A few days after the visit to Cadurcis, when Lady Annabel was sitting alone, a postchaise drove up to the hall, whence issued a short and stout woman with a rubicund countenance, and dressed in a style which remarkably blended the shabby with the tawdry. She was accompanied by a boy between eleven and twelve years of age, whose appearance, however, much contrasted with that of his mother, for he was pale and slender, with long curling black hair and large black eyes, which occasionally, by their transient flashes, agreeably relieved a face the general expression of which might be esteemed somewhat shy and sullen. The lady, of course, was Mrs. Cadurcis, who was received by Lady Annabel with the greatest courtesy.

‘A terrible journey,’ exclaimed Mrs. Cadurcis, fanning herself as she took her seat, ‘and so very hot! Plantagenet, my love, make your bow! Have not I always told you to make a bow when you enter a room, especially where there are strangers? This is Lady Annabel Herbert, who was so kind as to call upon us. Make your bow to Lady Annabel.’

The boy gave a sort of sulky nod, but Lady Annabel received it so graciously and expressed herself so kindly to him that his features relaxed a little, though he was quite silent and sat on the edge of his chair, the picture of dogged indifference.

‘Charming country, Lady Annabel,’ said Mrs. Cadurcis, ‘but worse roads, if possible, than we had in Northumberland, where, indeed, there were no roads at all. Cherbury a delightful place, very unlike the abbey; dreadfully lonesome I assure you I find it, Lady Annabel. Great change for us from a little town and all our kind neighbours. Very different from Morpeth; is it not, Plantagenet?’

‘I hate Morpeth,’ said the boy.

‘Hate Morpeth!’ exclaimed Mrs. Cadurcis; ‘well, I am sure, that is very ungrateful, with so many kind friends as we always found. Besides, Plantagenet, have I not always told you that you are to hate nothing? It is very wicked. The trouble it costs me, Lady Annabel, to educate this dear child!’ continued Mrs. Cadurcis, turning to Lady Annabel, and speaking in a semi-tone. ‘I have done it all myself, I assure you; and, when he likes, he can be as good as any one. Can’t you, Plantagenet?’

Lord Cadurcis gave a grim smile; seated himself at the very back of the deep chair and swung his feet, which no longer reached the ground, to and fro.

‘I am sure that Lord Cadurcis always behaves well,’ said Lady Annabel.

‘There, Plantagenet,’ exclaimed Mrs. Cadurcis, ‘only listen to that. Hear what Lady Annabel Herbert says; she is sure you always behave well. Now mind, never give her ladyship cause to change her opinion.’

Plantagenet curled his lip, and half turned his back on his companions.

‘I regretted so much that I was not at home when you did me the honour to call,’ resumed Mrs. Cadurcis; ‘but I had gone over for the day to Southport, buying furniture. What a business it is to buy furniture, Lady Annabel!’ added Mrs. Cadurcis, with a piteous expression.

‘It is indeed very troublesome,’ said Lady Annabel.

‘Ah! you have none of these cares,’ continued Mrs. Cadurcis, surveying the pretty apartment. ‘What a difference between Cherbury and the abbey! I suppose you have never been there?’

‘Indeed, it is one of my favourite walks,’ answered Lady Annabel; ‘and, some two years ago, I even took the liberty of walking through the house.’

‘Was there ever such a place!’ exclaimed Mrs. Cadurcis. ‘I assure you my poor head turns whenever I try to find my way about it. But the trustees offered it us, and I thought it my duty to my son to reside there. Besides, it was a great offer to a widow; if poor Mr. Cadurcis had been alive it would have been different. I hardly know what I shall do there, particularly in winter. My spirits are always dreadfully low. I only hope Plantagenet will behave well. If he goes into his tantarums at the abbey, and particularly in winter, I hardly know what will become of me!’

‘I am sure Lord Cadurcis will do everything to make the abbey comfortable to you. Besides, it is but a short walk from Cherbury, and you must come often and see us.’

‘Oh! Plantagenet can be good if he likes, I can assure you, Lady Annabel; and behaves as properly as any little boy I know. Plantagenet, my dear, speak. Have not I always told you, when you pay a visit, that you should open your mouth now and then. I don’t like chattering children,’ added Mrs. Cadurcis, ‘but I like them to answer when they are spoken to.’

