Chapter Nineteen.
For the next few weeks Esther’s approaching marriage seemed to engross attention to the exclusion of every other topic. To Mellicent’s delight the professor fulfilled Peggy’s prophecy by putting his veto on the travelling-dress proposition. The wedding should be quiet, the quieter the better, but Esther must wear the orthodox attire, for he wished to keep the memory of a white-robed bride with him throughout life. Alone with Esther, he added one or two lover-like speeches on the point, which more than reconciled her for the extra fuss and flurry which were involved in gratifying his desire. A white dress involved bridesmaids, so Peggy received her invitation, and was the less appreciative of the position since every day brought with it a fresh interview with Mellicent, eager, incoherent, brimming over with an entirely new set of ideas on the all-important subject of dress. Esther herself went about her preparations in characteristic fashion, thoughtful of expense, of fatigue for others, yet with a transparent appreciation of her own importance, which was altogether girl-like and natural, and Mrs Asplin entered into every detail of the arrangements with whole-hearted zeal. She was so happy in Esther’s happiness, so thankful for the feeling of additional strength and comfort for the future given by the prospect of the new home, so proud of her distinguished son-in-law, that the old merry spirit sparkled forth as brightly as ever, and with it such a marked improvement in health as rejoiced Peggy’s heart to behold.
“Indeed, it’s a perfect fraud I feel!” she explained one day, when the girl had expressed delight at her altered looks; “for I seem able to do all I want, while just as soon as I begin a tiresome duty I’m tired all over, and feel fit for nothing but to lie down on my bed. I can stand any amount of happiness, Peg, and not one little scrap of worry, and that’s a disgraceful confession for a woman of my years to make to a girl like you! Ah, well, dearie, I’ve borne my own share of worries, and when the old ships are worn out, they don’t brave the storms any more, but sail peacefully up and down the quiet streams. It’s just a useless old derelict I am, and that’s the truth of it.”
“Derelict, indeed! You will never be more than seventeen, if you live to be seventy. You are the youngest member of the family at this moment, and if you spoke the honest truth you would acknowledge that you are in your element in the midst of these wedding preparations! I believe you are far more excited than Esther herself.”
“Indeed and I am. There is nothing I enjoy more than planning and contriving, and making a great deal out of nothing at all. I’ve had a grand turn out of my boxes and cupboards, and brought to light some forgotten treasures which will come in most usefully just now. It reminds me of the time before my own marriage, when I sat stitching dreams of bliss into every seam, and indeed they have been fulfilled, for I have been a blessedly happy woman! Now just look at these things half a moment, my child, and tell me what you think I could do with them. You are so clever at planning, and poor dear Esther is not a bit of good in that direction. If you could suggest what to make, I could cut out the patterns and set to work at once.”
Mrs Asplin waved her hands towards a table on which her resurrected treasures were spread out to view, and Peggy dropped her chin with a preternaturally solemn expression, to avoid bursting into laughter. It was such a melancholy-looking bundle, and Mrs Asplin looked so proud of it, and it was so deliciously like the old vicarage way, to endeavour to make everything out of something else, and to rummage out a store of old rubbish, as the first step towards manufacturing a new garment! The treasures which were to contribute towards Esther’s trousseau consisted of a moth-eaten Paisley shawl, a checked silk skirt of unbelievable hideousness, a muslin scarf; yellow with age, a broken ivory fan, and a pair of mittens. A vision of Esther figuring as a bride in this old-world costume, rose before Peggy’s quick-seeing eyes, the checked silk transforming her slim figure into Mother-Bunch proportions, the shawl folded primly round her shoulders, the fan waving to and fro in the mittened hand. Do what she would, she could not control the inward spasm of laughter; her shoulders heaved and shook, and Mrs Asplin felt the movement, and turned a quick glance upon her.
“Laughing? What for? Don’t you like them then? You saucy child, and I thought they were so nice!”
“Oh, mater dear, and so they are—in their present condition; but the idea of converting them into fashionable new garments is too funny altogether. You might as well try to cut up an oak-tree into fancy borderings. Leave them as they are, dear, and lend them to me, so that I may dress up and amuse my people. Then they will be doing real good work.”
“I’ll do nothing of the kind. Much obliged to you for the suggestion, but I can make better use of them than that. You are as bad as Mellicent, laughing at my poor old treasures. I don’t know what the world is coming to, I’m sure. Such upsetting notions the young folks are getting.” Mrs Asplin swept up the despised trophies in her arms, and bustled out of the room with a show of displeasure, which, truth to tell, had little effect upon the culprit. It was not the first, nor the second, nor the twentieth time that a similar scene had been enacted, for “mother’s resurrections” were a standing joke in the Asplin family, and the final fate thereof an open secret. However lofty might be the first suggested use, the end was always the same. Her offerings scorned by ungrateful relatives, she took refuge in dusters, and patiently hemmed squares of the rejected fabrics, with which to enrich the already lordly store of these useful commodities. On the present occasion she had hardly passed the door before she had decided that for drawing-room use nothing was really so good as a soft silk duster. The fate of the old check skirt was sealed!
