The travellers' first stopover was at an inn on the border between Cambridge and Northampton, where Mr. Musgrave's coach was to meet him and convey him east while the same one took Borne, his new charge and his niece to the North. Albert had only to pass through Warwickshire, and then there was home – or at least the prospect of home, for Lydbrook would still be a way off. As for the remaining three, their journey was a bit lengthier; they had the whole of Northampton to cross and then the whole of Leicestershire, and when at last in the country of Derbyshire, it would take still another few hours to arrive at their final destination.
They had their dinner at the inn, though Mr. Musgrave professed to have no appetite for any luxurious meals, and contented himself with bread, cheese, and tea, while Catherine and Sarah, inspired by his simple mode of dining, ordered a bowl of strawberries and an ewer of cream. Mr. Borne was the only one to partake of a fashionable dinner, for he was a good deal too urbane to stoop to that level.
"No doubt there are some men who prefer a fashionable dinner to a rustic one, but it is my firm belief that the latter is heartier, for it restores one's strengths without all that unnecessary frill which characterises a gourmet meal," he said, while sipping his milk and wiping the dairy moustache from his upper lip. Catherine had drifted to the chair beside Albert Musgrave, for she then began to feel their impending separation, and how this one would be harder on her than the two preceding ones had been. At length, after they had all done eating and resting, Albert's coach was announced, and he was then obliged to part with his friends. He allowed for no more than a few civilities between himself and Borne, but when it came to parting with Catherine, who knew nothing of his heart, he held on to her hand longer than a more indifferent man would have done, and looked earnestly into her eyes, saying in a confidential whisper, "When will we ever cease to part, Catherine? It's as though our paths always lead us to different places – never to the same one. Nothing in Lydbrook has been the same since you left it – I wish your father had never died, and that we would have carried on in the same manner."
"Only without all the ceremony," she put in with a delighted smile.
"Yes," he mirrored her expression, almost bringing her hand to his lips in a flare of despair. The next moment, however, he dropped her hand and bowed coolly to both she and her guardian – leaving Sarah out, for he was not aware of how matters really stood – walking swiftly out of the parlour and then disappearing behind the door.
"You'll see him again, lass – depend upon it," said Borne, draping his arm over her shoulders, and giving her a light shake. "Your paths shall soon cross."
*
The day they arrived in Creswell, Derbyshire, the weather was fine for a late January afternoon, and though the sunlight was characteristically of a faint yellow, the landscape as the carriage rolled across a Lilliputian stone bridge was quite picturesque. There were trees in plentiful, and the wild grove surrounding Borne's manor afforded only short glimpses of its stone walls. However, as soon as the carriage turned the corner on the winding lane leading up to the house, Catherine, sticking her head out of the window, had a full view of the place.
She was surprised by its antiquity – it had battlements and a turret on the east side, and looked as though it had been built in the Elizabethan era. She was surprised, because though knowing her new guardian to be a wealthy man, she had never supposed him to be of such noble blood.
"D'ye like it?" he asked, as Catherine fell back breathless in her seat.
"It's splendid, Mr. Busick!" she exclaimed with a quiet smile of satisfaction. "Does it have a name?"
"Heron Hall," he said with a proud smirk – she herself was beginning, in her fondness for Borne and his home, to feel pride for it.
"I suppose," said Sarah, "That it's named af'er the bird?"
"After, my niece," he said, having entered a new habit of correcting her speech. "And yes, it was. The pond you see over there, at the foot of that small hill with the cat-tail plants, is called Heron Pond. You won't see any now, but they'll be back soon enough. My ancestors thought fit to call this miniature palace after the pond – they were all of them a jolly set."
"Is it haunted, Mr. Busick?" posed Catherine, after the silence succeeding Borne's remark had settled.
