Kitabı oku: «A Bevy of Girls», sayfa 10

“How do you do, Flossie?” she said. “How do you do, Miss Carter?”

“I have come,” said Flossie, “to see Nesta. Where is she?”

“You cannot see her at present. She is engaged with her mother.”

“But mayn’t I just see her for the shortest of minutes?”

“I am sorry you cannot. Have you any message for me to take to her?”

“No; yes, that is if you are quite sure I can’t see her.”

“I am certain on the subject. She is very busy with her mother, and cannot possibly be disturbed until after the midday meal.”

“Well, tell her – tell her – oh, no; don’t tell her anything. You may just mention that I called, and, if she is free, I can be in the wood this afternoon.”

“Very well; I’ll remember,” said Marcia with a grave smile.

Flossie was forced to take her departure, and Penelope, with a sigh of relief, turned to Marcia.

“I’d be so awfully obliged to you,” she said. “I know it’s a cool sort of thing to ask, but I want to write a letter – it’s to Jim, my brother. He is staying with people of the name of Holroyd. They’re very nice people; they’re your sort, you know. He has gone off rather suddenly, and there’s something he was going to do for me, and I want to remind him. Do you greatly object to my writing him a little note here?”

“Of course not, dear,” said Marcia, in her kindest tone. “Come along into this room. I’ll give you pen, ink, and paper.”

She supplied Pen with the necessary materials, and the little girl wrote her note.

“My Darling Jim:

“Don’t forget father and the big fat purse on Saturday morning. Your loving and distracted Pen.

“P.S. – You went off in such a hurry I suppose you forgot, you old darling. But please, please remember your most wildly distracted sister Pen.”

This note was put into an envelope, and was addressed to Mr Jim Carter, care of the Holroyds, The Chase, Dewsbury. Pen took out her little purse, which alas! held little or no coins, produced a sticky stamp, put it on the letter, and prepared to leave the house.

In the hall she met Marcia.

“Is your letter ready?” she said. “I am just going to the post. I’ll post it for you.”

“When do you think it will get to Dewsbury?” asked Pen, raising an anxious face.

“Oh, that’s no way off; it will get there to-night.”

“Thank you, so very, very much.”

“Good-bye, dear,” said Marcia. “I don’t seem to know you as well as the others.”

“Good-bye. I’m ever so grateful,” said Pen.

She wrung Marcia’s hand.

“How nice she is. How kind she is – not a bit like the others,” thought the child.

Marcia, as she dropped the letter into the post, glanced at the address. She smiled a little and then forgot all about it. Penelope went home in a far happier state of mind. Surely there was deliverance at hand. Jim, if he could not come back, and she did not expect him even for her sake, to leave such wonderfully grand people as the Holroyds, would at least write a long, explanatory letter to his father.

Chapter Eighteen
Seaside Anticipations

Meanwhile Nesta was very full of her own interests. Things were going in what might be considered a middling way at the Aldworths’. Mrs Aldworth was no worse, but she was not much better. She was suffering greatly from the heat, and yet she was not strong enough to be moved. Nurse Davenant still remained, and kept the invalid in comfort, and saw that she got the necessary food, and was not worried or neglected. Molly and Ethel were busy over their own concerns; they were forced to devote so much time, and Nesta was also required to be on duty for a certain time each day. The fright the girls had sustained when their mother was so seriously ill had not yet passed from their minds. Its memory still had power to move them. They were still alarmed when they thought of it.

But Nesta was less full of fear than her sisters, although her grief and terror had been greater at the time. Hers was the most elastic nature, perhaps in some ways the most unfaithful. She was now feverishly anxious to get away to Scarborough. She had ventured, on the morning after she had received her beloved yellow-boy, to sound Ethel on the subject of that visit.

“Do you think they’d let me go?” she said.

“Who are ‘they’?” asked Ethel.

“Oh, you know – father, and Marcia – old Marcia, and Horace.”

