Chapter Three.
A New Neighbour.
After dinner that evening the six girls assembled in the drawing-room, and little Mrs Rendell sat in their midst on a low chair drawn up in the centre of the fireplace. A grey silk dress fitted closely to the lines of her tiny figure, two minute little slippers were placed upon the fender, and the diamonds flashed on her fingers as she held up a fan to protect her face from the blaze. She looked ridiculously young and pretty, to be the mother of those six big girls; and a stranger looking in at the scene would have put her down as a helpless little creature, too meek and gentle to cope with such heavy responsibilities. But the stranger would have been mistaken.
“Mother darling,” said Christabel insinuatingly, “granting always that you are the kindest and most amiable of mothers, do you happen to feel in an extra specially angelic temper this evening?”
“An ‘oh-certainly-my-darlings-do-whatever-you-please’ temper!” chimed in Nan sweetly; “because if you do—”
“I hope I shall never be so forgetful of my duties as to say anything so indiscreet,” replied Mrs Rendell firmly. “Margaret, your hair is tumbling down again! Kneel down, and let me fasten it for you at once!”
Nan knelt down meekly, her roguish face on a level with her mother’s, and the brown coils were twisted and hair-pinned together with swift, decided fingers.
“You must do it like this—do you see!—tighter, closer, more firmly!”
“Yes, mother.”
“It’s disgraceful that a big girl like you—a girl nearly eighteen—should not be able to do her own hair!”
“Yes, mother.”
“You wouldn’t like to be known as the girl with the untidy hair, I suppose, or to have a collapse of this sort in church or in the street?”
“No, mother.”
“Then pray, my dear, be more careful. Don’t let me have to speak again.”
“I’ll try, mother. A rough head, but a loving heart! You might kiss me now and say you’re sorry, for you stuck two hair-pins right into my scalp, and I never winced!”
Mrs Rendell smiled, and laid a gentle hand on the girl’s cheek. For one moment her dignified airs seemed to vanish, and nothing but motherly tenderness shone in her eyes, but the next she drew herself up again, stiff as a little poker, and said lightly—
“Nonsense, nonsense! Get up, child, and don’t be ridiculous! Sit on that high chair, and don’t stoop! I can’t endure to see a young girl lounging on a couch. What is this new scheme that you wish to ask me about to-night?”
“Mother dear, you know you like us to be charitable! You are always preaching—er, I mean impressing upon us—that we ought to remember the poah,” said Christabel, standing up as stiff as a grenadier, and smiling at her mother in her most ingratiating manner. Mrs Rendell would have died rather than acknowledge a special weakness towards any member of her flock; but as a matter of fact her youngest-born possessed a power of wheedling favours which none of her sisters could boast, and was herself agreeably conscious of the fact, and fond of putting it to the test. “I am sure you will approve of our scheme, and feel pleased with us for thinking of it. It’s for the Mission. We thought of getting up a little sale among ourselves, and giving the proceeds towards the funds.”
“It is so little that we can give; but if we devote our time and strength”—murmured Lilias prettily.
“It all adds up when you put it together,” said practical Agatha; “and you can stick on such awful prices. Chrissie and I thought we might have the refreshments and a pin-cushion stall, and set out little tables on the lawn.”
“Such jolly fun!” gushed Nan. “Every one would come; and we would have games, and sports, and sails in the boats, and something to pay wherever they went. The young ones would stay, after the others had gone, to eat up the strawberries, and we would have pounds and pounds to give to the secretary.”
“Of strawberries?” queried Mrs Rendell coldly. “Your English, Nan, is painful to hear. I think I shall write down some of your sentences and give them to you to parse. Then perhaps you may realise how they sound! A sale for the Mission! That is an ambitious idea. How do you propose to get together enough work to fill a single stall, much less three or four?”
“There are five months before July, and we would work like niggers all the time. Nan would carve, we would sew, all our friends would help, and we would make money by tea and refreshments. Really and truly, we could do very well, if you would only say ‘Yes’.”
“And we should so enjoy it! It’s horrid having nothing to look forward to; and if there was this in prospect, we should be busy and occupied, and the wet days wouldn’t seem half so long!”
“Now, let us understand each other,” said Mrs Rendell briskly. “Is this scheme proposed for your own amusement, or for the good of the Mission? One says one thing, one another, and I can’t make up my mind whether I am asked to consent to a charity or to a novel form of garden-party. I should like to have that point settled before we go any further. Are you thinking of yourselves or your neighbours?”
