Chapter Five.
A Visit to London.
On Saturday afternoon Mrs Freer drove up to the door in an old-fashioned carriage. She was a thin, little woman, not at all like her big son, whom she evidently adored as the most wonderful specimen of his sex, and full of gratitude for the kindness which had been shown to him. Rex’s letter had evidently been of a descriptive nature, for his mother recognised each of the three girls, addressed them by name, and referred to their special interests.
“How do you do, Miss Hilary? I hope my son’s illness has not interfered with the arrangements for your journey. How do you do, Miss Lettice? How do you do, Norah? Rex has told me of your wonderful playing. I hope you will let me hear something before I go.”
Norah was never loath to play, and on this occasion was anxious to make a good impression, so that Mrs Freer might gain her father’s consent to the proposed music lessons. At the earliest opportunity, therefore, she produced her violin, played her favourite selections, and had the satisfaction of seeing that Mrs Freer was unmistakably impressed.
The little head in the large black bonnet approached Mr Bertrand’s in confidential fashion. Norah watched the smile of pleasure on her father’s face, followed by the usual pucker of the brows with which he was wont to receive a difficult question. Mrs Freer was evidently approaching the subject of the professor from Lancaster, and presently, oh, joy! the frown passed away, he was leaning forward, clasping his hands round his knees, and listening with an air of pleased attention.
“Mr Freer is quite willing to allow Edna to take lessons, even if they should be rather expensive, for the poor child frets at being separated from her friends, and she is not strong enough to remain at school. She could not come here to have her lesson, I am afraid, for she is only allowed to go out when the weather is mild and sunny; but if you would allow Norah to come to us for the day, once a fortnight (fortnightly lessons would be quite enough, don’t you think?), it would be a real pleasure to have her. She would have to stay for the night, of course, for it is too far to come and go in one day, but Edna would be all the more charmed! It would be a charity to the poor child!”
“You are very good. It sounds feasible. If you will be kind enough to make inquiries, I shall be happy to fall in with your arrangements. And now let me give you some tea.”
Half an hour later the carriage was brought round again, for the nights grew dark so soon that it was necessary to make an early start on the ten-mile drive. Rex hobbled down the hall on his sticks, escorted by the entire Bertrand family, for the week of his visit had seemed to place him on the standing of a familiar friend, and the Mouse shed tears when he kissed her in the porch, while Lettice looked the picture of woe. Norah was the most cheerful of all, for Rex whispered in her ear—“I’ll keep them up to the mark about the lessons. We will have some good times together when you come over, and—I say!—I impressed upon your father that you were awfully clever; you’ll have to do as much for me, and convince mine that I am too stupid to do any good at college—!”
“Oh, I will!” said Norah emphatically. “I will! Good-bye. I’m most fearfully obliged!” She stood on the path waving her hand and nodding farewells so long as the carriage remained in sight. It seemed as if her wish were to be fulfilled indeed, and the thought of the new friends and the fortnightly visits to Brantmere filled her with delighted expectation.
For the next few days Hilary was as busy as a bee preparing for her visit to London. She gathered together all her nicest things, and, not content with her own, cast a covetous eye on the possessions of her sisters. Half a dozen times in the course of the morning the door of the room in which the two youngest sisters sat would burst open, and Hilary’s sleek little head appear round the corner to make some new request.
“Lettice! you might lend me your new muff!”
“Oh, Hilary! I only got it at Christmas, and I need it myself in this cold weather.”
“Don’t be so selfish. I’ll leave you my old one. It doesn’t matter what sort of a muff you wear here, and you know quite well mine is too shabby for London. It’s only for a fortnight!”
“Oh, well, I suppose you must have it. It’s very hard, though, for I do like nice things, even if I am in the country.”
“Oh, thanks awfully. I’ll take mine to your room.” Then the door would bang and Hilary’s footsteps be heard flying up the staircase, but in less than ten minutes she would be down again with another request. “You don’t mind, I suppose, if I take your silver brushes?”
“My silver brushes! I should think I do mind, indeed. What next?”
“But you never use them. You might just as well lend them to me as leave them lying in their case upstairs.”
“I am keeping them until I go away visiting. If I don’t even use them myself, it’s not likely I am going to lend them to anyone else.”
“Lettice, how mean! What harm could I do to the brushes in a fortnight? You know what a grand house Miss Carr’s is, and it would be too horrid for me to go with a common wooden brush. I do think you might lend them to me!”
