engagement with Ned Talbot, and Gervase Vanburgh had told Nan of his
love, and a stranger passing along the village highroad one bright May
day might have discerned an air of unusual excitement and bustle in
Thurston House. The housemaids were hanging clean curtains in every
window from attic to cellar; the gardener was bedding out plants;
message boys besieged the house with trays of provisions, and the Parcel
Delivery van seemed to empty its entire contents at the door. Nor did
the bustle grow less as one entered the house, for the hall was banked
up with plants, and seven girls enveloped in aprons seemed to be chasing
one another up and down stairs, so rapid and unceasing were their
movements. There would have been no difficulty in recognising our old
friends, though the years had not passed without bringing changes in
their wake. Maud's sweet face had lost its look of sadness, and
blossomed into fresh youth; Lilias was still the professional beauty,
whose very apron was donned with an air to effect; while, wonder of
wonders! Nan had grown tidy, possessing hair as daintily coiled and
hands as carefully kept as Lilias's own. In the old days it had been
hazarded as an occasional conjecture that Nan was pretty; but there
could be no doubt on that question now, for the plump face had moulded
into shape, the complexion toned down to a soft pink and white, and the
dark eyes shone with happiness. Happiness, indeed, seemed to radiate
from Nan to-day, as she raced up and down the house, as hard-worked as
any of her sisters, yet in some indefinable way distinguished from the
rest, for she was given the precedence in all that went on, while every
time that she and her mother came together, they embraced with fresh
unction. For the rest, Elsie had reached her ambition, and the age when
she might dress her hair as she chose, and by means of parting it in the
middle and plastering it over her ears had given herself an
appropriately funereal aspect. Even Agatha boasted a coil at the back
of her head, while Christabel and Kitty wore skirts which reached to
their ankles.
Advancing years had, however, by no means diminished the girls' powers
of conversation; and as they banked up plants in corners of the
staircase, and rearranged furniture in the sitting-rooms, the babel of
voices was as deafening, and seemingly as inexhaustible, as of yore.
"Children, children, be quiet! Stop talking, for mercy's sake!" pleaded
Mrs Rendell piteously. "I try to ask a question, and cannot make
myself heard. You will make Nan's head ache if you go on like this. Go
up to your room to write your letters, Nan dear. Don't attempt to do it
here, but take the chance of half an hour's quiet when you can get it."
Nan rose obediently, and carried her writing materials upstairs; but it
was some time before she sat down at her desk, for the dressing-room
door stood open, and therein lay something which exercised an
irresistible attraction, something which lay stretched on a sofa,
swathed in careful wrappings.
Nan drew back the sheet with reverent fingers, and there it lay in all
its beauty--a gleaming satin dress, the train folded skilfully in and
out, bunches of orange-blossom catching up the lace, which was festooned
with as much lavishness as if it had been modest Nottingham, instead of
precious Brussels, of that rich mellow tint which comes from age alone.
A bride's dress, and a bride's dress fit for a princess, and in the box
beside it a veil of the same old lace, and in the safe in the corner a
diamond necklace and stars which represented a fortune in themselves!
Could it be, could it really be that all this splendour was for her?
And oh! lucky girl, that she was so happy in love given and received,
that they counted as nothing, and less than nothing, in her rejoicings!
Could it be that to-morrow morning--in twenty-four hours from now--in
less than twenty-four hours, she would be transformed from Nan Rendell
of the coat and skirt--Nan, the third daughter in a large family, in
constant straits for money and anticipation of her dress allowance--into
Nan Vanburgh in satin and diamonds, Mrs Gervase Vanburgh, with her
country seat, her diamonds, her carriages, her expectations of even
greater wealth to come! Oh, wonder of wonders! Oh, fairy tale in real
life! Oh, dear and beautiful prince, to work such marvels in a poor
girl's life! Nan bent down lower and lower until her lips touched the
gleaming folds and her cheek rested lovingly against them, then she drew
the sheet forward once more, and went back to her seat. To think, not
to write, however--to think over the two years that had just passed, and
all the events which they had brought. Had she really loved Gervase
from the beginning, even as he had loved her? It seemed as if she had,
for after that memorable interview in the garden she had known no doubt
nor hesitation. It was right to wait and let time prove the stability
of her feelings, but at the bottom of her heart she had felt no
uncertainty as to her final answer; and oh, how long had seemed the last
three months of the year, with what joy she had hailed July--what a
happy; happy time it had been for all concerned! Mrs Rendell and Maud
had been the only members of the family who had known of the intention
which lay behind Gervase's frequent visits; and if the surprise with
which the engagement was greeted was mingled with some envy and
disappointment from one of the five sisters, the others more than made
up for it by their unaffected delight.
Gervase had long received the sanction of approval; and once assured of
Nan's happiness, it was impossible for the most unworldly of relatives
to restrain a thrill of satisfaction in the grandeur of the alliance.
