83. LXXXIII.
I AM THROWN INTO CONFUSION BY MISS HENRIETTA
On the trellised porch we met Mrs. Fitzhugh and her gay
niece, Miss Henrietta, who uttered many exclamations at my appearance.
I merely said that my chase had resulted in nothing,
and no further allusion was made to the visit of Lieutenant Will
Surry.
The excellent old lady led the way into the house, and insisted
upon giving me a good supper. Mordaunt had supped, he said,
and he and Miss Grafton remained upon the porch, conversing
in the light of the splendid August moon. The Moor remained
in charge of the horses—but I could see that his dark eyes were
fixed upon Miss Grafton.
During the meal, which was a marvellous and exciting
spectacle to the eyes of a hungry soldier, I was amused by the
gay sallies of Miss Henrietta, and the delightfully plain-spoken
views of Mrs. Fitzhugh. I have stated, on a former page, that
the excellent old dame had the habit of saying exactly what she
thought upon every subject. If she did not like anybody, she
was very apt to say so, and give the grounds of her opinion. I
soon found that she did not like Captain Baskerville—upon
whom the conversation soon chanced to turn.
Here is how that happened:
Surry, with his mouth full: “Have you heard from the Oak
lately, Mrs. Fitzhugh?”
Mrs. Fitzhugh, busily knitting by the fire, while Miss Henrietta
pours out: “Several times, and all are well but May. I
believe she is pining away at the idea of marrying that Captain
Baskerville. They are engaged, but May can't bear him—and
her opinion of him is perfectly just.”
Surry, with deference and interest: “Her opinion of Captain
Baskerville, madam?”
Mrs. Fitzhugh, knitting more busily; Yes, she has not a particle
of respect for him, my dear. I forget, you are not one of
my nephews. May can't respect Captain Baskerville, and she
can't bear the idea of marrying him. As sure as you sit there,
Mr. Surry, that man is a mean person. I never was mistaken in
human face, and I know Frederick Baskerville besides. He
always has been mean. He would sell his soul for money, and he
don't care a rush for May Beverley or any one else, for themselves.”
Surry: “You surprise me, Mrs. Fitzhugh! I thought Captain
Baskerville was rich, and Miss Beverley by no means
so.”
Mrs. Fitzhugh: “Yes, he is rich, but so is May. Her uncle,
an old bachelor, who was very fond of her, by his will, when
she was fourteen, left her at least one hundred servants; and, as
sure as you are sitting there, that is what Frederick Baskerville
is marrying her for. His property is almost entirely in land,
and he wants servants. May is a fine-looking girl—we are of
very good family—and Frederick Baskerville thinks that altogether,
with the hundred servants, it is, to speak vulgarly, a
good speculation.”
Surry: “Can Miss May Beverley suspect this motive?”
Mrs. Fitzhugh: “I believe she does, but she knows Frederick
Baskerville, and can't bear him. It is wicked in my
brother to insist upon the marriage upon that trumpery idea
that he is bound by his word to the elder Baskerville. As sure
as fate, Captain Baskerville—I'd like to know where he got his
title—will make May Beverley wretched; for he is mean, my
dear—excuse me—and not what we old people call a gentleman.”
I need not say that the reasoning of this excellent lady appeared
to me irresistible. I had never listened to a train of
argument which impressed me as more brilliant and conclusive.
Perhaps this arose from the fact that our views upon the subject
of Captain Baskerville exactly coincided.
I was indulging these reflections when Miss Henrietta, that mischievous
young damsel, burst into a ringing laugh, and cried:
“Aunty! you don't know how you are delighting Major
Surry!”
“I? How, my dear?”
“Why, he is in love with cousin May!”
Surry feels a profound conviction that he is blushing violently.
“Just look at him!” exclaimed the young witch; “he is coloring
like a girl when she is courted.”
I tried to laugh.
“How do you know how they feel under those circumstances,
mademoiselle, at sweet sixteen!”
“I know well enough!” replied Miss Henrietta with great
candor.
Mrs. Fitzhugh had looked up. She now smoothed the heel
of the stocking she was knitting upon her knee, and said with
perfect quietness:
“I wish May would marry you, Mr. Surry. Why don't you
ask her? Your family is very good—like ours—and we should
not have a Baskerville connection.”
To these excessively plain words I could find nothing to reply,
and only attempted a laugh. Miss Henrietta's gay voice came
to my relief, and I rose from table.
“I am sorry I teased you!” whispered Miss Henrietta.
“You ought to be.”
“Why don't you take aunt's advice, and court cousin May?”
“Absurd; she cares nothing for me.”
Miss Henrietta looked at me intently, and said in a low tone:
“Must I offer you some advice?”
“If you please.”
“Ask cousin May,” she whispered, “if she doesn't care for
you; and you will then find one reason why she doesn't want to
marry Captain Baskerville!”
There was a whole volume of meaning in the audacious smile,
and again I felt that disagreeable sensation in the cheeks which
I am informed proceeds from the act of blushing.
Violet Grafton and Mordaunt, however, entered at this
moment, and a diversion took place. There was nothing whatever
in Miss Grafton's countenance to show that her conversation
with Mordaunt had been anything more than that of
one friend with another; her face was perfectly tranquil and
happy.
Mordaunt took his seat by Mrs. Fitzhugh, and they conversed
for a quarter of an hour. He then rose, and said he must
return to camp. As he bowed and turned away, I heard the old
lady say:
“Violet, my dear, your friend, Mr. Mordaunt, is a very fine
gentleman indeed. His family must be very good—like ours.”
I laughed, and, informing Mordaunt that I would accompany
him, buckled on my pistol and sabre—articles which Mordaunt
had not laid aside.
Man proposes, only. At that instant rapid hoof-strokes resounded
without; Achmed's pistol was fired; and, looking
through the door, we saw a whole company of Federal cavalry
gallop into the grounds.
At their head, as they approached through the moonlight, I
recognized Fenwick.