‘Nobody has spoken to me,’ said Lord Cadurcis, in a sullen tone.

‘Plantagenet, my love!’ said his mother in a solemn voice.

‘Well, mother, what do you want?’

‘Plantagenet, my love, you know you promised me to be good!’

‘Well! what have I done?’

‘Lord Cadurcis,’ said Lady Annabel, interfering, ‘do you like to look at pictures?’

‘Thank you,’ replied the little lord, in a more courteous tone; ‘I like to be left alone.’

‘Did you ever know such an odd child!’ said Mrs. Cadurcis; ‘and yet, Lady Annabel, you must not judge him by what you see. I do assure you he can behave, when he likes, as pretty as possible.’

‘Pretty!’ muttered the little lord between his teeth.

‘If you had only seen him at Morpeth sometimes at a little tea party,’ said Mrs. Cadurcis, ‘he really was quite the ornament of the company.’

‘No, I wasn’t,’ said Lord Cadurcis.

‘Plantagenet!’ said his mother again in a solemn tone, ‘have I not always told you that you are never to contradict any one?’

The little lord indulged in a suppressed growl.

‘There was a little play last Christmas,’ continued Mrs. Cadurcis, ‘and he acted quite delightfully. Now you would not think that, from the way he sits upon that chair. Plantagenet, my dear, I do insist upon your behaving yourself. Sit like a man.’

‘I am not a man,’ said Lord Cadurcis, very quietly; ‘I wish I were.’

‘Plantagenet!’ said the mother, ‘have not I always told you that you are never to answer me? It is not proper for children to answer! O Lady Annabel, if you knew what it cost me to educate my son. He never does anything I wish, and it is so provoking, because I know that he can behave as properly as possible if he likes. He does it to provoke me. You know you do it to provoke me, you little brat; now, sit properly, sir; I do desire you to sit properly. How vexatious that you should call at Cherbury for the first time, and behave in this manner! Plantagenet, do you hear me?’ exclaimed Mrs. Cadurcis, with a face reddening to scarlet, and almost menacing a move from her seat.

‘Yes, everybody hears you, Mrs. Cadurcis,’ said the little lord.

‘Don’t call me Mrs. Cadurcis,’ exclaimed the mother, in a dreadful rage. ‘That is not the way to speak to your mother; I will not be called Mrs. Cadurcis by you. Don’t answer me, sir; I desire you not to answer me. I have half a mind to get up and give you a good shake, that I have. O Lady Annabel,’ sighed Mrs. Cadurcis, while a tear trickled down her cheek, ‘if you only knew the life I lead, and what trouble it costs me to educate that child!’

‘My dear madam,’ said Lady Annabel, ‘I am sure that Lord Cadurcis has no other wish but to please you. Indeed you have misunderstood him.’

‘Yes! she always misunderstands me,’ said Lord Cadurcis, in a softer tone, but with pouting lips and suffused eyes.

‘Now he is going on,’ said his mother, beginning herself to cry dreadfully. ‘He knows my weak heart; he knows nobody in the world loves him like his mother; and this is the way he treats me.’

‘My dear Mrs. Cadurcis,’ said Lady Annabel, ‘pray take luncheon after your long drive; and Lord Cadurcis, I am sure you must be fatigued.’

‘Thank you, I never eat, my dear lady,’ said Mrs. Cadurcis, ‘except at my meals. But one glass of Mountain, if you please, I would just take the liberty of tasting, for the weather is so dreadfully hot, and Plantagenet has so aggravated me, I really do not feel myself.’

Lady Annabel sounded her silver hand-bell, and the butler brought some cakes and the Mountain. Mrs. Cadurcis revived by virtue of her single glass, and the providential cooperation of a subsequent one or two. Even the cakes and the Mountain, however, would not tempt her son to open his mouth; and this, in spite of her returning composure, drove her to desperation. A conviction that the Mountain and the cakes were delicious, an amiable desire that the palate of her spoiled child should be gratified, some reasonable maternal anxiety that after so long and fatiguing a drive he in fact needed some refreshment, and the agonising consciousness that all her own physical pleasure at the moment was destroyed by the mental sufferings she endured at having quarrelled with her son, and that he was depriving himself of what was so agreeable only to pique her, quite overwhelmed the ill-regulated mind of this fond mother. Between each sip and each mouthful, she appealed to him to follow her example, now with cajolery, now with menace, till at length, worked up by the united stimulus of the Mountain and her own ungovernable rage, she dashed down the glass and unfinished slice of cake, and, before the astonished Lady Annabel, rushed forward to give him what she had long threatened, and what she in general ultimately had recourse to, a good shake.