“If you ask me for my opinion,” said Ethel, “I should once and for all advise you to put it right out of your head. You haven’t the most remote chance of going away. You are required at home.”

“I’m not much use, am I?”

“Frankly, you are not. You spilt mother’s beef tea yesterday, and dropped the ink over that new fancy work which she takes so much pleasure in amusing herself with; and you screamed out and startled her frightfully when you were in the garden and thought you were stung by a wasp when you weren’t. I don’t see what particular use you are to anybody.”

“Then, if that is the case,” said Nesta, “why can’t I go away and enjoy myself? I can’t help being alive, you know. I must be somewhere in the world, and if I’m such a bother here, why shouldn’t I go off with old Floss and have a good time? Floss doesn’t think me a worry. Floss and I could have a good time.”

“By what possible right ought you to have a good time? There’s Molly, the eldest of us, and there’s me, and what chance have we of going into the country or to the seaside, or having any fun? There’s nobody at all in this hateful Newcastle, or in its suburbs, in the summer. There’s nothing but the horrible coal-dust in the air, and the whole place is choking at times.”

“But really not out where we live,” said Nesta, who must be honest at any cost.

“Well, anyhow, we’re not in the most charming part of the country, and that you know quite well. But if you ask me, I should say that you had best give up the idea of going. You can do as you please, of course.”

“Yes, I can do what I please; but I can’t see, even if mother is ill, why four girls should be kept to wait on her.”

“There won’t be four. Marcia is going to the St. Justs’ next week. She’s going away for a whole month. The doctor has ordered it. He says she isn’t well.”

“Just because she looks pale. You know that she is quite well; she is the strongest of us all.”

“I don’t know anything about that – she is going; that’s all. She has the doctor’s orders and it is arranged.”

“And it’s because of her I have to stay at home?”

“Don’t keep me any longer now, Nesta. Put it out of your head, once and for all.”

Ethel marched out of the room; but Nesta had no idea of putting the tempting subject out of her head. She went upstairs to her own room. She counted over the shillings left of her darling yellow-boy. She had eighteen shillings and sixpence. Nesta was careful with regard to money and had not indulged Flossie beyond eighteen-pence worth of good things at Simpson’s shop. With eighteen and sixpence, what could she not do? What pleasures could she not enjoy? Oh, she must go. She slipped her little purse under a pile of handkerchiefs on one of her drawers, tidied herself as well as she could, and went into her mother’s room. How hot and dull it all was. Her mother’s face looked more fagged and tired than usual; but the girl, full of her own thoughts, had none for her mother.

“Mothery,” she said suddenly, “when do you think you’ll be well enough to go to the seaside?”

“Oh, I should love it,” said poor Mrs Aldworth, and she stretched out her arms wearily. “I am so hot and so tired; I’m sure if once I could get there, it would do me a world of good.”

“If you do everything the doctor says, and keep on taking your tonics, you will be able to go in a fortnight’s time, or so,” said Nurse Davenant. “Now, here is a delicious blancmange, you must eat it, and you must take this cream with it. Come, now, dear, eat it up.”

“It does look good,” said Mrs Aldworth; “but I get so tired of these sort of things, and I am so hot – so hot!”

This was her constant complaint. “Anybody would be hot,” said Nesta, “who stayed in this stifling room.”

She went out and stood on the balcony. From there she saw, to her intense annoyance, Flossie and Penelope coming up the path towards the house, side by side. She wished she dared ask leave to go down; her face turned scarlet, and her heart beat quickly. What was to be done? She would have given anything at that moment to see Flossie. Of course, Flossie had come to arrange about the visit to Scarborough, and there was so little time to spare.

Mrs Aldworth’s weak voice called her.

“Dear, little girl, come in and sit on this stool at mother’s feet, and tell me something funny.”