The schoolroom party was inflated with pride at the thought of "My
sister Mrs Vanburgh," and even Maud tilted her head and smiled with a
complacent air when congratulated on the engagement. As for the
parents, they were naturally delighted at the prospect of so prosperous
a marriage for their dear girl, while old Mr Vanburgh shed tears of
happiness over the fulfilment of a cherished dream.
"She will be the making of the boy!" he declared. "He has always been a
good fellow, but too indifferent and lazy to make the most of his
abilities. Nan's energy, Nan's enthusiasm will be his salvation! This
is the best news I have heard for many a long, long year. It puts fresh
life into me in my old age."
Everybody seemed pleased and approving; and not the least welcome among
the many letters of congratulation was one from Ned Talbot, now some
months settled as steward of the Vanburgh property, and his earnest,
outspoken appreciation of his new employer.
When the subject of the marriage itself was broached, however, Mr
Rendell obstinately refused to hear of any date within a year.
"When she is twenty-one--not a moment before," he said firmly. "I have
a parent's right to my Mops until she is of age, and not one day of the
time will I give up for you or any man living."
"And I've a husband's right to her after that, and not one day longer
will I wait, so we'll fix on her birthday, the twentieth of May!" said
Gervase, equally obstinate; and so it was settled. And the months had
seemed as weeks, so rapidly had they flown past, until here was the day
before the wedding, with Nan's new boxes standing in the corner ready
packed for that wonderful journey to foreign lands of which she had
dreamed all her life long.
When the gong sounded, Nan looked guiltily at the blank sheet of paper;
but it was too late to begin letters now--she must go downstairs, and
trust to good fortune that the girls would not discover how she had
wasted the time! Lunch was a scramble meal to-day, served in the
morning-room on three different tables, and in the midst of a medley of
boxes and parcels; but that was part of the fun of the occasion, and
added to the general hilarity. A formal meal in the dining-room could
be had any day, but it needed a convulsion of Nature to induce Mrs
Rendell to hold her plate in her lap, and actually--oh, horrors! to help
herself to butter with her own individual knife! The girls chuckled
with delight at the spectacle, and then turned to greet Nan on her
reappearance.
"Well, `Bride,' finished your notes? Hope you have been a good little
honest girl, and said what was true. `Dear Mrs Webb,--Thank you so
much for the dear little pepperettes. It is so kind of you to think of
me, and as I have already had seven pairs sent, I feel no anxiety
whatever concerning my future happiness.' `Dear Mr Cross,--Thank you
so much for the vases which you have so kindly sent me. They are quite
unique, I am sure, as I have never before seen anything like them. I
shall put them in my drawing-room whenever I know you are coming, and
keep them carefully in a cupboard when you are away.' `Dear Mrs de
Bels,--How kind of you to send me such a sweet little egg-boiler! We
never use such a thing, but it will do charmingly to give away to some
one else, and--'"
"It's to be hoped no one will send you wedding presents, Kitty, if
that's the way you are going to receive them!" said Nan severely; but
her reproof was received with bursts of derisive laughter.
"Ho! ho! ho! How innocent we are! how proper all of a sudden! Can you
look us in the face and say you have not said as nearly that as you
dared--that you have not deliberately disguised your true sentiments?"
"I can! I do! I have not written a single word this morning with which
you could find fault!" cried Nan, with a boldness which betrayed her to
her sharp-witted adversaries, for the cry was immediately raised--
"She hasn't written at all! She has been sitting dreaming about _him_
instead."
"I think of thee by morn, my love!" chanted Kitty, rolling her eyes to
the ceiling with a ridiculous affectation of sentiment; while Agatha and
Christabel went through a pantomime of rapturous greeting, at which Nan
laughed in unperturbed enjoyment. She had served a long apprenticeship
to her sisters' teasing ways, and was too happy in her engagement to
keep up any pretence of indifference. Nan, indeed, won universal
admiration in the character of an engaged girl, for there was something
inexpressibly winsome in her transparent enjoyment of her own happiness.
She loved her future husband with all her heart, and saw no reason why
she should feign an indifference which she was so far from feeling.
When Gervase arrived in person shortly after lunch, she went flying to
meet him, and came back hanging on his arm, her face sparkling with
happiness and contentment.
"He has come! He has come! Here he is!" she cried, in tones of
triumph; and Gervase was promptly surrounded by his sisters-in-law-to-
be, and escorted round the house to see the preparations for to-morrow's
ceremony.
He said little, for the solemnity of the occasion had already laid its
sobering touch upon him, but his eyes glowed, and every time he looked
at Nan there came an expression into his face so sweet, so true, so
tender, that Maud could not see it and keep back the tears. She was in
a supersensitive mood this afternoon, for not only did the parting with
her beloved sister lie ahead, but also a meeting of even more
importance. Ned Talbot was to be Gervase's best man, and was even now
at the Grange, waiting only to greet his host, before coming to pay his
first visit for nearly two years. The winter before he had received an
invitation to Thurston House, but it had been refused; and even after
that formal intimation that the way was open, he had delayed his coming,
modesty and self-distrust alike combining to make him dread that final
putting to the test which should "win or lose it all." How much Miss
Nan had to do with the choosing of the "best man" is one of those
secrets which are best left alone. But presently there he came, walking
across the lawn towards the spot where the tea-table was laid, just as
he had done on another afternoon years ago; and there sat Maud, once
more busying herself with the tea-cups to hide her confusion, though of
a different and far happier description.
