Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
A Houseful of Girls
By Mrs George de Horne Vaizey
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Another book by Mrs de Horne Vaizey, also known as Jessie Mansergh,
about the lives of five girls in one family, and their friends, in
Edwardian times. Of course every time there is a major event, such as
an engagement, or the cancellation of one, the different girls all have
different takes on the situation. NH
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A HOUSEFUL OF GIRLS
BY MRS GEORGE DE HORNE VAIZEY
CHAPTER ONE.
HALF A DOZEN DAUGHTERS.
There were six of them altogether--six great big girls,--and they lived
in a great big house, in the middle of a long high road, one end of
which loses itself in London town, while the other goes stretching away
over the county of Hertford. Years ago, John Gilpin had ridden his
famous race down that very road, and Christabel loved to look out of her
bedroom window and imagine that she saw him flying along, with his poor
bald head bared to the _breeze_, and the bottles swinging on either
side. She had cut a picture of him out of a book and tacked it on her
wall, for, as she explained to Agatha, her special sister, she felt it a
duty to support "local talent," and, so far as she could discover,
Gilpin was the only celebrity who had ever patronised the neighbourhood.
Christabel was the youngest of the family--a position which, as every
one knows, is only second in importance to that of the eldest, and, in
this instance, Maud was so sweet and unassuming that the haughty young
person of fourteen ruled her with a rod of iron.
Fair-haired Lilias was a full-fledged young lady, and Nan had had all
her dresses let down, and was supposed to have her hair up; but as a
matter of fact it was more often down than not, for it was heavy and
plentiful, and Nan's ten thumbs could by no chance fasten it securely.
Hair-pins littered the schoolroom floor, hair-pins stood out
aggressively against the white paint on the stairs, hair-pins nestled in
the little creases of velvet chairs: there were hair-pins, hair-pins
everywhere, except just where they should have been--on Nan's dressing-
table; and here there was such a dearth of these useful articles, that
on one memorable occasion she had been compelled to effect a coiffure
with the aid of a piece of string and a broken comb. The effect was
striking for a good ten minutes, and then came the inevitable collapse;
but, "Dear me," as Nan observed, "accidents will happen, and what is the
use of making a fuss about a thing like that, when the world is full of
suffering!"
Elsie thanked her stars that she was only sixteen, and need not be
"grown-up" for two long years to come; but when her younger sisters grew
obtrusive, she suddenly remembered that she would be seventeen in three
months' time, and would have them know that she was to be treated with
respect; and, in spite of daily discussions, feuds, and battles, the
girls all loved each other dearly, and believed that such a charming and
highly endowed family had never before existed in the annals of
Christendom.
As a matter of fact, the Rendell girls had claim to one great
distinction--promiscuous accomplishments had been discarded in their
case, and each had been brought up to do some one thing well. Maud was
musical, and practised scales two hours a day as a preliminary before
settling down for another two or three hours of sonatas and fugues.
Elsie locked herself in her bedroom for a like period, and the wails of
her violin came floating downstairs like the lament of a lost soul. Nan
appropriated a chilly attic, carved wood and her fingers at the same
time, and clanged away at copper work, knocking her nails black and blue
with ill-directed strokes of the hammer, as she manufactured the panels
which were fitted into her oak carving with such artistic effect.
Lilias declared sweetly that she was too stupid to do anything, but
privately reflected that at least she had mastered the art of looking
charming; and what did it matter if she _were_ useless, since with her
beauty she would certainly marry a duke on the first opportunity, and be
spirited away to a life of luxury! As for Agatha and Christabel, they
were supposed to devote themselves to the study of languages and the
domestic arts, but in private conclave they had already decided on their
future career. They were to keep a select academy for young ladies, in
which they would correct all those glaring errors of governess and
mother under which they themselves had groaned.
"I can bear it better when I feel it is for a good end. Our girls shall
never suffer as I am suffering!" said Chrissie, with an air of
martyrdom, when she was ordered to bed at nine o'clock, and
remorselessly roused from slumber at seven a.m. "If grown-ups were
sensible, they would allow a child to follow its own instinct. Nature
must surely know better than mothers; and my nature tells me to sit up
at nights and have breakfast in bed. To be sent off as if one were a
child in arms is really too horribly trying!"
"And when Mr Barr was there too! So degrading! Last night he was
talking to me about books, and I'm sure he thought I was quite grown up.
The table was between us, you know, so he couldn't see my legs. I was
enjoying myself so much, and saying that I thought Thackeray much over-
rated, when mother came up and said, `Time for bed, Chickie! Run away!'
I assure you, I _blushed_ with mortification."
"Piteous!" said Christabel, bringing out her pet word with emphasis.
"They never think of our feelings. I shall make it a rule to study the
characters of our young ladies, and avoid wounding their
susceptibilities. I know how it feels!"
In spite of their many sufferings, however, the Rendells would one and
all have been ready to declare that there never had been, might, could,
would, or should be, such another father and mother as they possessed.
To have a son at college, and yourself carry off a prize at a tennis
tournament, was surely a feat to be proud of on the part of a father;
and what joy to have a tiny little scrap of a mother, who could be
petted like a child and lifted up in the arms of the youngest daughter--
a mother who had solved the problem of eternal youth, and looked so
pretty and so meek, that it was a constant marvel where on earth she
managed to stow that colossal will-power before which every member of
the household bowed and trembled.
