CHAPTER XIII.
MATERNAL DISPLEASURE.
here is Sheila, Effie?”
“Gone for a ride along the New Road with Lady Dumaresq and her brother,” answered Effie with a slight toss of the head.
Mrs. Cossart looked annoyed.
“She had no business to go without my permission.”
“Much Sheila cares for that!” snorted Effie; but then with perhaps a better impulse she added, “Well, you were out, you know. And Lady Dumaresq sent up to ask her, and they had ordered a horse for her. I suppose she couldn’t very well have refused. She seems to belong more to them than to us.”
Mrs. Cossart’s ordinarily placid face darkened; that was exactly her own feeling, and she did not like it. The Dumaresqs were undeniably the “best” people at the hotel. The mother had arranged to spend this winter in Madeira partly that Effie might have the opportunity of making friends on equal terms with persons of a higher social standing than were attainable at home. It had even passed through her mind that Ronald Dumaresq would be a good match for her daughter. Hitherto she had never thought of Effie’s leaving her, but something the last doctor had said had put the notion into her head.
“Take her away and throw her with a lot of strangers. Let her mix with other people and get fresh interests. She has been too much shut up and thrown upon herself. Her nerves want bracing, and there is nothing like change of scene and companionship for that. You say she has never had a ‘disappointment,’ so much the better. She may find the right man for a husband one of these days, and in some respects that would be the best thing possible.”
So Mrs. Cossart, for the first time in her life, was rather disposed to make schemes for her daughter’s matrimonial settlement.
“Didn’t they ask you too?” she asked. “It would only have been polite.”
Effie made her little defiant gesture with head and shoulders.
“I don’t think grand people who are thought so much of are very polite. I suppose they think themselves too grand. Besides, they know I don’t like the horses here. But don’t you trouble about me, mother. I am all right. I don’t want a lot of strangers to run after. I don’t care to make myself cheap, like Sheila. I am quite happy with my books and work up here, and the garden to walk in. I never was one for always gadding. I think it’s charming to sit here in the sunshine and watch the sea. I get tired of all the silly babble that amuses Sheila. It’s more interesting to think one’s own thoughts. I have lots of thoughts. Perhaps I shall write them down some day when I’m stronger. I shouldn’t like to be always hanging on to other people. I’m not made like that.”
“Yes, I am afraid Sheila is very forward; I shall have to put a stop to her goings on, I think. People are beginning to talk about her. She was brought to be a companion for you, and she is always off with other people.”
“Oh, don’t think I want her,” cried Effie, laughing. “I get quite enough of her as it is, I assure you! We are good enough friends, but Sheila has such a shallow mind. I get tired of her. I like to go deeper into things; but when I talk she always either laughs or goes rattling off about some tennis match or cricket, or picnic. I can’t make things like that the aim and object of my existence.”
“But we want you to get out and see people, dear.”
“Oh, yes, and so I do; and perhaps there will be some more people by-and-by whom I shall like better. But I was rather glad to be rid of Sheila this afternoon, as it happens; for the two Miss Murchisons are coming to tea. I always enjoy them most alone. We like the same things, and Sheila doesn’t. She spoils it by making nonsense of everything.”
Mrs. Cossart did not reply; she had never opposed her daughter in any of her plans, and did not like to begin now; but as a matter of fact the two Miss Murchisons were by no means the companions she would have selected for her. They were pleasant girls enough, but their father was a tradesman in Leeds in a good way of business; and though everybody in the hotel was kind and civil to them, they were not in the swim in any sense of the word. One of the pair was delicate, and perhaps that had formed a bond. She could not play tennis, or go down in the evening to play in the billiard-room, or scramble up the steep roads either on foot or on horseback. Anyhow, Effie had taken a fancy to these girls, and would have them to her rooms, or go to theirs and spend hours in talking. Mrs. Cossart got an impression that they mutually told each other every detail of their respective illnesses, and all they had gone through; and she was beginning to understand that that sort of talk was bad for Effie; yet having herself encouraged it for so many years, she found it very difficult either to break herself of the habit or to break it in Effie.
