remark. The words had chilled her as no east wind could have done. Did
Ned really believe that she would have stayed indoors and sacrificed an
hour of his society for fear of a slight discomfort? If he thought
this, he was indeed unconscious of the true nature of her feelings
towards him; and though Maud was the last girl in the world to wear her
heart on her sleeve, she had been happy to believe that she and Ned
understood each other, and could count on a mutual affection. She did
not know which hurt the more, the suggestion of her own indifference or
the unruffled serenity with which it was made. As she sat opposite Ned
at dinner, she studied his face, to see if she could find there a
reflection of the depression which was stealing over her own heart, but
looked in vain. Truth compelled her to admit that she had never seen
him brighter, more radiant, more full of life and animation. She tried
her best to throw off the cloud on her own spirits and to enter into the
conversation, but the effort was not a success. The hands of the clock
on the mantelpiece held her in fascinated attention. Every stroke
seemed, to sound the knell of the bright hopes with which she had looked
forward to this meeting, every stroke brought the parting nearer.
If Maud did not speak, the other girls more than made up for her
silence, talking all together in true Rendell fashion, and telling the
news of the last few months in their usual breathlessly eager fashion.
Until now, conversation had had no chance of becoming general, and each
one had some personal items of information to offer which appeared to
her to be of absorbing interest. Lilias had paid a visit to an old
school friend, where she had had many pleasing adventures, which she
related in characteristic manner. Her sisters often discussed what it
was which gave to Lilias's stories such a suggestive and flattering
atmosphere. It must have been something peculiar in the way in which
they were told; for though she never said such a thing in so many words,
the hearers were yet impressed by the fact that she had played a leading
part, had been surfeited with admiration, and positively oppressed by
the attentions which she had received! This evening was no exception to
the rule; for as she spoke the listeners saw before them a picture of
her own lovely figure moving like a queen through the scenes which she
described, her humble vassals following in her wake. Lilias must be
cleverer than most people supposed, Nan told herself sagely, as she
watched the face of the visitor, to see how he was impressed by the
recitals. Impossible to say! Ned stared fixedly at his plate, and made
no remark. He very seldom looked at Lilias at all, Nan noticed. If it
was not too absurd, she would have thought that he really avoided
looking in her direction, while at every point in the conversation his
eyes turned towards Maud, as if asking her sympathy in his enjoyment.
Nan's spirit rose with a bound, and she burst into the conversation once
more, talking every one down by her high, clear tones.
"Mr Talbot, do you realise that I've growed up since you saw me last?
I've said good-bye to childish things, and blossomed into a society
dame. I'm a lady growed. Didn't you notice it?"
Ned's eyes gleamed upon her with the deep, kindly glow which Maud knew
and loved to see.
"I didn't, Nan; I'm sorry. I thought you looked exactly the same!"
"Never noticed my long skirts, or my done-up hair?"
"No!" Ned looked surprised, and tilted slightly back in his chair to
obtain a better view of Nan's head. It was really rather puzzling to
decide whether her curly mop was intended to be up or down; and the
burst of laughter which followed showed how perfectly his uncertainty
was appreciated. Nan made a grimace intended to express reckless
indifference, and waved her bandaged hand in the air.
"Well, it _is_ up! Don't pay any attention to those silly things. I
ought to know best, for I've three separate hair-pins sticking into my
scalp at the present moment. Jim took me to my first dance when he was
at home for Christmas. It was s-imply lovely! I was awfully nervous,
for I generally manage to make an idiot of myself if I get a chance; but
I got on finely. I fell down full length as I was entering the room,
but that was only because the floor was so beautifully polished. I
danced every single dance--all waltzes, and the most ex-quisite music.
I was introduced to an awfully nice man. He had ears like windmills,
and the biggest mouth I ever saw; but he could dance! We went on, and
on, and on, as long as the music lasted, and never stopped once; and
when it came to an end I was as red as a lobster. It was simply
lovely!"
Elsie smiled in an elderly and forbearing manner.
"More than you were, I expect. I can just imagine how you looked, with
your hair all wild, and a crimson face above your white dress. You
never think about your appearance, Nan."
"Hope I never may. I haven't one to think about, and that's a blessing!
