Chapter Thirty Six.
Something by Post.
It was a most extraordinary thing, but, probably from uneasiness, Mrs Thorne was the first down next morning. Hazel had had a sleepless night, and it was not till six o’clock that she dropped off to sleep heavily, and did not awaken till past eight, when, hot, feverish, and with her head thick and throbbing, she hurriedly dressed herself and went down.
Fate plays some strange tricks with us at times; and on this, the first morning for months that Hazel had not received the letters herself, Mrs Thorne was there to take them.
“Three letters for Hazel,” she said to herself. “Dear me, how strange! Three letters, and all bearing the Plumton postmark!”
She changed the envelopes from hand to hand, and shuffled them in a fidgety way, as if they were cards.
“I feel very much displeased, for Hazel has no right to be receiving letters from gentlemen; and I am sure if Edward Geringer were here he would thoroughly approve of the course I take. She shall not have these letters at all. It is my duty as Hazel’s mamma to suppress such correspondence. Often and often have I said to her, ‘Hazel, my child, under any circumstances never forget that you are a lady.’”
There was another close examination of the letters, and then Mrs Thorne went on—
“No young lady in my time would have ventured upon a clandestine correspondence with a gentleman; and now, to my horror as a mamma, I wake to the fact that my daughter is corresponding with three gentlemen at once. Oh, Hazel, Hazel, Hazel! it is a bitter discovery for me to make that a child of mine has been deceiving me. I wonder who they can be from.”
Mrs Thorne laid the envelopes before her with the addresses uppermost.
“‘Miss Thorne, The Schools, Plumton All Saints,’ all addressed the same. This, then, is the reason why poor Edward Geringer has been refused.”
Here there was another examination of the postmarks.
“Three gentlemen, and all living at Plumton. Now, really, Hazel, it is not proper. It is not ladylike. One gentleman would have been bad enough, in clandestine correspondence; though, perhaps, if there had been two it would be because she had not quite made up her mind. But three gentlemen! It is positively disgraceful, and I shall stop it at once!”
This time, in changing the position of the letters, Mrs Thorne turned them upside down.
“I remember at the time poor Thorne was paying me attentions how Mr Deputy Cheaply and Mr Meriton, of the Common Council, both wished to pay me attentions as well; but, no: I said it would not be correct. And I little thought, after all my efforts, that a child of mine would be so utterly forgetful of her self-respect as to behave like this. Ah, Hazel! Hazel! It is no wonder that the silver threads begin to appear fast in my poor hair.”
Mrs Thorne placed the envelopes beneath her apron as the two children came bustling in, one with the cloth, and the other with the bread-trencher, to prepare the breakfast.
“Hazel’s fast asleep, ma, and we’re going to get breakfast ready ourselves.”
“I’m sure I don’t know why your sister can’t come down, my dears,” said Mrs Thorne pettishly. “It is very thoughtless of her, knowing, as she does, how poorly I am.”
“Sis Hazy has got a very bad headache, mamma; and we dressed quietly and came down and lit the fire quite early.”
“Oh, it was you lit the fire, was it!” said Mrs Thorne. “I thought it was one of the schoolgirls.”
“No; it was us, ma dear; and when we’ve made the tea we’re going to take poor Hazy a cup in bed.”
“Whoever can these letters be from?” said Mrs Thorne to herself, as she turned them over and over in her hands, growing quite flushed and excited the while. “I declare I don’t know when I have felt so hurt and troubled;” and going into the little parlour, leaving the children busy over the preparations, she once more examined them carefully, and ended by taking out her scissors.
“I don’t care!” she exclaimed; “it is my duty as Hazel’s mamma to watch over her, and I should not be doing that duty if I did not see who are the gentlemen who correspond with her.”
Mrs Thorne hesitated a few minutes longer, and then the itching sensation of curiosity proved to be too much for the poor woman, and taking the pair of finely-pointed scissors, she slit open the three envelopes, and then started guiltily, thrust them into her pocket, and went into the kitchen.
“Did I hear Hazel coming down?” she said sharply.
“No, ma. Mab just went up and found her fast asleep.”