The guests, in fact, appeared almost before there was time for more words, and Effie visibly brightened. Mrs. Cossart lingered awhile listening to the talk; but presently she betook herself to the garden to find her husband, who was greatly enjoying the easy life in the exquisite climate, where it was never cold and seldom too hot, and where he could sit out in sunshine or shade with his paper and pipe from morning to night, enjoying interludes of talk and friendly gossip with other elderly gentlemen of like tastes and habits.
They wandered about a little and finally betook themselves to the level garden outside the front door, and before long there was a clatter of horse-hoofs, and the riding party returned. Sheila, as usual, was bubbling over with fun, and her gay laugh rang out again and again as she dismounted and came along with Ronald in attendance.
“Thank you so much, Lady Dumaresq, it has been a delightful ride!” she cried, turning back towards their companion who was bringing up the rear more slowly. “What dear, little, plucky horses they are, though they do pull! They do like to get off the cobbles on to a proper road. And what a funny little village that is at the end of the road! Didn’t the people look wild and queer?”
“I believe they are rather a wild lot,” answered Lady Dumaresq, smiling; “but you must be thirsty, little girl. Come with us and have some tea. Guy and Aunt Mary are sure to have it all ready for us.” Then seeing Mrs. Cossart she added, with one of her gracious smiles, “You will let us give the baby her tea, will you not, since we have ridden her so hard?”
“Thank you, you are very kind,” answered Mrs. Cossart, rather stiffly, for she never could get used to what she called “grand people,” though she longed to be friendly with them, and was secretly pleased when Lady Dumaresq spoke to her in presence of other guests. But why was it Sheila whom these people had taken up, making a pet and baby of her, and encouraging her in all her little spoilt-child ways? If it had only been Effie now, the mother would have been brimming over with delight; but Sheila was quite spoiled enough as it was; it was a thousand pities she should be made so much of here.
Effie was able now to appear at luncheon and dinner, and her mother took care that she was always well dressed and looked her best. Sir Guy Dumaresq had the seat at the end of the table farthest from the door; his own party sat at his right hand, and the Cossarts opposite at his left. Thus they seemed in a fashion to make one party, and conversation was usually more or less general.
“Now, Miss Cossart,” said Ronald to Effie that day, “you’ve not done a single thing since you came. We must really rout you up. Let’s make up a party and take the funicular railway to the Mount Church to-morrow, and come down in running carros. It’s the most screaming fun, and perfectly safe. I know Miss Sheila is just aching to go in one; and you must come too!”
“There, Effie,” cried Mrs. Cossart, beaming, “isn’t that a charming plan?”
Effie pursed up her lips and gave her head a little toss.
“I don’t know till I’ve tried. I thought it always rained up at the Mount. I see the clouds come down every day about noon. But I’ll come if you want me; if I do get wet, I do. I don’t care so very much. If I do get a bad night afterwards it won’t kill me, I daresay!”
“Oh, we’ll take care of you!” cried Ronald, laughing. “Guy is going; and he isn’t to get wet either; so we’ll make love to the clerk of the weather. But the mornings are almost always fine even up there. It’s in the afternoon the clouds come down.”
Sheila was delighted to think of going on this excursion. So far, although they had now been several weeks in the island, she had seen very little. The Cossarts liked to take things quietly, and there was plenty of time, they kept saying, to see everything.
The few rides with Effie had not been particularly exhilarating, as she had been nervous and dissatisfied with the horses, and though Ronald had gone prospecting about, the Dumaresqs and Miss Adene had been content for the most part with the pleasures of the garden; and so Sheila’s opportunities for sight-seeing had been but few.
However, nothing could have been more favourable than the weather the next day. Fine as it almost always was down in Funchal, there were days when the hills and mountain peaks were wrapped in cloud, and those who ventured up their sides were speedily wet through. But to-day all was clear and bright and sunny; and as the little railway train climbed puffing up the steep track, the air seemed to grow more and more clear and buoyant, and Sheila laughed aloud from pure gladness of heart.