The summer passed away very rapidly for Peggy, dividing her time between two happy homes, on both of which the sun shone as brightly and continuously as in the world without, and shadows seemed for the present to have hidden themselves away. Colonel and Mrs Saville were full of delight in their new home, and the sense of rest and security which came from being settled down in England, with their children beside them. Arthur’s prospects improved from day to day as he became more widely known and appreciated, while Peggy was an hourly comfort and delight. Her post as only daughter was no sinecure, for a delicate mother left all the household management in her hands, while an exacting father grumbled loudly if she were not ready to bestow her company upon him at a moment’s notice. Like most men who have lived in India and have been accustomed to an unlimited number of native servants, Colonel Saville was by no means easy to satisfy. He expected the household arrangements to move along as if on oiled wheels, whereas, needless to say, a ménage over which Miss Peggy presided, was subject on the contrary to some painful vicissitudes. When the post of housekeeper had been deputed to her, Peggy had been greatly elated by her increased importance, and with characteristic modesty had expatiated upon her peculiar fitness for the post, and declared her intention of exhibiting a really well-conducted establishment to the gaze of the world. She provided herself with a huge account book, marched about the house jingling an enormous bunch of keys, and would allow no one else but herself to weigh out provisions in the store-room. The first week’s bill made Colonel Saville open his eyes, but his daughter explained with much suavity that, living so far from shops of every description, it was necessary to lay in a large stock of dried goods, so that one should be able to supplement a meal on the arrival of unexpected visitors, and also be independent of the vagaries of parcel post. This was an unanswerable argument, and the colonel was the more inclined to acquiesce, since the menus of the last week had been all that even his exacting taste could desire.
There were few things which Peggy could not manage to accomplish if she gave her mind to the subject, and while the novelty of the charge lasted she spared neither time nor pains to ensure success. The morning’s consultation with the cook was a solemn function with which nothing was allowed to interfere. New and fantastic arrangements of flowers graced the dinner-table each day, and the parlour-maid quailed before an eye which seemed able to descry dust in the most out-of-the-way corners.
For the first week, then, all went well, and the new housekeeper sunned herself in an atmosphere of praise and congratulation. The colonel tugged his moustache and vowed that at this rate she would beat the “boy” who had managed his Indian home. Mrs Saville murmured:
“My darling, you are so clever! I can’t think how you do it!” and the cook said that she had seen a deal of the world, and knew her way about as well as most, but never, no never, had she met a young lady with her head screwed so straight on her shoulders.
Protestations, however, do not go on for ever, and it is astonishing how speedily a new regime loses its novelty, and is taken as a matter of course. When Peggy had been in command a fortnight, no one thought of praising her efforts any more, or of expressing satisfaction at their result. It was simply taken for granted that she would fulfil her duty without any more being said on the subject. She had been congratulated on her start, and that was all that was required. One could not be expected to lay daily tribute of praise at her feet. Unfortunately, however, this was just what Miss Peggy did expect, and in proportion as the applause died away, so did her interest in her duties. It grew monotonous to weigh out everlasting stores: dinners and lunches seemed to come round with disgraceful rapidity, and the question of food absorbed an unreasonable amount of time out of one’s life. Cook looked askance when two courses were suddenly cut off the evening dinner, and cold meat ordered as the pièce de résistance at lunch, hut there were worse things in store!
There came a morning when she waited for her young mistress’s appearance until ten o’clock came, and eleven, and twelve, and waited in vain, for Miss Peggy was far away, scouring the country on her bicycle, with never a thought for home duties until a spasm of hunger brought with it a pang of recollection. Horrors! she had forgotten all about the morning’s orders and here it was close upon lunch-time, and her father doubtless already wending his way home, hungrily anticipating his tiffin.
Surely, surely cook would rise to the occasion and arrange a menu on her own account! Peggy comforted herself in the certainty that this would be the case, the while she pedalled home as fast as wheels would take her. But she was mistaken in her surmises. Mistress Cook had no idea of being played fast and loose with in this haphazard fashion, and having, moreover, been elaborately snubbed on a previous occasion when she had ventured to advance her own views, was not altogether unwilling to avenge her dignity now that opportunity had arisen.
When Peggy rushed breathlessly into the kitchen at half-past twelve, there were the remnants of yesterday’s repast spread out on the table for her inspection, and not one single preparation made for the meal which was so near at hand. Cook was frigid, Peggy desperate, but difficulty had the effect of stimulating her faculties, and she approached the offended dignitary in a manner at once so ingenious and so beguiling that her anger melted away like snow before the sun.