It would be so boring to be pretty, and to have to worry about clothes
and complexion. I'm thankful there's none of that nonsense about me,"
cried Nan, beaming; and every one of the listeners thought how pretty
she looked at that moment, as she tossed her saucy head and smiled her
dimpling smile; but they would not for the world have said so, and
spoilt the charm of her unaffected self-depreciation. Christabel seized
the opportunity, and took up the thread of conversation before any one
else had time to come forward.
"Mr Talbot, I've been waiting to ask you a question. Do you know
anybody called Vanburgh? The Grange is let at last, and the gentleman's
name is Vanburgh. We are simply aching to get to know something about
them. The furniture has arrived, but nobody is in the house yet, except
the servants. We made up our minds that there would be a family of
daughters, but we begin to have qualms." Chrissie was obviously pleased
with the effect of that last expressive word, and repeated it once more
with artistic relish. "Qualms, yes! Decided qualms. The furniture is
so massive. We can't see anything at all that would suit a girl's
room."
"I can't give you any help on that point, Chrissie. You can judge
better than I; but Vanburgh is an uncommon name, so we ought to be able
to find out something about them. Do you happen to know where they have
been living till now?"
"Here, and there, and everywhere; wandering over the face of the globe!
A great deal of the furniture comes from India and Egypt; and one of the
workmen came over to ask cook for some hot water one day, and said he
believed the master had been travelling abroad. I wanted cook to pump
him to find out more, but she said mother had forbidden her to gossip
about the neighbours. Such a nuisance! I love gossiping about my
neighbours. I remember when I was a little girl, how I used to adore
being in the drawing-room when callers came and discussed the affairs of
the village. I knew I should be sent away if I appeared to listen, so I
used to sit and pretend to play with a doll or a book, while my ears
were fairly sticking out of my head with curiosity."
"You little hypocrite! I wouldn't have believed you could have been so
deceitful. But do tell us if you know anything of the Vanburghs, Mr
Talbot. Did you ever meet any one of the name?"
"I met a man once--a fellow about my own age. He was at Oxford with me,
but not at the same college. I saw very little of him."
"That could not be the father, of course. He would have to be a son,
and we never arranged for boys. What sort of man was he?"
"Humph!"
"I beg your pardon."
"Humph!"
"What does that mean? What sort of man is supposed to be represented by
`Humph!' may we ask?"
Silence! Ned Talbot screwed up his lips and shook his head with
determined obstinacy. The girls stared at him in silence for a good two
minutes. Then Maud spoke again.
"Do you decline to say anything but `Humph' on the subject, Ned?"
"Absolutely!"
"How very interesting!" Nan clasped her hands in delight. "How
mysterious! How gloomy! How frightfully suspicious! I'm sure there's
something very dreadful about him, and in that case he will be even more
interesting than the girls."
"Nan!"
"I can't help it. We know so many estimable people that it would be
delightful to meet somebody bloodthirsty, for a change. Everything in
Waybourne is so painfully commonplace that we are simply spoiling for a
mystery, as the Americans would say. Now, Mr Talbot won't commit
himself to a definite charge, but his silence is more impressive than
words. I'm sure there's a mystery: something too gruesome and terrible
to be divulged."
"You leap to conclusions, Nan. Perhaps I had better state at once that
there is nothing at all mysterious about the man I mentioned--nothing of
the kind, I assure you."
"Nor bloodthirsty?"
"Nor in the faintest shadow of a degree bloodthirsty."
"Nor thrilling, nor gloomy, nor terrible?"
"The farthest possible remove from such qualities."
Nan groaned with disappointment.
"What a blow! Another nonentity! I hope, then, that your Vanburgh has
nothing to do with ours, for he sounds terribly uninteresting. Never
mind; when you come down to see us in the summer, we shall have solved
the mystery for ourselves; and you will be obliged to come down for our
sale, you know. Have you heard anything about our sale?"
"I--er--yes; I heard something,"--began Ned hesitatingly. He half
turned his head towards Lilias, and then once more stared down at his
plate, while she continued for him, in her sweet flute-like voice--
"Oh yes; I told him about it. He has promised to come and help me when
I get tired. I can't manage the punt all alone!"
Once again was noticed the subtle suggestiveness of Lilias's manner; but
this time it was her pleasure to pose as a martyr--a poor, fragile
martyr, to whom had been deputed a hard and ungrateful task, while her
companions played in the sunshine. Nothing could be said against an
unspoken accusation, especially in the presence of a stranger; but the
sisters exchanged meaning glances across the table, and Nan stamped _so_
violently upon Elsie's foot that that melancholy young person writhed on
her seat. The best safeguard to the feelings of the family was to
change the subject, which Chrissie at once proceeded to do.
