Chapter Sixteen.
Stasy’s Inspiration.
Blanche did not speak for a minute or two. Then she looked up with a rather peculiar expression.
“Well, Stasy?” she said, as if expecting her sister to continue speaking.
But Stasy hesitated.
“What has all this to do with your inspiration?” said Blanche.
“I’m half afraid of telling you,” said Stasy. “You’re rather snubby too, to-night, Blanche, in your manner, somehow.”
“I don’t mean to be,” said Blanche gently. “Do tell me all about it.”
“Well, you see,” began Stasy, “it just came into my head with a flash. Supposing we were to join Miss Halliday, and be milliners in real earnest. Of course it would be more you than I. I should still have to go on doing some lessons. But I could help a good deal, and we could have the same rooms in her house that we had before. We were very comfortable there. It would be better than going away to some horrid, strange place, into stuffy lodgings, where mamma would be miserable.”
“You didn’t say anything of this to Miss Halliday, did you?” inquired Blanche.
“Oh no,” said Stasy; “of course not. But do tell me what you think of it, Blanche.”
Blanche sighed.
“It is almost impossible to say all at once,” she answered. “It is rather difficult to take it in—the idea of our really having to work for our daily bread, to be actually shopkeepers.”
“I don’t feel it that way,” said Stasy eagerly.
“You are hardly old enough to realise it,” said her sister.
“Yes, I think I do,” said Stasy; “but it seems to me that anything would be better than being separated—being governesses or companions, or anything like that. What would mamma do without us?”
“Mr Mapleson proposed our beginning a small school,” said Blanche.
Stasy made a face.
“Oh, that would be quite horrid, I think. We should be far more independent if we were milliners. And do you know, Blanchie,” she went on, her eyes sparkling, “it’s quite different nowadays in England. Miss Milward has a cousin who’s a milliner in London, and people don’t look down upon her for it in the very least. Not even regular—worldly sort of people, you know.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Blanche replied; “but in London it’s different. Miss Milwards cousin probably has her own friends and relations who know her and back her up. It wouldn’t be the same thing at all in a little country town, and in a neighbourhood where people have not been too kind to us as it is. And living ‘on the premises,’ as people say—oh no, it would be quite different.”
Stasy’s face fell.
“I was afraid,” she said, rather dejectedly, “that you wouldn’t like the idea of it at all. But, oh Blanchie, a school would be detestable! We should never feel free, morning, noon, or night; and just fancy mamma having to hear all sorts of horrid fault-findings from vulgar parents.”
“They needn’t be vulgar,” remarked Blanche; “at least not all of them.”
“They would be at Blissmore,” said Stasy.
“I should never dream of beginning a school at Blissmore,” said Blanche quickly. “The high school would spoil all chance of success.”
“Where would we go, then?” said Stasy. “We are such strangers in England; and, of course, it would be madness to think of returning to France. No, Blanchie, I won’t give up my idea yet, till you have something better to propose.”
“I don’t mean to snub you about it,” said Blanche. “Possibly it was an inspiration. I will speak about it to mamma to-morrow, and see how it strikes her. Of course there would be a great deal to talk about to Miss Halliday. She may require more money than we should be able to give.”
“I don’t think so,” said Stasy, “but she would tell you. Good-night then, dear. I can see you’re very tired; but I’m so glad you haven’t squashed the idea altogether. I think it would be capital fun! Just fancy all the people coming in and ordering their bonnets and hats. I used to long to go into the shop to take orders, when we were helping Miss Halliday.”
She kissed her sister lovingly and ran off, with the light-heartedness of her age, to dream of fabricating a marvellous cap for Mrs Burgess, or some bewitching hats for Lady Hebe’s trousseau.
Blanche said nothing of Stasy’s scheme to her mother till after Mr Bracy’s visit the next morning. But when she found that the negotiations for letting their house at once seemed so likely to go through, she thought it well to tell her mother of this new idea.
At first, there is no denying, it was very startling to Mrs Derwent. She was almost astonished at Blanche’s entertaining it for a moment. But a few days passed, and gradually, as often happens in such cases, she grew to some extent familiarised with the possibility. There came two letters from Mr Mapleson, the effect of which was indirectly favourable to the realisation of Stasy’s scheme.