The Rendells' house was at once the brightest, the airiest, and the
noisiest in the neighbourhood. As there were only six daughters, it can
truthfully be asserted that there were never more than half a dozen
girls talking at the same moment. Strangers passing beneath the
schoolroom window at a moment when the sisters were assembled together,
had indeed been known to estimate the numbers present as from a dozen to
twenty; but such a statement was obviously false, and tended to that
painful habit of exaggeration which it is the duty of all good folk to
deplore. They were girls of strong individuality, and each felt it a
duty to state her own views on any given subject, which she proceeded to
do, undaunted by the fact that her companions were too much engrossed in
talking themselves to be able to listen to a word she said. Maud
talked, pouring out tea and dropping sugar into the cups with tragic
emphasis; Lilias prattled sweetly, waving her white hands to enforce a
point which no one heard; Nan banged the table and upset her cup in
violence of denunciation; Elsie squeaked away in melancholy treble; and
Agatha's "Too bad!" and Christabel's "Horrid shame!" were heard
uninterruptedly in every pause.
When the door of the Grange opened to admit a stranger, the wail of a
violin, the jingle of the piano, and the clang of Nan's hammer greeted
him on the threshold, and from morn till night the echo of laughter and
of happy voices never died away. There was only one occasion when the
Rendell girls subsided into silence, and that was when Jim--the brother,
the typical man of the race--came home on a visit and shed the lustre of
his presence on his native village. Then the Miss Rendells sat in rows
at his feet, paying obeisance, and, meekly opening their mouths,
swallowed all he said, not even Nan herself daring to raise a question.
CHAPTER TWO.
A HAPPY THOUGHT.
Thurston House, the abode of the Rendell family, was one of those
curiously-constructed houses which are only to be met with in old-
fashioned neighbourhoods. It stood directly on the high road, a big
grey building which could boast of no architectural beauty, and which
indeed presented a somewhat cheerless aspect, with its wire blinds and
tall, straight windows. A gaunt, town-like house--such was the
impression made upon the casual passer--by; but appearances are apt to
be deceptive, and that same stranger would have speedily altered his
impression, if he had been taken round the garden to view the other side
of the house. It was almost impossible to believe in such a different
aspect! From one side a busy high road, strings of cyclists, _char a
bancs_ driving past, bearing parties of brawling trippers, clouds of
dust, the echo of the drivers' horns, and the continued whirl of wheels;
and on the other--deep bay windows looking on to a lawn of softest
green, winding paths shaded with grand old trees, and, beyond all, a
meadow stretching down to the riverside, where punt and canoe stood
waiting in happy proximity, and clumps of bamboos flourished in eastern
luxuriance.
"Our country house," the girls called the rooms facing south, "Our town
house," those at the front; but though they adored the garden, and spent
every available moment out of doors, the busy high road still held an
attraction of its own. Mrs Rendell had her own entertaining rooms at
the back of the house, but the girls were faithful to the little porch
chamber which had been their property since childhood--a quaint little
den built over the doorway, with a window at each of the three sides,
through which an extended view was afforded of the comings and goings of
the neighbourhood.
"I love this dear little bower," sighed Lilias sentimentally. "There's
something so quaint and old-world about it. I feel like Elaine in her
turret-chamber, looking out upon the great wide world."
"And it's such sport watching the people pass, especially on rainy days
when the wind is high, and they are trying to hold up their dresses, and
carry an umbrella and half a dozen parcels at the same time!" cried Nan
with a relish. "Last Saturday was the very worst day of the year, and
all the good housewives went past to shop. Chrissie and Agatha and I
offered a prize to go to the one who guessed rightly who would have the
muddiest boots. It was lovely watching them! Old Mrs Rowe, clutching
her dress in front, and showing all her ankles, while at the back it was
trailing on the ground; Mrs Smith, stalking like a grenadier, with a
skimpy skirt and snow-shoes a yard long; dear, sweet little Mrs Bruce,
as neat as ever, with not a single splash; and Mrs Booth, splattered
right up to her waist, with boots as white as that rag. I had her name
on my paper, so I got the prize, and spent it in caramels. I'm getting
rather tired of caramels--I've had such a run on them lately. I must
turn to something else for a change."
"You are getting too old to eat sweets, Nan," said Lilias severely.
"You ought to set the children a better example. If all the money you
spend at the confectioner's was put together, you would be surprised to
find how much it was. And it's bad for your teeth to eat so much sugar.
Why don't you save up, and put it to some really good use?"
"Such as frilling, and ribbons, and combs for the hair!" suggested Nan
slily, rolling her eyes at the younger girls, who chuckled in the
consciousness that Lilias had got her answer this time at least, since
every one knew well how her pocket-money went! "What is your idea of
something useful, my dear? We'd be pleased to take into consideration
any scheme which you may have to propose, but in its present form the
suggestion is somewhat vague."
"My dear child, you know as well as I do that there are a hundred
different ways. The only difficulty is to choose." Lilias stared out
of the window, trying hard to cudgel up one idea out of the specified
hundred, in case she should be pressed still further. That was the
worst of Nan, she always persisted on pushing a subject to the end.
"You--er--you might help the poor of the parish!"
