Read Ebook: Hazelhurst by Hunt Enid Leigh Foulger Dorothy Illustrator

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Ebook has 1417 lines and 71467 words, and 29 pages

Guy, the eldest, through great good fortune and the exertion of influential friends, had become a private secretary in a Government office, for which post he was taken from college, and was now earning a modest income. Cecil, the second, was abroad, doing well in the Indian Civil Service. Gerald, the third, articled to a chartered accountant, was hoping to pass his examination in a couple of years. Hugh, the fourth, and Teddie, the fifth Le Mesurier boy, both at the present time "something in the City," accompanied their brother Gerald to town each Monday morning, returning to the family roof-tree for the week-end, so hungering for the simple delights of their quiet home, and for the sweet, fresh air of their beloved woods, that from the train window, as they approached their destination, each curly head would be thrust forth to catch the first sight of Hazel, who never failed to be awaiting their arrival upon the platform, her eager face and glad eyes an earnest of her welcome; and each famous pair of lungs would greedily drink in each faintest breeze wafted to them from the direction of Hazelhurst.

Gerald, of a steady, plodding temperament, gave no slightest cause for uneasiness, either to his mother or to the kind patron who had helped the boy to this opening in life. But, alas, of Hugh and Teddie otherwise! Cyril Westmacott, a younger brother of Helen's, had kept the two boys at school till the age of eighteen, but, having sons of his own, could not afford a college education to follow. Hugh, therefore, for the last two years, had lived a somewhat desultory life since leaving school till the present time, when he held a rather vague position in a London office--a life which greatly unfitted the boy, never of a studious or persevering nature, for such steady application as nondescript appointments in the City render desirable for the attainment of a more lucrative post.

Teddie, only a few months from school, was equally restless under restraint and impatient of all monotony. Unfortunately, monotony constituted, in great part, the high-stooled City life of the two youngest Le Mesurier boys.

To-day was Monday, a depressing fact to Hazel, who accompanied three long-legged and long-faced brothers to the station, some two miles distant from Hazelhurst, with mournful regularity in the early morning of that day, come wet, come shine, after a hearty breakfast at half-past six, served to the party by Miles, who, respectful and deeply sympathetic, urged one and all to keep up their strength for the trying ordeal they were about to undergo. Nor were his efforts vain, for no excitation of mind, not even that of sorrow, to the best of his knowledge, had ever affected the wonderful appetites of his young masters.

And now the girl, returned to the quiet house to find her mother not yet risen, had found its solitude unbearable, the very echoes that the famous Le Mesurier voice had awakened within its walls having died now into quite disproportionate silence, it seemed to Hazel, who, fleeing to the woods, had given herself up to sad meditation, in which the wistful desire to earn money herself held prominent place.

Lying on a bed of soft mosses, she lost herself in thought, and more than an hour must have passed when the sound of footsteps fell upon her startled ears. Raising herself to a distrustful sitting posture, the girl awaited what should chance, presently descrying the figure of Miles the butler, evidently in quest of herself, though at the moment of her discovery she could perceive him passing among the trees along many and divergent tracks.

"Miles," she cried, "Miles"; and, springing to her feet, the girl ran to meet the old servant. "Is mother asking for me?" she inquired.

To her surprise, for all answer, Miles, rummaging in the breast pocket of his coat, produced an orange-coloured envelope: a telegram addressed to Hazel; and, placing the missive upon a tiny salver he was carrying, presented it to his young mistress; then retiring a few paces, awaited her pleasure.

Truly the two figures presented an odd contrast one to the other; the girl slim, graceful, upright as the feathery larch near which she stood, pink-cheeked, bright-eyed, the embodiment of delicate, supple youth; the old man, clothed in shabby black, the fresh green around rendering his poor habiliments more rusty-looking and threadbare than ever, the baggy knees lending to his attitude the effect of a curtsey from which he had never recovered. Yet the face, though seamed with many a line, was fresh-coloured and well favoured, possessing a cheery, bland expression, born of peace and contentment--heritage of advancing age into which, alas, all too few come.