“I’ll tell you a fairy story,” said Nesta, sitting down. “It is all about a poor fairy princess, who was all covered with coal-dust and grime, and she wanted to bathe in the cool sea, and she couldn’t because – because – ”

“Why?” said Mrs Aldworth.

“Because there was a horrid dragon – rather, a dragoness, who took all the pleasures for herself, and left the poor little fairy princess to pine, and pine – ”

“That doesn’t sound at all a nice story,” said Nurse Davenant. “There’s no sense in it either,” she said, as she saw Mrs Aldworth’s mouth quiver. “Now, get your book and read something. Here’s ‘John Halifax.’ Go on with that.”

Nesta was forced to comply. Mrs Aldworth had been interested in the beautiful story when read aloud by Marcia, but Nesta’s rendering of it was not agreeable. “You gabble so, dear,” she said, “and you drop your words so that I cannot always catch your meaning. What was that about Ursula?”

“Oh, mother, it’s so hot, and I can’t read. I expect, mothery, I’m the fairy princess, the poor begrimed little princess.”

“You?” said Mrs Aldworth.

“Yes, mothery.”

“Then who is the dragon?”

“Old Marcia,” said the child.

She had scarcely uttered the words before Marcia herself came in.

“Marcia,” said Mrs Aldworth, her blue eyes brightening for a minute, “this naughty Nesta says you are a dragon, and she is a begrimed fairy princess.”

“I don’t understand,” said Marcia. She looked at Nesta, giving her a long glance, under which the girl had the grace to colour.

Chapter Nineteen
Nesta’s Cunning Scheme

Marcia never gave herself away. Nesta sincerely longed that she would, but there was not the most remote chance. She seemed, when dinner time came, to have quite forgotten Nesta’s spiteful speech. As a matter of fact she had forgotten it. She was sorry for the child. She was sorry for all her sisters; but still she was firmly convinced in her own mind that they ought to look after their mother.

Nesta, however, had no special duties that afternoon, and Marcia repeated Flossie’s message that they were to meet in the middle of the wood.

“Don’t be too long away,” she said, “but if you greatly wish to go to have tea with the Griffiths, why you may. I understood from Flossie that they were going to the seaside on Saturday.”

“Thank you, Marcia,” said Nesta.

She ran out of the room. Dress was indeed a matter of total indifference to her. Once again, she flew down the path, entered the wood, and in a very short time she and Flossie were embracing each other. Flossie was smartly dressed.

“You are just as untidy as ever,” she said. “But never mind. What about the day after to-morrow? Are you prepared to come with us?”

“I’m prepared,” said Nesta, “but they’re not.”

“Who are ‘they’?”

“Oh, you know – all of them. I spoke to Ethel this morning, and she said I hadn’t a chance.”

“But it does seem cruel – you can’t be cooped up in this hot place when everybody else is away enjoying themselves. You really must come with us – besides, I want you.”

“I want to go most awfully,” said Nesta. “I’ve got my eighteen and sixpence, and we could have no end of fun.”

“Mother gave me five shillings this morning,” said Flossie. “That, with your eighteen and sixpence, would make twenty-three and sixpence – one pound, three shillings and sixpence. Think of it.”

“But it wouldn’t be that way at all,” said Nesta. “My eighteen and sixpence would be in my pocket, and your five shillings would stay in your pocket. I’d treat you when I pleased, and you’d treat me when you pleased. Do you understand?”

“Oh, yes,” said Flossie, “of course.” She really bore a great deal from Nesta, who could be quite unpleasant when she liked. “But the thing is how to get you to the seaside. Do you think it would be any use for father to go over and see your father, and tell him what a splendid chance it would be for you?”

“No,” replied Nesta, “there’s only one way for me to go – I must run away. I must meet you at the station, and when I get to Scarborough, I don’t suppose they’ll bother about getting me back, and I can spend sixpence on a telegram and tell them where I am. I wouldn’t sent it till pretty late in the day, and then they couldn’t get me back for a day or two. That would be the best thing – it’s the only thing to do.”

Flossie sat down under a wide-spreading oak tree and considered Nesta’s proposal.

“That would be right enough,” she said, “as far as I am concerned, but you have to think of father. He wouldn’t take you for all the world if he knew you were coming in that sort of fashion.”

“Wouldn’t he, Flossie? Why not?”

“Because – although I dare say you think my father common enough – I have often seen that you do – he is very strict in his ideas, and he wouldn’t think it right for you to come. If you manage your running away, you must let father think you have got leave.”

“Well, can’t you help me, Flossie? You are so clever in inventing things. Even if I could have two whole days at the seaside I’d come back better, and really and truly mother is quite convalescent, and there are Molly and Ethel, and they have Nurse Davenant – they could manage her for the time being. Can’t you help me, Flossie?”

“I’ll think,” said Flossie. She remembered those stories which she loved – those stories of naughty heroines and princes and princesses, when the princes always rescued the princesses, when the naughty heroines were brought to see the error of their ways, although they had a dreadful time at first following their own devices. Flossie quite longed to have a sort of affair going on in which Nesta should be on tenter-hooks, and very much obliged to her for all that she was doing for her, and in consequence inclined to spend her money for Flossie’s delectation.

“Well,” she said, after a pause, “if I can manage it I will. I’ll just get father to understand, without telling too big a tarradiddle, you perceive, that it is all right, and that you are coming. Then you must be at the station, and you must bring a box with you. You must on no account come without luggage, or he’d be up in arms at once.”

“What train are you going by?” asked Nesta, whose cheeks were very bright.

“We’re leaving Newcastle by the 12:15. There’ll be a crowd of people, because so many go away from Saturday to Monday, and just now it is holiday time, and the crowd will be worse than ever. We are going third-class, of course; you won’t mind that, will you?”

“Not a bit.”

“Well, father will have taken four tickets – one for himself, one for mother, one for me and one for you, and all you have to do is to hide yourself as much as possible behind me. But what about your box? Whatever will you do about getting it there?”

“I could come with quite a small box. Could not you put some of my things in with yours? I could get them to you to-morrow evening. I know I could.”

“That’s a good idea; I’ll ask mother to give me a larger trunk than I really want for myself, and I’ll put your best things on the top. I’ll tell mother that you haven’t a great lot of trunks at home, and that I am helping you by packing some of your things. That will do; only be sure you don’t come in too shabby a frock, Nesta. We must be at least a little smart at Scarborough. Mother is making me a blue gingham frock, and a red gingham, and a bright blue voille for Sunday. I wonder how many nice dresses you have?”

“I don’t care – I’ve got something, and I’ll rummage the other girls’ drawers for ribbons and a pair of gloves. I’ll manage somehow. I can take just a little box, that can be easily managed.”

“You had best be going back now,” said Flossie.

“Oh, I can go home with you to tea, Marcia said I could if you liked.”

“Well, that’s all right – I’m very glad, because if you meet father you can tell your own tarradiddle. I’d much rather keep my own conscience clear. I have never told a downright absolute lie in my life.”

“Very well,” said Nesta. She wondered what was the matter with her; why she cared less and less to be good, and why she felt so reckless and indifferent to all that most girls would have considered sacred. She was puzzled about herself, and yet at the same time she did not care.

She went back with Flossie to the home of the latter and enjoyed the excellent meal, and when, in the course of it, Mr Griffiths appeared, she ran up to him and clapped her hands.

“I’m going, it’s all right,” she said. “Isn’t it prime!”

“I’m as pleased as anything,” he said, his honest face beaming all over. “So your father don’t mind. I thought perhaps Aldworth would be too proud – I mistook him, didn’t I?”

“Father?” said Nesta; “oh, father’s all right, and I’m going; it’s splendid. And what do you think?” she added. “Flossie is going to take some of my things in her trunk. You don’t mind that, do you, Mrs Griffiths?”