"Haunted!" he cried in a highly offended tone. "If Heron Hall had ever been haunted, all of the spirits must have been driven away by my granddad – he was a monstrous sceptic. The worst thing for a ghost's reputation is a victim who's not scared of them. Oh, you may be sure, my dear missies, that no ghosts reside in my house. There is altogether too much laughing going on." They relapsed into silence again, until the carriage came to a stop, and they all of them alighted from the said carriage. The girls were clutching each other's hands in a sisterly manner, as they stood speechless before the great house. It was a regular Tudor manor: picturesque, romantic, and fortified. The dry branches from the naked shrubbery by the arched doorway were creeping up the manor's walls like an ancient lover too desperately enamoured to quit his place under his beloved's chamber window, and battlements crowned the majestic building's roof, looking nothing like its sportive owner, who, though he loved the Hall for its remoteness and wilderness, would prefer staying in his Southern house, which was a good deal more modern – not crumbling in some places like the Hall. However, he had spent a happy childhood within its massy walls, and could not help but feel attached to the old place, where his tribe, as he put it, had risen to distinction.
"Oh, Mr. Busick!" said Catherine, in a strained voice. "It's more than a miniature palace – it's an elegant manor-house!" She was taken by its Gothic aspect; she had entertained such high expectations of the Abbey, but it had disappointed her both in its inmates and its architectural style, whereas she had entertained no romantic expectations whatever of Heron Hall, because though she had not lost her active imagination, it had been mollified, and she had realised how foolish she had been in following a strict diet of only novels. It was as though she was being rewarded for giving up some of her foolishness.
"I'm glad you like it," said Mr. Borne with a cheerful chuckle, leading the way to the front door. "Leave all your trunks in the footman's care, my little women. I must make you acquainted with the housekeeper – Mrs. Dash – and then give you a jolly tour of the house." The girls exchanged looks of sensible excitement, when their new guardian insisted that they not dawdle, and that they put that notion into practice at once. The housekeeper met them at the door, for she had seen the equipage arriving from one of the gallery windows. Though aged, she had a very gentle, pretty face, and in spite of her apparent uneasiness, greeted the newcomers with polite kindness. Catherine immediately felt endeared to the old lady, who looked to her so delicate, that someone might say she was born of a flower, and she would not have found anything preposterous about the statement.
"Good-day, Mrs. Dash," said Mr. Borne, shaking hands with her in a business-like manner. "These are my new charges. Indeed, as you know all that there is to know about them, I give you leave to talk with them of anything but the weather and the state of the roads. They are the both of them fascinating creatures, and would do well with some encouragement to be more open. Now, shall we take a turn of the house, so that the little misses may know where the silver and the bronze are kept in cases of a robbery?" Mrs. Dash tittered politely at her master's cheerfully careless sense of humour, bidding the two girls follow her in. They had not reached the vestibule, when the housekeeper turned sharply yet inoffensively to her master with apparent purpose.
"Mr. Borne, I have been awfully remiss in my duties – I hope you will forgive me, sir, but there was a gentleman who called the other day and left his card. His name is Edwin Northam. He said you'd know who he was."
"Indeed I do!" he said with a breezy smile. "Good man! He is the son of an old friend of mine, and the best man that ever lived. He may be a little too blunt at times, and care too little about his dress, but he's a capital fellow on the whole. Now, my good woman, did he tell you when he had arrived in the country?"
"Yes – the day he called."
"That is so like him!" he exclaimed, continuing along the dim passage and then pausing in the main hall. "Well, I suppose he'll be dining unexpectedly with us this evening. What do ye say to that, my girlies? I am sure you, Catherine, won't object, for you are an angel, but Sarah – I know nothing of your disposition. Have you a steady, independent spirit? The Dickens! Why am I asking her? My dear niece, you must first be properly trained by your sister and I. Until you can pronounce your words correctly – without dropping your g's or saying 'yourn,' instead of 'your' – I am forced, as a gentleman of honour, to keep you under restraint. That is, you mayn't appear in Society until you are fit for it. But not to worry – I will make a lady of you in another few months!"
"And what am I to do wi' mysel' until the day I'm fit to be seen?" she asked, with a scrutinising stare at her uncle.
