The Beth Book
extremely good girl, is Harriet," he proceeded as soon as he could
speak; "up at four o'clock every morning."
"I wish to goodness _my_ trollop was," said Lady Benyon. "She gets
later every day. Where did you go last night?"
"Oh--I had been loitering among the tombs, so to speak," he answered
largely.
Beth was eating cold beef stolidly, but without much appetite because
of her cold, and also because there was hot chicken, and Uncle James
had not given her her choice. Uncle James kept looking at her. He
found it hard to let her alone, but she gave him no cause of offence
for some time. Her little nose was troublesome, however, and at last
she sniffed. Uncle James looked at Lady Benyon.
"Have you observed," he said, "that when a child has a cold she never
has a pocket-handkerchief?"
Beth produced a clean one with a flourish, and burst out laughing.
"What's the matter, Puck?" Lady Benyon asked, beaming already in
anticipation.
"Oh, nothing. Only I said Uncle James would say that if I sniffed.
Didn't I, Mildred?"
But Mildred, too wary to support her, looked down demurely.
"Puck," said Lady Benyon, "you're a character."
"There are good characters and there are bad characters," Uncle James
moralised.
"Arrah, thin, it isn't a bad character you'd be afther givin' your own
niece," Beth blarneyed; and then she turned up her naughty eyes to the
ceiling and chanted softly: "What will Jimmie-wimmie give his
duckie-dearie to be good? A nice--sweet--kiss!"
Uncle James's big white face became suddenly empurpled.
"Gracious! he's swallowed wrong," Lady Benyon exclaimed in alarm.
"Drink something. You really should be careful, a great fat man like
you."
Uncle James coughed hard behind his handkerchief, then began to
recover himself. Beth's eyes were fixed on his face. Her chaunt had
been a sudden inspiration, and its effect upon the huge man had
somewhat startled her; but clearly Uncle James was afraid she was
going to tell.
"How funny!" she ejaculated.
Uncle James gasped again.
"What _is_ the matter, Puck?" Lady Benyon asked.
"Oh, I was just thinking--thinking I would ask Uncle James to give
Mildred some chicken."
"Why, of course, my dear child!" Uncle James exclaimed, to everybody's
astonishment. "And have some yourself, Beth?"
"No, thank you," Beth answered. "I'm full."
"Beth!" her mother was beginning, when she perceived that Uncle James
was laughing.
"Now, that child is really amusing," he said--"_really_ amusing."
No one else thought this last enormity a happy specimen of her wit,
and they looked at Uncle James, who continued to laugh, in amazement.
"Beth," he said, "when luncheon is over I shall give you a
picture-book."
Beth accordingly had to stay behind with him after the others had left
the dining-room.
"Beth," he began in a terrible voice, as soon as they were alone
together, trying to frighten her; "Beth, what were you doing last
night?"
"I was meditating among the tombs," she answered glibly; "but I never
heard them called by that name before."
"You bad child, I shall tell your mamma."
"Oh for shame!" said Beth. "Tell-tale! And if you tell I shall. I saw
you kissing Jenny-penny."
Uncle James collapsed. He had been prepared to explain to Beth that he
had met the poor girl with some rustic lover, and was lecturing her
kindly for her good, and making her go in, which would have made a
plausible story had it not been for that accursed kissing. Of course
he could insist that Beth was lying; the child was known to be
imaginative; but then against that was the emotion he had shown. Lady
Benyon had no very high opinion of him, he knew, and once she obtained
a clue she would soon unravel the truth. No, the only thing was to
silence Beth.
"Beth," he said, "I quite agree with you, my dear child. I was only
joking when I said I would tell your mamma. Nothing would induce me to
tell tales out of school."
Beth smiled up at him frankly: "Nor me neither. I don't believe you're
such a bad old boy after all."
Uncle James winced. How he would have liked to throttle her! He
controlled himself, however, and even managed to make a smile as he
got up to leave the room.
"I say, though," Beth exclaimed, seeing him about to depart, "where's
that picture-book?"
"Oh!" he ejaculated. "I had forgotten. But no, Beth, it would never
do. If I give it to you now, it would look like a bribe; and I'm sure
you would never accept a bribe."
"I should think not," said Beth.
And it was long years before she understood the mean adroitness of
this last evasion.
CHAPTER XIV
There are those who maintain that a man can do everything better than
a woman can do it. This is certainly true of nagging. When a man nags,
he shows his thoroughness, his continuity, and that love of sport
which is the special pride and attribute of his sex. When a man nags,
he puts his whole heart into the effort; a woman only nags, as a rule,
because the heart has been taken out of her. The nagging woman is an
over-tasked creature with jarred nerves, whose plaint is an expression
of pain, a cry for help; in any interval of ease which lasts long
enough to relax the tension, she feels remorse, and becomes amiably
anxious to atone. With the male nag it is different. He is usually
sleek and smiling, a joyous creature, fond of good living, whose
self-satisfaction bubbles over in artistic attempts to make everybody
else uncomfortable. This was the kind of creature Uncle James Patten
was. He loved to shock and jar and startle people, especially if they
were powerless to retaliate. Of two ways of saying a thing he
invariably chose the more disagreeable; and when he had bad news to
break, it added to his interest in it if the victim felt it deeply and
showed signs of suffering.