Her agile son, experienced in these storms, escaped in time, and pushed his chair before his infuriated mother; Mrs. Cadurcis, however, rallied, and chased him round the room; once more she flattered herself she had captured him, once more he evaded her; in her despair she took up Venetia’s ‘Seven Champions,’ and threw the volume at his head; he laughed a fiendish laugh, as, ducking his head, the book flew on, and dashed through a pane of glass; Mrs. Cadurcis made a desperate charge, and her son, a little frightened at her almost maniacal passion, saved himself by suddenly seizing Lady Annabel’s work-table, and whirling it before her; Mrs. Cadurcis fell over the leg of the table, and went into hysterics; while the bloodhound, who had long started from his repose, looked at his mistress for instructions, and in the meantime continued barking. The astonished and agitated Lady Annabel assisted Mrs. Cadurcis to rise, and led her to a couch. Lord Cadurcis, pale and dogged, stood in a corner, and after all this uproar there was a comparative calm, only broken by the sobs of the mother, each instant growing fainter and fainter.

At this moment the door opened, and Mistress Pauncefort ushered in the little Venetia. She really looked like an angel of peace sent from heaven on a mission of concord, with her long golden hair, her bright face, and smile of ineffable loveliness.

‘Mamma!’ said Venetia, in the sweetest tone.

‘Hush! darling,’ said Lady Annabel, ‘this lady is not very well.’

Mrs. Cadurcis opened her eyes and sighed. She beheld Venetia, and stared at her with a feeling of wonder. ‘O Lady Annabel,’ she faintly exclaimed, ‘what must you think of me? But was there ever such an unfortunate mother? and I have not a thought in the world but for that boy. I have devoted my life to him, and never would have buried myself in this abbey but for his sake. And this is the way he treats me, and his father before him treated me even worse. Am I not the most unfortunate woman you ever knew?’

‘My dear madam,’ said the kind Lady Annabel, in a soothing tone, ‘you will be very happy yet; all will be quite right and quite happy.’

‘Is this angel your child?’ inquired Mrs. Cadurcis, in a low voice.

‘This is my little girl, Venetia. Come hither, Venetia, and speak to Mrs. Cadurcis.’

‘How do you do, Mrs. Cadurcis?’ said Venetia. ‘I am so glad you have come to live at the abbey.’

‘The angel!’ exclaimed Mrs. Cadurcis. ‘The sweet seraph! Oh! why did not my Plantagenet speak to you, Lady Annabel, in the same tone? And he can, if he likes; he can, indeed. It was his silence that so mortified me; it was his silence that led to all. I am so proud of him! and then he comes here, and never speaks a word. O Plantagenet, I am sure you will break my heart.’

Venetia went up to the little lord in the corner, and gently stroked his dark cheek. ‘Are you the little boy?’ she said.

Cadurcis looked at her; at first the glance was rather fierce, but it instantly relaxed. ‘What is your name?’ he said in a low, but not unkind, tone.

‘Venetia!’

‘I like you, Venetia,’ said the boy. ‘Do you live here?’

‘Yes, with my mamma.’

‘I like your mamma, too; but not so much as you. I like your gold hair.’

‘Oh, how funny! to like my gold hair!’

‘If you had come in sooner,’ said Cadurcis, ‘we should not have had this row.’

‘What is a row, little boy?’ said Venetia.

‘Do not call me little boy,’ he said, but not in an unkind tone; ‘call me by my name.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Lord Cadurcis; but you may call me by my Christian name, because I like you.’

‘What is your Christian name?’

‘Plantagenet.’

‘Plantagenet! What a long name!’ said Venetia. ‘Tell me then, Plantagenet, what is a row?’

‘What often takes place between me and my mother, but which I am sorry now has happened here, for I like this place, and should like to come often. A row is a quarrel.’

‘A quarrel! What! do you quarrel with your mamma?’

