It had been a trying winter. Mrs. Pyzer, who had long been feeble, had now what is called “broken up.” The backgammon board and the big knitting-pins were put away in a cupboard—they were not likely ever to be wanted again. Owing to her aunt’s condition, Annie was more mistress of her own time; she ordered the meals, altered the hours, and the old servants offered no resistance. A will had been made, and they had reason to believe that they had both been “well remembered.”
“It won’t be long now,” they remarked to one another, as they discussed plans over their tea-pot; “the house and furniture and a small income will go to Miss Fleude; well, she deserves something—she has had a poor time, and is getting on.”
Meanwhile Cecil Brandon’s letters increased in number and interest; lately he seemed to have done a great deal of racing; he described his successes, the club dinners, the compliments paid him, and how he had been riding for a native prince who had overwhelmed him with thanks, and presented him with a magnificent pin. Of his own particular business there was little information, but a great deal respecting the Lucknow “week.”
One day a letter arrived; it was short, a mere scrawl, written in a shaky hand. It said:
“Darling old Mum,
“Don’t be frightened, but I have been very seedy; I have had a bad go of fever, which I can’t shake off, and the doctors say I must go home, so I start in a week.”
“In a week!” repeated Mrs. Brandon. “Why, then he will be here in a few days! Oh, oh, to think of it, and he will find me nearly stone-blind! Who is to get the house ready, and his room, and order things?—I am so helpless that I must leave this to strangers, my poor darling sick boy.”
It is scarcely necessary to mention that Annie worked con amore; fresh white curtains were hung up, new rugs were laid down, the garden was robbed of flowers, and the old house seemed quite gay and festive. As for Annie herself, she had become years younger, and did not look a day more than five and twenty. She invested in a neat tailor-made and an expensive hat, took lessons in dressing and waving her hair, and presented an unusually smart appearance. As the critical time drew nearer she could scarcely sleep with excitement; for once in her life, when she did wake up in the morning, there was something to look forward to! At last the great day dawned, and the traveller arrived from Idleford in a station cab, which rocked and tottered under piles of shabby baggage.
As Cecil Brandon descended at his mother’s gate, Annie with beating pulses inspected him over her window-blind. Oh, such a little shrivelled, sallow man! He looked fifty, and terribly ill! In spite of her severe disappointment, Miss Fleude’s kind heart went out to him on the spot, with a sort of almost maternal affection.
The following morning, with her hair beautifully waved, and wearing the new tailor-made, she went next door to resume her duties, and make the acquaintance of Mrs. Brandon’s celebrated son. She found him delighted to see her, most agreeable and charming. His mother, however, had one of her bad days, and was coldly patronising, and distant. No one would suppose for a moment that all the successful preparations and clever arrangements were entirely due to the exertions of her visitor.