"But sha'n't we see you again before midsummer?" she inquired eagerly.
"Is this really the only visit you are going to pay us this time? Three
skimpy hours! You generally come and stay over a Sunday at least.
Can't you come again before you go north? Mother and father will be
home on Thursday."
Ned Talbot flushed suddenly, and bit his lips under his moustache. He
was evidently struggling with a spasm of nervousness; and Maud noticed
as much, and wondered as to its meaning, even as she blessed Christabel
in her heart for her welcome suggestion. Surely, surely Ned would not
refuse!
"You are very kind," he said slowly. "I had thought of asking if I
might come. I am anxious to talk to Mrs Rendell. If it would not be
inconvenient to have me from Saturday till Monday so soon after her
return, I should very much like to come." He looked inquiringly at Maud
as he spoke, and she smiled a happy assent.
"I am quite sure it will be convenient; but I'll tell-mother the moment
she returns, and she will write to you herself. You will probably hear
on Friday."
"Thank you; I hope I may. This afternoon has been all too short, and I
have not had time for anything. Not even a glance of `Kittay.' It's
absurd to pretend to have been to Waybourne when one has not seen
`Kittay'; isn't it, Christabel?"
Chrissie dropped her eyelids, and twisted her lip with an expression of
supreme disdain.
"I do not say `Kittay'; I say `Kittee.' You are too sillay. Whatevah I
say you mock me in this ridiculous mannah. I sha'n't speak to you at
all next time."
Talbot made a gesture as of one heaping ashes on his head, and then,
glancing at the clock, rose hurriedly from the table.
"I must go! Just time to catch the train. I had no idea it was getting
so late. That comes of enjoying myself so much. I have had a jolly
afternoon. Don't know when I have had such a good time." He held out
his hand to Maud, and she took it, trying hard to smile as brightly as
himself, but it was a difficult task. She would rather he had been less
bright, less complacent. She could have been happier if he had gone
away with a shadow of her own depression upon his brow. Poor Maud! she
turned back from the door with an aching heart. The schoolroom seemed
on a sudden unbearably grey and gloomy. Her former peace had given
place to an aching doubt.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
THE VANBURGHS ARRIVE.
The next day, when Kitty arrived at Thurston House, she was informed of
Ned Talbot's visit, and promptly remarked that it was a "mean shame"--
the shame consisting in the fact of the visit having been so timed that
she herself had been deprived of the pleasure of seeing one who was
honoured by her special approval. All interest in Ned and his doings
was soon wiped away, however, by a piece of intelligence so exciting
that the listeners could only gasp, and hold on to their chairs for
support.
It was Maud who brought the news to the schoolroom. She had been in the
kitchen interviewing the cook, and had received it straight from the
lips of that authority.
"Children, children!" she cried breathlessly, "the Vanburghs have
arrived! They came late last night, cook says. She saw the table laid
for breakfast this morning, and the postman said he had taken some
letters to the house."
"Arrived!" The girls stared at one another in mingled excitement and
disgust. "And we never saw them! How simply disgusting, when we have
been sitting staring out of this window for the last three weeks! Late
at night! What sneaks! Why couldn't they come in the daylight, in a
decent, honest fashion? They might be ashamed of themselves! How many
are there, and what are they like?"
But Maud knew nothing beyond the mere fact of the arrival, and the
schoolroom party were obliged to control their curiosity as best they
might until lessons were over, and they were free to station themselves
once more in their place of observation. If the Vanburgh family had
ventured out of the house about noon, they would have been slightly
disconcerted to see the row of heads in the window opposite, all craning
forward to watch their slightest movement, and bobbing behind the
curtains when they imagined themselves observed. But, alas! they did
not come out. The nailed door remained closely shut, and the
disappointed watchers tried to console themselves by inventing
satisfactory reasons for their non-appearance.
"They are busy, you see. There is so much to unpack. Gabrielle is
hanging her ball-dresses in the wardrobe and covering them over with
muslin curtains."
"She wouldn't unpack for herself, silly! They have a French maid who
does all that sort of thing for them!"
