FOR more than a fortnight, every morning and every afternoon, Cara’s mother and nurse foregathered by appointment: sometimes at the band on the Leas, sometimes along the shady Lower Road; and here Letty would wheel the perambulator. Her admiration for the child was mutual, and she was terrified, lest the nurse should wonder why the little thing was always so ready to come to her, and why she invariably called her ‘Mamma.’
“I am sure, you must be like her mother,” said Smithson, “and that is why little Cara takes to you. Aye, and they do say, that she was wrapped up in her. Mr. Blagdon, he don’t care a brass farthing about the child, and was main angry, that miss Cara wasn’t a boy. He never comes to Sharsley, and the place was that dreary, the old nurse give notice—she was a vinegar-faced one, if you like, and they do say was a spy on the lady. It was Lady Rashleigh—Mr. Blagdon’s sister—that engaged me. She’s a funny one, with a big face and a loud voice; it was her notion sending the child down here, and later on, maybe, she’s coming herself. She don’t care for Miss Cara—says we have her spoiled. What do you say to that, missy? Sometimes, you are a very naughty little girl, you know” (missy, drowsy and indifferent, closed her big blue eyes). Then the nurse lowering her voice, proceeded: “Sometimes she looks like a little angel, doesn’t she? But other times, I tell you, you’d think it was a little devil you had to deal with! Of course, there being no lady, it’s a responsible situation, and I’ve no nursemaid, as you see; it’s a good place, and the wages is first-class. Sixty—only for that, I never would stand the loneliness—and the child.”
Horrified and indignant, Letty took the part of her offspring, and replied:
“I have no doubt it is lonely living in the corner of a great big house, with only Cara for your constant companion: but then the child is such a darling!”
“Eh, miss, you’ve heard the saying, ‘All is not gold that glitters’? This one, will give somebody a rare time yet; the best of her is all on the outside; inside, she is just a greedy, selfish, treacherous, little monkey!”
“Oh, nurse, how can you say such dreadful things of a poor innocent baby? I expect, that in your heart you really don’t care about children. Now do you?”
“Well, of course, miss, it’s only to you, a stranger, I would say what I do; it’s not likely, I’d tell this to one of her relations, and her auntie is down enough on her as it is. She sees through her arts, when we stay with her in Town, and has given her some rare good smackings, I can tell you! To you, as I say, being a stranger, she is the most beautiful child in Folkestone—there is not another on the Leas to touch her; all the nurses envies me, and people crowds round her, as if she was a show: and she smiles and carries on like anything—especially to the gentlemen. How she’s learnt such an awful amount of deceit, in such a short time, puzzles me; she’s as sly as sly, and you’d never think there was so strong a will in that little bit of a body, and what she’ll be like, when she grows up, I’d be frightened to say! She’ll grow up soon, I expect; but there’s one thing I’m sure of, and that is, that, wherever she is, she’ll give trouble!”
These alarming prophecies on the part of nurse held no terrors for Letty, but only made her all the more determined to snatch her darling from a woman who did not appreciate her—who was not worthy to wheel her perambulator. Smithson was a tremendous talker, and, strange to say, exhibited no curiosity, with respect to her companion. Contented with the fact that she was a young lady who was rather delicate and was waiting at the ‘Grand’ for the arrival of a relative. Sometimes, she vaguely wondered why she seemed to know no one, and seemed so silent and downcast. However, this sociable stranger was an acceptable acquaintance, who often relieved her of her duties with Miss Cara; playing with the child on the beach for hours, wheeling her in the perambulator, making her daisy-chains, whilst Mrs. Smithson skipped through library novels, talked incessantly, and, occasionally leaving the lady in charge, took the opportunity to do a little shopping.
Mrs. Smithson had confided to Letty, that she had a cousin up at Shorncliffe: a sergeant-major with his wife, and having no nursemaid had its drawbacks—for she could never leave the child, and have an afternoon off.
“Now there’s a play on at the theatre I’d give my two eyes to see, and go to the matinée next Saturday with Carson and his wife; but I ask you, how can I?”