"Poor old Jill! I will do my best; but she never will talk to me. I think I should like her better than Sara if she would only open her lips to me.
Well, Ursula, what have you and mother been talking about?"
"About Rutherford Lodge," I returned quickly. "Do you really want to go back there?"
"Did mother talk about that?" looking excessively pleased. "Oh yes, I am longing to go back. I don"t want to frighten you, Ursie, dear,--and, indeed, there is no need,--but this life is half killing me. I am too close to Hyde Park Gate; one never gets a chance of forgetting old troubles; and then mother is always saying gaiety is good for me, and she will accept every invitation that comes; and I get so horribly tired; and then one cannot fight so well against depression."
I took her hand silently, but made no answer; but I suppose she felt my sympathy.
"You must not think I am wicked and rebellious," she went on, with a sigh. "I promised dear Charlie to be brave, and not let the trouble spoil my life; he would have it that I was so young that happiness must return after a time, and so I mean to do my best to be happy, for mother"s sake, as well as my own; and I know Charlie would not like me to go on grieving," with a sad little smile.
"No, darling, and I quite understand you." And she cheered up at that.
"I knew you would, and that is why I want to tell you things. I have tried to do as mother wished, but I do not think her plan answers; excitement carries one away, and one can be as merry as other girls for a time, but it all comes back worse than ever."
"Mere gaiety never satisfied an aching heart yet."
"No; I told mother so, and I begged her to go back to Rutherford because it is so quiet and peaceful there and I think I shall be happier. I shall have my garden and conservatory, and there will be plenty of riding and tennis. I am very fond of our vicar"s wife, Mrs. Trevor, and I rather enjoy helping her in the Sunday-school and at the mothers" meeting; not that I do much, for I am not like you, Ursula, but I like to pretend to be useful sometimes."
"I see what you mean, Lesbia: your life will be more natural and less strained than it is here."
"Yes, and time will hang less heavy on my hands. I do love gardening, Ursula. I know I shall forget my troubles when I find myself with dear old Patrick again, grumbling because I will pick the roses. I shall sleep better in my little room, and wake less unhappy. Oh, mother!" as Mrs.
Fullerton entered at that moment with a half-finished note in her hand, "I am telling Ursula how home-sick I am, and how I long for the dear old Lodge. Do let us go back, mother darling: I want to hunt for violets again in the little shady hollow beyond the lime-tree walk."
"Yes, dearest, we will go if you really wish it so much," returned Mrs.
Fullerton, with a sigh. "Why, my pet, did you think I should refuse?" as Lesbia put her arms round her neck and thanked her. "When a mother has only got one child she is not likely to deny her much: is she, Ursula?"
"Oh, mother, how good you are to me!" returned Lesbia, and her blue eyes were shining with joy. When Mrs. Fullerton had left the room again she told me that she had often cried herself to sleep with the longing to be in her old home again; she loved every flower in the garden, every animal about the place, and she grew quite bright and cheerful as she planned out her days. No, there was nothing morbid about Lesbia"s nature; she was an honest, well-meaning girl, who had had a great disappointment in her life; she meant to outlive it if she could, to be as happy as possible.
A wise instinct told her that her best chance of healing lay in country sights and sounds: the fresh gallop over the downs, the pleasant saunter through the sweet Suss.e.x lanes, the sweet breath of her roses and carnations, would all woo her back to health and cheerfulness. When the pretty colour came back into Lesbia"s face her mother would not regret her sacrifice; and then I remembered that Charlie"s friend Harcourt Manners lived about half a dozen miles from Rutherford, and always attended the Pinkerton dances, and he was a nice intelligent fellow.
But I scolded back the foolish thoughts, and felt ashamed of myself for entertaining them.
I parted from Lesbia very affectionately, for she seemed loath to say good-bye, but I knew poor Jill would be grumbling at my absence; the others were dining out, and I had promised to join the schoolroom tea, which was to be half an hour later on my account, but it was nearly six before I made my appearance, very penitent at my delay, and fully expecting a scolding.
I found Jill, however, kneeling on the rug, making toast, with Sooty in her arms; she had blacked her face in her efforts, but looked in high good-humour.