Mrs Thorne went back into the parlour, hesitated a few moments longer, and then opened the first letter, to find that it contained five ten-pound notes, all new and crisp, and with them a sheet of note-paper bearing the words:—
“Will Miss Thorne accept the help of a very sincere friend?”
That was all.
“Well, I am sure!” exclaimed Mrs Thorne, staring at the crisp notes, re-reading the words upon the note-paper, and then hurriedly replacing notes and paper in the envelope. “Now, who can that be from?”
The second envelope was then opened, and, to Mrs Thorne’s intense astonishment, it contained ten five-pound notes, also crisp and new, and with them the simple words:—
“With the hope that they may be useful. From a friend.”
“I never did in all my life!” exclaimed Mrs Thorne, now beginning to perspire profusely, as she hurriedly replaced the second batch of notes, and then with trembling fingers opened the last envelope, which contained six five-pound notes, carefully enclosed in a second envelope, but without a word.
“Only thirty pounds,” said Mrs Thorne, “only thirty, and without a word. Well, all I can say is, that whoever sent it is rather mean. Now, who can have sent these banknotes? Well, of course, it is on account of that paltry sum in school pence being required, and it is very kind, but I don’t think I ought to allow Hazel to receive money like this. Really, it is a very puzzling thing, and I wish Edward Geringer was here.”
The notes were returned to the third envelope, and Mrs Thorne sat there very thoughtful, and looking extremely perplexed.
“No; I certainly shall not let Hazel have this money. A girl at her time of life might be tempted into a great many follies of dress if she had it and I shall certainly keep it from her.”
With a quiet self-satisfied smile, she placed the notes in her pocket and was in the act of rising, when she turned and saw Cissy at the door.
“Well, what is it?” said Mrs Thorne sharply.
“Breakfast’s ready, ma dear; and I can hear Hazy dressing in such a hurry. Come and sit down, and let’s all be waiting for her. It will be such fun. She will be so surprised when she comes down.”
Mrs Thorne felt relieved, for she was afraid that the child had seen her with the notes, and that might have interfered with her plans.
“I’m sure it is quite time your sister was down, my dear,” said the lady indignantly. “I don’t know how she expects the wretched children she teaches to be punctual, if she is so late herself.” And assuming an aspect of dignified, injured state, she seated herself at the table, the children smothering their mirth as they also sat down, one on either side, and watched the door.
Hazel hurried down directly after, to come hastily into the little kitchen, where, reading the children’s faces, she felt the tears rush into her eyes with the emotion caused by the pleasant innocent surprise, and went and kissed them both before saluting her mother, who kept up her childish, injured air.
“Really, Hazel, my dear, I think when I do come down that you might study me a little, and not leave everything to these poor children. It comes very hard upon me, to see them driven to such menial duties, when their sister might place us all in a state of opulence. It seems very hard—very hard indeed.”
Hazel glanced at her, but did not speak. There was that, however, in her eyes which told of mingled reproach and pity, emotions that the weak woman could not read, as she took the tea handed to her, sipping it slowly with an injured sigh.
“Were there any letters, mother!” said Hazel, when breakfast was half over and she had glanced at the clock, for Feelier Potts had been for the schoolroom key, and already there were distant echoing sounds of voices and footsteps in the great room, which told of the arrival of the scholars.
Mrs Thorne did not reply.
“Were there any letters, mother dear?” said Hazel again.
“Pass me the bread and butter, Mab, my child,” said Mrs Thorne, colouring slightly, while Hazel looked at her with wonder.
“There were three letters for you, Hazy,” cried Cissy sharply.
“Cissy! How dare you say such a thing?” cried Mrs Thorne.
“Please, ma, I met the postman when I went for the milk, and the postman told me so, and I saw him afterwards showing them to Mr Chute.”
“You wicked—Oh, of course, yes. I forgot,” said Mrs Thorne hastily, as she encountered her daughter’s eye fixed upon her with such a look of reproach that she shivered, and in her abject weakness coloured like a detected schoolgirl.
“Will you give me the letters, mamma?” said Hazel, holding out her hand.
