The Red Court Farm: A Novel (Vol. 1 of 2)Wood, Henry, Mrs.
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The Red Court Farm: A Novel (Vol. 1 of 2)
Wood, Henry, Mrs.
English fiction -- 19th century
"And fuming at it too," returned Mr. Lake, with a light laugh. "We had
an adventure. Getting out at Coombe Dalton in the supposition that
there was plenty of time, the train went on without us. I am really
sorry, though, for it has delayed your dinner."
"Oh that is nothing," was the answer, spoken in a spirit of
politeness. "I would rather not dine at all than dine alone."
Mr. Lake sat down on the bench, took up her scissors, and seemed
inclined to make himself at home. She glanced at his bright blue eyes,
dancing with light gaiety and with admiration of her fair self.
"I think nothing is more pleasant than a country-house filled with
visitors," she observed, tying a sudden break in the silk of her work,
and holding out her hand for the scissors to cut the ends off.
"When they can do as they like," added Mr. Lake. "We shall remain
until tomorrow night or Wednesday morning, I believe, and must make
the most of it. And you--do you remain long?"
"My stay is quite uncertain."
"At least I hope you will be here until Wednesday. After that there'll
be nothing to stay for; all the pleasure and the freedom must end;
liberty will be replaced by restraint."
His tone had become serious. She paused again in her work, and lifted
her eyes to speak.
"What restraint?"
"Mrs. Chester has sold her liberty to a Begum. Surely you must have
heard of it! An old Indian Begum, who is coming to stay here, and
takes possession the middle of the week. We must all be upon our good
behaviour before her. No fun to go on then."
"An Indian Begum!" uttered the young lady, staring at him.
"Nothing less formidable, I assure you. She is expected to make the
journey from town on an elephant. I shall draw a sketch of her after
dinner for private circulation: shawls, fans, woolly hair, and
propriety. She's a widow; the relict of a Sir George Ellis; we must
not so much as whisper before her."
The lady laughed.
"Mrs. Chester has laid down rules for our conduct," he went on, in a
rattling sort of fashion. "The last time I was at Guild she saw me
snatch a kiss from a pretty girl who was staying with her; and a few
days ago she appeared at my house with an inquiry of what I supposed
my Lady Ellis would think of such conduct. You have no conception what
a nightmare this Begum is to me--this old relict of a K.C.B."
"Really I don't wonder. Shawls, fans, woolly hair, and, an elephant!
Old and ugly! Did you say ugly?"
"As if a Begum could be anything else! Not that her ugliness or
beauty could affect one; but her interfering with the liberty of a
fellow--that does it."
"But--according to your version--it is Mrs. Chester who seems to be
interfering; not the Begum."
"It is all the same; excepting that, for Mrs. Chester we should not
care, and for the Begum, I suppose, we must. I did think of getting a
few days' fishing here this charming weather, but that's over now. I
shall never stand that Begum--twirling one's thumbs before her; and
speaking in measured monosyllables."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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