"Fraulein has gone out for the whole evening: that freckled Fraulein Misschenstock has been here, and has invited her to tea and supper. Mamma said she could go, as you would remain with me, so we shall be alone and cosy for the whole evening. Now, you may pour out tea, if you like, for I have all this b.u.t.tered toast on my mind. I am as hungry as a hunter; but there is a whole seed-cake, I am glad to see. Now, darling, be quick, for you have kept me so long waiting." And Jill brushed vigorously at her blackened cheek, and beamed at me.
But, alas! we had reckoned without our host, and a grand disappointment was in store for us, though, as it turned out, things were not as bad as they appeared to be at first.
I was praising Jill"s b.u.t.tered toast, for I knew she prided herself on this delicacy, and she had just cut herself a thick wedge of the seed-cake, which she was discussing with a school-girl"s appet.i.te, when I heard Uncle Brian"s voice calling for Ursula rather loudly: so I ran to the head of the staircase, and, to my surprise, saw him coming up in his slow, dignified manner.
"Look here, Ursula, I shall be late at the Pollocks", and your aunt and Sara have gone on, and there is Tudor in the drawing-room, just arrived with a message from Cunliffe. Of course we must put him up; but the trouble is there is no dinner, and of course he is famished: young men always are."
My heart sank as I thought of Jill, but there was no help for it. Max"s friends were sacred. Mr. Tudor must be made as comfortable as possible.
"It cannot be helped, Uncle Brian," I returned, trying to keep the vexation I felt out of my voice. "Supposing you send Mr. Tudor up to the schoolroom, and we will give him some tea. Jill has made some excellent b.u.t.tered toast, and Clayton can get some supper for him by and by in the dining-room: there is sure to be a cold joint,--or perhaps Mrs. Martin will have something cooked for him."
"That must do," he replied, somewhat relieved at this advice. "We shall be back soon after tea, so you will not have him long on your hands.
Entertain him as well as you can, there"s a good girl." He had quite forgotten, and so had I for the moment, that Fraulein was out for the evening, and that possibly Aunt Philippa might object to a young man joining the schoolroom tea; but, as it proved afterwards, she was more shocked at Uncle Brian than at any one else: she said he ought to have given up his dinner and stayed with his guest.
"I confess I do not see what Ursula could have done better," she remarked severely; "she could not spend the evening alone with him in the drawing-room; and of course he wanted his tea. That comes of allowing Fraulein to neglect her duties: she is too fond of spending her time with Fraulein Misschenstock."
I did not dare break the news to Jill, for fear she should lock herself in her own room, for she never liked the society of young men; they laughed at her too much, in a civil sort of way: so I hurried down into the drawing-room and explained matters to Mr. Tudor, whom I found walking about the room and looking somewhat ill at ease.
He seemed rather amused at the idea of the schoolroom tea, but owned that he was hungry and tired, as he had had a fourteen-mile walk that day.
"It is all Mr. Cunliffe"s fault that I am quartered on you in this way,"
he said, laughing a little nervously--and very likely Uncle Brian"s dignified reception had made him uncomfortable; "but he would insist on my bringing my bag, and Mr. Garston has a dinner-engagement, and cannot attend to business until to-morrow morning."
"I am afraid you would like a dinner-engagement too, after your fourteen miles," I returned, in a sympathetic voice, for he did look very tired.
"We will give you some tea now, and then you can get rid of the dust of the journey, and by that time Mrs. Martin will have done her best to provide you with some supper."
"I see I have fallen in good hands," he replied, brightening at this in a boyish sort of way. "Where is the schoolroom? I did not know there was such an apartment, but of course Mrs. Garston told me that her youngest daughter had not finished her studies. I think I saw her once: she was very tall, and had dark hair."
"Oh yes; that was Jill--I mean Jocelyn, but we always call her Jill. Will you come this way, please? Fraulein is out, and we were having a good time by ourselves."
"And I have come to spoil it," he answered regretfully, as I opened the door.