Silence. The sisters looked at one another askance. Elsie sighed and shook her head, Agatha flushed to the roots of her hair, only Nan retained her composure, and said daringly—
“Both, mother. We began by saying that we should like to give a contribution, but we had so little money that it seemed hardly worth while sending it; and then the sale was suggested. The first idea was to help the Mission, but we did think that it would be good fun for ourselves as well! There is no harm in that, is there? You have said lots of times that you love cheerful givers, and it must be better to do a thing willingly than grumbling all the time. Do people who get up bazaars never think of the fun, and the dresses, and the meeting with their friends, but only just of the charity for which they are working? Oh, mother, I don’t believe they do! I’ve heard you say yourself—”
“Nan, Nan, Nan! I object to be quoted! It is dreadful to have an audience of six girls swallowing every word, and bringing them up in judgment on the first convenient opportunity!” Mrs Rendell showed her pretty teeth in a smile of amusement, and returned to the subject in hand with suspicious haste. “Well, you are honest, at any rate, and so long as you keep the idea of helping others to the fore, and don’t allow it to be crowded out by the thought of your own enjoyment, I don’t see anything to object to in your scheme. No; I don’t give my consent yet! You must think it over quietly for a week, and be quite sure of your own minds. A sale would involve more work than you think; for you will have to give up time and money and do the thing thoroughly, if you once take it in hand. I will promise nothing to-night; for I wonder how many times you have come to me brimming over with enthusiasm about some new plan, and how often it has collapsed like a bubble in a couple of days! You are such changeable children!”
“Oh, Mummy, come! Call things by their nice names,” pleaded Nan. “It’s not fickleness—it’s fertility of imagination; it’s not a collapse—it’s only a fresh beginning! But we really mean it this time, and you mean to say ‘Yes,’ too. I know you do; so nothing now remains but to talk it over with Kitty in the morning.”
“Ah, yes! Until Kitty has been consulted nothing can be called certain,” said Mrs Rendell, smiling again; and as she spoke she lifted her head in a listening gesture, and pushed her stool from the fire. She had heard the opening of a door, and knew that her husband had finished his after-dinner cigar and was on his way to the drawing-room; and the next moment he appeared on the threshold, looked round the group by the fire, and threw himself in a chair by Nan’s side.
“Well, Mops!” The big hand descended on the girl’s head, and ruffled the locks which had been so carefully put in order, while she turned up her face with a beaming smile, for there was a special bond of union between herself and her father, and they aided and abetted each other in mischief like a couple of merry children. “Well, Mops, how goes it? What pranks have you been up to to-day?”
“Oh, father, none at all. I’ve behaved beautifully—just like a real, grown-up lady! In the morning I pursued my avocations, and in the afternoon I went out calling, with light kid gloves and a card-case. Every one was out but old Mrs Reed, and you would have loved it if you could have heard us talk! We discussed the weather in all its branches. Cold—dampy-cold—dry cold; warm—close-warm—breezy warm; hot, thundery hot, scorching. She told me which of each she liked best, and which her poor dear mother had liked best; and I lingered on and on, hoping they would bring in tea, until at last I yawned so much that I was obliged to come away unfed. Then I had cold tea and scraps in the schoolroom, and we discussed charitable agencies.”
“Oh, Nan, Nan, this will never do! You are getting altogether too civilised. I shall have no playmate left at this rate,” cried her father, laughing. “Can’t you be satisfied with two grown-up daughters, mother, and leave Mops to me for a few years longer?”
Mrs Rendell tried to look shocked, a task which she found somewhat difficult when her husband was the offender; but if her eyes betrayed her, the elevated brows and pursed-up lips made a valiant show of disapproval.
“At eighteen? She is past eighteen, remember. You don’t expect a girl of eighteen to run about in short skirts, with her hair down her back?”
“She would look much nicer!” sighed Mr Rendell, looking regretfully first at the long white skirt, and then at the coiled-up tresses. “They grow up so quickly, Edith; I live in terror of having no children left—nothing but fashionable young ladies. One must give in to custom to a certain extent, I suppose, but I warn you frankly that Chrissie shall be the exception. It would break my heart to see Chrissie properly grown up. Chrissie shall always wear her hair down her back!”
Christabel screwed up her eyes at him across the fireplace with a smile of indulgent affection. He was so young, this dear old father! so ridiculously young, that his vagaries could not be treated with the severity they deserved. It was truest wisdom to take no notice, and lead the conversation to wiser topics.
“Any news in the great world to-day, father?” she inquired airily. “Any nice little bits of gossip to tell us? We look forward to hearing your news, you know, as part of the day’s excitement.”