“For goodness’ sake,” cried Mr Griffiths, “don’t bring too much finery, girls, too much toggery and all that sort of thing. The place will be chock full, and we haven’t taken expensive rooms. Mother and me, we didn’t see the sense of it. You are heartily welcome to come with us, Nesta, and if we can give you a good time – why, we will. It’ll be about a week or ten days you’ll be staying, won’t it?”

“Yes, that will be nice,” said Nesta.

“And you don’t mind, dear, sharing the same room with Flossie,” said Mrs Griffiths.

“I don’t mind a bit,” said Nesta.

“Of course, she doesn’t, wife. We always pack up like herrings in a barrel at the seaside, don’t we?”

“That’s true enough,” said Mrs Griffiths, “and I must own sometimes I find it a bit stuffy – that is, when I’m indoors.”

“But you don’t when you’re on the seashore, wife, when you’re looking at the merry-go-rounds and listening to the bands, and watching the niggers dancing, and seeing the Punch and Judy shows.”

Mrs Griffiths smiled and her face relaxed.

“We’ll wade and we’ll bathe and we’ll go out in boats, and we’ll have no end of fun!” said Flossie. “Oh, it will be prime.”

She and Nesta wandered away by themselves when the meal came to an end.

“I didn’t even tell him a lie. Didn’t I manage splendidly?” said Nesta.

Flossie replied that she did.

“Now, I must really be going home. I’ll have to be as good as gold; butter won’t melt in my mouth between now and Saturday,” said Nesta.

She flew home. In the garden she met Molly and Ethel, who were walking up and down, having a rather dull time, poor girls, and were anything but contented. When they saw Nesta they pounced upon her.

“Now, Nesta, it’s all arranged. Marcia has been planning everything. She goes to the St. Justs on Saturday.”

“On Saturday?” said Nesta, starting and colouring very deeply.

“Yes, I thought you knew.”

“I knew she was going, but I didn’t know the day. You needn’t look at me as though you wanted to eat me.”

“You’re so horribly disagreeable, Nesta, ever since you got that bedroom to yourself,” said Ethel. “I hope you’ve put out of your mind, once and for ever, that selfish plan of yours of going away to the seaside with Flossie Griffiths.”

“Am I likely to think much more about it after the way you snubbed me this morning?” replied Nesta.

“Well, that’s all the better, for you will be kept very much occupied. Marcia is a martinet, I will say. Mule Selfish is no word for her. The way she has planned everything – all our time taken up – Molly is to house-keep, and I am to look after the house linen, and Nurse Davenant is to superintend every scrap that mother eats, and mother is to have all her time planned so that she is to be as cheerful as possible, and Marcia will come to see her once a week, and if there is any change for the worse, Marcia will come right back, and won’t we have a time of it, if that happens?”

“I do think,” said Nesta, “that if we ever made a mistake in our lives, it was that time when we begged and implored father and Horace to bring Marcia back.”

“Well, there’s more to come. Father and Horace are also going away on Saturday.”

Nesta’s face very perceptibly brightened. If Marcia was away, as well as her father, and also her brother, why, there would be nobody to make much fuss about her having absented herself. When she was at Scarborough, she would be allowed to stay there, for there would be no one to force her back. How delightful.

“I’m glad they’re going to have a holiday,” she said. “I really am; and they’re going on Saturday?”

“Yes, by the 12:15 train. They’re going through Scarborough right on to – why, how pale you are.”

“It’s so horribly hot,” said Nesta, sinking into a chair.

“Well, that’s about it; they’re going by the 12:15 train, but they’re not going to stop at Scarborough, they’re going to a little place about twenty miles further on. They’re going to have a lot of fishing and yachting. Father says that he doesn’t want to be too far away from mother in her present state, and, of course, Horace loves his fishing. There, Nesta, you do look white. Hadn’t you better go into the house?”

“No, I’m all right; don’t bother me,” said Nesta.