no, Sydney,” protested Mr. Enderby; “not when he has had no cost nor trouble about the feast. March off. You are only one of the company. Stand there, Matilda, and remember you must look very polite. I shall hide behind the acacia there, and come in with the ladies.”
A sudden and pelting shower was now falling, however; and instead of hiding behind a tree, Mr. Enderby had to run between the house and the schoolroom, holding umbrellas over the ladies’ heads, setting clogs for them, and assuring Mrs. Grey at each return that the feast could not be deferred, and that nobody should catch cold. Mr. Grey was on the spot; to give his arm to Mrs. Enderby, who had luckily chanced to look in—a thing which “she really never did after dinner.” Mr. Hope had been seen riding by, and Mrs. Grey had sent after him to beg he would come in. Mr. Rowland made a point of being present: and thus the summer-house was quite full—really crowded.
“I am glad Mrs. Rowland keeps away,” whispered Mrs. Grey to Sophia. “She would say it is insufferably hot.”
“Yes; that she would. Do not you think we might have that window open? The rain does not come in on that side. Did you ever see such a feast as the children have got? I am sure poor Elizabeth and I never managed such a one. It is really a pity Mrs. Rowland should not see it. Mr. Rowland should have made her come. It looks so odd, her being the only one to stay away!”
The room resounded with exclamations, and admiration, and grave jokes upon the children. Notwithstanding all Uncle Philip could do, the ingenuous little girls answered to every compliment—that Mr. Enderby brought his, and that that and the other came out of Uncle Philip’s pocket. They stood in their places, blushing and laughing, and served out their dainties with hands trembling with delight.
Maria’s pleasure was, as usual, in observing all that went on.
She could do this while replying, quite to the purpose, to Mrs. Enderby’s praise of her management of the dear children, and to George’s pressing offers of cake; and to Mr. Rowland’s suspicions that the children would never have accomplished this achievement without her, as indeed he might say of all their achievements; and to Anna’s entreaty that she would eat a pink comfit, and then a yellow one, and then a green one; and to Mrs. Grey’s wonder where she could have put away all her books and things, to make so much room for the children. She could see Mr. Hope’s look of delight when Margaret declined a cup of chocolate, and said she preferred tasting some of the cowslip-tea. She saw how he helped Mary to pour out the tea, and how quietly he took the opportunity of getting rid of it through the window behind Margaret, when she could not pretend to say that she liked it. She observed Mr. Rowland’s somewhat stiff politeness to Hester, and Mr. Enderby’s equal partition of his attentions between the two sisters. She could see Mrs. Grey watching every strawberry and sugar-plum that went down the throats of the little Rowlands, and her care, seconded by Sophia’s, that her own children should have an exactly equal portion of the good things. She believed, but was not quite sure, that she saw Hester’s colour and manner change as Mr. Hope came and went, in the course of his service about the table; and that once, upon receiving some slight attention from him, she threw a hasty glance towards her sister, and turned quite away upon meeting her eye.
The rain had not prevented the servants from trying to amuse themselves with witnessing the amusement of the family. They were clustered together under umbrellas at the window nearest the stables, where they thought they should be least observed. Some commotion took place among them, at the same moment that an extraordinary sound became audible, from a distance, above the clatter of plates, and the mingling of voices, in the summer-house.
“What in the world is that noise?” asked Margaret.
“Only somebody killing a pig,” replied Sydney, decidedly.
“Do not believe him,” said Mr. Enderby. “The Deerbrook people have better manners than to kill their pigs in the hearing of ladies on summer afternoons.”
“But what is it? It seems coming nearer.”
“I once told you,” said Mr. Enderby, “that we possess an inhabitant, whose voice you might know before her name. I suspect it is that same voice which we hear now.”
“A human voice! Impossible!”
“What is the matter, Alice?” Mrs. Grey asked of her maid out of the window.
“Oh, ma’am, it is Mrs. Plumstead! And she is coming this way, ma’am. She will be upon us before we can get to the house. Oh, ma’am, what shall we do?”
Mrs. Grey entreated permission of the ladies to allow the maid-servants to come into the summer-house. Their caps might be torn from their heads before they could defend themselves, she said, if they remained outside. Of course, leave was given instantly, and the maids crowded in, with chattering teeth and many a tale of deeds done by Mrs. Plumstead, in her paroxysms of rage.
The children shared the panic, more or less: and not only they. Mr. Grey proposed to put up the shutters of the windows nearest to the scene of action; but it was thought that this might draw on an attack from the virago, who might let the party alone if she were left unnoticed by them. She was now full in sight, as, with half Deerbrook at her heels, she pursued the object of her rage through the falling shower, and amidst the puddles in front of the stables. Her widow’s cap was at the back of her head, her hair hanging from beneath it, wet in the rain: her black gown was splashed to the shoulders; her hands were clenched; her face was white as her apron, and her vociferations were dreadful to hear. She was hunting a poor terrified young countrywoman, who, between fright and running, looked ready to sink.
“We must put a stop to this,” cried Mr. Grey and Mr. Rowland, each speaking to the other. It ended with their issuing forth together, looking as dignified as they could, and placing themselves between the scold and her victim. It would not do. They could not make themselves heard; and when she shook her fist in their faces, they retired backwards, and took refuge among their party, bringing the victim in with them, however. Mr. Enderby declared this retreat too bad, and was gone before the entreaties of his little nieces could stop him. He held his ground longer; and the dumb show he made was so energetic as to cause a laugh in the summer-house, in the midst of the uneasiness of his friends, and to call forth shouts of mirth from the crowd at the virago’s heels.
“That will not do. It will only exasperate her the more,” said Mr. Hope, pressing his way to the door. “Let me pass, will you?”
“Oh, Mr. Hope! Oh, sir!” said Alice, “don’t go! Don’t think of going, sir! She does not mind killing anybody, I assure you, sir.”
“Oh, Mr. Hope, don’t go!” cried almost everybody. Maria was sure she heard Hester’s voice among the rest. The young countrywoman and the children grasped the skirts of his coat; but he shook them off, laughing, and went. Little Mary loved Mr. Hope very dearly. She shot out at the door with him, and clasped her hands before Mrs. Plumstead, looking up piteously, as if to implore her to do Mr. Hope no harm. Already, however, the vixen’s mood had changed. At the first glimpse of Mr. Hope, her voice sank from being a squall into some resemblance to human utterance. She pulled her cap forward, and a tinge of colour returned to her white lips. Mr. Enderby caught up little Mary and carried her to her mamma, crying bitterly. Mr. Hope might safely be left to finish his conquest of the otherwise unconquerable scold. He stood still till he could make himself heard, looking her full in the face; and it was not long before she would listen to his remonstrance, and even at length take his advice, to go home and compose herself. He went with her, to ensure the good behaviour of her neighbours, and had the satisfaction of seeing her lock herself into her house alone before he returned to his party.
“It is as you told me,” said Margaret to Mr. Enderby; “Mr. Hope’s power extends even to