"Just what we do! I heard the vicar say myself that Mrs Evans was a
striving little woman who ought to be supported. If we took away our
custom--"
"I mean the really poor. Mrs Evans would not shut up shop for the want
of your threepenny-pieces, but the Mission at Sale is always short of
funds. If you had a collecting-box, you could send in a subscription at
Christmas."
"`The Misses Margaret, Elsa, Agatha, and Christabel Rendell--four and
sixpence halfpenny,'" quoted Chrissie derisively. She marched across
the room and stationed herself with her back to the fire, her thin face
looking forth from a cloud of hair, an expression of dignified disdain
curling her lips. "How important it sounds, to be sure! It's all very
well talking about saving up, Lilias, but it's not so easy to do with
sixpence a week, and birthdays every month, and Christmas presents, and
pencils and indiarubbers, and always seeing fresh things in the shop-
windows that you want to buy. It's not that I wouldn't like to help: if
I had a sovereign, I'd give it at once, but I won't be put down in the
list for eighteenpence, and that's all I could save, if I tried, from
now to Christmas. I gave a threepenny-bit to old `Chairs to mend' only
last Saturday, and one the week before to a woman who was begging. I am
most charitably disposed!"
"So am I," agreed Agatha--"especially when it's cold. Rags wouldn't be
so bad in summer, but they must be awfully draughty in winter. And I
spend less in sweets than any of the others, because my teeth ache.
I've often wished we could do something for the Mission; but I'm so
poor, and I sha'n't get any goose-money till autumn. I wish we could
think of some plan by which we could make some more. Chrissie and I are
always talking about it. There seems so few ways in which girls of
fourteen can make money. We thought of writing and asking the editor of
the employment column; but mother laughed at us, and said it was
nonsense. It's not nonsense to us!"
"If we could only have a sale of work," said Lilias slowly. She was
still staring dreamily out of the window, and hardly realised what she
was saying, but the other four girls turned sharply towards each other,
and a flash of delight passed from one pair of eyes to the other.
"Ah-ah!" sighed Elsie.
"Splendiferous!" cried Nan.
"How simp-lay love-lay!" drawled Christabel, with the languid elegance
of manner for which she was distinguished; and Agatha beamed broadly all
over her good-humoured face, oblivious of the sufferings of the poor in
the prospect of her own amusement.
"What fun we should have! I'd bake the cakes and manage the refreshment
stall! Tea and coffee, threepence a cup; lemonade, fourpence; fruit
salad, sixpence a plate!"
"I'd sell toffee in tins, and have a pin-cushion table, and make every
single soul I know give me a contribution."
"I'd give my new oak bracket. No, it's too big. I couldn't spare that;
but I'd carve something else; and make little brass trays and panels.
`High art stall: Miss Margaret Rendell. Objects of bigotry and virtue
to be handed over to her,' and don't you forget it!"
"I'll take visitors out in the punt at threepence a head. I'm so stupid
that I can't do any work, but the idea is mine, and that ought to count
for something," said Lilias; and a vision rose before her eyes of a slim
white figure gracefully handling the pole as the punt glided down the
stream. Punting was a most becoming occupation; on the whole she could
not have hit on a pleasanter manner of helping the cause. "I daresay I
shall make quite a lot of money!" she added cheerfully; and her sisters
laughed with the half-indulgent, half-derisive laughter with which they
were accustomed to greet Lilias's sayings. She was so sweetly
unconscious of her own selfishness, and looked so pretty as she turned
her big bewildered eyes from one to the other, that they had not the
heart to disturb her equanimity.
"The punt is a good idea," admitted Nan, "for people are always pleased
to go on the river, and we must turn our advantages to account. A
garden sale, that's what we must have! Little tables dotted about the
lawn beneath Japanese umbrellas; tea in a tent, and seats under the
trees. We can use all the properties that mother keeps for her garden
parties, and make it just as pretty and attractive as can be. I
shouldn't wonder if we made a lot of money, for we shall be so original
and ingenious. People are so stupid in this world. I always feel I
could do things so much better myself. Who wants to go to a stuffy old
bazaar in the Mission Room? No one does! They go from a sense of duty.
Mother groans and says, `Oh dear, if I could only give a subscription
and be done with it! More cosies and chairbacks! I've a drawerful
already!' And bazaar things are hideous! Father gave me ten shillings
to spend at the Christmas sale, and I wandered round and round like a
lost sheep, and couldn't see a single thing that I wanted. In the end I
bought a cover for _Bradshaw_. It wasn't a bit useful, for I never have
a _Bradshaw_; but it was the nicest thing I saw. Now, let us solemnly
resolve not to have anything on our stalls that will not reflect credit
on our judgment. Nothing ugly, nothing useless, nothing vulgar--"
"Impossible, my dear! Can't be managed. It's the law of Nature that
the kindest-hearted people have the least taste. I don't know why it
should be so, but it is, and I'll prove it to you. If we announced that
we were going to have a sale of work and asked for contributions, who
would be the first people to respond?" Christabel thrust out her left
hand and began checking off the fingers with dramatic emphasis. "Miss
Ross,--Mrs Hudson,--Mary Field,--old Jane Evans. `So pleased to hear
that the dear children are interesting themselves in the welfare of
their poor brothers and sisters, and I've brought round a few wool mats
as a little expression of sympathy!'--that's Mrs Ross! Then Mary Ann
would hobble up with a parcel wrapped up in a handkerchief, and kiss us
all twice over, and say, `I've brought round a piece of my own fancy
work, lovies, as a contribution for your sale. My sight is not what it
used to be, and it's difficult to get the material one would like in
this little place; but shaded silks always look well, and I made the
fringe myself out of odd pieces of wool.' And _that's_ not the worst!
