And the disappointment was extreme when Lady Emma slowly shook her head.
“That’s been put into your mind by Mrs Ramsay’s writing to you on the subject,” she began, and immediately poor Frances’ hopes faded. “I can’t say that it’s the sort of thing I should at all care for you to do, though what ever I feel about it really does not signify, as your father would never allow it. Then there is the expense of it—everything of that kind costs money.”
“Very little, as I tried to explain,” said Frances; “some of the books I got for Mrs Ramsay were most inexpensive.”
“I dare say,” said her mother, touched a little, in spite of herself, at the girl’s evident disappointment. “Of course, if I had any money to spare, I should have no objection to your all acquiring a little good practical knowledge of the kind. We, my sisters and I, were by no means ignorant about household remedies. The poor people used to come to the Castle as a matter of course when they were at a loss what to do. But it was so different! The people at Scaling Harbour can send for a doctor. There is a parish doctor, I suppose?”
Frances said no more. She knew by experience that it was a mistake to enter into an argument which would only end by emphasising opposition. She had learnt for so long the philosophy of thankfulness for small mercies that she was even glad of the inferred permission to get the books, should the chance of so doing ever present itself—but for the present, yes, the outlook was dreary enough. Frances could not but own it to herself.
“It does seem hard,” she thought, “very hard, not even to be allowed to use what little talent one may have in some good, sensible direction.”
She was on her way to join her sisters when she made these reflections, though with no intention of repeating to them the conversation that had just passed. She found them in the dining-room, kneeling on the rug before the fire—at this hour of the day a safe resort, as Mr Morion, though nothing would have made him acknowledge it, indulged in a before-dinner nap, apt to be somewhat prolonged, between tea and dinner-time. Considerably to her surprise, even more to her relief, the two girls were talking eagerly, almost indeed excitedly, though their voices were low.
“Oh, Francie, I’m so glad you’ve come!” said Betty. “Do you know what Eira has been telling me? She didn’t want to frighten me, but I made her tell. Do you know she really did hear something in the church?” and she proceeded to repeat Eira’s strange experience of the sound of rustling garments in the big pew.
Frances was inclined to be sceptical; sensible people usually are when first confronted with anything of the kind. It was easily to be accounted for, she thought, considering that Mr Ferraby had just been telling that the squire’s pew was, by repute, the haunted spot.
“I dare say it was one of the stiff moreen curtains dropping back into its place again, after you had been pushing them aside,” she said. But Eira shook her head.