“Don’t call me mamma like that, Hazel,” said Mrs Thorne, with a weak attempt at holding her position; but her daughter’s outstretched hand was sufficient to make her tremblingly take the letters from her pocket and pass them across the table.
“You have opened them, mamma!” said Hazel.
“Once more, Hazel, I must beg of you not to call me mamma like that!” exclaimed Mrs Thorne. “I have always noticed that it is done when you are angry.”
“I said you have opened them, mamma!”
“Of course I have, my dear. I should not be doing my duty as your mother if I did not see for myself who are the class of people with whom you hold clandestine correspondence.”
“You know, mother,” said Hazel firmly, “that I should never think of corresponding with any one without your approval.”
“Then, pray, what do those letters mean?”
“I do not know,” said Hazel quietly; and she opened them one by one, saw their contents, read the notes that accompanied two, and then, letting her face go down upon her hands she uttered a loud sob.
“Now, that is being foolish, Hazel,” cried her mother. “Children, leave the table! Or, no, it will be better that your sister and I should retire. No; take your breakfasts into the other room, children, and I will talk to your sister here.”
“Don’t cry, Hazy,” whispered Cissy, clinging to her sister affectionately.
“Don’t speak cross to Hazel, please ma,” whispered Mab.
“Silence, disobedient children!” cried the poor woman in tragic tones. “Leave the room, I desire.”
Hazel felt cut to the heart with sorrow, misery, and despair. The increasing mental weakness of her mother, and her growing lack of moral appreciation of right and wrong, were agonising to her; and at that moment she felt as if this new trouble about the letters was a judgment upon her for opening those addressed to her mother, though it was done to save her from pain. To some people the airs and assumptions of Mrs Thorne would have been food for mirth; but to Hazel the mental pain was intense. Knowing what the poor woman had been previous to her troubles, this childishness was another pang; and often and often, when ready to utter words of reproach, she changed them to those of tenderness and consideration.
“Now, Hazel,” said Mrs Thorne with dignity, “I am waiting for an explanation.”
“An explanation, dear?” said Hazel, leaving her seat to place her arm affectionately round her mother’s neck.
“Not yet, Hazel,” said the poor woman, shrinking away. “I cannot accept your caresses till I have had a proper explanation about those letters.”
“My dear mother, I can give you no explanation.”
“What! do you deny that you are corresponding with three different gentlemen at once?”
“Yes, mother dear. Is it likely?” said Hazel, smiling.
“Don’t treat the matter with levity, Hazel. I cannot bear it! Who are those letters from?”
“I do not know, dear; though I think I could guess.”
“Then I insist upon knowing.”
“My dear mother, I can only think they are from people who know of my trouble about the school.”
“You did not write and ask for help, Hazel?”
“No, mother. No; I should not have done such a thing.”
“Then tell me at once who would send to you like that.”
“Mother dear, can you not spare me this?”
“I never did see such a strange girl in my life as you are, Hazel. Well, never mind; I dare say I can bear another slight or two if you will not tell me. There, I suppose you must pay that wretched school money out of those notes.”
“Out of these, mother?”
“Of course, child. Why, what are you thinking now?”
“Mother dear, it is impossible.”
“Impossible, child! Why, what romantic notion have you taken into your head now?”
“It is no romance, mother; it is reality,” sighed Hazel.
“Then what are you going to do?”
“Return the money to the givers as soon as I can be certain where to send.”
“Return it? What! that money, when you know how urgently it is needed at home?”
“Yes, dear.”
“And how is that school money to be paid?”
Hazel was silent.
“I declare, Hazel,” cried Mrs Thorne, “your behaviour is quite preposterous, and the absurdity of your ideas beyond belief. Do, pray, leave off these foolish ways and try to behave like a sensible—There now, I declare her conduct is quite shocking: running off like that without saying ‘Good morning,’ or ‘May I leave the room, mamma?’ Dear, dear me, I have come down in the world indeed.”
For Hazel had suddenly left the room—nine o’clock striking—and the idea strongly impressing itself upon her mind that so sure as she happened to be late some one or another would kindly inform Miss Lambent if she did not realise it for herself.