of Season_]

Dearest Mamma,--The train from Nazeby was so late and Aunt Mary seemed to think it was my fault--so unreasonable of her, just because they had waited lunch for me. I don't believe I like visiting very near relations as much as ones further off. They feel they can say anything to you. I am glad I have only got to sleep here the one night. I had not eaten my omelette before Aunt Mary began about my hair. She said of course it was very nice curling like that, but it was a pity I did not wear a net over it all to keep it more tidy. She was sure you spoilt me, even though we are rich, letting me have such smart clothes. She had heard from Nazeby, that I had had on a fresh frock every day. I don't know who could have written to her. She has got to look much older in the two years we have been abroad and the corners of her mouth shut with a snap. Perhaps it is having to spend part of the year with her mother-in-law.

[Sidenote: _Cousinly Curiosity_]

Lettice and Clara are just the same as they were, not a bit of difference since they came out. They are as tidy as can be, not a hair escapes from their nets! and their heads look as if they had dozens of hairpins in them, and because it is out of the season they have gone back to their country high linen collars, and they look as if they were choking. I hate linen collars, don't you, Mamma? Two Ethridge aunts are staying here besides me, and we all have to sit together in the morning-room, as everything is covered up in the drawing-rooms, ready for being shut up next week, when they go to Scotland. After lunch the girls did nothing but question me about what we had done at Nazeby. They said Lady Cecilia only asks them to the dullest parties. They knew every one's name, they had carefully read them in the _Morning Post_. They wanted especially to know about Lord Valmond because Lettice had danced with him once this season. They thought him awfully good-looking. I said he was an odious young man and very rude. So Lettice said she supposed he had not spoken to me, as he never speaks to girls. I told them that was quite a mistake as he had spoken to me all the time, but I hated him. And do you know, Mamma, they looked as if they did not believe a word I was saying; which was not very polite I think.

When we got upstairs they wanted to see all my clothes, but fortunately Agnès had only taken out one or two things, and they asked me to let their maid take patterns of everything. Of course I could not refuse, but I hate my things being mauled over by strange females, and Agnès was simply furious. I am sure she will scratch the maid when she comes to ask for a frock. They tried on my hats all at the wrong angle, first Clara, then Lettice, and made faces and gave little screams at themselves in the glass, and no wonder, for they looked perfect guys in them, with their tight "tongy" hair. Then they tossed them on to the bed as they finished with them, and Agnès kept muttering to herself like distant thunder. Finally Lettice danced a _pas seul_ with the white rose toque perched on the back of her head, and she made such kicks and jumps that it lurched off, and landed in the water jug! At that Agnès got beside herself.

"Fi! donc, Mademoiselle!" she screamed, "ça c'est trop fort!"

[Sidenote: _On the Water Shoot_]

The hat is quite spoilt, so please write and order me another one from Caroline's, like a nice, sweet, pretty, darling Mamma. At tea they were all so interested when I told them I was going to stay in France with the de Croixmares. One of the Ethridge aunts (Rowena) pricked up her ears at once, and asked me if Madame de Croixmare was not my godmother, and had she not been a great friend of poor papa's. So I told her yes, and that I was going there for three weeks. She and Aunt Mary exchanged looks, I don't know why, but it irritated me, Mamma, and I rather snapped at Aunt Mary when she began about my hair again. And presently I heard her saying to the other aunt that it was a pity girls nowadays were allowed to be impertinent to their elders.

Of course there was not a thing to do, every one having left Town, so in the evening Uncle Geoffrey took us to the Exhibition to go down in the Water Shoot. That is _lovely_, Mamma, only I had to sit beside Lettice, because Clara was frightened and would be with her father. A horrid man behind, who, I suppose, was not holding on, flopped right on to us at the bump in the water, and then said, "Beg pardon, dears," and it made Uncle Geoffrey so cross he would not let us go down any more, and we had to go home and to bed. I am just scribbling this before breakfast.

