Chapter Three.
In the schoolroom the young people flocked together, eager to discuss the news apart from the restraint of their parents’ presence. Round the great fireplace stood one of those delightful fenders whose top is formed by a wide-cushioned seat. Hereward pulled it forcibly back, with a fine disregard of cinders, until it was sufficiently distant from the blaze to be comfortable, when the six young people seated themselves and prepared to talk in comfort. They made a pretty picture as the leaping flame lighted up their fair blond faces, but for the moment the general expression was far from cheerful. The twins were all eyes and gaping mouths, devoured with curiosity to hear what their elders might have to say with regard to the thrilling intelligence just given; the two schoolboys looked cross and thundery, and it was difficult to say which was the more exasperating to beholders—Rowena’s angry frown or Dreda’s artificial smiles.
Gurth stamped a smoking cinder into the hearthrug, taking a malicious pleasure in the scorch and smell which ensued. He was never too patient, and this afternoon he felt that he had reached the end of his tether.
“Oh, chuck it, Rowena!” he cried savagely. “What’s the use of sitting there looking like a tragedy queen? A jolly example you set, for the eldest of a family. You look as if the whole thing was got up on purpose to annoy you, and nobody had a right to be pitied except your precious self. I don’t see it a bit! I think you come off best of all. Your education is finished, so you’re bound to be all right!”
“Education!” echoed Rowena, in the tone of ineffable scorn natural to a young woman who for months past had been basking in the prospect of a presentation at court. “Education, indeed! Who cares for education? If it is finished, what has it all been intended for, pray? To prepare me for a life which I am not to have! Other girls have the best time of their lives when they come out. They are taken about to see everything and do everything which they have longed for all the time they have been shut up at school. It’s no wonder I feel bad at coming home to find I have only escaped one prison for another. To live here all the year long! What a prospect! There isn’t a decent neighbour nearer than five miles.—If this could only have happened a year or two later, after I had had a little fun!”
“Rowena, how selfish! You think only of yourself, and not a bit of anyone else—father or mother, or the boys, or—or Me!” cried Dreda, smiting herself on the breast with dramatic empressement as she uttered the last all-important word. “It won’t be a bit easier for me when the time comes, but I do hope and believe that I shall bear it bravely, and try to be an example to the rest. It’s our duty, you know, as the eldest daughters of the house!”
“Oh, Dreda, stop preaching! It’s too ridiculous. You to lecture me! For that matter, you need not wait until you are finished to set me an example. You can begin this very minute, for I don’t believe for a moment that father will be able to afford to send you to Madame Clerc’s. It’s a frightfully expensive school, and he used to grumble at the way my extras ran up, even before, when he was rich. I expect you will have to finish at home with the Spider, and then she will go, and you will have to set to work to teach Maud!”
“I shan’t!” shrieked Dreda, and flamed a sudden violent red.
“She shan’t!” shrieked Maud, at one and the same moment, her fair, placid face flushing to the same crimson hue.
They faced each other like two infuriated turkey cocks—heads erect, feathers ruffled, bodies swaying to and fro with indignation.
“As if I should!”
“As if I’d let you!”
“Teach her!”
“Teach me!”
“The very idea!”
“I’m ’stonished you should talk such nonsense, Rowena!”
Rowena laughed softly. It was the first time she had unbent since the telling of the dread news. She put her head on one side and stared at Dreda’s furious face with an “I told you so!” expression which that young lady found infinitely exasperating.
“Our dear Dreda, as usual, finds preaching easier than practice. You see, my dear, when it comes to the point, you are not a bit more resigned than I am myself. It’s worse for me to give up all the fun of my first season than for you to stay at home instead of going to school; the only difference is that I have sense enough to realise what is before me, while you are so taken up with sentiment and—”
“Oh, shut up, girls! Stop wrangling, for pity’s sake!” cried Hereward, impatiently. “Things are bad enough as they are, without making them worse. If you are going to nag, we’ll go downstairs and leave you to yourselves. It’s such bad form to kick up a fuss; but girls are all alike. You wouldn’t find a boy going on like that—”
Rowena turned upon him with wide, challenging eyes.
“Wouldn’t I? Are you so sure? Suppose father were to tell you to-morrow that you couldn’t be a soldier, but must go into an office and try to earn money for yourself... Suppose he took you away from Eton, Gurth, and sent you to a cheap school! How would you like that?”
Silence... The two lads sat staring into the fire with dogged faces. They scorned to cry aloud, but the horror of the prospect had for a moment a so paralysing effect that they could not reply. Leave Sandhurst in the middle of one’s course, and become—a clerk! Leave Eton and the fellows, and go to one of those miserable, second-rate shows which all good Etonians regarded with ineffable contempt! Was it possible to suffer such degradation and live?
Rowena was touched to compunction by the sight of the stricken faces, for though at the moment the worst side of her character was in the ascendant, she was by no means hard-hearted, and, moreover, Hereward was her especial friend and companion. She laughed again, and gave an impatient shrug to her shoulders.
“Oh, don’t be afraid ... He never will! Whatever happens, nothing will be allowed to interfere with ‘the boys’ and their careers! We shall all pinch and screw and live on twopence-halfpenny a week, so as to be able to pay your bills. It’s always the same story. Everything is sacrificed for the sons.”
“Quite right, too,” maintained the eldest son, stoutly. “How are you going to keep up the honour of a family if you don’t give the boys a chance? It doesn’t matter a fig whether a girl is educated or not, so long as she can read and write. She’ll marry, of course, and then she has nothing to do but add up the bills.”
At this truly masculine distinction, Rowena and Dreda tossed scornful heads and rolled indignant eyes to the ceiling.
“I shall never marry!” announced the former, thinking ruefully of the bare countryside, with never a house of consequence within a radius of miles ... “I am a suffragette. I believe in the high, lofty mission of women!” cried the second, who had been converted to the movement the day before by the sight of some sketches in the Daily Graphic. Only nine-year-old Maud sniffed, and opined, “I shall marry a lord! Then he’ll have lots of money, and I’ll give it to father, and we’ll live happily ever after.”
Poor Maud! Her millennium was not to begin just yet, at least; for Nannie, her immaculate but austere attendant, rapped at the door at that moment, and summoned her nursling to be bathed and put to bed. Maud was every evening enraged afresh at being called at such a ridiculously early hour, and to-night her annoyance was increased by the fact that she was torn ruthlessly from the rare treat of a conference with her elders, in which she had really been and truly on the level of a “grown-up.” She fumed with anger, but presently consolation came with the idea of a dramatic disclosure upstairs. She waited until she and her attendant were alone together in the bedroom, and then sprung the bolt in her most impressive fashion.
“Nannie, we’re ruined!”
“Indeed, miss. Sorry to hear it, I’m sure,” returned Nannie, unperturbed. It is safe to predict that any important family news will be known as soon in the servants’ hall as in the drawing-room, and Nannie had the air of listening to a very stale piece of information.
Maud was distinctly disappointed, but nerved herself for fresh efforts. “Yes. Bankrup’! There’s nothing left. I’m going to give up all my savings. What will you do, Nannie—leave?”
“I shall be pleased to stay on, miss, as long as your mother can afford to give me my wages and a nursery maid.”
“Oh, Nannie, how mean! The Pharisees likewise do as much as that! In storybooks the nurses always stay on, whether they are ruined or not, and give their money to help. You are mean!”
“No impertinence, please,” said Nannie sharply. She was just beginning to comb out Maud’s hair, and it was astonishing how many knots there appeared to be that evening. “I’m sorry I spoke,” reflected poor Maud.