Joan Haste by H. Rider Haggard (ereader manga .txt) 📕

A GHOST OF THE PAST

Lady Graves sat at breakfast in the dining-room at Rosham, where she

had arrived from London on the previous evening, to welcome home her

son and her daughter-in-law. Just as she was rising from the table the

butler brought her a telegram.

“Your master and mistress will be here by half-past eleven, Thomson,”

she said. “This message is from Harwich, and they seem to have had a

very bad crossing.”

“Indeed, my lady!” answered the old man, whose face, like the house of

Graves, shone with a renewed prosperity; “then I had better give

orders about the carriage meeting them. It’s a pity we hadn’t a little

more notice, for there’s many in the village as would have liked to

give Sir Henry and her ladyship a bit of a welcome.”

“Yes, Thomson; but perhaps they can manage something of that sort in a

day or two. Everything is ready, I suppose? I have not had time to go

round yet.”

“Well, I can’t say that, my lady. I think that some of them there

workmen won’t have done till their dying day; and the smell of paint

upstairs is awful. But perhaps your ladyship would like to have a

look?”

“Yes, I should, Thomson, if you will give the orders about the

carriage and to have some breakfast ready.”

Thomson bowed and went, and, reappearing presently, led Lady Graves

from room to room, pointing out the repairs that had been done to

each. Emma’s money had fallen upon the nakedness of Rosham like spring

rains upon a desert land, with results that were eminently

satisfactory to Lady Graves, who for many years had been doomed to

mourn over threadbare carpets and shabby walls. At last they had

inspected everything, down to the new glass in the windows of the

servants’ bedrooms.

“I think, Thomson,” said Lady Graves, with a sigh of relief, “that,

taking everything into consideration, we have a great deal to be

thankful for.”

“That’s just what I says upon my knees every night, my lady. When I

remember that if it hadn’t been for the new mistress and her money

(bless her sweet face!) all of us might have been sold up and in the

workhouse by now, or near it, I feel downright sick.”

“Well, you can cheer up now, Thomson, for, although for his position

your master will not be a rich man, the bad times are done with.”

“Yes, my lady, they are done with; and please God they won’t come no

more in my day. If your ladyship is going to walk outside I’ll call

March, as I know he’s very anxious to show you the new vinery.”

“Thank you, Thomson, but I think I will sit quiet and enjoy myself

till Sir Henry comes, and then we can all go and see the gardens

together. Mr. and Mrs. Milward are coming over this afternoon, are

they not?”

“Yes, I believe so, my lady; that is, Miss Ellen—I mean Mrs.

Milward—drove round with her husband yesterday to look at the new

furniture in the drawing-room, and said that they should invite

themselves to dinner to-night to welcome the bride. He’s grown

wonderful pleasant of late, Mr. Milward has, and speaks quite civil to

the likes of us since Sir Henry’s marriage; though March, he do say

it’s because he wants our votes—for I suppose you’ve heard, my lady,

that he’s putting up for Parliament in this division—but then March

never was no believer in the human heart.”

“Yes, I have heard, and I am told that Miss Ellen will pull him

through. However, we need not think of that yet. By the way, Thomson,

tell March to cut a bowlful of sweet peas and have them put in your

mistress’s room. I remember that when she was here as a girl, nearly

three years ago, she said that they were her favourite flower.”

When Thomson had gone Lady Graves sat herself down near the open door

of the hall, whence she could see the glowing masses of the rose-beds

and the light shifting on the foliage of the oaks in the park beyond,

to read the morning psalms in accordance with her daily custom. Soon,

however, the book dropped from her hand and she fell to musing on the

past, and how strangely, after all its troubles, the family that she

loved, and with which her life was interwoven, had been guided back

into the calm waters of prosperity. Less than a year ago there had

been nothing before them but ruin and extinction—and now! It was not

for herself that she rejoiced; her hopes and loves and fears were for

the most part buried in the churchyard yonder, whither ere long she

must follow them; but rather for her dead husband’s sake, and for the

sake of the home of his forefathers, that now would be saved to their

descendants.

Truly, with old Thomson, she felt moved to render thanks upon her

knees when she remembered that, but for the happy thought of her visit

to Joan Haste, things might have been otherwise indeed. She had since

heard that this poor girl had married a farmer, that same man whom she

had seen in the train when she went to London; for Henry had told her

as much and spoken very bitterly of her conduct. The story seemed a

little curious, and she could not altogether understand it, but she

supposed that her son was right, and that on consideration the young

woman, being a person of sense, had chosen to make a wise marriage

with a man of means and worth, rather than a romantic one with a poor

gentleman. Whatever was the exact explanation, without doubt the issue

was most fortunate for all of them, and Joan Haste deserved their

gratitude. Thinking thus, Lady Graves fell into a pleasant little

doze, from which she was awakened by the sound of wheels. She rose and

went to the front door to find Henry, looking very well and bronzed,

helping his wife out of the carriage.

“Why, mother, is that you?” he said, with a pleasant laugh. “This is

first-rate: I didn’t expect from your letter that you would be down

before to-morrow,” and he kissed her. “Look, here is my invalid; I

have been twenty years and more at sea, but till last night I did not

imagine that a human being could be so sick. I don’t know how she

survived it.”

“Do stop talking about my being sick, Henry, and get out of the way,

that I may say how you do to your mother.”

“Well, Emma,” said Lady Graves, “I must say that, notwithstanding your

bad crossing, you look very well—and happy.”

“Thank you, Lady Graves,” she answered, colouring slightly; “I am both

well and happy.”

“Welcome home, dear!” said Henry; and putting his arm round his wife,

he gave her a kiss, which she returned. “By the way,” he added, “I

wonder if there is any news of your father.”

“Thomson says he has heard that he is not very grand,” answered Lady

Graves. “But I think there is a postcard for you in his writing; here

it is.”

Henry read the card, which was written in a somewhat shaky hand. It

said:—

“Welcome to both of you. Perhaps Henry can come and give me a look

to-morrow; or, if that is not convenient, will you both drive over

on the following morning?

“Yours affectionately,

“G. L.”

“He seems pretty well,” said Henry. “But I’ll drive to Bradmouth and

take the two o’clock train to Monk’s Vale, coming back to-night.”

“Ellen and her husband are going to be here to dinner,” said Lady

Graves.

“Oh, indeed! Well, perhaps you and Emma will look after them. I dare

say that I shall be home before they go. No, don’t bother about

meeting me. Probably I shall return by the last train and walk from

Bradmouth. I must go, as you remember I wrote to your father from

abroad saying that I would come and see him to-day, and he will have

the letter this morning.”

After her interview with Mr. Levinger, for the first time in her life

Joan slept beneath her father’s roof—or rather she lay down to sleep,

since, notwithstanding her weariness, the scene through which she had

passed, together with the aching of her heart for all that she had

lost, and its rebellion against the fate which was in store for her on

the morrow, made it impossible that she should rest. Once towards

morning she did doze off indeed, and dreamed.

She dreamt that she stood alone upon a point of rock, out of all sight

or hope of shore, while round her raged a sea of troubles.