‘Lucy, Jane,’ said Miss Charlmont, some days afterwards, addressing
her sisters, and holding up an open letter,—‘Mrs. Tyke has sent a
very kind invitation, asking me, with one of you, to stay a month at
her house, and to fix the day. It is your turn, Lucy; so, if you have
no objection, I shall write, naming next Thursday for our journey to
London. Jane, I shall ask Miss Drum to stay with you during our
absence; I think she will be all the better for a change, and there
is no person more fit to have the charge of you. So don’t be dull,
dear, till we come back.’
But Jane pouted, and said in a cross tone, ‘Really, sister, you need
not settle everything now for me, as if I were a baby. I don’t want
Miss Drum, who is as old as the hills and as solemn. Can’t you write
to Mrs. Tyke and say, that I cannot be left alone here? What
difference could it make in her large house?’
For once Catherine answered her favourite sister with severity,
‘Jane, you know why it is impossible for us all to leave home
together. This is the last year you will be called upon to remain
behind, for after Lucys next birthday it is agreed between us that
she will take turns with me in chaperoning you. Do not make what may
be our last excursion together unpleasant by your unkindness.’
Still Jane was not silenced. ‘At any rate, it need not be Miss Drum.
I will stay here alone, or I will have somebody more amusing than
Miss Drum.’
Before Catherine could reply, Lucy with an effort struck into the
dispute. ‘Jane, don’t speak like that to our sister; I should be
ashamed to speak to her so. Still, Catherine,’ she continued, without
noticing a muttered retort from the other, ‘after all, I am going to
side with Jane on the main point, and ask you to take her to Notting
Hill, and leave me at home to keep house with dear old Miss Drum.
This really was my own wish before Jane spoke, so pray let us not say
another word on the subject.’
But Catherine saw how pale and languid she looked, and stood firm.
‘No, Lucy, that would be unreasonable; Jane ought not to have made
any difficulty. You have lost your colour lately and your appetite,
and need a change more than either of us.’ I shall write to Mrs.
Tyke, promising her and the doctor your company next Thursday; Jane
will make up her mind like a good girl, and I am sure you, my dear,
will oblige me by not withholding your assent.’
For the first time ‘my dear’ did not close the debate. ‘Catherine,’
said Lucy, earnestly, whilst, do what she would, tears gathered in
her eyes, ‘I am certain you will not press me further, when I assure
you that I do not feel equal to paying this visit. I have felt weak
lately,’ she went on hurriedly, ‘and I cannot tell you how much I
long for the quiet of a month at home rather than in that perpetual
bustle. Merely for my own sake, Jane must go.’
Catherine said no more just then; but later, alone with Lucy, resumed
the subject so far as to ask whether she continued in the same mind,
and answered her flurried ‘yes’ by no word of remonstrance, but by an
affectionate kiss. This was all which passed between them; neither
then nor afterwards did the younger sister feel certain whether
Catherine had or had not guessed her secret.
Miss Drum was invited to stay with Lucy in her solitude, and gladly
accepted the invitation. Lucy was her favourite, and when they were
together, they petted each other very tenderly.
Jane, having gained her point, recovered her good humour, and lost no
time in exposing the deficiencies of her wardrobe. ‘Sister,’ she
said, smiling her prettiest and most coaxing smile, ‘you can’t think
how poor I am, and how few clothes I’ve got.’
Catherine, trying to appear serenely unconscious of the drift of this
speech, replied, ‘Let us look over your wardrobe, dear, and we will
bring it into order. Lucy will help, I know, and we can have Miss
Smith to work here too, if necessary.’
‘Oh dear, no!’ cried Jane; ‘there is no looking over what does not
exist. If it comes to furbishing up old tags and rags, here I stay.
Why, you’re as rich as Jews, you and Lucy, and could give me five
pounds a-piece without ever missing it; and not so much of a gift
either, for I’m sure poor papa would never have left me such a beggar
if he had known about me.’
This argument had been used more than once before. Catherine looked
hurt. Lucy said, ‘You should remember that you have exactly the same
allowance for dress and pocket-money that we have ourselves, and we
both make it do.’
‘Of course,’ retorted Jane, with latent spitefulness; ‘and when I’m
as old and wise as you two, I may manage as well; but at present it
is different. Besides, if I spend most on dress, you spend most on
books and music, and dress is a great deal more amusing. And if I
dressed like an old fright, I should like to know who’d look at me.
You don’t want me to be another old maid, I suppose.’
Lucy flushed up, and tried to keep her temper in silence: her sore
point had been touched. Catherine, accustomed in such cases to
protest first and yield afterwards, but half ashamed that Lucy’s eye
should mark the process from beginning to end, drew Jane out of the
room, and with scarcely a word more wrote her a cheque for ten
pounds, and dropped the subject of looking over her wardrobe.
An hour after the sisters had started for London, Miss Drum arrived
to take their place.
Miss Drum was tall in figure, rather slim and well preserved, with
pale complexion, hair, and eyes, and an unvarying tone of voice. She
was mainly describable by negatives. She was neither unladylike, nor
clever, nor deficient in education. She was old, but not very infirm;
and neither an altogether obsolete nor a youthful dresser, though
with some tendency towards the former style. Propriety was the most
salient of her attributes, and was just too salient to be perfect.
She was not at all amusing; in fact, rather tiresome, with an
unflagging intention of being agreeable. From her Catherine acquired
a somewhat old-fashioned formality; from her, also, high principles,
and the instinct of self-denial. And because unselfishness, itself a
negative, was Miss Drum’s characteristic virtue, and because her
sympathy, however prosy in expression, was sterling in quality,
therefore Lucy, sore with unavowed heart-sorrow, could bear her
companionship, and run down to welcome her at the door with
affectionate cordiality.