# Hollyhock House/Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN
“HE NOTHING COMMON DID OR MEAN”
“Lord Wilfrid,” “Willoughby,” “the chauffeur,” “the nobleman”—Mary found herself experimenting in her thoughts with the various guises in which this man should appear in them—drove up to the other gate of the Garden place and into the driving entrance. Mary guided him; her mother had wrapped herself in a silence more impenetrable than her motor veil, but Mary felt sure that she was enjoying herself exceedingly.
“The lordly chauffeur,” as Mary amused herself by deciding to call him to herself, stopped the car, shut off the gas, and the engine sank into silence. He then got out, opened the tonneau door, and handed out the elder and younger ladies with a courtesy equalled only by his extreme gravity.
“You are to come in, Lord Wilfrid,” said Mrs. Garden, passing him up the steps.
Mary really felt sorry for him. “He hasn’t ​done anything except be foolish, and I suppose that’s to be expected if he’s in love,” she thought generously. “We have not breakfasted, Lord Kelmscourt,” she said, with her smile that everybody found comforting. “I hope you are a little hungry, or we shall be embarrassed; it is late for us, in summer. We shall have great appetites.”
Lord Wilfrid Kelmscourt proved no exception to the rule; he quite brightened as he received Mary’s sympathetic look.
“I’m not particularly sharp set, Miss Garden,” he said. “We had a good breakfast, your brother—your uncle, is it? How curious!—and I. But I’ve no doubt I still can peck a bit.”
“That’s a suitable thing to do when you’re coming into a Garden domain!” laughed Mary. “We have such a useful name! It makes itself into little mild jokes all the time.” She threw off her close straw hat and brushed up her damp hair, which its pressure had made into small rings of glossy brown on her forehead.
The romantic lord, who for romance’s sake was ready to become such an unromantic person as a begoggled chauffeur, in a long, shapeless coat, looked admiringly at Mary.
“Fancy your being Miss Lynette Devon’s ​daughter!” he exclaimed. “Fancy her having three such beautiful daughters as she has, and not one in the least like her charming self! I can’t believe you are really her child!”
Mary looked around and saw that her mother had gone on up to her room.
“Well,” thought Mary loyally, “if she won’t encourage him, at least there’s no use in letting him think she’s old and undesirable! She doesn’t seem one bit like my mother to me either,” she said aloud. “She was such a young girl when I was born that she is like another sister, but one that we all feel we must take more care of than we ever did of our other two sisters. She is young, of course, but she’s young in other ways than years.”
“Quite right, Miss Garden!” Lord Wilfrid agreed heartily. He came close to Mary, speaking low and earnestly.
“Don’t you see that I long to take care of her myself? Don’t you think she needs a man’s protection? You would not oppose me if I tried to win her, would you? Can’t you see why I took this work to be near her?”
Mary moved away, nervously longing to laugh yet wishing to be kind to this strange being. “I can’t help feeling that we can take care of ​my mother, Mr.—Lord Kelmscourt. But, of course, if you were fond of her you’d want to do it yourself. You couldn’t expect us really to be willing to lose her, now we’ve had her, could you? I’m sure we should try not to be selfish. And any one can understand wanting to be near her—but—goggles, Lord Kelmscourt? Wouldn’t almost anything else be nicer? Goggles look so much like a huge insect! Of course you haven’t them on now, but when you wore them—they aren’t a bit romantic!” Mary had kept her face sober while she answered this guest categorically, but murmuring something about “seeing Anne,” she fairly ran away at last, to laugh her fill in the hall.
Here Win came upon her and she fairly clutched him.
“Oh, Win, I was afraid you’d gone to the office!” Mary cried.
“Found it was earlier than I thought and that I needed another breakfast,” Win explained. “What’s up, Molly? Why are your risibles risen?”