"First of all – 'with,' and not, 'wi'', and 'myself,' instead of 'mysel'' – and in response to your brazen inquiry, you young witch, I must say that Catherine shall be your only companion – that is, and myself, if you don't hate me already for stripping you of your independence – for you have a free-thinking woman's zeal in you. Now, Mrs. Dash." Turning to this good lady, he said, "Shan't we proceed in touring the old Heron?"
"As you command, my dear sir," she smiled softly, the faint semblance of youth's blushes returning to her cheeks for a flitting moment, but then vanishing again. They started touring the inside first, for the gardens, though bountiful, were not as appealing as they were in the spring and summer. The decorations seemed nearly as ancient as the outside of the house, but there were some modern alterations to be seen hither and thither. The windows were large and latticed, and the furniture dark and heavy. However, to make up for the furnishings, Borne had replaced the old, dark curtains, with bright, muslin ones.
"I've spent many happy days within theses walls," said Borne, as they were strolling along the long drawing-room, which wasn't like any other Catherine had seen. Yet it was called a drawing-room – Borne afterwards told them that it had once been called the Gallery – with a piano placed in a corner and many upholstered chairs set against the walls. The windows were large and opened onto the Upper Courtyard, which was vast and promised to be blooming and beautiful in the springtime.
"It may be a little bleak," continued Borne, leaning with his hand on the chimneypiece as the ladies looked out of one of the windows. "But it is home – and I hope you girls will learn to love it as much as I."
"The gardens are sure to be beautiful in the springtime," said Catherine, looking away from the window. "And I feel already as though I had been born and reared here, like you."
"Cert'n'ly," said Sarah, drawing back from the window and sitting at the piano with a look of indecision. "It's a main romantic place."
"Certainly – and very romantic," Borne corrected her, strolling languidly to the piano. "You wish to play this old thing, Sarah?"
"I do," she said with a defiant stare at her uncle that seemed to convey, 'And I will.' However, Mr. Borne liked to tease, and went on teasing.
"I'm sure no one can play it as well as Cathy, but you can always try – with your determination one can achieve anything in the world – from invading a whole kingdom, to cheating your master into paying you higher wages than he ought to. Though I don't see what master with sense would submit to the tyranny of a servant."
"Mr. Busick," said Catherine, touching Sarah's shoulder. "Sarah isn't a servant anymore. You should not treat her with the careless disrespect of one."
"My dear, I treat her the same way I treat you," he said, moving restlessly to the door. "You neither of you have a single thing to complain of. Now then. Shall we proceed?"
*
The rest of the house was much the same: dark, bright in some places, and very spacious. Catherine was accommodated in what was called the Pink Room, and Sarah was placed in the Green Room, which was directly beside hers. Mr. Borne's chambers were in the East wing, close to the chapel; for he said that it remained the house's custom to seat the ladies in the West wing, and the gentlemen in the East wing. They spent a charming evening – Mr. Edwin Northam did not come, but sent a note to inform Mr. Borne that something prevented him from waiting on him that evening, but that he would come by the next day. They did not stay up very late, because they were all of them tired out from their journey, and as each their servants – Borne's valet, and the girls' lady's-maids – announced that a warm fire had been kindled in their hearths, they bid each other good-night, and went off in good spirits to their designated rooms.
That night, however, as Catherine lay awake in bed, the fire having almost gone out, the pain in her heart sprang back, and she let way to a tide of tears, indulging her sorrows for one last time. She recounted all the bad things that had been thrust upon her that year: her father's death, her acute disappointments at the Abbey, and her separation from Miranda. She cuddled little Molly, but kept on sobbing, praying, and speculating. When would the General be tried? When would Henrietta marry – and would Lord Kinney treat her with the respect she was due, even in spite of her ridiculousness? Would Miranda be all right? It was possible that she had lied about her brother to get Catherine out of the house. This was her last struggle with youthful grief, and as she slowly drifted into sleep, her heart hushed – and she had cried her last.