One morning at breakfast it might have been suspected that there was
something unpleasant toward. Uncle James had read prayers with such
happy unction, and showed such pleased importance as he took his seat.
"Aunt Victoria," he lisped, "I have just observed in yesterday's paper
that money matters are in a bad way. There has been a crisis in the
city, and your investments have sunk so low that your income will be
practically nil."
"What!" said Aunt Victoria incredulously, "the shares you advised me
to buy?"
"Those are the ones, yes," he answered.
"But, then--I fear you have lost money too," she exclaimed.
"Oh no, thank you," he assured her, in a tone which implied reproach,
"_I_ never speculate."
"James Patten," said Aunt Victoria quietly, "am I to understand that
you advised me to buy stock in which you yourself did not venture to
speculate?"
"Well--er--you see," he answered with composure, "as speculation was
against my principles, I could not take advantage of the opportunity
myself, but that seemed to me no reason why you should not try to
double your income. It may have been an error of judgment on my part;
I am far from infallible--far from infallible. But I think I may claim
to be disinterested. I did not hope to benefit myself----"
"During my lifetime," Aunt Victoria suggested, in the same tone of
quiet self-restraint. "I see. My modest fortune would not have been
much in itself to a man of your means; but it would have been a
considerable sum if doubled."
"Yes, doubles or quits, doubles or quits," said Uncle James, beaming
on Aunt Victoria as if he were saying something reassuring. "Alas! the
family failing!"
"It is a new departure, however, for the family--to gamble at other
people's expense," said Aunt Victoria.
"Alas! poor human nature," Uncle James philosophised, shaking his
head. "You never know--you never know."
Aunt Victoria looked him straight in the eyes, but made no further
show of emotion, except that she sat more rigidly upright than usual
perhaps, and the rose-tint faded from her delicate face, leaving it
waxen-white beneath her auburn front.
Uncle James ate an egg, with a pious air of thankfulness for the
mercies vouchsafed him.
"And where will you live now, Aunt Victoria?" he asked at last, with
an affectation of as much concern as he could get into his fat voice.
For many years he had insisted that Fairholm was the proper place for
his mother's sister, but then she had had money to leave. "Do not
desert us altogether," he pursued. "You must come and see us as often
as your altered circumstances will admit."
Great-Aunt Victoria Bench bowed expressively. Aunt Grace Mary grew
very red in the face. Mrs. Caldwell seemed to be controlling herself
with difficulty.
"There will be a spare room in my cottage, Aunt Victoria," she said.
"I hope you will consider it your own, and make your home with me."
"Thank you kindly, Caroline," the old lady answered; "but I must
consider."
"It would be a most proper arrangement," Uncle James genially decided;
"and you would have our dear little Beth, of whom you approve, you
know, for an interest in life."
Beth left her seat impulsively, and, going round to the old lady,
nestled up to her, slipped her little hand through her arm, and glared
at Uncle James defiantly.
The old lady's face quivered for a moment, and she patted the child's
hand.
But no more was said on the subject in Beth's hearing; only, later,
she found that Aunt Victoria was going to live with them.
Uncle James had suddenly become quite anxious that Mrs. Caldwell
should be settled in her own little house; he said it would be so much
more comfortable for her. The little house was Aunt Grace Mary's
property, by the way--rent, ten pounds a year; but as it had not been
let for a long time, and it did houses no good to stand empty, Uncle
James had graciously lent it to his sister. When she was so settled in
it that it would be a great inconvenience to move, he asked for the
rent.
During the next week he drove every day to the station in Aunt Grace
Mary's pony-carriage, to see if Mrs. Caldwell's furniture had arrived
from Ireland; and when at last it came, he sent every available
servant he had to set the house in order, so that it might be ready
for immediate occupation. He also persuaded Harriet Elvidge, his
invaluable kitchen-maid, to enter Mrs. Caldwell's service as
maid-of-all-work. There is reason to believe that this arrangement was
the outcome of Uncle James's peculiar sense of humour; but Mrs.
Caldwell never suspected it.
"It will be nice for you to have some one I know all about," Uncle
James insisted, "and with a knowledge of cooking besides. And how glad
you will be to sleep under your own roof to-night!" he added in a tone
of kindly congratulation.
"And how glad you will be to get rid of us," said Beth, thus early
giving voice to what other people were only daring to think.
As soon as they were settled in the little bow-windowed house, it
became obvious that there would be differences of opinion between
mamma and Great-Aunt Victoria Bench. They differed about the cooking,
about religion, and about the education of children. Aunt Victoria
thought that if you cooked meat a second time it took all the goodness
out of it. Mrs. Caldwell liked stews, and she said if the joints were
under-done at first, as they should be, re-cooking did _not_ take the
goodness out of the meat; but Aunt Victoria abominated under-done
joints more than anything.
The education of the children was a more serious matter, however--a
matter of principle, in fact, as opposed to a matter of taste. Mrs.
Caldwell had determined to give her boys a good start in life. In
order to do this on her very limited income, she was obliged to
exercise the utmost self-denial, and even with that, there would be
little or nothing left to spend on the girls. This, however, did not
seem to Mrs. Caldwell to be a matter of much importance. It is