“Win, he’s not a chauffeur! He’s Lord Wilfrid Kelmscourt; he’s in love with our little mother! He saw her advertisement and took the place to be near her—says he thought the ​romance would strike her! She’d forbidden him to see her in England, you know. But he happened to be over here, and he saw her advertisement and applied. He’s disguised a little; has a beard! Mother knew him almost at once. Did you ever in all your life hear anything like it? Please take him up to your room to get ready for breakfast.”
“Say, Mary, you’re not nutty for keeps, are you? It’s only temporary, isn’t it? And did they say it was safe for you to be at large? They often attack their best friends, you know, suddenly! Keep off, Mary, and explain what has done this?” Win sat down on the reception chair, back of the door, and held out his hands, palms outermost, fending off Mary.
“Oh, Win, dear, don’t fool now!” cried Mary, laughing, but ready to cry. “He’s in there alone. Do look after him and be polite! He’s a guest now, and he’s to be sent right away, so do be polite while he lasts! I have told you; that’s the truth, just as I said it. Please hurry in, Win; you’ll sort it out when you get there. He’s Lord Wilfrid Kelmscourt; don’t forget the name.” Mary pulled Win to his feet by his coat lapels and pushed him toward the room she had just left. Win arose with a groan and ​suffered himself to be propelled to his amazing duty.
“Well, my gracious, as they say in Barrie’s stories: ‘It cows a’! It certainly cows a’! Though I never knew what that barnyard Scotticism meant, nor do I know what has befallen our family, through this chauffeur who isn’t one! He must be pretty long-sighted, since they had to forbid him in England from seeing Lynette over here! I hope to goodness you’ll get all right again, poor Molly!” When Win had disappeared through the doorway, shaking his head forebodingly for Mary’s benefit, Mary fled to find Anne and Jane and Florimel to warn them what they had to expect from him who had been the chauffeur, and that he was to breakfast with them.
Jane and Florimel, Anne, too, in her way, instantly caught fire from Mary’s stirring tidings.
“It’s a novel, a play going on right here in this house!” cried Florimel, her eyes snapping. “What a lark! As long as she doesn’t want him, isn’t it great?”
“She probably will want him,” said Jane. “It is like a novel, and in novels they always relent at the end. We’ll lose her! Lady Kelms​court she’ll be! We’ll be presented at court by her. ‘Lady Kelmscourt wore violet and point lace; Miss Garden wore Alice blue’—that wouldn’t do, not if the dresses were together! White! ‘Miss Jane Garden wore canary yellow; Miss Florimel Garden wore rose pink. The young ladies’ court trains were——’”
“Jane, for pity’s sake!” protested Mary, covering her ears.
“Miss Devon had plenty of admirers before she married and came here; lords, aplenty!” Anne said proudly. But she looked troubled. “It’s not the same now. She was a slip of a girl then, hardly older than Jane, and it was all a play to her; didn’t interest her greatly. But now—if she’s forbidden this Lord Kelmscourt to follow her, and he’s come in spite of it, mark my words you may lose your lovely girl-mother, and I my sweet lady again!”
“Anne, don’t croak!” Mary remonstrated. “We’ve got to be polite to him at breakfast, and we can’t be if we think he’s going to steal our little toy-mother! I’m sure he won’t; she meant just what she said.”
Anne sniffed. “Much you could tell of what a woman meant!” she said. “Where’s your mother now?”
​“In her room,” admitted Mary unwillingly.
“Making herself bewitching! What did I tell you?” cried Anne.
Mrs. Garden floated into the dining-room in a perfectly irresistible gown, which none of her daughters had seen before. It was all foaming pinks and white, with irruptive lace and bows of three shades of pink nestling in it, and it had an absurd cap to enhance it, that looked, on Mrs. Garden’s soft light hair, as if she had brushed against the dawn and a bit of a pink and white cloud had clung to her head.
“Does look as if Anne were right! If she isn’t, it’s rather mean to make it harder for him,” Jane whispered to Mary, while Lord Wilfrid was helping Mrs. Garden to her chair with a look that proved the wonderful morning costume not lost upon him. He, too, was wonderfully transformed by shaving and the loss of the disguising beard.