‘Often.’

‘Why, then, you are not a good boy.’

‘Ah! my mamma is not like yours,’ said the little lord, with a sigh. ‘It is not my fault. But now I want to make it up; how shall I do it?’

‘Go and give her a kiss.’

‘Poh! that is not the way.’

‘Shall I go and ask my mamma what is best to do?’ said Venetia; and she stole away on tiptoe, and whispered to Lady Annabel that Plantagenet wanted her. Her mother came forward and invited Lord Cadurcis to walk on the terrace with her, leaving Venetia to amuse her other guest.

Lady Annabel, though kind, was frank and firm in her unexpected confidential interview with her new friend. She placed before him clearly the enormity of his conduct, which no provocation could justify; it was a violation of divine law, as well as human propriety. She found the little lord attentive, tractable, and repentant, and, what might not have been expected, exceedingly ingenious and intelligent. His observations, indeed, were distinguished by remarkable acuteness; and though he could not, and indeed did not even attempt to vindicate his conduct, he incidentally introduced much that might be urged in its extenuation. There was indeed in this, his milder moment, something very winning in his demeanour, and Lady Annabel deeply regretted that a nature of so much promise and capacity should, by the injudicious treatment of a parent, at once fond and violent, afford such slight hopes of future happiness. It was arranged between Lord Cadurcis and Lady Annabel that she should lead him to his mother, and that he should lament the past, and ask her forgiveness; so they reentered the room. Venetia was listening to a long story from Mrs. Cadurcis, who appeared to have entirely recovered herself; but her countenance assumed a befitting expression of grief and gravity when she observed her son.

‘My dear madam,’ said Lady Annabel, ‘your son is unhappy that he should have offended you, and he has asked my kind offices to effect a perfect reconciliation between a child who wishes to be dutiful to a parent who, he feels, has always been so affectionate.’

Mrs. Cadurcis began crying.

‘Mother,’ said her son, ‘I am sorry for what has occurred; mine was the fault. I shall not be happy till you pardon me.’

‘No, yours was not the fault,’ said poor Mrs. Cadurcis, crying bitterly. ‘Oh! no, it was not! I was in fault, only I. There, Lady Annabel, did I not tell you he was the sweetest, dearest, most generous-hearted creature that ever lived? Oh! if he would only always speak so, I am sure I should be the happiest woman that ever breathed! He puts me in mind quite of his poor dear father, who was an angel upon earth; he was indeed, when he was not vexed. O my dear Plantagenet! my only hope and joy! you are the treasure and consolation of my life, and always will be. God bless you, my darling child! You shall have that pony you wanted; I am sure I can manage it: I did not think I could.’

As Lady Annabel thought it was as well that the mother and the son should not be immediately thrown together after this storm, she kindly proposed that they should remain, and pass the day at Cherbury; and, as Plantagenet’s eyes brightened at the proposal, it did not require much trouble to persuade his mother to accede to it. The day, that had commenced so inauspiciously, turned out one of the most agreeable, both to Mrs. Cadurcis and her child. The two mothers conversed together, and, as Mrs. Cadurcis was a great workwoman, there was at least one bond of sympathy between her and the tapestry of her hostess. Then they all took a stroll in the park; and as Mrs. Cadurcis was not able to walk for any length of time, the children were permitted to stroll about together, attended by Mistress Pauncefort, while Mrs. Cadurcis, chatting without ceasing, detailed to Lady Annabel all the history of her life, all the details of her various complaints and her economical arrangements, and all the secrets of her husband’s treatment of her, that favourite subject on which she ever waxed most eloquent. Plantagenet, equally indulging in confidence, which with him, however, was unusual, poured all his soul into the charmed ear of Venetia. He told her how he and his mother had lived at Morpeth, and how he hated it; how poor they had been, and how rich he should be; how he loved the abbey, and especially the old gallery, and the drums and armour; how he had been a day-scholar at a little school which he abhorred, and how he was to go some day to Eton, of which he was very proud.

At length they were obliged to return, and when dinner was over the postchaise was announced. Mrs. Cadurcis parted from Lady Annabel with all the warm expressions of a heart naturally kind and generous; and Plantagenet embraced Venetia, and promised that the next day he would find his way alone from Cadurcis, through the wood, and come and take another walk with her.