LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VII, Issue 791, 3 January 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

ANNE.

(Bv Johnny Ludlow.)

( Continued.)

‘Nearly two years; and home has not been the same to papa since. I do my best); but lam not my mother. I think it was that which made papa resolve to come to England when he found ho could afford it. Home is but trying, you sec, when the. dearest one it contained has gone out of it.’

It struck me that the house could not have had one dearer in it than Anne. She was years and years older than I, but I began to wish she was my sister. And her manners to the servant were so nice—a homely country girl, named Sally, engaged by Mr Coney. Miss Lewis told the girl that she hoped she would be happy in her new place, and that she would help her when there was much work to do. Altogether Anne Lewis was a perfect contrast to the fashionable damsels of that day, who could not make themselves out to appear too fine.

The next day was Sunday. We had just finished breakfast, and Mrs Todhetley was nursing her toothache, when Dr Lewis came in, looking more shadowy than ever in his black Sunday clothes, with the deep band on his hat. They were going to service at Timberdale, and he wanted me to go with them.

‘ Of course I have not forgotten the way to Timberdale,’ said he ; ‘ but there’s an odd, shy feeling upon me of not liking to walk about the old place by myself. Anne is

strange to it also. We shall soon get used to it, I daresay. Will you go, Johnny?’

‘ Yes, sir.’ ‘Crabb church is close by, Lewis,’ remarked the Squire, ‘ and it’s a steaming hot day.’ ‘ But I must go to Tiraberdale this morning. It was poor Jacob’s church, you know, for many j ears. And though he is no longer there, I should like to see the desk and pulpit which he filled.’

‘ Aye, to be sure,’ readily acquiesced the Squire. ‘l’d go with you myself, Lewis, but for the heat.’

Dr Lewis said he should take the roadway, not the short cut through Crabb Ravine ; it was a good round, and we had to start early. I liked Anne better than ever : no one could look nicer than she did in her trim black dress. As we walked along, Dr Lewis frequently halted to recognise old scenes, and ask me was it this or that.

‘ That fine place out yonder ? ’ he cried, stopping to point to a large stone house a mile off, partly hidden amidst its beautiful grounds. ‘ I ought to know whose it is. Let me see 1 ’

‘ It is Sir Robert Tenby’s seat—Bellwood, Your landlord, sir.’

* Aye, to be sure—Bellwood, In my time it was Sir George’s, though.’ ‘ Sir George died five or six years ago! * Has Sir Robert any family? He must be middle-aged now.’ ‘ I think he is forty-five or so. He is not married.’

‘ Does he chiefly live here ? ’ * About half his time ; the rest he spends at his house in London. He lives very quietly. We all like Sir Robert.’ We sat in the rector’s pew, having it to ourselves. Herbert Tanerton did the duty, and gave a good sermon. Nobody yet was appointed to the vacant living, which was in Sir Robert Tenby’s gift. Herbert, meanwhile, took charge of the parish, and many people thought he would get it—as he did, later.

The Bellwood pew faced the rector’s, and Sir Robert sat in it alone. A fine-looking man with greyish hair, and a (homely face that you took to at once. He seemed to pay the greatest attentien to Herbert Tanerton’s sermon ; possibly was deliberating whether he was worthy of the living or not. In the pew behind him sat Mrs Macbean, an old lady who had been housekeeper at Bellwood during two generations; and the Bellwood servants sat farther down.

We were talking to Herbert Tanerton outside the church after service, when Sir Robert came up and spoke to the parson. He, Herbert, introduced Dr Lewis to him as the late rector’s brother. Sir Robert shook hands with him at once, smiled pleasantly at Anne, and nodded to me as he continued his way. ‘Do you like your house?’ asked Herbert.

‘ I shall like it by-and-by, no doubt,’ was the doctor’s answer. ‘ I should like it now but for the paint. The smell is dreadful. ’ ‘ Oh, that will soon go off,’ cried Herbert. ‘Yes, I hope so; or I fear it will make me ill.’

In going back we took Crabb Ravine, and were at home in no time. They asked me to stay dinner, and I did so. We had a loin of lamb, and a raspberry tart, if anybody’s curious to know. Dr Lewis had taken a fancy to me : I don’t know why, unless it was that he had liked my father; and I’m sure I had taken to them. But the paint did smell badly, and that’s the truth. In all my days I don’t think I ever saw a man so incapable as Dr Lewis; so helpless as to the common affairs of life. What he would have done without Anne, I know notHe was just fit to sit down and be led like a child ; to have said to him—Come here, go there; do this, do the other. Therefore, when he asked me to run in in the morning and see if he wanted anything, I was not surprised. Anne thought he might be glad of my shoulder to lean upon when he walked about the garden. It was past eleven when I got there, for I had to do an errand first of all for the Squire. Anne was kneeling downin the parlour amidst a lot of small cuttings of plants which she had brought from France. They lay on the carpet on pieces of paper. She wore a fresh white cotton gown, with black dots upon it, and a black bow at the throat; and she looked nicer than ever.

