can be coming here to stay, papa? We have nothing fit to receive him; no establishment, no accomodation. He cannot surely be coming to stay!”
“If he comes he must take things as he finds them. I shall not put myself out of the way, neither need you. ‘Not able to do it, my lord,’ I shall say to him; ‘Frank Chesney’s too poor; had his family bestirred themselves, old Frank might have carried his head a notch higher.’ All you need do, Jane, is to see that he has a shake-down, a hammock slung for him, somewhere. I suppose that can be managed; there’s the spare room off mine; and for the rest, let him take what he finds.”
“Still I can hardly understand why he should be coming,” resumed Jane, after a pause. “He———”
“Is he in London or at Chesney Oaks?” interrupted Lucy, looking up from her bread-and-milk.
“At Chesney Oaks, my dear,” said Jane.
“He went down a month ago, when his poor young wife was buried, and I think he has remained there.”
“Whew!” interposed the captain, “I can understand it. He is coming cutting across the country from Chesney Oaks to Great Wennock for a day or two on some political business, and so intends to make a convenience of my house to stay in and to have his letters sent to. Very condescending of him indeed!”
“Papa,” said Lucy, somewhat anxiously, “don’t you like Lord Oakburn?”
“Well—yes, I like him well enough, what I know of him; but I hold that I had great grievances against his father. What’s the post-mark of the letter, Jane?”
Jane Chesney turned the letter over and made out the mark “Pembury.” It was the post-town in the vicinity of the Earl of Oakburn’s seat, Chesney Oaks.
“He must have started then, I should think,” remarked Jane, “and this has been sent after him.”
“How did he know our address here, papa?” asked Lucy.
“How did he know our address here?” repeated the captain, in choler. “What should hinder his knowing it? Do I live with my head under a bushel, pray? When I changed from Plymouth to this neighbourhood, the family received intimation of it; and didn’t I write to the earl the other day when his wife died? Was I not asked to the funeral, stupid; and couldn’t go because of that confounded gout!”
“Lucy’s only a child, papa,” soothingly interposed Jane. “She does not reflect.”
“Then she ought to reflect,” said the captain, “and not show herself a simpleton. He’ll be wanting another wife soon, I suppose, so you had better look out, Miss Laura, and set your cap at him when he comes. You’d not make a bad countess.”
The grim sailor spoke in jest. To give him his due, he was not capable of scheming for his daughters in any way. Laura, however, seemed to take the words in earnest, She had sat silent over her nearly untasted breakfast, her face bent; but it was lifted now, flushing with a vivid crimson. Captain Chesney laughed; he thought his random and meaningless shaft must have struck home to her vanity, exciting visions of a peeress’s coronet, pleasing as they were foolish. But Jane, who had also noticed the blush, attributed it to a different cause, and one that pleased her not.
“Papa,” resumed Lucy, venturing on another question, “how far is it from this to Chesney Oaks?”
“About thirty miles, little mouse.”
“I think I ought to have holiday from my lessons to-day, as Lord Oakburn is coming,” continued the child, glancing at Jane.
“Wait for that until he comes,” said the captain. “He’s as uncertain as the wind; all young men are; and it may be days before he gets here. He may,”—the captain drew up his head at the thought—he may be coming to consult me on business matters connected with the estate, for I am—yes I am—the next heir, now he’s a single man again. Not that I shall ever inherit; he is twenty-five and I am fifty-nine. Have you the headache this morning, Laura?”
Again came the rush of red to her face. What self-conscious feeling induced it?
“No, not this morning, papa. Why?”
“You are as silent and look as down as if you had fifty headaches. Jane,” concluded the captain as he rose, “we must have soup to-day in case he arrives.”
Jane acquiesced. This expected coming of Lord Oakburn’s was only an additional care added to the many household ones that daily oppressed her.
Breakfast over, the captain strolled out. There was a lull in the storm, and the rain had momentarily ceased. He looked up at the skies with his experienced sailor’s eye, and saw that it had not ceased for long. So he did not go beyond the garden, but went strolling about that.
Laura had departed immediately to her room. Jane placed the letter for Lord Oakburn on the mantel-piece and opened the one addressed to herself, which she had not done at breakfast. As she was reading it Captain Chesney came in to ask her for