The Rebellion of Margaret

by Geraldine Mockler

There was no one about as she went downstairs, and she passed out through the open front door and went into the garden.

The Cedars—described by the local house agents as one of the finest residential mansions in Seabourne—stood in about three acres of ground, which, though to Margaret accustomed to the big gardens of the country, seemed a small enough piece of land to belong to such an imposing looking house as The Cedars, was in reality unusually large for a town where property was so valuable and ground rents as enormous as they were in Seabourne. The grounds had been laid out to the utmost advantage. A wide lawn, planted here and there with clumps of flowering shrubs, sloped slightly away from the front of the house, and at the bottom of it lay two sunk tennis courts surrounded by high wire-netting. On the other side of the drive were kitchen and fruit gardens.

Her tour of the grounds finished, Margaret conceived the idea of going on to the downs, the foot of which were scarcely a stone's throw away from the gate, and seeing if she could discover in which direction Windy Gap lay. It was still quite early and she had plenty of time at her disposal before breakfast. It was a stiff climb to the top of the downs and took longer than she had thought, even though she left the white road that went zigzagging to the summit and took a short cut up an exceedingly steep footpath. But the view that she got when she reached the top brought a little cry of amazed wonder to her lips, and she felt amply repaid for her long, toilsome climb. Accustomed as she had been all her life to the flat, tame scenery that surrounded her native village, she had had no idea that anything as lovely as this could exist. Never had she seen anything like it. The wide downs appeared to stretch away for miles and miles in front of her forming undulating hills and valleys. Below, at the foot of the high white cliffs that now rose to a dizzy height sheer above the water, and now dipped almost to its level, lay the sea glittering and sparkling in the sunlight. For the most part the downs were bare and wind-swept, but in the hollows small villages nestled with here and there a square grey tower rising through the trees that surrounded the tiny hamlets. One of these she felt sure must be Windy Gap, because looking eastwards she could see the flat, marshy ground through which the train had taken them the day before, and though of this she could not be certain, for a light mist veiled the distant view, she even thought she could descry the long white road leading upwards to the downs from the plain beneath them.

Somewhere over there, then, Eleanor was at that moment, and whatever else she might be doing she was not roaming at her own sweet will on the hillside as she, Margaret, was at that moment doing. And her intense satisfaction at the thought of her own freedom swept away the few uncomfortable doubts and fears that had been harassing her ever since she awoke that morning. Come what might, she would enjoy herself she thought determinedly.

But as a matter of fact the invigorating, bracing air, the brilliant sunshine pouring down on land and sea, had already acted like a tonic upon Margaret's spirits, her troubles seemed to roll away of their own accord and she felt that it would be impossible not to be happy at The Cedars.

So, much the better for her walk, she presently climbed down the hill again, and turned into the road that led homewards. The windows of the dining-room looked on to the drive, and as she passed them she saw that every one was seated at breakfast, and it was with an inward and very rapid sinking of the heart that she realised that she would have to go in late and face the entire assembled party.

An access of terrible shyness rushed over her at the thought, and to delay the evil moment as much as possible she went up to her room and took off her hat and smoothed her hair. But she could not linger over that operation indefinitely, especially as a housemaid who had already arrived to do her room volunteered the information that the breakfast gong had sounded nearly a quarter of an hour ago. With slow, reluctant feet that halted at every step Margaret went down the wide, shallow stairs. If any one had told her three days ago that she would go thus laggingly to resume acquaintance with a room full of young people she would have found difficulty in believing them. A buzz of talk and laughter struck loudly on her ear as she pushed the door open and went in.

Every member of the family, except Mrs. Danvers who never came down to breakfast, were assembled in the room, and, or so at least it seemed to Margaret as she hung for a moment unperceived in a hesitating manner on the threshold, they were all talking together.

In addition, Maud, who presumably occupied her mother's place at the head of the table, but who had vacated it for the time being, was balancing herself on the fender reading out scraps of news from a letter she held in her hand.

One of the two cadets had evidently only just made his appearance at breakfast, for he was standing at the sideboard, complaining, as he lifted the covers and inspected the contents of the hot dishes, that not a single thing worth eating had been left for him.