The appearance of the Cadurcis family on the limited stage of her life, and the engrossing society of her companion, had entirely distracted the thoughts of Venetia from a subject to which in old days they were constantly recurring, and that was her father. By a process which had often perplexed her, and which she could never succeed in analysing, there had arisen in her mind, without any ostensible agency on the part of her mother which she could distinctly recall, a conviction that this was a topic on which she was never to speak. This idea had once haunted her, and she had seldom found herself alone without almost unconsciously musing over it. Notwithstanding the unvarying kindness of Lady Annabel, she exercised over her child a complete and unquestioned control. Venetia was brought up with strictness, which was only not felt to be severe, because the system was founded on the most entire affection, but, fervent as her love was for her mother, it was equalled by her profound respect, which every word and action of Lady Annabel tended to maintain.
In all the confidential effusions with Plantagenet, Venetia had never dwelt upon this mysterious subject; indeed, in these conversations, when they treated of their real and not ideal life, Venetia was a mere recipient: all that she could communicate, Plantagenet could observe; he it was who avenged himself at these moments for his habitual silence before third persons; it was to Venetia that he poured forth all his soul, and she was never weary of hearing his stories about Morpeth, and all his sorrows, disgusts, and afflictions. There was scarcely an individual in that little town with whom, from his lively narratives, she was not familiar; and it was to her sympathising heart that he confided all his future hopes and prospects, and confessed the strong pride he experienced in being a Cadurcis, which from all others was studiously concealed.
It had happened that the first Christmas Day after the settlement of the Cadurcis family at the abbey occurred in the middle of the week; and as the weather was severe, in order to prevent two journeys at such an inclement season, Lady Annabel persuaded Mrs. Cadurcis to pass the whole week at the hall. This arrangement gave such pleasure to Plantagenet that the walls of the abbey, as the old postchaise was preparing for their journey, quite resounded with his merriment. In vain his mother, harassed with all the mysteries of packing, indulged in a thousand irritable expressions, which at any other time might have produced a broil or even a fray; Cadurcis did nothing but laugh. There was at the bottom of this boy’s heart, with all his habitual gravity and reserve, a fund of humour which would occasionally break out, and which nothing could withstand. When he was alone with Venetia, he would imitate the old maids of Morpeth, and all the ceremonies of a provincial tea party, with so much life and genuine fun, that Venetia was often obliged to stop in their rambles to indulge her overwhelming mirth. When they were alone, and he was gloomy, she was often accustomed to say, ‘Now, dear Plantagenet, tell me how the old ladies at Morpeth drink tea.’
This morning at the abbey, Cadurcis was irresistible, and the more excited his mother became with the difficulties which beset her, the more gay and fluent were his quips and cranks. Puffing, panting, and perspiring, now directing her waiting-woman, now scolding her man-servant, and now ineffectually attempting to box her son’s ears, Mrs. Cadurcis indeed offered a most ridiculous spectacle.
‘John!’ screamed Mrs. Cadurcis, in a voice of bewildered passion, and stamping with rage, ‘is that the place for my cap-box? You do it on purpose, that you do!’
‘John,’ mimicked Lord Cadurcis, ‘how dare you do it on purpose?’
‘Take that, you brat,’ shrieked the mother, and she struck her own hand against the doorway. ‘Oh! I’ll give it you, I’ll give it you,’ she bellowed under the united influence of rage and pain, and she pursued her agile child, who dodged her on the other side of the postchaise, which he persisted in calling the family carriage.
‘Oh! ma’am, my lady,’ exclaimed the waiting-woman, sallying forth from the abbey, ‘what is to be done with the parrot when we are away? Mrs. Brown says she won’t see to it, that she won’t; ‘taynt her place.’
This rebellion of Mrs. Brown was a diversion in favour of Plantagenet. Mrs. Cadurcis waddled down the cloisters with precipitation, rushed into the kitchen, seized the surprised Mrs. Brown by the shoulder, and gave her a good shake; and darting at the cage, which held the parrot, she bore it in triumph to the carriage. ‘I will take the bird with me,’ said Mrs. Cadurcis.
‘We cannot take the bird inside, madam,’ said Plantagenet, ‘for it will overhear all our conversation, and repeat it. We shall not be able to abuse our friends.’
Mrs. Cadurcis threw the cage at her son’s head, who, for the sake of the bird, dexterously caught it, but declared at the same time he would immediately throw it into the lake. Then Mrs. Cadurcis began to cry with rage, and, seating herself on the open steps of the chaise, sobbed hysterically. Plantagenet stole round on tip-toe, and peeped in her face: ‘A merry Christmas and a happy new year, Mrs. Cadurcis,’ said her son.