Mrs Hudson would paint bulrushes on cream-pots, and forget-me-nots on
tambourines, and come round bristling with importance. `I always find
fancy work is overdone at sales, so I thought a little of my hand-
painting would be acceptable! No one needs more than a dozen cosies,
but every one is glad of an extra tambourine!' ... It's easy to talk,
my dear, but what could you do when it came to the point? There's
nothing for it but to smile, and look pleased."
"I should say politely, but firmly, that I could not find it in my heart
to deprive them of such treasures--that with so many deserving objects
craving support, it would be pure selfishness on our part to monopolise
all the good things! Such munificence was far, far more than we
deserved, and would they kindly send a little cake instead? They would
be delighted, for they are everlastingly giving to some mission or
other, and are always in a rush to get work finished. But I don't
propose to let things reach such a climax. I wouldn't hurt their dear
old feelings for the world. So we will say at once that we want cake
and fruit, and we shall get the very best of its kind. We must fix our
date for the strawberry season; for the human heart is desperately
wicked, and people will gladly pay sixpence to sit under trees and eat
strawberries and cream, when wild horses wouldn't drag twopence out of
them for a pen-wiper. I expect we shall succeed best with punting and
refreshments."
"If it's fine! But it won't be fine--it will pour!" said Elsie
gloomily, and wagged her head in the hopeless manner of one who has
tasted deeply of the world, and knew its hollowness by heart. If there
was by chance a cheerful _and_ a melancholy view to be taken on any
subject, Elsie invariably chose the melancholy one, and gloated over it
with ghoulish enjoyment. She was never so happy as when she was
miserable,--as an Irishman would have had it,--and hugged the conviction
that she was "unappreciated" by her family, and a victim of fate. She
shed tears over _Misunderstood_ in the solitude of her chamber, and
cultivated an expression of patient martyrdom, as most fitted for her
condition. Occasionally she forgot herself so far as to be cheery and
playful; but her feelings were so ultrasensitive that they were bound to
be wounded by some thoughtlessness on the part of her sisters before
many hours were over, when she would remember her own unhappiness, and
roam away by herself to the other end of the garden to apostrophise the
heavens and pity her hard lot. "It will be sure to pour! It always
does pour when we want to do anything!" she declared; upon which Nan
threw her book into the air and caught it again with a dexterous
movement.
"Fiddle-de-dee! It's going to be a bright, glorious summer day, with
just enough sun to be warm and not enough to be hot, and just enough
wind to be cool and not enough to be cold. And the grass is going to be
dry and the strawberries ripe; and all the pretty ladies and gentlemen
are going to drive over from miles and miles around, and spend so much
money that they will have none left to take them home. What is the use
of croaking? If things go wrong, it's bad enough to have to bear them
at the time; but until then imagination is our own, and we will make the
most of it. It will not pour, my dear Raven; so don't let me hear you
say so again! Make up your mind that this sale is going to be a
success, and try to bear it as well as you can."
Elsie looked up at the corner of the ceiling, and arched her eyebrows in
resigned and submissive fashion. When the rain did come,--as of course
it would,--when all the fancy work was drenched and the pretty dresses
spoiled, the girls would remember her prophecy, and be compelled to
acknowledge its correctness; but till then she would suffer in silence,
and refuse to be drawn into vulgar argument. So she determined, at
least; but a fiery temptation assailed her in the form of another
objection, so unanswerable that it was not in human nature to resist
hurling it at the heads of her companions.
"I hope you are right, I am sure; but, all the same, it is rather early
in the day to make arrangements. You are counting without your host.
How can you tell that mother will consent to let you have the sale at
all?"
And at that the listeners hung their heads and were silent, for it was
indeed useless to build castles unless they were first assured of this
foundation.
CHAPTER THREE.
A NEW NEIGHBOUR.
After dinner that evening the six girls assembled in the drawing-room,
and little Mrs Rendell sat in their midst on a low chair drawn up in
the centre of the fireplace. A grey silk dress fitted closely to the
lines of her tiny figure, two minute little slippers were placed upon
the fender, and the diamonds flashed on her fingers as she held up a fan
to protect her face from the blaze. She looked ridiculously young and
pretty, to be the mother of those six big girls; and a stranger looking
in at the scene would have put her down as a helpless little creature,
too meek and gentle to cope with such heavy responsibilities. But the
stranger would have been mistaken.
"Mother darling," said Christabel insinuatingly, "granting always that
you are the kindest and most amiable of mothers, do you happen to feel
in an extra specially angelic temper this evening?"
"An `oh-certainly-my-darlings-do-whatever-you-please' temper!" chimed in
Nan sweetly; "because if you do--"
"I hope I shall never be so forgetful of my duties as to say anything so
indiscreet," replied Mrs Rendell firmly. "Margaret, your hair is
tumbling down again! Kneel down, and let me fasten it for you at once!"