We go on to Great-aunt Maria's by the eleven train. I am glad Cousin Octavia is going to take me out next season instead of Aunt Mary, which was first suggested. I know I should not have been good with her. She is not a bit like you, darling Mamma. I hope you are better; I shan't see you again until next Saturday, when I leave Heaviland Manor. It is a long time.--With love from your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

_Wednesday, August 3rd_.

Dearest Mamma,--I can't think why you made me come here! Agnès has been so sniffy and condescending ever since this morning; but I have remarked that Uncle John's valet is only about forty and has a roving eye! so perhaps by to-morrow morning I shan't have my hair screwed off my head! But I feel for Agnès, only in a different way.

[Sidenote: _A Quiet Evening_]

It is a stuffy, boring place. You remember the house--enormous, tidy, hideous, uncomfortable. Well, we had _such_ a dinner last night after I arrived--soup, fish, everything popped on to the table for Great-uncle John to carve at one end, and Great-aunt Maria at the other! A regular aquarium specimen of turbot sat on its dish opposite him, while Aunt Maria had a huge lot of soles. And there wasn't any need, because there were four men-servants in the room who could easily have done it at the side; but I remember you said it was always like that when you were a little girl. Well, it got on to puddings. I forgot to tell you, though, there were plenty of candles on the table, without shades, and a "bouquet" of flowers, all sorts (I am sure fixed in sand), in a gold middle thing. Well, about the puddings--at least four of them were planted on the table, awfully sweet and jammy, and Uncle John was quite irritated with me because I could only eat two; and Aunt Maria, who has got as deaf as a post, kept roaring to old Major Orwell, who sat next her, "Children have no healthy appetites as in our day. Eh! what?" And I wanted to scream in reply, "But I am grown up now, Aunt Maria!"

Uncle John asked me every question over and over, and old Lady Farrington's false teeth jumped so once or twice that I got quite nervous. That is the party, me, Major Orwell, Lady Farrington, and Uncle and Aunt.

When dessert was about coming, _everything_ thing got lifted from the table, and before you could say "Jack Robinson" off whisked the cloth. I was so unprepared for it that I said "Oh!" and ducked my head, and that made the cloth catch on old Lady Farrington's cap--she had to sit on my side of the table, to be out of the draught--and, wasn't it _dreadful_, it almost pulled it off, and with it the grey curls fixed at the side, and the rest was all bald. So that was why it was so loose--there was nothing to pin it to! And she glared at me, and fixed it as straight as she could, but it had such a saucy look all the rest of the evening.

I did apologise as well as I could, and there was such an awkward pause; and after dinner we had coffee in the drawing-room, and then in a little time tea, and between times they sat down to whist, all but Aunt Maria--so they had to have a dummy. She wanted to hear all about you, she said, and my going to visit in France; and so I had to bellow descriptions of your neuralgia, and about Mme. de Croixmare being my godmother, &c., and Aunt Maria says, "Tut, tut!" as well as "Eh! what?" to everything. I had not remembered a bit what they were like; but I was only six, wasn't I, when we came last?

After she had asked every sort of thing about you under the sun, she kept giving longing glances at the dummy's cards; so I said, "Oh! Aunt Maria, I am afraid I am keeping you from your whist." As soon as I could make her hear, you should have seen how she hopped up like a two-year-old into the vacant seat; and they were far more serious about it than any one was at Nazeby, where they had hundreds on, and Aunt Maria and the others only played for counters--that long mother-o'-pearl fish kind. I looked at a book on the table, Lady Blessington's "Book of Beauty," and I see then every one got born with champagne-bottle shoulders. Had they been paring them for generations before, I wonder? Because old John, the keeper at Hendon, told me once that the best fox-terriers arrive now without any tails, their mothers' and grand-mothers' and great-grandmothers' having been cut off for so long; but I wonder, if the fashion changed, how could they get long tails again? There must be some way, because all of us now have square shoulders. But what was I saying? Oh! yes, when I had finished the "Beauty Book," I heard Aunt Maria getting so cross with the old boy opposite her. "You've revoked, Major Orwell," she said, whatever that means.

[Sidenote: _An Old English Dinner_]