Not in vain had Jim dropped his words of reminder; not for naught had he
handed over letters received from his old friend for his sister's
perusal! Maud knew, and had known for many a long day, to whom Ned's
heart was given; and Ned knew that she knew, and gathered fresh hope
from her sweet, shy smile. For himself, he was looking a new man, and
Lilias felt a stab of pain as she looked at him and met his calm,
scrutinising glance. She had loved him once, or had come as near loving
him as it was in her nature to do, and she was surprised to find how
much it hurt to realise his disenchantment. She was as pretty as
ever,--prettier, so her mirror told her,--but though admiration was hers
in plenty, no one seemed to love her, or to turn to her for sympathy and
counsel. Nan, her younger sister, was about to be spirited away to a
life of luxury and affluence; Maud would certainly follow suit before
long; and she would be left at home with the younger girls, regarded by
them as a tiresome elderly person, who refused to move on and make room
for her juniors. A pleasant prospect, indeed! yet she could not
complain, for if there was little sympathy between her sisters and
herself, the fault was her own, and in her heart she confessed that it
was so. It is impossible to live a selfish, self-engrossed life without
suffering for it in hours of loneliness, and Lilias was beginning to
learn this lesson to her cost.
When tea was over, Gervase went back to the Grange to sit with his
uncle, while Nan adjourned upstairs to superintend that last trying-on
of bridesmaids' dresses which the younger girls declared to be
imperative.
"My dear, you don't know what may be wrong! I slipped on my bodice last
night, and it was two inches too tight. That doesn't matter--I'll have
a slim figure for your wedding, if I die for it; but consider--just
consider--how fe-arful it would have been if it had been too loose!"
cried Agatha tragically; and after that there was plainly no refusal
possible.
Mrs Rendell wished to interview the cook, Jim had a letter to write--
every one, it appeared, had some important and pressing matter demanding
attention, save only Maud and Ned, who were left to their own devices,
and presently wandered off towards that portion of the garden most
sheltered from observation. Both knew what was coming, and both were
trembling with hardly suppressed agitation; then presently their eyes
met, Ned held out his hand, and Maud's went out to meet it without a
moment's hesitation.
"Do you forgive me, Maud? Can you believe in me again? Can you give
yourself to a man who loves you with all his heart, and can never do
enough to show his remorse for his own miserable mistake? I did you a
cruel wrong, but I have suffered for it all these years... Could you
find enough charity in your heart to forgive me, and give me another
chance?"
"I have nothing to forgive!" said Maud simply. Dear thing! and she
meant it too; for when she loved, she found it impossible to blame, and
Ned had been her hero for so many a long year. "It was quite natural
that you should be fascinated by Lilias, for she is so beautiful and
charming. I did not blame you, even at the time; but oh, Ned, I was
very miserable! I loved you so dearly, I longed so much to help you!
There is nothing in the world which could make me so happy as to be your
wife!"
Ned's words of love, of gratitude, of almost tearful remorse, are too
sacred to be repeated. He had reached his goal at last, and, looking
back upon the past, felt that all the troubles which had lain in his
path were but a light price to have paid for the treasure he had won!
Upstairs at the window of the girls' bedroom Kitty Maitland peered
through her spectacles at the flutter of Maud's dress behind the bushes
in the garden, and knitted her brows, in her anxiety to account for the
presence of a dark stain around the waist! Presently the bushes parted
company for a few yards, and the stain was discovered to be neither more
nor less than a coat sleeve belonging to Mr Ned Talbot! Kitty cleared
her throat, and chanted in a high, clear tone--
"A marriage has been arranged, and will shortly take place, between Mr
Edward Mortimer Talbot and Maud, eldest daughter of--"
A stampede towards the window interrupted the conclusion of the
sentence, and the sisters stared at the unconscious couple with eager
scrutiny. They peered to right and left, craned their necks to one side
and then the other, rushed to a second window to obtain a better view,
and finally turned back and faced each other with expressions of awed
conviction.
"It is--for a ducat! Oh dear, what a nuisance!" cried Agatha pitifully.
"What shall we do without our Maud? First Nan, and then Maud--the
house will be lost without them!"
"Our loss is their gain. We must be resigned. It is what we must
expect. One bird after another will fly away, and leave the old nest
bare. It is the order of Nature," sighed Elsie sadly.
"Another wedding! Another bridesmaid's dress. How s-implay lovelay!"
cried Christabel rapturously; but Nan stood apart with clasped hands,
and dark eyes full of tears.
"The only thing," she sighed to herself--"the only thing I had left to
wish for. Oh, how thankful I am! What a dear world it is! How good
God is to us all!"
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Houseful of Girls, by Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey