Turquoise and Ruby

by L. T. Meade

Castle Beverley was even a more delightful place than Penelope had the least idea of before she arrived at it. She had her own vivid imagination, and had pictured the old castle, its suites of apartments, its crowds of servants, its stately guests, many and many a time before the blissful hour of her arrival. But when she did get to Castle Beverley, she found that all her pictures had been wrong.

It is true, there was an old castle, and a tower at one end of an irregular pile of building; but the modern part of the house, while it was large, was also unpretentious and simple.

The children who ran to meet the carriage were many of them Penelope’s schoolfellows. Mrs Beverley had a charming and placid face and a kindly manner. Mr Beverley was a round-faced, rubicund country squire, who made jokes about every one, and was as little alarming as human being could be. In short, it was impossible for Penelope not to feel herself at home. Her old schoolfellows welcomed her almost with enthusiasm. They had not cared for her greatly when at Hazlitt Chase, but they were just in the mood to be in the best temper with everything, and had been in raptures with her rendering of Helen of Troy. Honora, too, had pictured, very pathetically, the scene of the lonely girl afterwards weeping by herself in the wood, and the delightful inspiration which had come over her to give her some weeks’ holiday at Castle Beverley. Perhaps Cara Burt would have preferred her not being there, but Mary L’Estrange, who was also a visitor at the Castle, had quite forgiven Penelope for her desire to obtain five pounds. She put it down altogether, now, to the poor thing’s poverty, and hoped that the transaction would never be known. Annie Leicester had not yet arrived, but was expected. Susanna, the most to be feared, perhaps, of the four girls who had given Penelope the money, had gone abroad for the holidays.

Thus, all was sunshine on this first evening, and when Penelope found herself joking and repeating little bits of school news and some of the funny things which had occurred between herself and Mademoiselle, the others laughed heartily. Yes, that first evening was a golden one, long to be remembered by the somewhat lonely girl.

When she went to bed that night, she was so tired that she slept soundly until the morning. When the morning did arrive, and she was greeted by a smiling housemaid and a delicious cup of tea, she felt that, for the time at least, she was in the land of luxury.

“I’ll enjoy myself for once,” she thought, “I’ll forget about school and that I am very poor and that I am disappointed with Brenda, and that Brenda is staying at Marshlands, and Mademoiselle, too, is staying at Marshlands. I will forget everything but just that it is very, very good to be here.”

So she arose and dressed herself in one of the new white linen dresses which Mademoiselle had purchased for her out of Mrs Hazlitt’s money, and she came down to breakfast looking fresh and almost pretty.

“You do seem rested—I am so glad!” said Honora. “Oh, no, we are not breakfasting in that room. Father and mother and the grown-ups use the front hall for breakfast in the summer, and we children have the big old school-room to ourselves. You didn’t see it last night; we had so much to show you, but it is—oh—such a jolly room. Come now this way, you will be surprised at such a crowd of us.”

As Honora spoke, she took Penelope’s hand, and, pushing open a heavy oak door, led the way through a sort of ante-chamber and then down a corridor to a long, low room with latticed windows, over which many creepers cast just now a most grateful shade. There were several boys and girls in the room, and a long table was laid, with all sorts of good things for breakfast. Amongst the boys was Fred Hungerford and a younger brother called Dick, and there were three or four boys, brothers and cousins of Honora herself. There were altogether at least thirteen or fourteen girls. The two little Hungerfords flew up to Penelope when they saw her. They seemed to regard her as their special friend.

“Honora,” said Pauline, “may we sit one at each side of Penelope and tell her who every one is and all about everything? Then she’ll feel quite one of us and be—oh—so happy!”