Uncle Geoff's face clouded over again. Mrs. Partridge had spoken quite quietly and seemingly without temper. And now that I look back to it, I believe she did believe what she said. She had worked herself up to think us the naughtiest children there ever were, and really did not know how much was her own prejudice. No doubt it had been very "upsetting" to her to have all of a sudden three children brought into the quiet orderly house she had got to think almost her own, even though of course it was really Uncle Geoff's, and no doubt too, from the first, which was partly Pierson's fault, though she hadn't meant it, the boys and I had taken a dislike to her and had not shown ourselves to advantage. I can see all how it was quite plainly now—now that I have so often talked over this time of troubles with mother and with aunt—(but I am forgetting, I mustn't tell you that yet). But at the time, I could see no excuse for Mrs. Partridge. I thought she was telling stories against us on purpose, and I hated her for telling them in the quiet sort of way she did, which I could see made Uncle Geoff believe her.
All the smile had gone out of his face when he turned to us again.
"Rudeness and disobedience," he repeated slowly, looking at us—at Tom and me especially, "what an account to send to your parents! I do not think there is any use my saying any more. I said all I could to you, Audrey, this morning, and you are the eldest. I trusted you to do your utmost to show the boys a good example. Partridge, we must do our best to get a firm, strict nurse for them at once. I cannot have my house upset in this way."
He turned and went away without saying a word—without even wishing us good night. It was very, very hard upon us, and I must say hard on me particularly, for I know I had been trying my best—trying to be patient and cheerful and to make the little boys the same. And now to have Uncle Geoff so entirely turned against us, and worst of all to think of him writing to papa and mother about our being naughty! What would they think?—that we had not even been able to be good for one week after they had left us would seem so dreadful. I did not seem as if I wanted to write to papa and mother myself—it would have been like complaining of Uncle Geoff, and besides, saying of myself that I had been trying to be good wouldn't have seemed much good. But I felt more and more that some one must write and tell them the truth, and the only person I could think of to do so was Pierson. So I settled in my own mind to write to her as soon as I could; that was the only thing I could settle.
In punishment, I suppose, for our having been—as she called it—"so naughty," Mrs. Partridge sent Sarah to put us to bed extra early that evening. Sarah was very kind and sympathising, but I now can see that she was not very sensible. She was angry with Mrs. Partridge herself, and everything she said made us feel more angry.
"I hope it will be fine to-morrow, so that I can take you out a walk," she said, when she had put us all to bed and was turning away. "By the day after I suppose the new nurse will be coming."
We all three started up at that.
"Will she, Sarah?" we said. "What have you heard about her?"
"Oh, I don't know anything settled," Sarah replied, "but I believe Mrs. Partridge is going into the country to-morrow to see some one, and to hear her talk you'd think her only thought was to get some one as hard and strict as can be. 'Spare the rod and spoil the child,' and such like things she's been saying in the kitchen this evening. A nice character she'll give of you to the new nurse. My word, but I should feel angry if I saw her dare to lay a hand on Master Tom or Master Racey."
I beckoned to Sarah to come nearer, and spoke to her in a whisper for the boys not to hear.