Hazel, recovering from her astonishment at finding herself the recipient of a message of sufficient importance to necessitate a telegram, with trembling fingers opened the envelope and read the following words:

"Been sacked: break news gently to mother: meet afternoon train, TEDDIE."

"Miles," the girl said tremulously--and as the servant approached she regarded him in awed solemnity--"to be sacked is to be discharged, isn't it?"

"Yes, miss," Miles replied, his eyes almost as dilated as those of his young mistress, "is--is the message from one of the young gentlemen, miss? Has one of them been--er--discharged, miss, if I may make so free?"

Hazel, flushing red, then pale, read aloud the contents of the telegram, Miles listening with bated breath; after which the two regarded one another in silence, both guiltily conscious that their emotions were not altogether of such a nature as the occasion seemed to demand.

True, Hazel did feel consternation in that this darling of her heart, this same Teddie, who for three long months had been self-supporting, was now to be returned to them: for the girl was aware that her idol, to put into words her own half-sad, half-humorous thoughts on the subject, was an expensive luxury; that the slender resources of Hazelhurst were sorely tried during the redoubted Teddie's visitations. Her mind was further exercised as to the cause of his dismissal, though she guessed it to be, and rightly, largely owing to the, it must be confessed, somewhat peppery temper of Teddie. She was distressed, on these several accounts, for the sake of her mother, from whom it was essentially necessary to keep all matters of a character likely to prove agitating or disturbing. So that it was with feelings very mixed, though a delicious exultation predominated, that Hazel made her way to the house to acquaint her mother, using what gentle tact she might, with the exciting intelligence. Miles followed. In his way he was equally rejoiced with his little lady, for the quietude of Hazelhurst from Monday at 7 a.m. till Saturday at 4 p.m. was hardly more to his taste than to hers.

On the threshold Hazel paused and, turning, asked Miles to bring her a glass of port and biscuits, it being close upon the customary hour at which her mother partook of that refreshment.

On entering her mother's room, Hazel found herself in the moment of time for the performance of the duties of tirewoman; for Helen, seated before the mirror, brush in hand, was engaged in smoothing her hair, somewhat surprised at her little daughter's tardiness to be at this, her dearly loved, self-imposed task. Setting the wine upon a side-table, Hazel crossed the spacious room, and, kneeling beside her mother's chair, placed her arms about her and kissed her.

"Good morning to you, sweet my mother," she said, gaily, looking lovingly upon the delicate face that was so dear to her. "I hope I see you well and that you have only just begun to brush your hair. You were not up when I came home this morning, and I have got late somehow. I was in the wood, where I do believe," the girl added, half laughing, "that time is not."

With that she rose to her feet and, taking the brush from the table, where her mother had laid it--the better to return her daughter's caress--with gentle hand proceeded to smooth the masses of fair hair that rippled and waved so like her own; presently, with deft fingers, skilfully twisting and coiling it into a great knot behind the shapely head. Then assisting her mother to exchange her dressing-gown for a simple morning-gown of some soft, black material--Helen always wore black--the girl placed the tray containing biscuits and wine before her, bidding her eat and drink whilst she told her some news.

"Really important news," Hazel said, "and not altogether good," she added, rather at a loss to know how to follow Teddie's wise dictate, of which her own heart so wholly approved.

"It cannot be altogether bad," her mother returned, "though half afraid: you also look very glad about something, Hazel."

"Well," Hazel responded, "I must not keep you on tenterhooks, mother; so, if you promise to keep before you the delicious, really delicious, view of the case, and try not to mind the--er--rather awkward side, I will tell you. Teddie has been sack--has been dismissed, you know," Hazel amended, then paused and regarded her mother apprehensively.