Nan knelt down meekly, her roguish face on a level with her mother's,
and the brown coils were twisted and hair-pinned together with swift,
decided fingers.
"You must do it like this--do you see!--tighter, closer, more firmly!"
"Yes, mother."
"It's disgraceful that a big girl like you--a girl nearly eighteen--
should not be able to do her own hair!"
"Yes, mother."
"You wouldn't like to be known as the girl with the untidy hair, I
suppose, or to have a collapse of this sort in church or in the street?"
"No, mother."
"Then pray, my dear, be more careful. Don't let me have to speak
again."
"I'll try, mother. A rough head, but a loving heart! You might kiss me
now and say you're sorry, for you stuck two hair-pins right into my
scalp, and I never winced!"
Mrs Rendell smiled, and laid a gentle hand on the girl's cheek. For
one moment her dignified airs seemed to vanish, and nothing but motherly
tenderness shone in her eyes, but the next she drew herself up again,
stiff as a little poker, and said lightly--
"Nonsense, nonsense! Get up, child, and don't be ridiculous! Sit on
that high chair, and don't stoop! I can't endure to see a young girl
lounging on a couch. What is this new scheme that you wish to ask me
about to-night?"
"Mother dear, you know you like us to be charitable! You are always
preaching--er, I mean impressing upon us--that we ought to remember the
poah," said Christabel, standing up as stiff as a grenadier, and smiling
at her mother in her most ingratiating manner. Mrs Rendell would have
died rather than acknowledge a special weakness towards any member of
her flock; but as a matter of fact her youngest-born possessed a power
of wheedling favours which none of her sisters could boast, and was
herself agreeably conscious of the fact, and fond of putting it to the
test. "I am sure you will approve of our scheme, and feel pleased with
us for thinking of it. It's for the Mission. We thought of getting up
a little sale among ourselves, and giving the proceeds towards the
funds."
"It is so little that we can give; but if we devote our time and
strength"--murmured Lilias prettily.
"It all adds up when you put it together," said practical Agatha; "and
you can stick on such awful prices. Chrissie and I thought we might
have the refreshments and a pin-cushion stall, and set out little tables
on the lawn."
"Such jolly fun!" gushed Nan. "Every one would come; and we would have
games, and sports, and sails in the boats, and something to pay wherever
they went. The young ones would stay, after the others had gone, to eat
up the strawberries, and we would have pounds and pounds to give to the
secretary."
"Of strawberries?" queried Mrs Rendell coldly. "Your English, Nan, is
painful to hear. I think I shall write down some of your sentences and
give them to you to parse. Then perhaps you may realise how they sound!
A sale for the Mission! That is an ambitious idea. How do you propose
to get together enough work to fill a single stall, much less three or
four?"
"There are five months before July, and we would work like niggers all
the time. Nan would carve, we would sew, all our friends would help,
and we would make money by tea and refreshments. Really and truly, we
could do very well, if you would only say `Yes'."
"And we should so enjoy it! It's horrid having nothing to look forward
to; and if there was this in prospect, we should be busy and occupied,
and the wet days wouldn't seem half so long!"
"Now, let us understand each other," said Mrs Rendell briskly. "Is
this scheme proposed for your own amusement, or for the good of the
Mission? One says one thing, one another, and I can't make up my mind
whether I am asked to consent to a charity or to a novel form of garden-
party. I should like to have that point settled before we go any
further. Are you thinking of yourselves or your neighbours?"
Silence. The sisters looked at one another askance. Elsie sighed and
shook her head, Agatha flushed to the roots of her hair, only Nan
retained her composure, and said daringly--
"Both, mother. We began by saying that we should like to give a
contribution, but we had so little money that it seemed hardly worth
while sending it; and then the sale was suggested. The first idea was
to help the Mission, but we did think that it would be good fun for
ourselves as well! There is no harm in that, is there? You have said
lots of times that you love cheerful givers, and it must be better to do
a thing willingly than grumbling all the time. Do people who get up
bazaars never think of the fun, and the dresses, and the meeting with
their friends, but only just of the charity for which they are working?
Oh, mother, I don't believe they do! I've heard you say yourself--"
"Nan, Nan, Nan! I object to be quoted! It is dreadful to have an
audience of six girls swallowing every word, and bringing them up in
judgment on the first convenient opportunity!" Mrs Rendell showed her
pretty teeth in a smile of amusement, and returned to the subject in
hand with suspicious haste. "Well, you are honest, at any rate, and so
long as you keep the idea of helping others to the fore, and don't allow
it to be crowded out by the thought of your own enjoyment, I don't see
anything to object to in your scheme. No; I don't give my consent yet!
You must think it over quietly for a week, and be quite sure of your own
minds. A sale would involve more work than you think; for you will have
to give up time and money and do the thing thoroughly, if you once take
it in hand. I will promise nothing to-night; for I wonder how many
times you have come to me brimming over with enthusiasm about some new
plan, and how often it has collapsed like a bubble in a couple of days!
You are such changeable children!"
"Oh, Mummy, come! Call things by their nice names," pleaded Nan. "It's
not fickleness--it's fertility of imagination; it's not a collapse--it's
only a fresh beginning! But we really mean it this time, and you mean
to say `Yes,' too. I know you do; so nothing now remains but to talk it
over with Kitty in the morning."