Mrs. Garden was sweetly gracious, a charming hostess. She smiled upon Lord Wilfrid and asked about acquaintances they shared in London, how his mother, Lady Kelmscourt’s eyes were; she hoped they were better. Whether his sister, the Honourable Clara, had long felt ill effects from that ugly fall from her horse? And ​whether her darling little boy, Ralph, was growing strong and big?
The Garden girls could not eat much for listening to these familiar quotations from novels, as the talk sounded to them, and also feeling that they were taking part in private theatricals. But Lord Kelmscourt seemed to consider it all perfectly natural, as indeed it was, for acquaintances meeting after separation ordinarily inquire for common friends; it was an accident that these people bore titles which made them seem unreal to the three Vineclad maidens. Mary noted with satisfaction that Lord Wilfrid did not eat like a blighted being. He did full justice to the excellent breakfast, undaunted by its predecessor of that morning.
Breakfast over, Win hesitated, looking painfully embarrassed. He did not want to betray his knowledge of what Mary had told him, that his sister-in-law had ordained that this genuine and attractive Englishman was not to remain her guest. On the other hand, Win did not want to leave the house without bidding him good-bye. Mary alone noticed that Win was in a quandary, and was turning over in her mind ways of solving his difficulty, when Lord Wilfrid ended it.
​“Are you off, Mr. Garden? You said before breakfast that you must hasten to the office; I gather that you are reading law? Now my disguise has proved so flimsy that your sister penetrated it immediately, and I must return to New York. I should be glad if I might linger in Vineclad, but the decree has gone forth I must also go forth! Awfully glad to have met you, Mr. Garden; hope to see you again. When you come over, look me up in London, if we don’t meet here. I had a delightful drive up here with you and the little girls—I beg their pardon: the young ladies! Here’s my card; that club will always give you an address to reach me.” Lord Kelmscourt shook hands with painful heartiness, clasping Win’s hand till it hurt him.
“Oh, I think I’ll see you again here; I hope so,” Win could not help saying, with unmistakable sincerity. He thoroughly liked this man, whose forty years should have been a barrier between them, but who was forty years young, and companionable to the youth of not much more than half his age.
“Shall I see your young brother-in-law again in America, Mrs. Garden?” Lord Wilfrid appealed to his hostess openly.
​“It would be quite like you,” she said with a smile. “But if you do come to Vineclad again, pray come in your proper person.”
“No objection to that, as long as you do not find my proper person improper,” laughed Lord Wilfrid, evidently relieved at not receiving a stern prohibition to return to Vineclad in any guise.
Win got his hat, Lord Kelmscourt went out to the door, and here the elder and younger man shook hands and said good-bye all over again.
“Nice boy,” Lord Wilfrid said, turning to Mary, who happened to be near him. “Though, speaking of your uncle, I suppose one should call him a man!”
“He’s only a half-uncle, my father’s half-brother. It’s the other half that is a man; at home Win is only a dear big boy.”
“I’m going immediately, Mrs. Garden,” said Lord Wilfrid, as Mrs. Garden joined them, anticipating her possible orders. “Before I go, please show me your garden.”
“Come, Mary,” said Mrs. Garden, but Mary’s heart failed her when she remembered that Lord Wilfrid had not seen her mother for a moment, except in the car and at the table.
​“I’ve got to find Jane, madrina,” she said, blind to her mother’s appeal to be supported. And she ran away not a little perturbed. For perhaps Lord Kelmscourt would seize the chance which she had given him, and plead his cause, and perhaps Mrs. Garden would relent! Mary trembled to think that her girl-mother might go the way of girls, and leave her new-found daughters desolate.
When, an hour later, Mrs. Garden and her guest returned to the house, Mary, Jane, and Florimel, watching anxiously behind the closed blinds of the upper hall, clutched one another jubilantly. Lord Wilfrid looked serious, far from glad, and their mother was as blithely unruffled as ever.