“My news, indeed! Gossip, she calls it. If you had to provide for half a dozen daughters, Miss Christabel, you wouldn’t find much time to spend in ‘gossip.’ I go to town to work, and leave it to you at home to run round collecting the news of the neighbourhood. I know nothing. I hear nothing. Men don’t trouble themselves with gossip.”
Seven long-drawn gasps of incredulity greeted this utterance; seven pairs of eyes rolled involuntarily to the ceiling; seven heads wagged in accusation.
“Oh, oh, oh! Who goes on ’Change and is told the latest jokes? Who goes to a café after lunch and smokes with his cronies? Who has afternoon tea, and talks again? Who travels every day with the same men in the train, and hears everything, every—single—tiny—weeny snap of news that has happened within ten miles around?”
“Don’t know, I’m sure. I don’t!”
“Oh, oh! Who told us about Evan Bruce, and about Mabel’s engagement, and the robbery at the Priory, and—and—”
“For pity’s sake, stop talking all at once! Take it in turns. Speak in pairs if you must, but not in a perfect orchestra. I didn’t know I had been the first to hear any of those thrilling incidents, but it was quite an exception if I did. We generally read reviews, or talk business. I’ve no news for you to-night, at any rate.”
“You always say so at first, dear. You’re so forgetful. Think again. Frank Brightwen, now—he told you something?”
“Gold Reef shares gone up two per cent. Market closed firm, with a tendency to rise.”
“I shall buy some at once. I like things that are going to rise. Be sensible now, for I shall have to go to bed in ten minutes, and I do so want to be amused. Had Mr Keeling nothing interesting to relate?”
“Bad cold, and feared influenza. Details of his last attack. Prescriptions from all the other fellows, with accounts of their own experiences.”
“Deah me, how appalling! Worse than a tea-party! I had no ideah men could be so dull. Nobody engaged? Nobody married? Nobody going to give a dance? No new people coming to live in the neighbourhood?”
“Ha!” Mr Rendell struck an attitude of remembrance, at which the watching faces brightened with smiles. “Yes, now I come to think of it, there was one little item of news. I forgot all about it; but you will be interested, no doubt. The Grange is sold!”
The expression of curiosity on his daughters’ faces was exchanged for one of blank amazement. Even his wife gave a start of surprise, and turned towards him with eager inquiry.
“Let! Really let, Alfred? You don’t mean it?”
“So I am told.”
“We’ve been told so so often that one grows sceptical. Is it really and truly sold, and the deeds signed? I sha’n’t believe it unless they are, for difficulties have cropped up so often at the last moment. Are you quite sure this time?”
“As sure as it is possible to be about anything in this wicked world. Braithwaite tells me it’s an accomplished fact. The deeds are signed, and the workmen are to begin putting the house in order next week. You may take it as settled this time, for the man really means to come. He is a certain Ernest Vanburgh by name, and has been living abroad for some years.”
“And is there a Mrs Vanburgh, and has he any children, and are they young or grown up?”
“Is he a dull sort of man, or will he be hospitable, and give dinners and parties and help to make the place lively?”
“Is he musical, father, because there’s that lovely big room where we could have such charming musical evenings?”
Mr Rendell shrugged his shoulders with an air of resignation.
“How like a woman, or rather, I should say, how like half a dozen women put together! My dears, I know absolutely nothing about the man, except that he has bought the place. He is in a hurry to get settled, so you will probably find out all about him for yourselves before many weeks are over. It’s no use asking questions. He was willing to pay down the money, and that was all that Braithwaite cared about. He may be a bachelor or a second Bluebeard, for all I know; but I suppose in either case he will still be better than nobody.”
“Of course he will. Blank windows are so dull. Curtains are much more interesting. There’s so much character in curtains. I can tell the sort of woman who lives in a house merely by looking at her curtains. It will be a new interest in life to have the Grange let again.”
“And I have a Feeling that it will be an Epoch in our lives. I have a Feeling that our Fate and that of the new tenants will be inextricably woven together. It may be foolish, but these convictions are borne in upon me; I cannot help them!” cried Elsie, clasping her hands and opening her blue eyes to the fullest capacity, as she turned a gaze of mysterious raptness upon the group by the fireplace. “Perhaps in years to come we may look back upon this evening as a milestone marking out the past from the future, and realise—”
A burst of laughter put a stop to further sentimentalising, and Elsie retired within her shell, aggrieved and dignified; but for once she was right in her surmises, for her own fate and that of her sisters was indeed destined to be permanently affected by the coming of the new tenant of the Grange.