“Emergency,” quoth Miss Peggy grandiloquently, smiling into the sullen face—“emergency is the test of genius! You have now one quarter of an hour in which to prepare a meal, and very poor material with which to work. Here is a chance to distinguish yourself! I am so ignorant that I had best leave you to your own resources; but anything you need from the store-room I will bring down at once. Just give me your orders!”
Could anything have been more diplomatic? To be asked at the eleventh hour to fulfil a definite order would have been an additional offence, but it was not in cook-nature not to rise to so insinuating a bait! Punctual to time such a tempting little luncheon appeared upon the table as evoked special praise from the fastidious master, the cook being commended for the success of omelette, entrée and savoury, and Peggy coming in for her own share of congratulation on her powers as a caterer. The crisis was passed, and passed successfully, but the anxiety consequent thereon had the beneficial effect of arousing Peggy’s attention to the danger of her own position, and giving a fresh lease of life to her energies. Mrs Beeton, the account book, and the keys were more in evidence than ever, and it was fully a fortnight before the second relapse recurred. It came on, however, slowly but surely, and other crises occurred which could not be so successfully overcome, as when Peggy drove a distance of three miles to interview butcher and fishmonger, and meeting Rob en route went off on a ferning expedition, returning home rosy and beaming, to discover an empty larder and a stormy parent; or again when she forgot the Thursday holiday, and deferred her orders until closed doors barred her entrance. The stores were frequently in request in those days, so that monotony became the order of the day, and the colonel inquired ironically if he were living in the Bush, since he was put on a diet of tinned food. Peggy peaked miserable brows, and said she never had seen such a stupid little village! She did her best. Only this very day she had left an enthralling story to cycle miles and miles to buy fish and meat, had suffered tortures en route from the heat and dust, and behold the shops were closed! It always was Thursday afternoon somehow. She could not think how it occurred. But the colonel was not so easily appeased. His moustache bristled and his eyes flashed with the steel-like glance which always came when he was annoyed.
“Excuses!” he thundered. “Idle excuses! It is your own fault for forgetting what it is your business to remember, and it only adds to the offence to shield yourself by blaming others. Fine thing this, to be starved in my own house by my own daughter! I’d better sell up at once and go and live in a club. If you were a practical, well-regulated young woman, as you ought to be, you would put business first, and make no more of these stupid blunders!”
“But I should be so uninteresting! Practical people who never make mistakes are such dreary bores. Novelty is the spice of life, father dear, and if you would only regard it in the right light, even a bad dinner is a blessing in disguise. It does so help one to appreciate a good one when it comes! At least you must acknowledge that there is no monotony in my method!”
But for once the colonel refused to smile, and when he had marched out of the room, Mrs Saville took advantage of the occasion to speak one of those rare words of admonition which were all-powerful in her daughter’s ear.
“Don’t worry your father, Peg darling!” she said. “It doesn’t matter for ourselves when we are alone, for we don’t care what we eat, but men are different. They like comfortable meals, and it is only right that they should have them. Give a little thought to your work, and try to arrange things more equally, so that we shall not have a feast one night and a fast the next. Little careless ways like these are more annoying to a man’s temper than more serious offences. It is difficult for you, I know, dearie, but I won’t offer to release you from the responsibility, for it will be valuable experience. Some day you will have a house of your own and a husband to consider.”
Peggy gave a grunt of disapproval.
“I’ll marry a vegetarian, and live on nuts,” she declared gloomily. “But I will try to do better, mummie dear, I will indeed, so don’t you worry your sweet head! I’ll be as good as a little automatic machine, and never forget nothing no more. When Eunice comes, I’ll ask her to say, ‘Lunch, lunch! Dinner, dinner!’ to me every morning regularly at nine o’clock, and then I can’t forget. I like Eunice! She is such an agreeable complement to myself. I can help her where she fails, and she can do the same for me. You will see, mother dear, that Eunice will exert a most beneficial influence over me! She is one of those gentle, mousy people who have an immense influence when they choose to exert it.”
“She seems to have that. I’ve noticed it more than once,” said Mrs Saville drily, and her eyes wandered to a closely written sheet which lay on the table by her side. It was Arthur’s latest letter, and in it his mother’s watchful eyes had discovered an unprecedented number of references to his chiefs daughter. “Miss Rollo did this; Miss Rollo did that; Miss Rollo said one thing and planned another.” Five separate times had that name been connected with Arthur’s own experiences. Mrs Saville drew her delicate brows together and heaved a sigh. A mother’s unselfishness is never perhaps so hardly tried as when she feels her ascendency threatened in the affections of an only son.