Page:010 Once a week Volume X Dec 1863 to Jun 64.pdf/646

 and the sharp tone of her voice caused Jane to know that something had displeased her.

“Papa’s gone to Chesney Oaks, Aunt Oakburn,” answered Jane, meekly waiting to receive the kiss of greeting. “He left us this morning.”

“Yes. Your servant has just told me so,” was Lady Oakburn’s answer. “And I should like to know what business he has to be darting about the country in this uncertain fashion? What took him off again so soon, pray?”

“Papa only came home to tell me of his plans and direct me what I was to do, aunt,” replied Jane, in the deprecatory manner that habit, from early childhood, had rendered a matter of course. “He stayed here two nights.”

The countess walked straight to an armchair in the drawing-room, drew it in front of the fire, sat down in it, kissed Lucy, who came running up, took off her bonnet, and handed it to Jane to put down. She was looking very cross.

“I reached Great Wennock last night on my way to Chesney Oaks, halted there, and slept. This morning, the first thing, I telegraphed to Chesney Oaks, asking whether the earl was there—your father. An hour ago the answer came back: “The earl is at Cedar Lodge, South Wennock;” and I ordered a post-carriage at once. And now that I am come here, I find him gone!”

“I am very sorry,” said Jane. “Had it been yesterday, aunt, you would have found him.”

“It is quite necessary that I should see him, Jane. Changes will have to be made at Chesney Oaks, and I intend to have a voice in them. Thoms! Where Thoms?”

She suddenly jumped from her seat, flung open the room door, and her servant came forward. “What have you done with the carriage?” she asked.

“It is at the gate, my lady.”

“Good. Let it wait. And now, Jane, if you have a biscuit and a glass of wine to give me, I’ll take it, for I shall go on to Chesney Oaks as quickly as I can. A piece of bread-and-butter will do, if you have no biscuits.”

Jane hastily got her the refreshment. “We were so grieved, Aunt Oakburn, to hear of the earl’s death,” she said; “as we had been to hear of the young countess’s. Her we did not know; but Lord Oakburn”

“Stay, Jane”—and the interruption was made in a tone strangely subdued, as contrasted with what had gone before it. “He was my grandson; I loved him for his dead father’s sake; but he is gone, and I don’t care to talk of him yet. He’s gone, he’s gone.”

Jane did not break the silence. But Lady Oakburn was not one to give any time to superfluous emotion. She rapidly ate her biscuit, drank the wine, and called to Lucy to put down the glass.

“What are your father’s plans, Jane? What does he mean to do with Chesney Oaks? He will not be rich enough to live at it.”

“I believe he intends to let it, aunt.”

“Let it! Let Chesney Oaks? That he never shall.”

“What else can he do with it? As you say, aunt, he is not rich enough to live at it, and it would not do to let it be empty, falling to decay through not being occupied.”

Lady Oakburn lifted her hand. “To think that he should have succeeded, after all! Sailor Frank! I never—Jane, I declare to you that I never so much as gave a thought to it, all through my long life.”

“And I can most truthfully say that we did not, aunt,” was Jane’s answer.

“What are you going to do? You will not stop here for long, I suppose?”

“We quit this for good in a week, and join papa at Chesney Oaks. After that, I believe, we shall go to London and settle there,”

“Best plan,” said Lady Oakburn, nodding her head. “London’s the best, if you can’t live at Chesney Oaks. But Frank shall never let it. What shall you do with this furniture?” she added, looking round at the very plain chairs and tables. “It won’t do for you now.”

“We have the house on our hands for some time longer: it was taken on a lease for three years. Papa says he shall let it furnished.”

“And what of Laura?

Jane’s heart palpitated, and her eyelids drooped as the abrupt question was put. It was worse to talk of Laura to Lady Oakburn than to her father.

“It has been a terrible blow to us all,” she breathed.

“Was she mad?”

“She was very foolish,” answered Jane.

“Foolish!” returned the countess, in exasperation, “you call an act such as that only foolish! Where did you learn morals and manners, Lady Jane?”

Jane did not answer.

“What sort of a man is he, that Carlton? A monster?”

“He is not one in appearance, certainly,” replied Jane, and had the subject been a less sad one she would have smiled. “I did not like him; apart from this unhappy business, I did