I shall never forget Jill"s face when she saw us on the threshold. She quite forgot to shake hands with Mr. Tudor in her dismay, but stood hunching her shoulders, with Sooty still clasped in her arms and her great eyes staring at him, till he said a pleasant word to her, and then she flushed up, and subsided into her chair. I stole an anxious glance at the cake; to my great relief, Jill had been quietly proceeding with her meal in my absence, for I knew that in her chagrin she would refuse to touch another morsel. I wondered a little what Mr. Tudor would think of her ungracious reception of him; but he showed his good-breeding by taking no notice of it and confining his remarks to me.
Jill"s ill-humour thawed by and by when she saw how he entered into the spirit of the fun. He vaunted his own skill with the toasting-fork, and, in spite of fatigue, insisted on superintending another batch of the b.u.t.tered toast; he was very particular about the clearness of the fire, and delivered quite an harangue on the subject. Jill"s sulky countenance relaxed by and by; she opened her lips to contradict him, and was met so skilfully that she appealed to me for a.s.sistance.
By the time tea was over, we were as friendly with Mr. Tudor as though we had known him all our lives, and Jill was laughing heartily over his racy descriptions of schoolroom feasts and other escapades of his youth. He looked absurdly young, in spite of his clerical dress; he had a bright face and a peculiarly frank manner that made me trust him at once; he did not look particularly clever, and Jill had the best of him in argument, but one felt instinctively that he was a man who would never do a mean or an unkind action, that he would tell the truth to his own detriment with a simple honesty that made up for lack of talent.
I could see that Jill"s bigness and cleverness surprised him. He evidently found her amusing, for he tried to draw her out; perhaps he liked to see how her great eyes opened and then grew bright, as she tossed back her black locks or shook them impatiently. When Jill was happy and at ease her face would grow illuminated; her varying expression, her animation, her quaint picturesque talk, made her thoroughly interesting. I was never dull in Jill"s company; she had always something fresh to say; she had a fund of originality, and drew her words newly coined from her own mint.
I do not believe that Mr. Tudor quite understood her, for he was a simple young fellow. But she piqued his curiosity. I must have appeared quite a tame, commonplace person beside her. When Jill went out of the room to fetch something, he asked me, rather curiously, how old she was, and when I told him that she was a mere child, not quite sixteen, he said, half musing, that she seemed older than that. She knew so much about things, but he supposed she was very clever.
We went down into the drawing-room after this, and Jill kept me company while Mr. Tudor supped in state, with Clayton and Clarence to wait on him. He came up after a very short interval, and said, half laughing, that his supper had been a most formal affair.
"By the bye, Miss Garston," he observed, as though by an afterthought, "I hear you are coming down to Heathfield." He stole a glance at Jill as he spoke. She had discarded her Indian muslin and coral necklace as being too grand for the occasion, and wore her ruby velveteen, that always suited her admirably. She looked very nice, and quite at her ease, sitting half-buried in Uncle Brian"s arm-chair, instead of being bolt upright in her corner. She had drawn her big feet carefully under her gown, and was quite a presentable young lady.
I thought Mr. Tudor was rather impressed with the transformation Cinderella in her brown schoolroom frock, with a s.m.u.tty cheek and rumpled collar, was quite a different person:--presto--change--the young princess in the ruby dress has smooth locks and a thick gold necklace. She has big shining eyes and a happy child"s laugh. Her little white teeth gleam in the lamplight. I do not wonder in the least that Mr. Tudor looks at Jill as he talks to me. It is a habit people have with me.
But I answered him quite graciously.
"Yes, I am coming down to Heathfield the day after to-morrow. I suppose I ought to say _Deo volente_. I hope you all mean to be good to me, Mr.
Tudor, and not laugh at my poor little pretensions."
"I shall not laugh, for one," he replied, looking me full in the face now with his honest eyes. "I think it is a good work, Miss Garston. The vicar"--he always called Uncle Max the vicar--"was talking about it up at Gladwyn the other day, and Mr. Hamilton said--"
"Gladwyn? Is that the name of a house?" I asked, interrupting Mr. Tudor a little abruptly.
"To be sure. Have you not heard of Gladwyn?" And at that he looked a little amused. But I was not fated to hear more of Gladwyn that night, for the next moment Aunt Philippa came bustling into the room, and Sara and Uncle Brian followed her.
CHAPTER VI