‘How can I be merry and happy, treated as I am?’ sobbed the mother. ‘You do not treat Lady Annabel so. Oh! no; it is only your mother whom you use in this manner! Go to Cherbury. Go by all means, but go by yourself; I shall not go: go to your friends, Lord Cadurcis; they are your friends, not mine, and I hope they are satisfied, now that they have robbed me of the affections of my child. I have seen what they have been after all this time. I am not so blind as some people think. No! I see how it is. I am nobody. Your poor mother, who brought you up, and educated you, is nobody. This is the end of all your Latin and French, and your fine lessons. Honour your father and your mother, Lord Cadurcis; that’s a finer lesson than all. Oh! oh! oh!’
This allusion to the Herberts suddenly calmed Plantagenet. He felt in an instant the injudiciousness of fostering by his conduct the latent jealousy which always lurked at the bottom of his mother’s heart, and which nothing but the united talent and goodness of Lady Annabel could have hitherto baffled. So he rejoined in a kind yet playful tone, ‘If you will be good, I will give you a kiss for a Christmas-box, mother; and the parrot shall go inside if you like.’
‘The parrot may stay at home, I do not care about it: but I cannot bear quarrelling; it is not my temper, you naughty, very naughty boy.’
‘My dear mother,’ continued his lordship, in a soothing tone, ‘these scenes always happen when people are going to travel. I assure you it is quite a part of packing up.’
‘You will be the death of me, that you will,’ said the mother, ‘with all your violence. You are worse than your father, that you are.’
‘Come, mother,’ said her son, drawing nearer, and just touching her shoulder with his hand, ‘will you not have my Christmas-box?’
The mother extended her cheek, which the son slightly touched with his lip, and then Mrs. Cadurcis jumped up as lively as ever, called for a glass of Mountain, and began rating the footboy.
At length the postchaise was packed; they had a long journey before them, because Cadurcis would go round by Southport, to call upon a tradesman whom a month before he had commissioned to get a trinket made for him in London, according to the newest fashion, as a present for Venetia. The commission was executed; Mrs. Cadurcis, who had been consulted in confidence by her son on the subject, was charmed with the result of their united taste. She had good-naturedly contributed one of her own few, but fine, emeralds to the gift; upon the back of the brooch was engraved:—
TO VENETIA, FROM HER AFFECTIONATE BROTHER, PLANTAGENET.
‘I hope she will be a sister, and more than a sister, to you,’ said Mrs. Cadurcis.
‘Why?’ inquired her son, rather confused.
‘You may look farther, and fare worse,’ said Mrs. Cadurcis. Plantagenet blushed; and yet he wondered why he blushed: he understood his mother, but he could not pursue the conversation; his heart fluttered.
A most cordial greeting awaited them at Cherbury; Dr. Masham was there, and was to remain until Monday. Mrs. Cadurcis would have opened about the present immediately, but her son warned her on the threshold that if she said a word about it, or seemed to be aware of its previous existence, even when it was shown, he would fling it instantly away into the snow; and her horror of this catastrophe bridled her tongue. Mrs. Cadurcis, however, was happy, and Lady Annabel was glad to see her so; the Doctor, too, paid her some charming compliments; the good lady was in the highest spirits, for she was always in extremes, and at this moment she would willingly have laid down her life if she had thought the sacrifice could have contributed to the welfare of the Herberts.
Cadurcis himself drew Venetia aside, and then, holding the brooch reversed, he said, with rather a confused air, ‘Read that, Venetia.’
‘Oh! Plantagenet!’ she said, very much astonished.
‘You see, Venetia,’ he added, leaving it in her hand, ‘it is yours.’
Venetia turned the jewel; her eye was dazzled with its brilliancy.
‘It is too grand for a little girl, Plantagenet,’ she exclaimed, a little pale.
‘No, it is not,’ said Plantagenet, firmly; ‘besides, you will not always be a little girl; and then, if ever we do not live together as we do now, you will always remember you have a brother.’
‘I must show it mamma; I must ask her permission to take it, Plantagenet.’
Venetia went up to her mother, who was talking to Mrs. Cadurcis. She had not courage to speak before that lady and Dr. Masham, so she called her mother aside.
‘Mamma,’ she said, ‘something has happened.’
‘What, my dear?’ said Lady Annabel, somewhat surprised at the seriousness of her tone.
‘Look at this, mamma!’ said Venetia, giving her the brooch.
Lady Annabel looked at the jewel, and read the inscription. It was a more precious offering than the mother would willingly have sanctioned, but she was too highly bred, and too thoughtful of the feelings of others, to hesitate for a moment to admire it herself, and authorise its acceptance by her daughter. So she walked up to Cadurcis and gave him a mother’s embrace for his magnificent present to his sister, placed the brooch itself near Venetia’s heart, and then led her daughter to Mrs. Cadurcis, that the gratified mother might admire the testimony of her son’s taste and affection. It was a most successful present, and Cadurcis felt grateful to his mother for her share in its production, and the very proper manner in which she received the announcement of its offering.