"I know they have; but Gabrielle is so particular! She can't bear any
one to touch her dresses but herself; besides, Therese has enough to do
attending to the other young ladies. Evangeline has a bad sick
headache. She is lying down in that room where the curtains are drawn.
Travelling always does make her ill!"
"Ermyntrude is arranging her treasures. Her bedroom looks out on the
garden, and she is nailing up pictures, and draping the mantelpiece.
She has piles and piles of photographs to arrange. They will keep her
busy all day. It's ridiculous to suppose that they would go out the
very first morning after their arrival. You know how it is with us when
we come home after a few weeks' holiday! There are a thousand things to
be done."
The girls unanimously agreed in this decision. Nevertheless, the hope
that one of the four Miss Vanburghs might appear at the windows kept
them glued to their own posts until it was time to start for the daily
walk.
The conversation turned exclusively on the subject of the new
neighbours, as the little procession of girls and governess filed
dejectedly down the street, and great ingenuity was exhibited in
expressing disappointment in the language which was the order of the
day.
"C'est un horrible shame," sighed Kitty sadly. "C'est tout bien pour
vous, parce que vous etes toujours ici; mais moi, je suis chez moi, et
si elles sortez quand je ne suis pas ici, je serais _mad_!"
"J'expect qu'elles sorteraient quand nous sommes tous loin. C'est
toujours le fashion!" sighed Chrissie, acutely conscious that her French
was superior to that of her friend, but politely ignoring the fact. "Je
demanderai a ma mere--er--er--(how do you say `pay calls'?)--a faire une
visite, aussitot que possible."
"Moi aussi," assented Kitty. "Et puis vous savez, elle peut dit:
`J'espere, Madame Vanburgh, que vos mademoiselles seraient tres grand
amies avec mes filles. Voulez vous permittez qu'elles venez a the
mercredi prochaine?'"
"Oui, et puis elles nous inviteraient en retourn." Christabel tossed
her mane over her shoulders and smiled in anticipation. She made up her
mind then and there to decorate her bedroom with her most treasured
nick-nacks on the afternoon of the Vanburghs' visit, and to keep her new
hair ribbon unused for the occasion.
But no Miss Vanburghs appeared! The next day passed, and the next, and
still another, and still no sign of a feminine presence lightened the
dark windows of the Grange. The solemn butler flitted to and fro; the
figure of a white-haired man could be dimly discerned, stretched upon a
sofa, in the oak-panelled apartment immediately facing the porch-room of
Thurston House; but that was all that the most unremitting scrutiny
could discover. Nan shivered at an attic window for an hour on end,
with no more exciting result than a glimpse of a tablecloth and a row of
silver dishes; and the great nailed door remained persistently closed.
And then the blow fell!
There were no Miss Vanburghs! There was not even a Mrs Vanburgh!
Could it be believed there was no woman in the family--no one but an old
invalid gentleman, who spent his days on a sofa, or in a wheeled chair
being slowly driven about the garden? A solitary man as tenant of the
Grange! The finest house in the neighbourhood monopolised by an
invalid! The ball-room, the billiard-room, the music-room, given over
to the possession of one who would never use them; the stables unused;
the gardens deserted! The Rendell girls could not believe it. It was
too horrible to be true. Ermyntrude, Evangeline, and Gabrielle had no
existence. The happy dreams which had been woven about them could never
be fulfilled. It was indeed a cruel and crushing disappointment.
"What can he want with a house like that, the selfish, horrid creature?"
demanded Agatha, nigh to tears. "If he is an invalid, what is the use
of having a house big enough to hold a regiment of soldiers? There are
hundreds of villas where he might have been as ill as he liked, without
monopolising our only Grange! What is to become of us, if all the best
houses in the country are sold to hermits, and invalids, and white-
haired old patriarchs, with not a single child to boast of! Selfish!
Inconsiderate!"
"I'm sorry his back is bad; but he had no business to come here," agreed
Chrissie firmly. "We don't want invalids. We want a nice, big, lively
family, with plenty of money and hospitable hearts. Oh dear! I'm
lonely without Gabrielle. I'd taken such a fancy to her! This is worse
than if the place had never been sold at all."