"Ah, yes! Until Kitty has been consulted nothing can be called
certain," said Mrs Rendell, smiling again; and as she spoke she lifted
her head in a listening gesture, and pushed her stool from the fire.
She had heard the opening of a door, and knew that her husband had
finished his after-dinner cigar and was on his way to the drawing-room;
and the next moment he appeared on the threshold, looked round the group
by the fire, and threw himself in a chair by Nan's side.
"Well, Mops!" The big hand descended on the girl's head, and ruffled
the locks which had been so carefully put in order, while she turned up
her face with a beaming smile, for there was a special bond of union
between herself and her father, and they aided and abetted each other in
mischief like a couple of merry children. "Well, Mops, how goes it?
What pranks have you been up to to-day?"
"Oh, father, none at all. I've behaved beautifully--just like a real,
grown-up lady! In the morning I pursued my avocations, and in the
afternoon I went out calling, with light kid gloves and a card-case.
Every one was out but old Mrs Reed, and you would have loved it if you
could have heard us talk! We discussed the weather in all its branches.
Cold--dampy-cold--dry cold; warm--close-warm--breezy warm; hot,
thundery hot, scorching. She told me which of each she liked best, and
which her poor dear mother had liked best; and I lingered on and on,
hoping they would bring in tea, until at last I yawned so much that I
was obliged to come away unfed. Then I had cold tea and scraps in the
schoolroom, and we discussed charitable agencies."
"Oh, Nan, Nan, this will never do! You are getting altogether too
civilised. I shall have no playmate left at this rate," cried her
father, laughing. "Can't you be satisfied with two grown-up daughters,
mother, and leave Mops to me for a few years longer?"
Mrs Rendell tried to look shocked, a task which she found somewhat
difficult when her husband was the offender; but if her eyes betrayed
her, the elevated brows and pursed-up lips made a valiant show of
disapproval.
"At eighteen? She is past eighteen, remember. You don't expect a girl
of eighteen to run about in short skirts, with her hair down her back?"
"She would look much nicer!" sighed Mr Rendell, looking regretfully
first at the long white skirt, and then at the coiled-up tresses. "They
grow up so quickly, Edith; I live in terror of having no children left--
nothing but fashionable young ladies. One must give in to custom to a
certain extent, I suppose, but I warn you frankly that Chrissie shall be
the exception. It would break my heart to see Chrissie properly grown
up. Chrissie shall always wear her hair down her back!"
Christabel screwed up her eyes at him across the fireplace with a smile
of indulgent affection. He was so young, this dear old father! so
ridiculously young, that his vagaries could not be treated with the
severity they deserved. It was truest wisdom to take no notice, and
lead the conversation to wiser topics.
"Any news in the great world to-day, father?" she inquired airily. "Any
nice little bits of gossip to tell us? We look forward to hearing your
news, you know, as part of the day's excitement."
"My news, indeed! Gossip, she calls it. If you had to provide for half
a dozen daughters, Miss Christabel, you wouldn't find much time to spend
in `gossip.' I go to town to work, and leave it to you at home to run
round collecting the news of the neighbourhood. I know nothing. I hear
nothing. Men don't trouble themselves with gossip."
Seven long-drawn gasps of incredulity greeted this utterance; seven
pairs of eyes rolled involuntarily to the ceiling; seven heads wagged in
accusation.
"Oh, oh, oh! Who goes on 'Change and is told the latest jokes? Who
goes to a _cafe_ after lunch and smokes with his cronies? Who has
afternoon tea, and talks again? Who travels every day with the same men
in the train, and hears everything, every--single--tiny--weeny snap of
news that has happened within ten miles around?"
"Don't know, I'm sure. I don't!"
"Oh, oh! Who told us about Evan Bruce, and about Mabel's engagement,
and the robbery at the Priory, and--and--"
"For pity's sake, stop talking all at once! Take it in turns. Speak in
pairs if you must, but not in a perfect orchestra. I didn't know I had
been the first to hear any of those thrilling incidents, but it was
quite an exception if I did. We generally read reviews, or talk
business. I've no news for you to-night, at any rate."
"You always say so at first, dear. You're so forgetful. Think again.
Frank Brightwen, now--he told you something?"
"Gold Reef shares gone up two per cent. Market closed firm, with a
tendency to rise."
"I shall buy some at once. I like things that are going to rise. Be
sensible now, for I shall have to go to bed in ten minutes, and I do so
want to be amused. Had Mr Keeling nothing interesting to relate?"
"Bad cold, and feared influenza. Details of his last attack.
Prescriptions from all the other fellows, with accounts of their own
experiences."
"Deah me, how appalling! Worse than a tea-party! I had no ideah men
could be so dull. Nobody engaged? Nobody married? Nobody going to
give a dance? No new people coming to live in the neighbourhood?"
"Ha!" Mr Rendell struck an attitude of remembrance, at which the
watching faces brightened with smiles. "Yes, now I come to think of it,
there was one little item of news. I forgot all about it; but you will
be interested, no doubt. The Grange is sold!"
The expression of curiosity on his daughters' faces was exchanged for
one of blank amazement. Even his wife gave a start of surprise, and
turned towards him with eager inquiry.