“I have consulted my good wife,” wrote the old lawyer, “as I said I would. I am sorry to say she rather shakes her head over the idea of a school. There is so much less opening for private establishments of the kind nowadays, and this applies, I fear, to some extent to governesses too, unless they have been trained in the orthodox modern way. It would, no doubt, add greatly to your troubles to be separated from your charming daughters. If you will pardon the suggestion, and not consider it impertinent, what would you say to beginning some sort of dressmaking or millinery business in which you could all keep together? This kind of thing has become rather a fashion of late years, even for women of first-rate position.”
This letter arrived at breakfast-time one morning. Mrs Derwent read it and handed it to Blanche, remarking as she did so: “It is rather curious that the same idea should have struck him, isn’t it?”
Stasy looked up eagerly.
“What is it? Oh, do tell me! Do read it quickly, Blanchie.” And when she had got the letter in her own hands, and mastered its contents, she turned round triumphantly. “There now,” she said, “I hope you’ll allow in the future that I’m not a silly child. When a wise old lawyer of nearly a hundred proposes the very same thing, I should say it’s worth listening to.”
“I never thought it was not worth listening to, practically speaking,” said Mrs Derwent. “My hesitation was simply that I didn’t like the idea, and one of my reasons for disliking it is, that it would be so entirely you two, my darlings, working for me, for I am not at all clever at millinery.”
“And I am not a genius at it, mamma,” said Blanche. “Nothing like Stasy. It is she who has the ideas.”
“But I am not nearly so neat as you, Blanche,” said Stasy. “I would never have done so well without you to fasten off my threads, and that sort of thing.”
Blanche smiled.
“What I was going to say, mamma,” said Blanche, “is that there would be a great deal to do besides the actual millinery. All the business part of it—ordering things and keeping accounts, the sort of thing you’re so clever at. You know grandpapa used always to say that you were as good as a head-clerk or private secretary any day. And if the business were extended, as Miss Halliday hopes, there would be a great deal more of that side of it.”
“Yes,” said Stasy. “She told me the last time I saw her that that is one of her difficulties. She’s not very well educated, you know, poor little woman, and her accounts, such as they are, are rather a trouble to her. Indeed,” she went on, looking preternaturally wise, “I’ve a great idea that she is cheated sometimes.”
“I can quite believe that she cheats herself,” said Mrs Derwent. “I was always finding out things she had forgotten to put down in our weekly account. That reminds me, Blanche, of some things that came into my mind in the night—I didn’t sleep very well—about the arrangements we should have to make with Miss Halliday, if—if,” with a little hesitation—“this idea really goes farther. We should have to guarantee Miss Halliday against any risk to a certain extent; for, you see, she would have to give up ever having any lodgers if we went to live there.”
“Yes,” said Blanche thoughtfully; “and yet we could not now afford to pay as much as when we were her lodgers.”
“Perhaps we should pay half the house rent,” said Mrs Derwent, “and, of course, a larger proportion of the housekeeping. All that, I could guarantee out of capital for a time—the first year or so—till we saw how we got on. Miss Halliday is such an unsuspicious creature that I should be doubly anxious to be fair to her.”
“Perhaps it would be best to consult Mr Mapleson,” said Blanche.
“Yes, I think it would be quite necessary,” her mother agreed. “I should like to have a talk with Miss Halliday before doing so, however, so that we might know our ground a little; and then, again, I can’t say anything definite till I hear more from Mr Bracy.”
She got up from her seat as she spoke, and crossed the room to the window, where she stood looking out.
It was a perfectly lovely, early summer morning. The grounds at Pinnerton Lodge were now beginning to reward the care that had been bestowed on them when the Derwents first took the house. The view from the window across the neat lawn, its borders already gay with flowers, was charming.
No wonder that poor Mrs Derwent sighed a little.
“I think almost the worst part of this sort of trouble,” she said, “is waiting to see what one should do; though in some cases, no doubt, this goes on for months.”
At that moment the click of the gate was heard.