4 Look here, Johnny; I don’t know what to do. The labels have all come off, and I can’t tell which is which. I suppose I did not fasten them on securely. Sit down—if you can find a chair.’ The chairs and tables were strewed with books, most of them French, and other small articles, just unpacked. I did not want a chair, but knelt down beside her, asking if I could help. She said no, and that she hoped to bo straight by the morrow. The doctor had stepped out, she did not know where, 4 to escape the smell of the paint. ’ 1 was deep in the pages of one of the books, 4 Los Contes do ma bonne,’ which Anne said was a great favorite of hers, though it was meant for children ; and she had her head, as before, bent over the green sprigs and labels, when a shadow, passing the open glass doors, glanced in and halted. I supposed it must be the doctor ; but it was Sir Robert Tenby. Up I started; Anne did the same quietly, and quietly invited him in.

‘ I walked over to sec Dr Lewis, and to ask whether the house required anything else done to it,’ he explained, ‘And 1 had to come early, as I am leaving the neighbourhood this afternoon.’

‘Oh thank you said Anne, it is very kind of you to come. Will you please sit down, sir,’hastily taking Jthe books off a chair. ‘ Papa is out, but I think he will not be long.’ ‘ Are you satisfied with the house ?’ he asked.

‘ Quite so, sir; and Ido not think it wants anything done to it at all. I hope you will not suppose we shall keep it in this state,’ she added, rather anxiously. ‘ When things are being unpacked, the rooms are sure to look untidy,’ Sir Hebert smiled. ‘You seem very notable, Miss Lewis.’ ‘ Oh, I do everything,’ she answered. ‘ There is nobody else. ’ He had not taken the chair, but went out, saying he should probably meet Dr Lewisleaving a message for him, about the house, in case he did not.

‘ He is your great and grand man of the neighborhood, is he not, Johnny ?’ said Anne, as she knelt down on the caipet again. ‘ Oh, he is grand enough.’ ‘ Then don’t you think he is, considering that fact, very pleasant and affable? I’m

sure he is as simple and free in manners and speech as we are.’ * Most grand men—if they are truly great are that. Your upstarts assume no end of airs!

£ I know who will never assume airs, Johnny. He has none in him.’

‘ Who’s that V ‘ Yourself.’ It made me laugh. I had nothing to assume them for. It was either that afternoon or the following one that Dr Lewis came up to the Squire and old Coney as they were talking together in the road. He told them that he could not possibly stay in the house ; he should be laid up if he did ; he must go away until the smell from the paint was he was looking ill, both saw; and they believed he did not complain without cause.

The question was, where could he go ? Mr Coney hospitably offered him houseroom ; but the doctor, while thanking him, said the smell might last a long while, and he should prefer to be independent. He had been thinking of going with Anne to Worcester for a time. Did they know of lodgings there ? ‘Better go to an hotel,’ said the Squire. ‘No trouble at an hotel.’ ‘But hotels are not comfortable. I cannot feel at home in them,’ urged the poor doctor. ‘ And they cost too must besides.’ ‘ You might chance to hit upon lodgings where you’d not be any more comfortable, Lewis. And they’d be very dull for you. ’ ‘ There’s Lake’s boarding-house,’ put in old Coney, while the doctor was looking blank and helpless. ‘ A boarding-house ? Aye, that might do, if it’s not a noisy one.’ ‘ It’s not noisy at all, cried the Squire. ‘ It’s uncommonly well conducted; sometimes there are not three visitors in the house. You and Miss Lewis would be comfortable there. And for Lake’s boarding-house Dr Lewis and Anne took their departure on the very next day. If they had but foreseen the trouble their stay at it would lead to I Chapter 11. Lake’s boarding-house stood near the cathedral. A roomy house, with rather shabby furniture in it; but in boardinghouses and lodgings people don’t, as a rule, look for gilded chairs and tables. Some years before, Mrs Lake, the wife of a professional man, and a gentlewoman, was suddenly left a widow with four infa,nt children, boys, and nothing to keep them on. What to do she did not know. And it often puzzled me to think what such poor ladies do do, left in similar straits. She had her furniture; and that was about all. Friends suggested that she should take a house in a likely situation, and try for some lady boarders ; or perhaps for some of the college boys, whose homes lay at a distance. Not to makei too long a story of it, it was what she did do. And she had been in the house ever since, struggling on (for these houses mostly do entail a struggle), sometimes flourishing in numbers, sometimes down in the dumps with empty rooms. But she had managed to bring the children up ; the two elder ones were out in the world, the two younger were still in the college school. Mrs Lake was a meek little woman, ever distracted with practical cares, especially as to stews and gravies; Miss Dinah Lake (her late husband’s sister, and a majestic lady of middle age), who lived with her, chiefly saw to the company. But now, would anybody believe that Dr Lewis was ‘ that shy,’ as their maid, Sally expressed it—or perhaps you would rather call it helpless—that he begged the Squire to let me go to Lake’s. Otherwise he should be lost, he said; and Anne, accustomed to French ways and habits, could not be of much use to him in a strange boardinghouse; Johnny knew it, and would feel at home there. When Captain Sanker and his wife (if you have not forgotten them) first came to Worcester, they stayed at Lake’s while fixing on a residence, and that’s how we became tolerably well acquainted with the Lakes. This year that lam now telling of was the one that proceeded the accident to King Sanker.