“Oh, well, you can have them if you like, but you are not afraid of asking, I must say! Is there anything else—?”
“Not from you; at least, I don’t think so just now. But, Norah, I want your bangle—the gold one, you know! Lend it to me, like a dear, won’t you?”
“If you lose it, will you buy me a new one?”
“I won’t lose it. I’ll only wear it in the evening, and I’ll be most awfully careful.”
“You have a bangle of your own. Why can’t you be content with that?”
“I want two—one for each arm; they look so nice with short sleeves. I’ll put it in my jewel-box, and lock it up safely—”
“I haven’t said I would lend it to you yet.”
But Hilary ran away laughing, and gathered brushes and bangles together in triumph.
It was on the evening preceding the journey to London that Mr Bertrand came upon his second daughter standing alone in the upstairs corridor, which ran the whole length of the house, pressing her forehead against the panes of the windows. Lettice had been unusually quiet during the last few days, and her father was glad to have the opportunity of a quiet talk.
“All alone, dear?” he asked, putting his arm round her waist and drawing her towards him. “I was thinking about you only a few minutes ago. I said on New Year’s Day, you remember, that I wanted to give each of you three girls some special little present. Well, Hilary is having this trip with me, and Norah seems in a fair way of getting her wish in the matter of lessons; but what about you? I’ll take you with me next time I go away; but in the meantime, is there any little thing you fancy that I could bring back from London town?”
“No, thank you, father. I don’t want anything.”
“Quite sure? Or—or—anything I can do for you here, before I go?”
“No, thank you, father. Nothing at all.”
The tone was dull and listless, and Mr Bertrand looked down at the fair face nestled against his shoulder with anxious eyes.
“What is it, dear? What is the matter, my pretty one?”
He was almost startled by the transformation which passed over the girl’s face as he spoke the last few words. The colour rushed into the cheeks, the lips trembled, and the beautiful eyes gazed meltingly into his. Lettice put up her arm and flung it impetuously round his neck.
“Do you love me, father? Do you really love me?”
“Love you! My precious child! I love every one of you—dearly—dearly! But you—” Mr Bertrand’s voice broke off with an uncontrollable tremble—“you know there are special reasons why you are dear to me, Lettice. When I look at you I seem to see your mother again as I met her first. Why do you ask such a question? You surely know that I love you, without being told?”
“But I like being told,” said Lettice plaintively. “I like people to say nice things, and to be loving and demonstrative. Hilary laughs at me if I am affectionate, and the boys tease. Sometimes I feel so lonely!”
Mr Bertrand drew his breath in a short, stabbing sigh. He was realising more keenly every day how difficult it was to bring up young girls without a mother’s tender care. Hilary, with the strain of hardness and self-seeking which would ruin her disposition unless it were checked in time; beautiful Lettice, longing for love and admiration, and so fatally susceptible to a few flattering words; Norah, with her exceptional talents, and daring, fearless spirit—how was he to manage them all during the most critical years of their lives? “I must speak to Helen Carr. Helen Carr will help me,” he said to himself, and sighed with relief at the thought of sharing his burden with the kind-hearted friend of his youth.
It was nearly six o’clock when the travellers drove up to the door of the white house in Kensington, and Miss Carr came into the hall to meet them, looking far less altered by the lapse of years than did her young visitor, who had developed from a delicate schoolgirl into a self-possessed young lady of seventeen.
“And this is Hilary. Tut, tut! what do you mean by growing up in this ridiculous manner, child?” Miss Carr pecked the girl’s cheek with a formal kiss, and turned to hold out both hands to Mr Bertrand. “Austin! how good to see you again. This is a pleasure—a real pleasure.” There was no doubting the sincerity of the tone, which was one of most affectionate welcome, and the plain old face beneath the white cap was beaming with smiles. Miss Carr had been Austin Bertrand’s devoted friend from his youth onwards, one of the earliest believers in his literary powers, and the most gratified by the fame which he had gained. Hilary was left out in the cold for the next ten minutes, while the old lady fussed round her father, inquiring anxiously if he were cold, if he were tired, and pressing all manner of refreshments upon him. Even over dinner itself she received scanty attention. She had put on a pretty blue dress, with a drapery of lace over the shoulders, arranged her hair in a style copied from the latest fashion book, and snapped the gold bangles on her arms, with a result which seemed highly satisfactory upstairs, but not quite so much so when she entered the drawing-room, for Miss Carr put up her eye-glasses, stared at her fixedly for several moments, and then delivered herself of an expressive grunt. “Deary me! seventeen, are we! Don’t be in too great a hurry to grow up, my dear. The time will come when you will be only too thankful to be young!”