All the Dumaresqs were of the party, including little Guy, who clung close to Sheila, and who was her especial care. Miss Adene went with them, “to keep them in bounds,” as she said, and Ronald and Effie completed the party. Perhaps Ronald felt he had rather neglected the delicate girl, whose pleasures seemed few and far between; for he constituted himself her cavalier that day; gave her his hand over any rough ground; pointed out the various objects of interests, and promised to be her companion in the running carro for the descent.
The air felt fresh and almost cold when they left the train. Sheila drank in long breaths with keen delight.
“It is almost like being in England again! I do love the lazy heat down below; but it is delightful to get up here where one feels like running and jumping!” and forthwith she and little Guy began chasing each other in and out amongst the trees and zigzag paths, till Miss Adene called to them that they were going up to the church, and told them to follow.
After they had seen the big bare church with its curious images, they got some very curious thick strong coffee at the little hotel, and then Ronald went in search of carros sufficient for all the party.
“Miss Adene, you’ll go with me and little Guy, won’t you?” said Sheila. “I’ll hold him on my knee and take care of him. You’ll trust him to me, won’t you, Lady Dumaresq, and you can take care of Sir Guy!”
“Mayn’t I be allowed to take care of my own wife?” asked Sir Guy, laughing; and Sheila laughed and blushed and answered quaintly—
“I think you always do take care of one another, Sir Guy.”
From the Mount Church a cobble-paved road ran sheer down the steep hillside into the town lying beneath. The running carros were baskets on runners, holding two persons, and managed by two men, who held them back and steered them by ropes, running alongside or behind, and calling out to all other passengers to get out of the way. For the road was a public highway, and bullocks dragging up loads on sledges, or men, women, and children with their market produce or purchases on their heads, would be constantly met or passed coming up or going down.
The sensation of the running carro is very strange at first. It glides off with a gentle motion, gathering velocity as it gets its momentum, till at last it seems flying downwards in a perfectly irresponsible way; and only the clever steering and checking of the runners saves the traveller from the feeling that he must of necessity be flying to inevitable destruction.
Sheila’s nerves were strong, and she and little Guy laughed aloud as they flew downwards; whilst Miss Adene had had experience of these methods, and took the descent quite calmly.
“I wonder how Effie likes it!” cried Sheila in one of the pauses, where the runners have to be greased, or the basket-work might be in danger of charring, so tremendous is the heat generated by the friction.
Effie, however, seemed to have got on well as they joined company at the bottom of the slide, and found bullock carros waiting to take them home. She was more animated than usual, and declared that she had not been frightened at all after just the first; and Ronald said she had stood it like a brick.
When they got home Mrs. Cossart was eager to hear Effie’s story, and very pleased at her pleasure in the day’s outing.
“It is quite right and proper that you should go with Sheila when they ask her. You got on very well with them, did you not?”
“Oh, yes, very well indeed. Mr. Dumaresq never noticed Sheila at all when I was there. He is really very intelligent. I enjoyed talking to him. He has plenty of sense, though he has such good spirits. I like him very much.”
Mrs. Cossart was well pleased. The thought which had lately come into her head seemed now to take firmer root. Certainly a marriage into some really good family would be an excellent thing for Effie; and her handsome dowry ought to be an inducement which no young man would altogether overlook.
So the mother’s eyes were very jealously on the watch the next days and weeks; and often her heart swelled within her with anger and jealous displeasure. For it was impossible to ignore the fact that Sheila was the favourite. However well Effie was dressed, however she was put forward and “trotted out” by her mother, it was Sheila’s merry laugh, Sheila’s saucy or appealing speeches, Sheila’s big soft eyes that seemed to win her way everywhere.
“I wish I had never brought that girl!” cried Mrs. Cossart one evening in exasperation to her husband.
“What girl, my dear?” asked Mr. Cossart mildly. “I thought it was doing Effie so much good. She is another creature.”
“Yes, Effie, if it were only her; but there is Sheila! I am out of all patience with her! I declare if there is a good opportunity I will ship her back to England. It is too bad the way she is going on!”
(To be continued.)
