Chapter Twelve.
A Terrible Alternative.
Nina was very poorly the next day and was forced to stay in bed. She could not eat any of the good things which had been provided for breakfast, and thought of herself as a much abused little martyr.
Brenda’s conduct to this naughty, greedy child was all that was exemplary. She gave her proper medicines and saw that her bedroom was made comfortable, and came in and out of the room like a ministering angel—as Mr Amberley said.
Soon after noon, Nina was better, and as she had not the slightest idea what had taken place between Fanchon and her governess the night before, she said somewhat rudely to that pretty young woman, who was hemming some of the Reverend Josiah’s handkerchiefs as she sat by the bedside:
“Do go away please, Brenda, and send Fanchon to me.”
Brenda gave an angelic smile and immediately complied. A few minutes later Fanchon entered the room accompanied by Josephine.
“Oh, you are better, are you?” said Fanchon, regarding her younger sister with small favour. “Well—I hope you have received your lesson and won’t eat unlimited plum cake again, and finish off with lobster and crabs.”
“I hate l-lobsters and crabs!” moaned the victim. “They make me so s-sick—horrid things!”
“Well, you’re better now, so forget about them,” said Fanchon.
“Yes—I am better; she—the cat—she says that I am to have gruel for dinner! I don’t want it—horrid thing!”
“Serves you right, say I!” cried Fanchon.
“Oh, please, Fanchon,” said Nina, whose tears had trickled weakly forth, for she had really been rather bad, “don’t scold me, but tell me what you have arranged with Cat last night.”
“She’s not a cat—we made a mistake about that,” said Fanchon.
“What on earth do you mean now, Fanchon?” exclaimed Josie.
“She explained things to me. She’s very good-natured, and very wise.”
“Very ill-natured and only self-wise!” exclaimed Josie.
“No, no—you don’t know!” and then Fanchon proceeded to explain to both her sisters all about that wonderful point of view which Brenda, in her cleverness, had managed to impress on her mind. The money was kept back on purpose. It was on account of dear papa and dear papa’s eccentricity. The money would be spent at Marshlands, and Nina, if she liked, could keep accounts.
“She cried about it, poor thing!” said Fanchon. “She admits, of course, that the money is there for us, and she will buy us just what we want and give us a good time, and some treats besides in the different tea shops. She really was awfully nice about it.”
“Oh, Fanchon,” said Josephine, “you are taken in easily.”
“No, I’m not—I didn’t believe her myself at first.”
“You mean to say you do now?” said Nina.
“Y-yes, I do now.”
Notwithstanding her weakness, Nina laughed.
“Well, then—I don’t—do you, Joey?”
“I?” said Josephine. “I believe her less than ever. She is found out, and she means to save herself by spending the money on us. She’s a worse old cat than ever—that’s what I call her.”
“Well—of course,” said Fanchon, “you can tell papa—she told me last night that I could.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” said Nina.
“Well, I don’t think so. I believe her—I really and truly do. She confesses she told that lie about not having money, for she wished to have the thing a secret until we got to the seaside; but that is the whole of her offending. Of course you, girls, can tell papa, but it’ll be very serious, particularly as that awful Miss Juggins has come home to live with her mother.”
“What in the wide world has Miss Juggins to do with it?” exclaimed both sisters.
“Well—she’s out of a situation, and papa is safe and certain to get her to come to us. It was Brenda herself who spoke of her last night. She did not mention her name, but she must have had her in her mind. She is between forty and fifty if she’s a day, and she wears spectacles and has a cast in her eye and she’s a perfect terror. If we get poor Brenda away, we don’t go to the sea, and Juggins comes. It’s because of Juggins that I believe in Brenda—it is really.”
This frank avowal of the cause of her belief had a great influence on the other girls. Josephine sat quite still, evidently in deep thought. Nina lay back against her pillows.
“It would be awful to have Juggins!” she said, after a pause, “she would be worse than Brenda.”
“She would be honest, though,” said Josephine.
“Oh, yes—that she would. But think of our fun and—and—we know enough about Brenda now to force her to give us a good time.”
“I think, girls, we had best accept the situation,” was Fanchon’s final judgment.
Whatever the other girls might have remarked, and whatever their resolve would have been, must be left partly to conjecture. But something occurred at that moment to cause them to come altogether to Fanchon’s point of view; for, just at that instant, there was a tap at Nina’s door, and who should walk in but—Miss Jemima Juggins herself!
She came close up to Nina’s bedside, and asked abruptly where the Reverend Josiah was.
“Why are you lying in bed, you lazy child?” she said. “What is the matter?”
Now certainly Miss Juggins made a great contrast to pretty Brenda, and, when she removed her blue glasses and fixed her rather crooked eyes on Nina, Nina made up her mind on the spot to believe in Brenda, in Marshlands, in the pretty clothes which were yet to be bought, in a good time by the sea.
“I will go and find papa,” said Fanchon. “I know he’ll be glad to see you, Miss Juggins.”
“I hope he will, indeed,” said Miss Juggins. “I have come to speak to him on business. I want a new situation. How untidy your room is, girls! Shameful, I call it—three great hulking lasses like you not to be able to keep your own bedroom straight! But get your father at once, please, Fanny.”
“My name is Fanchon,” said that young lady. “Fanny—I prefer to call you; I hate French names.” Fanchon withdrew. The Reverend Josiah was discovered, and was borne up to little Nina’s room. Miss Juggins was seated by the bed.
“How do you do!” she said when the rector entered. “You don’t mind my finding my way about this house, I hope, Mr Amberley, seeing that I knew your sainted wife so well. I came to ask you if you could find me a situation. This child is a little ill from overeating, and ought to get up and take a good walk. I will go down with you to your study, Mr Amberley, for I must have a private talk. Good-bye, children. Take my advice, and tidy up your room. Really, Rector, you don’t bring your girls up at all in the way their dear mother would have liked.”
The door slammed behind Miss Juggins. The girls looked at each other.
“We mustn’t get rid of Pussy-cat,” said Nina then. “She would be fifty times worse. Well, I’ll keep the sums awfully carefully, and I’ll—”
“You’ll have to believe in her, you know, and try to be agreeable,” said Fanchon.
“Oh—any fate in preference to Juggins!” was Josephine’s remark.