So I went with the Lewises. It was late in the afternoon when we reached Worcester, close upon the dinner hour—which was five, and looked upon as quite a fashionable hour in those days. The dinner bell had rung, and the company had filed into dinner when we got downstairs. But there was not much company in the house, Mrs Lake did not appear, and Miss Dinah Lake was in the kitchen, superintending the dishing-up of the dinner, and seeing to the ragouts and sauces ; especially upon the advent of fresh inmates, when the fare would be unusually plentiful. Mrs Lake often said she was a ‘born cook/ which was lucky, as she could not afford to keep first-rate servants. Miss Dinah sat at the head of the table, in a rustling green gown and primrose satin cap. Having an income of her own she could afford to dress. (Mrs Lake’s best gown was black silk, thin and scanty.) Next to Miss Dinah sat a fair, plump little woman, with round green eyes and a soft voice : at any rate, a soft way of speaking : who was introduced to us as Mrs Captain Podd. She in turn introduced her daughters, Miss Podd and Miss Fanny Podd : both fair like their mother, and with the same kind of round green eyes. A Mr and Mrs Mitchell completed the company ; two silent people who seemed to do nothing but eat. Dr Lewis sat by Mi’s Captain Podd : and very pleasant and attentive the doctor found her. He was shy as well as helpless ; but she talked to him freely in her low soft voice and put him altogether at his ease. My place chanced to be next to Miss Fanny Podd’s ; and she began at once to put me at ray ease, as her mother was putting the doctor.

‘ You are a stranger here, at the dinner table/ observed Miss Fanny; ‘ but we shall be good friends presently. People in this house soon become sociable. ’

‘ I am glad of that.’ 4 1 did not quite hear your name. Did you catch mine?—Fanny Podd.’ ‘Yes. Thank you. Mine is Ludlow. ’ ‘ I suppose you never w r ere at Worcester before ? ’

‘ Oh, 1 know Worcester very well indeed. I live in Worcestershire, ’

* Why I ’ cried the young lady, neglecting her soup to stare at me, *we heard you had just come over from living in France. Miss Dinah said so—that old guy at the top, yonder.’

‘ Dr and Miss Lewis have just come from France. Not 1. I know Miss Dinah Lake very well. ’ ‘Do you ! Don’t go and tell her I called her an old guy. Mamma wants to keep in with Miss Dinah, or she might be disagreeable. What a stupid town Worcester is ! ’ * Perhaps you don't know many people in it. ’

‘We don’t know anybody. We had been staying last in a garrison town. That was pleasant: so many nice officers about You could not go to the window but the re’d be some in sight. Here nobody seems bo pass; but a crew of staid old parsons.’ ‘We are near the cathedral; that’s why you see so many parsons. Are you g oing to remain long in Worcester? ’ ‘ That’s just as the fancy takes mamma. We have been here already six or seven weeks. ’ * Have you no settled home ? ’

Miss Fanny Podd pursed up her lips and shook her head. ‘We like change best. A settled home would be wretchedly dull. Ours was given up when papa died.’ Thus she entertained me to the end of dinner. We all left the table together—wine was not in fashion at Lake’s. Those who wanf ed any had to provide it for themselves ; but the present company see med to be satisfied with the home-brewed ale. Mrs Captain Podd put her arm playfully into that of Dr Lewis, and said she would show him the way to the drawing room. And so it went on all the evening : she making herself agreeable to the doctor; Miss Podd to Anne; Fanny to me. Of course it was highly good-natured of them. Mrs Podd discovered that the doc cor liked backgammon; and she looked for amo nent as cross as a wasp on finding there was i o board in the house.

* Quite an omission, my dear Miss Dinah,’ she said, smoothing away the fro . r with a sweet smile. ‘ I always thought i backgammon board was as necessary to a house as are chairs and tables. ’

Mrs Lake had a board once,’ said Miss Dinah; ‘ but the boys got possessic n of it, and somehow it was broken. Me have chess and cribbage. ’ ‘ Would you like a hand at cribbage, ray dear sir ? ’ asked Mrs Podd of the doctor.

‘ Don’t play it, ma’am,’ said he. ‘Ah ’ —with a little drawn-o it sigh. ‘Julia, love, would you mind singing one of your quiet songs ? Or a duet. Fanny, sweetest, try a quiet duet with your sister. Go to the piano. ’ If they called the duet quiet, I v ondered what they’d call noisy. You might have heard it over at the cathedral. Their playing and singing was of the style known as ‘ showy.’ Some people admire it: but it is a good thing ear-drums are not easily cracked.

The next day Mrs Podd made the hotise a present of a backgammon board : and in the evening she and Dr Lewis sat down to play. Our number had decreased, for Mr and Mrs Mitchell had left; and Mrs Lake di led with us, taking the foot of the table. Mi 33 Dinah always, I found, kept the head.

f To be continued .l