To her immense relief, Helen, albeit a little startled at this really alarming intelligence, was smiling at her daughter's ingenuous way of breaking the same.

"One can't help being glad, can one?" Hazel said simply, her countenance radiant, quite mistaking the tenor of her mother's thoughts. And the girl, fully reassured, dropped all hesitancy of speech and, becoming less guarded in the expression of her exultant joy, proceeded without further dalliance to lay before her mother a hundred-and-one good reasons for rejoicing in the return of this redoubtable youngest son, only lamenting the lack of a fatted calf for killing.

"We must hope that he will find something to do before leaving his present position," Helen remarked, Stroking the soft pink cheek, as Hazel, having exhausted her repertory to hand, paused to collect further store wherewith to swell the arguments in favour of her generous premises.

Her raptures thus unwittingly checked, she could only gaze upon her mother in mute dismay, truly concerned to find that so important a detail of the momentous announcement had yet to be imparted.

"Dearest," she said at length, "that is not likely. He has so little time--the--the fact is, he is coming home to-day"; and she drew from her bosom, where it had lain, carefully concealed, the fateful pink paper.

"Hazel," her mother exclaimed, more alarmed than the girl had yet seen her, "what can he have done to be dismissed at a moment's notice? Something must be seriously wrong!"

"He has probably shied an inkpot at Carrots' head," Hazel returned laconically. "But, motherling, he may get some job or another quite quickly. You know what taking manners Teddie has, how every one likes him the first moment of seeing him."

"Hazel, my dear child, what extraordinary expressions! You really must not use such words," Helen remonstrated, her breath fairly taken away by the girl's remarkable suggestion as the solution of the proposition, and her glib and peculiar phraseology in wording it. "And why," Helen proceeded, "why should you imagine that Teddie, a gentleman--a Le Mesurier--should so demean himself as to throw inkpots at--er--at Carrots, did you say, dear? at Carrots' head? Who is Carrots, pray?"

"I don't know who he is, motherling. They call him Carrots at the office because his hair is so red--Carrots or the Lout. Teddie generally speaks of him as the Lout," Hazel rejoined meekly, in pretty penitence.

"Well, you see, mother dear," the girl interposed, eager to justify herself, "Teddie did it once before--I thought he would have told you--and so I supposed it not unlikely, considering how he enjoyed doing it that time--having tasted blood, as it were--he should, if roused, be unable to resist doing it again. He says there was a fearful row that time," she went on enthusiastically, "Carrots gave a sort of bellow when the inkpot struck him, and at that moment, who should come into the room but--the boss. I am not exactly using slang now, mother," the girl hastened to explain, breaking off the narrative at this most critical juncture, "I am only quoting Teddie, who tells the story so graphically--somehow, more classical language would not suit it. Now would it?" she asked, quaintly deprecative.

"Yes, I do that rather," Hazel admitted contritely. "I must always let people know I am quoting. That would make it better, at all events less bad, wouldn't it, mother?" and she nestled fondly against her mother's knee.

"Well, go on, dearie." And Helen smiled to herself as she stroked the curly head. "What happened when Mr. Hamilton came in?"

Thus encouraged, Hazel resumed the thread of her narrative. "Teddie says that Carrots blubbed pretty badly--mind, dear, I am quoting Teddie," the girl again interrupted herself, somewhat abashed to find that the tale seemed to fairly bristle with words of doubtful repute, "and, being a sneak, he instantly went and blabbed."

"What is that?" Helen asked. "It is fortunate you don't quote Teddie very often, Hazel."

"He told the--Mr. Hamilton all about it," Hazel explained, "and Mr. Hamilton said: 'Le Mesurier,'"--here Hazel assumed a dramatic pose, suggestive of righteous wrath denouncing an evildoer--"'Le Mesurier, if such scandalous behaviour occurs again, I shall discharge you on the spot. Had you been any young man other than you are,'" Hazel continued, speaking in a voice that would make righteous wrath itself tremble, "'I should have requested you to leave my office instantly. As it is, I shall expect you to apologise to Mr.'--I don't know his name, mother--'and to make what amends you can for your most unwarrantable behaviour.'"