“I don’t think we are going to be kept very long waiting,” said Blanche cheerfully—she too had left her seat, and was standing beside her mother—“that’s the Bracys’ page coming up the path; he must be bringing a note.”
Her conjecture was correct. Two minutes later the note was in Mrs Derwent’s hand.
“They are really very kind and considerate,” she said, looking up after she had read it. “This is to ask if Mrs Bracy may come to look through the house more particularly, as they have quite made up their minds about it. Fancy, Blanche, he has actually telegraphed to India, and has got a reply. I do believe he has done it more for our sake than for their own, for I said to him we wanted to know as soon as possible. They are very rich, I suppose, but they are certainly also very kind.”
“And how horrid I was to Adela Bracy the first time I saw her,” said Stasy, contritely. “Well, never mind, I’ll make up for it by fabricating the loveliest hats that ever were seen, for her, if she patronises our millinery establishment.”
“Stasy,” said Blanche softly, “I wouldn’t joke about it if I were you; and you know it isn’t the least settled yet. At least not before mamma,” she went on, in a lower voice, seeing that her mother was not listening, as she was again reading Mr Bracy’s note.
An answer was sent, arranging for Mrs Bracy to see the house that same morning, and by that afternoon the negotiation was virtually concluded. The rent Mr Bracy proposed to pay would in itself have been a sufficient income for the mother and daughters to have lived upon very modestly, had Pinnerton Lodge been their own; but deducting the amount Mrs Derwent was responsible for, as the tenant of the house unfurnished, a very small income was to be counted on, and that but for one year.
“We may feel sure of two hundred,” said Mrs Derwent, “for I have still a good balance in the bank, and I have almost paid everything we owe, up to this.”
“You are counting, of course, the eighty pounds a year that Mr Mapleson spoke of as quite certain,” said Blanche.
“Oh dear, yes,” her mother replied; “it is indeed our only certainty in the future, except what we would realise by selling the furniture and plate, and so on.”
“And I’m sure it is better not to do that in a hurry,” said Blanche. “Don’t you think, mamma,” she went on, “that we know enough now to justify us in having a talk with Miss Halliday?”
Mrs Derwent considered.
“Yes,” she said, “I think that is the first thing to be done now, for I have practically promised to give possession of the house early next month.”
“Would you like me to see her first, mamma?” Blanche proposed. “Could it make it any less disagreeable for you if I were to sound her, as it were?”
“Oh no, dear,” said her mother. “I shall not feel it disagreeable, and even if I did, why should I not take my share when you and Stasy are so good about it all? You would hardly be able to go into it definitely without me. I must make a rough calculation as to what ready money I could promise her at once, subject, of course, to Mr Maplesons approval.”
“And he should be written to without delay,” said Blanche. “Yes, mamma, if you’re able for the walk, I think we should certainly see Miss Halliday to-day. If we go rather late in the afternoon, she would be better able to speak to us uninterruptedly.”
They found the milliner in rather low spirits, though the flutter of nervousness at the honour of Mrs Derwent’s visit made her forget her own troubles for a little. She was full of sympathy, yet afraid of presumption if she expressed it. But before long Blanche and her mother managed to put her at her ease.
But the calm was only of a few minutes’ duration. When Mrs Derwent laid before her with quiet composure the object with which they had sought her, Miss Halliday’s excitement grew uncontrollable. She cried and laughed, thanked them and apologised to them, all in a breath, till Mrs Derwent at last made her see that the proposal was for their interest as well as for hers, and managed to calm her down by matter-of-fact discussion of ways and means, and pounds, shillings, and pence.
“It is too good to be true,” said Miss Halliday. “I have got silly lately with brooding over things all by myself. Since the day Miss Stasy talked to me, I have not said a word of my troubles to any one, and knowing, of course, how much worse anxieties you dear ladies had to bear, I couldn’t have troubled you by asking for advice.”
Her confidence in Mrs Derwent was touching. She would have agreed to almost anything proposed, so that Blanche and her mother left her, empowered to tell Mr Mapleson that the milliner was ready to accept any arrangement he thought fair and equitable.