"Let! Really let, Alfred? You don't mean it?"
"So I am told."
"We've been told so so often that one grows sceptical. Is it really and
truly sold, and the deeds signed? I sha'n't believe it unless they are,
for difficulties have cropped up so often at the last moment. Are you
quite sure this time?"
"As sure as it is possible to be about anything in this wicked world.
Braithwaite tells me it's an accomplished fact. The deeds are signed,
and the workmen are to begin putting the house in order next week. You
may take it as settled this time, for the man really means to come. He
is a certain Ernest Vanburgh by name, and has been living abroad for
some years."
"And is there a Mrs Vanburgh, and has he any children, and are they
young or grown up?"
"Is he a dull sort of man, or will he be hospitable, and give dinners
and parties and help to make the place lively?"
"Is he musical, father, because there's that lovely big room where we
could have such charming musical evenings?"
Mr Rendell shrugged his shoulders with an air of resignation.
"How like a woman, or rather, I should say, how like half a dozen women
put together! My dears, I know absolutely nothing about the man, except
that he has bought the place. He is in a hurry to get settled, so you
will probably find out all about him for yourselves before many weeks
are over. It's no use asking questions. He was willing to pay down the
money, and that was all that Braithwaite cared about. He may be a
bachelor or a second Bluebeard, for all I know; but I suppose in either
case he will still be better than nobody."
"Of course he will. Blank windows are so dull. Curtains are much more
interesting. There's so much character in curtains. I can tell the
sort of woman who lives in a house merely by looking at her curtains.
It will be a new interest in life to have the Grange let again."
"And I have a Feeling that it will be an Epoch in our lives. I have a
Feeling that our Fate and that of the new tenants will be inextricably
woven together. It may be foolish, but these convictions are borne in
upon me; I cannot help them!" cried Elsie, clasping her hands and
opening her blue eyes to the fullest capacity, as she turned a gaze of
mysterious raptness upon the group by the fireplace. "Perhaps in years
to come we may look back upon this evening as a milestone marking out
the past from the future, and realise--"
A burst of laughter put a stop to further sentimentalising, and Elsie
retired within her shell, aggrieved and dignified; but for once she was
right in her surmises, for her own fate and that of her sisters was
indeed destined to be permanently affected by the coming of the new
tenant of the Grange.
CHAPTER FOUR.
CASTLES IN THE AIR.
The news that the Grange was sold was truly of great interest to the
Rendell family, for the house faced their own on the opposite side of
the road, and its uninhabited condition had been a standing grievance.
That one of the handsomest houses of the neighbourhood should remain
empty was a serious matter in a small community, and the younger girls
listened with bated breath to the accounts of the gorgeous
entertainments which had been given by the last tenant, hoping against
hope that the time would soon come when the house would once more be
thrown open, and the great oak-panelled rooms re-echo to the sound of
music and laughter. Like their own house, a portion of the Grange
abutted on to the high road, so that a row of windows lay immediately
open to inspection; but two great wings stretched back to right and
left, and the house was surrounded on three sides by beautiful and
extensive grounds. The late owner had spent lavishly in beautifying the
place, and had asked in return a sum so exorbitant, that though many
would-be tenants had arrived to look over the house, one and all drew
back when the nature of his demands was made known, and the Rendell
girls were not the only people who had despaired of a settlement. But
now at last a delightful certainty had been gained, the deeds were
signed, and the long waiting was at an end!
The morning after the news had been received, Agatha and Christabel
rushed to the porch-room directly after breakfast, and flattened their
noses against the pane to watch for the first sign of their chosen
companion, that same Kitty of whom mention has already been made, and
who came daily to join the schoolroom party, instead of indulging in the
luxury of a governess of her own. She came at last, a tall lamp-post of
a girl, with blue serge skirt blowing back from long brown legs, a plaid
Tam O'Shanter perched on the top of chestnut locks, and a bundle of
books tucked beneath the arm of a corduroy jacket. Christabel banged an
eager fist upon the window, and rushed downstairs in a whirl of
excitement to meet her friend, and carry her off to the schoolroom.
"My deah, such news! You'll never guess! It's perfectly charming!
You'll go wild when you hear it!"
Kitty sat down in a chair and gazed calmly around. Whether she would
"go wild" or not when the news was unfolded remained to be seen; but in
the meantime her composure showed not the slightest sign of being
disturbed.
"Um!" she ejaculated, and began to divest herself of her outdoor
garments, as if nothing more important engrossed her attention. She
tugged at the fingers of her deerskin gloves, and let them fall
indiscriminately at either side of her chair; she sent her cap flying
across the room, wriggled out of her jacket, kicked her overshoes
beneath the table, then folded her arms and seemed to feel that she had
no further responsibility in the matter. The art of putting away
outdoor clothes was one, indeed, which Miss Kitty seemed powerless to
master. In vain her mother exhausted herself in objurgation, and grew
alternately pitiful and angry; Kitty kissed her fervently and vowed
amendment, but the next day there was the jacket as usual, hanging over
a dining-room chair, and the other garments dropped in as many odd
places about the house. This method of procedure was, no doubt, a
saving of trouble in the first instance, but retribution followed when
it came to starting out again after lunch, when Miss Kitty might have
been seen plunging wildly about the room in search of a missing glove or
tie, while groans of despair attended every movement.