"And did Teddie apologise?" Mrs. Le Mesurier asked, much diverted.

"Not he," Hazel cried exultantly. "The sequel to the story bespeaks the character of both. Teddie offered Carrots five shillings instead--you know what a very little pocket-money he has, mother; and if you will believe it, the Lout accepted it. The next day," Hazel continued, after a pause devoted to pacing the room in some excitement, "Mr. Hamilton called Teddie into his private office, and inquired whether a reconciliation had been effected. Teddie answered that Carrots was satisfied. 'You did apologise, then, Le Mesurier?' Mr. Hamilton asked, Teddie thought in some surprise, though he tried to hide it. 'No, sir,' says Teddie. 'No?' says Mr. Hamilton, puzzled. 'You said just now that the young man was satisfied. Explain yourself, if you please.' 'I did not apologise, I would rather leave you, sir, than do so; I offered five shillings instead, and the'--I think Teddie said the cad," Hazel broke off apologetically, "'and the cad accepted it.'"

"Yes?" Mrs. Le Mesurier said interrogatively, too much interested to expostulate.

"That was all," Hazel returned. "Teddie says that just then Mr. Hamilton had a fit of coughing, and, as he held his handkerchief to his face, Teddie could not see the expression. So he took Mr. Hamilton's wave of the hand as a sign to leave him, and went."

"My boy must have entertained an extraordinarily poor opinion of the young man, to have proposed giving him money instead of asking his pardon," Mrs. Le Mesurier commented.

"Yes indeed," agreed Hazel. "It was a far worse insult than having an inkpot thrown at your head. But Teddie was justified in his opinion, mother, for Carrots was quite pleased."

"And you don't know what it was that so angered Teddie in the first instance?" Mrs. Le Mesurier asked.

"No, he would never tell me," Hazel answered.

On this fateful Monday the five o'clock train was miraculously punctual. At precisely two minutes to the hour its serpentine, many-jointed body rounded the bend of the line, gracefully and with dignity, being neither flurried nor dilatory in its smooth, gliding motion, emitting neither shrill whistle nor vulgar puffings, as some quite well-appointed trains do, thinking to force recognition of the length of their run and their hard-pressed punctuality by triumphant noise or most distressful breathing. It is true that the great engine gave vent to a soft, long-drawn sigh, and that its huge body seemed to pulsate slightly as the train ranged itself obligingly along the platform; but so unostentatiously, so obviously desiring not to attract attention, that it was to be supposed the monster's heart really was a little delicate, occasioning palpitation and more or less exhaustion.

A fair, curly head, unmistakably a Le Mesurier's, had emerged from the window of a third-class compartment some ten minutes before the train was stationed, drinking in, with the usual rapacity, the sweet sun-warmed air; and presently, the bend rounded, a smile lighted the boyish face, as his eyes fell on a little figure in brown cotton gown and shady straw hat standing upon the platform.

"Confound it all," muttered the youngest son of Hubert Le Mesurier--to whose memory, peace--"here I have been practising how to make a long face, for decency's sake, and was really beginning to feel a bit low; and now the first glimpse of Hazel upsets it all, and away goes melancholy."

Resisting a desire to fling himself from the train while it was still in motion, as was his custom, Teddie, awaiting his time, descended to the platform as one whose soul is heavy within him; and Hazel, her sunny smile checked at sight of her brother's demeanour, came toward him sedately, in deference to his feelings.

"How did she take it?" were Teddie's first words, spoken in somewhat hollow accents.

"Much better than you would think," Hazel responded, seeking to reassure him. "Of course, she hopes you will get some other employment quickly; and--and, of course, Teddie dear, she is rather troubled as to what it was, you know. She is naturally afraid that something rather serious may have occurred."

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