“Poor lord!” said Jane, with a revulsion of feeling; she had been hating the stranger with all her dynamic force. “She’s held on to her orders, and made him go back to New York! Of course I’m thankful, but you can see he isn’t.”
“Well, I think it’s perfectly great to have a lover, provided you send him off! I like something like this going on in the house, as long as it goes the wrong way—for him,” declared Florimel.
Mary and Jane were convulsed over this ​speech and responded to their mother’s summons to bid Lord Kelmscourt good-bye with lips that would twitch, and with cheeks reddened by amusement over Florimel’s original views of a romance.
“Good-bye, Miss Garden, good-bye, Miss Jane Garden. Good-bye, Miss Florimel Gypsy! We had a pleasant trip, we four, in the car, didn’t we? I’m sorry not to teach you to drive it, Miss Jane. Mr. Garden will do that. I hope to see you again. I’m to be allowed to visit Vineclad before I sail for home, ‘if I like.’ Do you think I shall not ‘like,’ Mary?” Lord Wilfrid said, not noticing that he had dropped his more formal address to Mary, won by the kindly blue eyes in the sweet young face smiling at him.
“I’m sure that you will come and that we shall all be glad to see you,” said Mary.
“You dear girl!” said Lord Kelmscourt, with a farewell grip of Mary’s soft hand that underscored his words.
Mr. and Mrs. Moulton came over to Hollyhock house that night, as they usually did, to sit in the garden, now rioting with midsummer bloom, for the beneficent hours of the first darkness after a warm day. They heard the story ​of the disguised chauffeur with the amusement that the girls knew that he would feel, on Mr. Moulton’s part, and the impatience which they were equally sure his wife would feel.
“Such nonsense!” she cried. “I’m glad you sent him right about, Lynette!”
“Oh, but he will come back!” protested Mrs. Garden mischievously, swung to the other side by this injudicious remark.
“I think he was a trump!” said Mark, who always came when the Moultons did, and just as surely when they did not. “He’s got the right idea; better be original, if it isn’t too sensible. You’ve got to remember him now, and talk about him, and maybe that was what he was after.”
“Well, Mark!” exclaimed Mrs. Moulton. “Where did you learn your wisdom?”
“Tell you some day!” laughed Mark, flushing.
That night the three Garden girls got together in Mary’s bedroom and sat down in their white nightgowns to a serious talk.
“It isn’t so much that I think madrina will marry this lordly chauffeur, but the thing is she isn’t safe! Some one else will see her and fall in love with her, just as the girls have, just as ​we have! For she was a total stranger to us, just as much! I’ll never feel easy again—though Chum is getting to be a watch dog!” So spoke Jane, rocking herself comfortably on the floor, with a foot in each hand, wrapped around in her gown, and her glorious hair shining around her.
Florimel stretched herself across the foot of Mary’s bed, holding up her arms to let the breeze blow up her flowing sleeves. “It would be bad enough if you or Mary were grown up and—if you were grown up, and anybody noticed it, and—and liked you, Jane,” she said delicately. “But, well, I do hope madrina won’t be too pretty—for us to keep, I mean.”
“I think Lord Kelmscourt is nice, really very nice,” said Mary. “I think, here in Vineclad, where everybody is either old, married, or uninteresting, and half the time all three, madrina will be safe enough, if she doesn’t care for the lordly chauffeur. I must say he is really nice; Win thinks so, too. And being English, madrina may enjoy being Lady Kelmscourt more than we can think. I’m frightened, that’s the truth, but I won’t worry. If it happens I’m going to like it, however I don’t!” Mary checked herself with a laugh at her own heroism. ​“What a thing it is to have a pretty little toy-mother! It’s a great responsibility!” said Jane, jesting, yet in earnest. “Three maiden ladies and their caged linnet!”
Florimel bounced over to the head of the bed with a movement so swift that she seemed to lie at both ends of the bed at once. “How do you suppose she got on in England, while we were little?” she asked, and after this sensible and pertinent suggestion there was nothing to do but to go to bed. The meeting was over for that night.