"But still, you know the old man may be nice!" Kitty suggested
hopefully. "Wouldn't it be lovely if he took a fancy to us, and made us
all his heirs? A million each! I'd buy a pony-cart and a phonograph--a
friend of father has a phonograph at his home, and it's such fun
listening to it. The cornet-solo is fine, and there's a cylinder of a
baby crying which sounds just like a dog barking. The poor little soul
was quite good, but its parents thought it would be nice to preserve its
howls; so they pinched it and made it cry. Mean, I call it! Imagine
her feelings when she is grown up, and this wretched thing is wound up
to amuse strangers. So degrading! Parents ought to consider their
children's feelings. I read an awful story once of a girl who was
looking over old magazines with some friends, and she came upon a
photograph of herself as an advertisement of Infants' Food! If that had
happened to me, I should disown my parents and leave the country. Mr
Vanburgh hasn't any children of his own, but he may like us all the more
for that. It would be an interest in life for him to make us happy, and
we should reward him by our devotion. It sounds like a book, and
perhaps it may turn out for the best, after all. I believe it will!"
"Don't be so horribly resigned! I hate people who are resigned when I
am miserable!" said Chrissie sharply. "I want some nice girls, and I
don't care a rap about phonographs--silly, squeaky things! There was
one on the parade at the seaside last year, and it irritated me beyond
words! Besides, I don't think it's at all nice to make up to a person
just because he is rich, and might leave you some money. I wouldn't do
it. It's toadying; and if there is one thing I detest above anothah, it
is--"
"I never said I would `make up' to him. I never hinted at such a thing.
We were not supposed to dream that he would leave us anything until he
was dead, and then we would be overcome with surprise. I should hope I
detest toadying as much as you! Toady, indeed!" and Kitty tossed her
head and curled her lip in disdain. Both girls were upset by the sudden
overthrow of their hopes, and therefore inclined to take offence more
readily than usual. Christabel retired to the window in dignified
displeasure, while Kitty wriggled into the corduroy jacket, stuck the
Tam O'Shanter on her head at a rakish angle, and hitched her books under
her arm in preparation to depart. Agatha's expressive frowns and smiles
were of no avail towards a reconciliation, and the parting took place in
forced and chilly manner.
"Good by-ee!"
"Good by-ee!"
Then the door banged, and Kitty went stalking home, to drown her woes in
afternoon tea, and to have her ruffled feathers smoothed down by her
mother's kindly sympathy.
Mrs Maitland regarded the disappointment from a personal standpoint,
for the discovery that there was no Mrs Vanburgh was almost as great a
blow to her as the absence of daughters had been to the schoolroom
party. She agreed with Kitty that it was most officious of a solitary
male to monopolise the Grange, and bemoaned the loss to the
neighbourhood in a manner tragic enough to satisfy even her daughter's
requirements.
"Oh dear! oh dear! and I was looking to her for so many subscriptions!
I had put her down for two five-pound notes, and half a dozen guineas.
I meant her to take half my stall at the hospital bazaar, and to be the
secretary of the Mission. How useful I had made that woman, to be sure!
and now she has vanished into thin air before my eyes. I'm terribly
disappointed, Kit; but we must make the best of it. Poor, lonely old
man! He will be bored to death in that silent house. Lies on his back,
you say, and is wheeled about in a chair? That means paralysis, I
suppose, or very bad rheumatism. It's sad to be old, and ill, and
lonely." Mrs Maitland stared thoughtfully before her, cup in hand, and
her eyes grew suddenly moist. She was thinking how blessedly well off
she was in her cheery, sunny little home, with husband and child to love
her, and good health to enable her to do her work, and to find pleasure
in the doing; and the picture of the strange old man lying on his couch
in the dim oak-panelled halls seemed by comparison gloomier than ever.
"We'll help him, Kit!" she said briskly. "We'll help him, you and I!
We'll make his life brighter for him, and cheer him in every way we
know!"
But, as it turned out, Mr Vanburgh was not anxious to be cheered, and
Mrs Maitland found it more difficult than she expected to put her good
resolves into practice.
CHAPTER NINE.
NED'S MISSION.
On Thursday evening, Mr and Mrs Rendell returned home from their
Continental trip. The house was spick and span, the girls were blooming
in pretty evening dresses, and the travellers themselves looked
immensely benefited by their holiday, so that the kissings and huggings
of welcome were exchanged under the happiest conditions.
Nan was thankful to feel that no shade of displeasure lurked behind the
tenderness of her mother's greeting, and before the evening was over
actually screwed up courage to put a question concerning the discovery
of the scattered rice.