NEWS FROM VIOLET
PERHAPS Violet's first impressions in connection with her new home and
its inmates will be best told in the long letter she wrote to her
mother on the afternoon after her arrival at Barford, of which the
following is a copy:—
"No. 8 LAURESTON SQUARE,"
"BARFORD, January 18th, 190—"
"My DEAR MOTHER,"
"I know Dr. Reed sent you a telegram last night to tell you I had
arrived safely, but you will be expecting to receive a letter from me
to-morrow; and, as I promised, I am taking the first opportunity
I have of writing. I had such a nice journey—after the first hour
I really enjoyed it. Please tell father the lady who sat opposite to
me was very kind and made me share her luncheon, which was handed in
at one of the stations in a basket. I had some of her chicken and ham,
and she had some of my sandwiches, which she said were very good and
cut just as she liked them—please tell Barbara that. I did not think
the lady was a person of any importance, because she was very plainly
dressed and seemed quite ordinary in every way, but she turns out to
be a very clever lady doctor, called Dr. Elizabeth Ridgeway, and
Dr. Reed knows her well and often meets her in consultation, and I
find she is very friendly with Mrs. Reed and Ann."
"Dr. Reed met me at the station. I was glad to see him. I drove home
with him in his brougham—it was snowing—and he inquired for you all
and was so glad to hear that father's cough was gone; and Mrs. Reed
came out on the doorstep, though it was so cold, and she kissed me in
a way that reminded me of you, dear mother, and that made me feel all
chokey and unable to say anything. And then, in the hall, I met Ann,
who kissed me, too, but I really have no idea what she said, for
everything was so strange that I felt quite bewildered. They led me
upstairs to the room which is to be mine, where they took off my hat
and jacket, and Ann unbuttoned my boots and lent me a pair of warm
slippers; and then they made me sit down in an easy chair by the fire
(fancy me having a fire in my bedroom!) and take a basinful of soup,
after which I was heaps better—I had been feeling rather queer and
shakey before, and would have given anything to be at home, which was
silly of me, of course."
"So I sat there and rested, and got beautifully warm, and by-and-by
my trunk arrived, and Mrs. Reed unpacked it for me—I expected she
would look surprised when she saw how few clothes I have, but she
didn't, nor did Ann. My supper was brought upstairs to me; and then I
went to bed and slept until ever so late this morning, and now I am
only a little tired."
"We have had a great deal of snow during the night, so there will be
no going out-of-doors to-day. This is a nice big house and very
comfortable, but not at all grand. It is on the south side of the
square, and the front door opens into the road. There is no garden—
there are stables behind—but there is a large piece of ground in the
middle of the square with a croquet lawn, and shrubs, and flower-beds,
and the people who live in the square all pay towards keeping this
ground in nice condition, so that they all have a share in it and the
right to go there whenever they please. Arm says she spends a good bit
of time there in the summer, so I expect I shall, too."
"I must not forget to tell you what Ann Reed is like. She is just a
little taller than I am. I know because Dr. Reed made us stand back to
back this morning that he might see which was the taller, and he said
she was by about half an inch—and she has grey eyes like her father's.
I don't call her pretty. I don't call Mrs. Reed pretty exactly,
either, but she is very nice-looking, and she seems so young to be
Ann's mother—of course, I know she can't be young really."
"I find there are three servants in the house—I asked Ann, a cook,
a house-maid, and a tweeny-maid who answers the door and is a sort of
parlour-maid and puts her hand to anything; you see, this, being a
doctor's house, people are always coming and going, so Ann says.
There is a waiting-room for patients and a consulting-room close
to the front door, and a surgery beyond the consulting-room.
The dining-room looks out into the square, like the drawing-room,
which is upstairs—it is not nearly such a grand drawing-room as the
one in Agnes Hosking's new house, but it is much more homely-looking
and comfortable, and I think you, dear mother, would like it."
"I have been talking to Ann most of the morning. She has asked me such
a lot of questions about you all, and about Ruth in particular; now
she has left me so that I shall not be disturbed in my writing."
"By the way, I find we dine at seven o'clock. Won't it be strange for
me to have dinner in the evening? I will write again very soon and
tell you how I am getting on. I am longing to see what Barford
is like, so I hope the weather will clear up soon."
"My bedroom is next to Ann's. It is such a nice room, rather small,
but so cosy; it has been re-done up for me. The wallpaper is very
pretty, just what I would have chosen, with little bunches of pink
rosebuds on a white ground, and the furniture is enamelled white.
Ann says her mother expects her to keep her bedroom very tidy, so I
must bear that in mind and keep mine tidy too."
"Oh, dear mother, though everyone is so kind, you cannot think how
much I miss you, and last night, after I was in bed, I couldn't help
having a little weep when I thought of Ruthie; I expect she missed me,
too. Please give her my dear, dear love, and the same to Madge and the
boys, and to father and yourself. I hope you will write to me very
soon and tell me everything that goes on at home.—I am, dearest
mother, Your loving daughter,"
"VIOLET."
"P.S.—Please remember me to Barbara. Ann says she is glad we are not
going to school for a few days, and so am I. Tell Ruthie she must not
think Ann will ever take her place with me; she isn't quite what I
expected to find her, though. Good-bye."
This letter was read aloud by Mrs. Wyndham to her husband and children
on the afternoon of its arrival. On the whole it was considered very
satisfactory.
"But what does she mean by saying that Ann is not quite what she
expected to find her?" said Mr. Wyndham. "She had formed a mental
picture of her, I suppose, and the reality has disappointed her,"
he added with an amused smile.
"If so her letter does not read as though she is disagreeably
disappointed," his wife commented, glancing back over the epistle;
"evidently the dear child has been most kindly received. Fancy that
lady she travelled with being a friend of the Reeds! What a strange
coincidence! Let me see, what is her name? Dr. Elizabeth Ridgeway.
You liked her appearance, did you not, Clement?"
"Yes," Mr. Wyndham replied, "I felt quite easy in my mind about Violet
when I heard her opposite neighbour was going all the way to Barford,
for she had a sensible, reliable face, and I thought she seemed a
kindly soul. Events have shown that I read her aright. Violet writes
a very good letter for a girl of her age, I consider."
"Ah, she takes after her father in possessing the pen of a ready
writer," said Mrs. Wyndham, with a smile; "and she is very sharp and
observant. Miss Minter says she shows great ability for acquiring
general information. I am sure she will do well at Helmsford College."
"I know what she means about Ann Reed's not being quite what she
expected to find her," announced Madge; "I mean I know what she
thought Ann would be like—proud, and stuck-up, and selfish."
"What made her think that?" questioned Mr. Wyndham, in amazement.
"She thought so because Ann is an only child, father, like Agnes
Hosking," Ruth explained; "and Agnes Hosking is one of the most
disagreeable girls at Miss Minter's school; her father is very rich,
you know, and once mother in speaking of Ann Reed, called her
Prosperity's child, and—"
"I remember I did," Mrs. Wyndham broke in; "but I did not mean
to disparage her in any way, I am sure."
"Prosperity's child," Mr. Wyndham said thoughtfully; "yes, she is
certainly that, she can know nothing, by experience, of the struggles
and privations life brings to so many; but she wouldn't be much like
her father if she was proud or selfish, and somehow I don't fancy
Andrew Reed's daughter could be either. Dear me, what extraordinary
notions children do get into their heads!" he concluded with a laugh.
"I wonder if Violet will be home-sick," said Frank, "I told her she
would be, but she wouldn't believe it. You see she admits that she had
a 'little weep' when she thought of Ruthie. I say, Ruthie, did you cry
when you went to bed by yourself and thought of Violet?" he asked
inquisitively.
"I believe she did," declared Billy, staring accusingly at his eldest
sister, who appeared embarrassed. "What a couple of cry-babies you and
Vi must be!"
"We all cried the morning Violet left," Madge reminded him, "you, too,
Billy. I saw you wiping your eyes when you thought no one was
looking."
"I am sure it was only natural that we should have all been upset,"
remarked Mrs. Wyndham, who looked as though it would not take much
to reduce her to tears at the present moment; "I cannot bear to think
of Violet separated from you others; but, at the same time, I know it
is for her benefit, and I have a feeling that she will be happy with
the Reeds. We shall be able to glean more from her next letter."
In the course of a few days Violet wrote again. She had been rather
home-sick, she confessed, and she missed them all dreadfully; but
everybody was most kind and considerate to her.
"Mrs. Reed is much more particular in many ways than you are, mother,"
she wrote; "and she is rather strict with the servants, I fancy,
though they appear to like her. This house is kept as clean as a new
pin. Mrs. Reed says she learnt the great virtues of cleanliness and
order when she was a hospital nurse. Did you know she had worked for
her living? She was at a hospital in London for several years. In some
ways she is very particular. She won't allow the least waste, and she
is as careful as though Dr. Reed was quite poor. Isn't that odd
of her? I call it so. And yet, she's not in the least mean, for Polly—
she's the tweeny-maid—told me yesterday that she's been so good to the
cook's mother, who has been ill, giving her food-dainties such as sick
people like—and money, too."
Violet then went on to say that, as the weather had continued cold and
snowy, she had only left the house once since her arrival, which
occasion had been on Sunday when, with Mrs. Reed and Ann, she had
attended the nearest church, situated only about five minutes' walk
from Laureston Square.
"But the weather is clearing at last," she wrote; "it is thawing fast
as I am writing, and the sun is beginning to shine, so I hope soon
I shall really see something of Barford. Mrs. Reed said this morning
that she must try to get out to do some shopping, and that Ann and I
might accompany her. I understand there are some fine shops not far
from here, for Laureston Square is in what is considered the best part
of the town, and many of the people living hereabouts are very rich.
I do not see much of Dr. Reed, for he is generally busy all day till
evening, although, as you know, he keeps an assistant—Mr. Luscombe.
Mr. Luscombe has lodgings not far from here, Ann tells me; he is a
little man who wears spectacles, and he is getting bald though he is
quite young—young for a doctor, I mean; Ann says she thinks he is
about twenty-seven.
"I like Ann. She is very good-natured, and wants to treat me just like
a sister; she says she has always wished so much to have a sister.
She loves to hear about Ruthie and Madge. I haven't told her what a
little house ours is at Streatham, perhaps I shall when I know her
better—Dr. Reed may have told her, that I don't know. I wonder what
she would think of Barbara. I am certain Mrs. Reed wouldn't keep a
servant who is always 'in a rush,' but I don't suppose she knows what
one has to put up with if one can only afford a general servant."
The letter concluded with many protestations of affection for all the
dear ones at home, and requested a speedy answer from Mrs. Wyndham
or Ruth.
"She is settling down comfortably and happily," said Mr. Wyndham, when
his wife asked him what he thought of this last communication from the
absent one, "do you not think so?"
"Yes," she agreed, "but it must be a very great change for her."
She glanced meaningly around the sitting-room, as she spoke, and
sighed. "I hope she will learn to be orderly," she said, "but I fear
she will find it not a little hard."