John stood on the steps of the castle with his arm about his wife, listening for the sound of the carriage wheels, and in a few minutes now, he thought, Clonmere will be mine no longer, the master will return. It will be my father who will walk into the dining-room and summon Thomas, it will be he who will pay the men's wages on Saturday morning, and I shall be no one once again, the idle, good-for-nothing second son, who was supposed to make a living for himself in Lincoln's Inn and failed.
The dogs began to bark outside on the drive, old Baird came through from the stables and stood expectantly, and round the sweep of the drive beside the creek came the carriage, the waving hands of his sisters, their chatter and laughter, and John, holding Fanny-Rosa tightly for one brief moment, said a silent farewell to the Clonmere that was his.
At dinner John resumed his old place on the right hand of Barbara, who, with kindly grace natural to her, wished Fanny-Rosa to sit at the end of the table. But Fanny-Rosa declined, saying she had always heard that the correct place for a bride was on the right of her host. She said this with a sly glance at Copper John, who, knowing very little as yet of his daughter-in-law except that Simon Flower was her father, was inclined to be suspicious, and looked at her somewhat askance. She sat herself down beside him, therefore, and closed her eyes meekly and folded her hands when grace was said, so that John, watching her, thought what a confounded hoax she was, and what a play she would make of all this when she was upstairs in the tower room alone with him. Dinner passed pleasantly, and Fanny-Rosa made herself so charming and winning to her father-in-law that before the meal was finished he was in high good humour, and even jesting with her about the politics of the country, a matter which usually called forth little humour from him and much anger.
Fanny-Rosa has done it again, thought John; another conquest to her credit.
And he saw himself sheltering behind her petticoats for the remainder of his life, putting her in the forefront of any trouble which he himself wished to avoid.
"You see," Fanny-Rosa whispered to him that night, "I will make the old man eat out of my hand before I have finished with him."
"I think you will not," said John. "I think you concentrate on one Brodrick at a time."
If the arrival of the family and the resumption once more of the ordinary routine of home life made a small ache and a clouding of the skies for John, it appeared to have no effect upon Fanny-Rosa. She prattled away to his father, helped Barbara arrange the flowers, read poems with Jane, and discussed water-colours with Eliza, as though all this was just as agreeable to her as when she had sat alone with John, and though he was grateful to her for the ease which this brought upon the household, he wondered that she never said a word of regret for the time that they had spent together. She was a person who would glow and come to life in the company of people, whereas he would withdraw into himself, and he began to see how in their future life together he would sit back, as it were, a little apart from her, watching her move, and talk, and smile, basking in the reflected light of her presence. He would be content to do this as long as she never slipped away from him altogether, and allowed him to love her, and would love him in return.
"Do you know," said Jane to him one day, when Fanny-Rosa had left them and was walking towards the house, "that you look at Fanny-Rosa as though you worshipped her?"
"I do," said John.
"It must make her very happy that you love her in such a way."
"I think she will never know," said John, "or if she does know she would laugh; she would not understand."
"It will be nice to have a baby in the house. He will be sadly spoilt though, by all the aunts'.
"What is it? You are not your bright self these days, little one. I noticed it as soon as you returned."
"I am only a foolish sentimental creature, John. You know Dick Fox is leaving the garrison, and going to the East?"
"No, I did not."
"He is very excited about it. It will mean promotion, you know. He will be away a number of years-quite six or seven, I dare say."
"And does he not want to marry you before he goes?"
"What would be the use, John? He could not take me with him. He is twenty-one, I am just eighteen. By the time he is twenty-seven or eight he may have met someone else he cares for more than me."
"So you will let him go, and say goodbye, perhaps never to set eyes on him again?"
"I have no choice. He will be sad for a few days, and remember the girl of the picture, and then the excitement of the journey and the new sights he will see will put the girl out of his mind."
"And you?"
"Ah, never mind about me. I will be godmother to your baby, John, the fairy godmother who waves her magic wand and brings him good presents, and keeps the ugly witch away."
She blew him a kiss, and wandered off in search of Fanny-Rosa, and as he watched her go he cursed in his mind the young careless idiot, with his damned military ambitions, who could prefer the blood and dust of imaginary Eastern battles to life with Jane, who would give a man so much love and tenderness.
There were other things, though, to occupy his mind, besides poor Jane and her romance that had gone awry. For now his father had returned he had to give an account of his stewardship during the winter, and to explain why the bills had mounted. Ned Brodrick had been questioned, and Ned Brodrick always gave the same answer: "Master John had said it did not matter."
There was a stormy scene in the library when these matters were discussed, a month after his father had come back.
"It would have been better for the men I employ," said Copper John to his son, "that you had spent the winter across the water. As a general rule matters do not become slack in my absence, even for so long as five months at a time, but they have taken advantage of your presence here to do any number of things that I have never permitted. Even Baird, whom I thought I could trust, presents a bill a foot long and tells me he has your authority for doing so."
"I had not realised it was necessary to be so close, sir," answered John.
"Close? No one can accuse me of being anything but liberal with my servants. But I object to being robbed. Some of the items on Baird's account were not only needless but I very much doubt if they were ever purchased. Too late to check up on it now, of course. At the time you could have demanded to see the stuff he claims to have bought, but I suppose you did nothing of the sort. Here are several new farm implements, asked for, he says, by the cowman, of which Ned Brodrick denies all knowledge."
"Perhaps they will last a long time, sir, and then you will not need to buy later."
"You are making fun of me, I suppose, but I find the jest in poor taste. What happens to a man when he lives in this country, that he allows himself to become soft and useless, and lacking in all authority?"
Copper John looked at his son in exasperation.
"I thought marriage might stiffen you, John," he said, "but I believe it has made you more of an idler than you were before. Your wife is worth two of you, and I am glad to see she has such a mind of her own. One other thing that has rather astounded me is that I hear from Captain Nicholson that you did not make one single visit to the mines in the whole course of the winter."
John had been waiting for this. And he had no excuse to give. To say that he preferred spending his mornings in bed with Fanny-Rosa would have sounded flippant, but it happened to be the truth.
"I meant to ride over several times," he said.
"It was very remiss of me. The fact is Fanny-Rosa being unable to ride just now made it difficult, and I did not like to leave her."