Sleep in Peace Read Free

she had been for a long time, Ada seemed to think, and Ludo was glad, for of late she had been looking very ugly, and it distressed him deeply, though of course he did not mention it to anybody. But she would be better tomorrowand the new baby would probably not be at all like Gwen. Pity, mused Ludo, biting comfortably, that she was not a boy; a boy would have been real fun.
    The thought found an echo in the mind of his mother, who, exhausted though deeply satisfied by having given birth, lay drowsing in the twilight, her newborn child beside her, her hazel eyes closed, her long brown hair, still damp with sweat at the roots, descending over her shoulders in neat twin braids. Her arm curved protectively about her little daughter, but she could not help feeling that it would have been good to have another boy like darling little Ludovic—whose high-sounding name, chosen by her and given to the child somewhat against her husband’s wish, fed her cravings for romance and her ambition. Dear Alfred! he could deny her nothing, thought his wife fondly, remembering the quizzical but yielding look he had given her across the font at Ludo’s baptism. The carved font, the dim old church, the stately sonorous ring of the Prayer Book phrases.
High and mighty, King of kings, Lord of lords
. How splendid it was that Alfred and she belonged now to the Church of England! They had both been brought up to go to Chapel, of course, but one of the things which attracted them to each other was their dislike for Nonconformity. Liberalism, the Nonconformist conscience—they were such old-fashioned ideas, thought Mrs. Armistead, tossing her pretty head scornfully; tedious, prosy, smug, discredited. So loud and commercial, too, so sordidly mercenary, so opposed to all that was noble and splendidly traditional and grand, so ungentlemanly, so lacking in all style and air. It seemed impossible for Liberal Nonconformists, even good ones, like Henry Hinchliffe, to understand the might and majesty of England, the bright clear flame, the silver spear, which it was England’s high mission to carry through the world, bringing to dark places the inestimable boon of rule by the Great White Queen.
Behold our most gracious Sovereign Lady, Queen Victoria: Endue her plenteously with heavenly gifts; grant her inhealth and wealth long to live; strengthen her that she may vanquish and overcome all her enemies; and finally, after this life
… No Liberal Nonconformist could ever understand how one’s blood thrilled all down one’s spine at words like those. What a fine thing it was that Disraeli had made the Queen Empress of India. It was because of the Tsar’s daughter marrying the Duke of Edinburgh, you know, Ludo; she wanted to take precedence of the Princess of Wales, because her father was an Emperor and the Queen was only a Queen, and of course
that
couldn’t be allowed.
    A host of bright images winged from Mrs. Armistead’s ardent fancy: the Jubilee; horse guards; white gauntlets, glittering breastplates, waving plumes, thick moustaches; flags and cheers and church bells, the hollow sound of horses’ hoofs, white ponies, outriders, clicked heels, swords. Sir Ludovic Spencer Armistead, K.C.B. For distinguished services in Kandahar. How Henry Hinchliffe would look down his nose when he heard that they meant to send Ludo into the diplomatic service!
    On Henry Hinchliffe’s name her thoughts flew to Blackshaw Mills, and she hoped passionately that the new gas-engines would not backfire again as they had done yesterday. Blackshaw House stood halfway down the hill whose summit had been crowned these last ten years by the big new Blackshaw Mills, built by Mrs. Armistead’s father, Spencer Thwaite, so that his son-in-law might capture for Hudley some of Annotsfield’s fine worsted trade. It was an ill wind which blew nobody any good, reflected Mrs. Armistead. The big strike of the new Union of textile workers, in