At this rate Hilary began to feel that it was not uninterrupted bliss to be in London, and this suspicion was deepened when at nine o’clock her hostess looked at her stolidly, and remarked—
“You are tired, my dear. Go to bed, and have a good night’s rest.”
Hilary bridled, and held her little head at the angle of injured dignity which her sisters knew so well. Nine o’clock indeed! As if she were a baby!
“Oh, thank you, Miss Carr, but I am not tired. It was such an easy journey. I am not sleepy at all.”
“My dear, all young girls ought to get to bed and have their beauty sleep before twelve o’clock. Don’t mind me. Your father will manage to entertain me. He and I have always plenty to say to each other.”
After such plain speaking as this, it was impossible to object any further. Hilary rose with a flush on her cheeks, kissed her father, and held out a stiff little hand towards Miss Carr. The old lady looked at her, and her face softened. She was beginning to repent, in the characteristic manner to which Norah had referred. Hilary felt herself pulled forward, kissed lovingly on the lips, and heard a kindly tone take the place of the mocking accents, “Good-night, dearie, good-night! We must have some good times while you are here. Sleep well, and to-morrow we will talk things over, and make our plans.”
The door shut behind the girl, and the two occupants of the room looked at one another in silence. Miss Carr’s expression was self-conscious and apologetic; Mr Bertrand’s twitching with humorous enjoyment.
“Too bad, Helen, too bad! I can’t have my poor little lass snubbed like that!”
“My dear Austin, it will do her all the good in the world. What a little Miss Consequence! What have you been about to let the child think so much of herself?”
“Put a woman’s responsibilities on her shoulders before she was ready to bear them. My dear Helen, that’s the very thing about which I am anxious to consult you. These girls of mine are getting on my nerves. I don’t know what to do with them. Hilary has the audacity to be seventeen, and for the last eighteen months she has practically done all the housekeeping. Miss Briggs looks after the Mouse—Geraldine, you know—gives lessons to Lettice and Norah, but beyond that she does little else. She is a good, reliable soul and a great comfort in many ways, but I fear the girls are getting beyond her. We had a conference on New Year’s Day, and I find that they are tired of present arrangements, and pining for a change. I promised to think things over, and see what could be done, and I want your advice. Hilary is a conscientious, hard-working little soul. She has been thrust into a responsible position too soon, and it is not her fault if she is a trifle overbearing, poor child. At the same time, it will be a terrible misfortune if she grows up hard and unsympathetic. Norah is a vivacious young person, and they tell me she is developing a genius for music. She is afire to go abroad and study, but I think I have settled her for the time being with the promise of the best lessons that the neighbourhood can produce. Lettice—”
“Yes—Lettice?”
“She is a beautiful girl, Helen! You remember what Elma was at her age. Lettice is going to be quite as lovely; but I am more anxious about her than any of the others. She is demonstrative herself, and loves demonstration, and flattery, and appreciation. It’s natural, of course—quite natural—but I don’t want her to grow up into a woman who lives only for admiration, and whose head can be turned by the first flattering tongue that comes along. What would be the best thing for a girl with exceptional beauty, and such a disposition as this—?”
Miss Carr gave one of her comical grunts, “Small-pox, I should say!” she replied brusquely, then softened into a laugh at the sight of her friend’s horrified face. “I see you are like most parents, Austin; all your geese are swans! Norah a genius, Lettice a beauty, and Hilary a model housewife! You seem to be in a nest of troubles, poor man; but I can’t undertake to advise you until I know more of the situation. We will have a pleasant time while you are here—take Miss Consequence about, and let her see a little life; and then, as you’re an old friend, I’ll sacrifice myself on your behalf, and as soon as the weather is anything like warm, pay you a visit, and see how things are for myself.”
“My dear Helen, this is really noble of you. I know your dread of the ‘North Countrie,’ and I assure you I appreciate your self-sacrifice. There is no one else in the world who can help me so much as you.”
“Well, well, I have an idea; but I won’t say anything about it until I know the girls better. Would you be willing to—”
“Yes, what?”
“Nothing at all. What a silly old woman I am to be sure, when I had just said that I wouldn’t speak of it! It’s something for the good of your girls, Austin, but that’s all you will hear about it until I come to Cloudsdale, and see them for myself.”