"Where _can_ it be? Wish my things could be left alone! Always stuck
out of the way! Shall be late again now, and get bad marks. Not my
fault. Horrid old servants! Wish they'd do their own work, and leave
my things alone." So on, and so on, until at last the missing article
was found, folded up in a magazine, or thrust beneath a fern-pot, when
Kitty would seize it resentfully, and stalk down the garden-path on her
long brown legs, puffing and fuming, and feeling herself the most ill-
used of mortals. On the present occasion Elsie and Agatha entered the
room as she finished undressing, and the former immediately set to work
to gather together the scattered possessions and put them away, for she
was tidier-in-general to the household, and could never by any
possibility bring herself to sit down comfortably in a room where a
picture hung awry, or a tablecloth dipped unevenly at the corner. The
while she moved about she cast a pensive glance at the newcomer, and
exclaimed regretfully--
"Kitty doesn't approve. I saw it in her face the moment I came into the
room. I knew she wouldn't, and I don't know that I do, either. It's a
great risk!"
"I haven't heard anything to approve of yet. Chrissie has been too
excited to descend to details. You seem to have been very busy! I
never heard of any news when I was here yesterday."
There was a tinge of displeasure in the voice in which the last sentence
was spoken, and Agatha, the tenderhearted, was quick to note it, and to
explain away the misconception.
"There was nothing to hear. It happened later. There are two things we
want to tell you about. One is a piece of news from the outside, and
the other is our own special affair; but of course it's not really
settled, for, as mother said, until you had been consulted, nothing
definite could be decided."
"Think not, indeed!" said Kitty shortly. She put her hand in her pocket
and drew forth a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles, which she placed, not
on the bridge, but on the extreme tip of her nose. Her curly hair was
roughened over her shoulders, the brown ribbon bow stood up erect at the
top of her head; her arms were folded in deliberate inelegance, and she
gazed over the spectacles with an air of grandmotherly condescension,
comically at variance with her appearance.
"Let me hear about it at once, or Miss Phelps will arrive, and I shall
burst with curiosity in the middle of lessons. What is it that you want
to do?"
Elsie, Agatha, and Christabel immediately proceeded to explain the
situation in characteristic Rendell fashion, all speaking together, and
continuing to speak, without being in the least disconcerted by the
babble evoked. Elsie whined, Agatha gurgled, and Chrissie drawled,
while the listener rolled her eyes from one to another, catching a
phrase here, a phrase there, until at length some dawning of the
situation began to make itself known.
"A sale of work! We are to slave away making pin-cushions from now
until July, and then sell them to some one else! I understand that; but
what is the idea of doing it? Who is going to get the money when it is
made?"
"The poor and needy!"
"Thank you so much! Most considerate, I'm sure!"
"Kittay, be quiet! The Mission, of course; the Mission at Sale. We
thought we ought to help, as it is in debt, and we do no good with our
money as it is. We could collect enough to buy materials if we give up
sweets for the next few months."
Kitty's face fell gloomily. "I've only three and fourpence in the
world, and it's mother's birthday next month, and Aunt May's and
granny's the month after that, and Agatha's next week."
"Don't count me! I'm as poor as Job myself, but my old yellow sash will
wash and make into sachets, and I'll cut the crushed parts out of hair
ribbons, and use the ends for needlebooks. If they are a tiny bit
stained, I will embroider flowers over the spots. We shall manage the
work somehow, never fear; and think of the tea and refreshments, and
sails in the punts! We shall simply coin money over them. Lilias is
going to do the punting."
"Naturally she is!" Kitty's eyes twinkled with humorous enjoyment.
"Easy and profitable! Just the sort of work Lilias likes. Oh yes, I
agree. I'd like to work and feel that I was reforming the world, and it
will be great jokes. I know what I'll do. I'll take snap-shots at the
company with my new Kodak, and take orders for copies. There's an idea
for you! People are so vain that they always think they would like a
photograph--until they see a proof! If they refuse, I shall try another
plan. I will snap them unawares, and say, `I have taken several
photographs of you this afternoon at moments which, perhaps, you would
prefer not to have immortalised. The negative is yours for two and
six.' How do you think that would work as a source of income?"
"Better not let mother hear you talk like that, my child, or the Kodak
will be forbidden once for all, and it is really a lovely idea! You
could take the punt with the different people on board, and groups
eating refreshments, and talking to each other on the lawn. My deah,
you will amass fortunes! I'm jealous of you. I believe you will make
far more than we shall with our tea."
"But of course if it's wet"--insinuated Elsie persistently, only to be
frowned down by her companions, who were eager to impart the second and
most exciting piece of intelligence.
"It won't be wet, Croaky! Don't say that again. That's one piece of
news, then; now for the other! Three guesses, Kitty, for a really
convulsing piece of local gossip."
"Maud is engaged?"
"Not yet! You can guess that again later on! This special piece of
news is not about our family at all. Some one else! Guess again!"
"Some one I know well?"
"No!"
"Slightly?"
"No!"
"Not at all?"
"Yes!"
"Then how on earth can I possibly--"
"It isn't necessary to know the person. No one knows him yet, but we
soon shall. He is coming to--to--can't you guess? Think of the empty
houses near here!"