BESSIE'S MISGIVINGS.
But just then came the sound of approaching voices.
'Bessie, Bessie, where are you? Haven't you found them? Tea's quite
ready.'
And Bessie started. She had forgotten the errand on which she had come.
'Oh, we must be quick!' she said. 'That's Honor and the others calling
us; I forgot how the time was going. But Frances, I must speak to you
for a moment before you go. Don't forget.'
And then the three ran off to rejoin their companions.
Never had Frances enjoyed herself more, her only regret being that
Jacinth was not there to share her pleasure. There was the element of
novelty to add zest to the whole, and then as the 'boarders' looked upon
her as in some sense their guest, they vied with each other in making
much of her--for her own sake too, for Frances was a great favourite, a
much greater favourite than her sister, among their companions. It is to
be doubted if Frances would have enjoyed herself quite as much had
Jacinth been with her. For not only did Jacinth's rather cold, stand-off
manner destroy any geniality towards herself; it often acted on Frances
as a sort of tacit reproach to her own overflowing spirits.
And through all the little girl's fun and merriment there ran the
consciousness of the trust reposed in her by the Harpers. She was full
of intense interest in their family history; it was really quite like a
story in a book, she kept saying to herself, and she felt bursting with
eagerness to relate it all to Jacinth.
How good and delightful they must all be, Bessie and Margaret's father
and mother, and brothers and sisters! It was easy to believe it, the
girls were so nice themselves! How lovely it would be if, somehow, she,
or Jacinth and she, could be the means of healing the family breach and
introducing her relations to Lady Myrtle, so that in the end they might
be restored to their lost rights. For 'rights' Frances was determined to
consider them, in her vehement young judgment and hot partisanship of
her friends.
'It is not fair or just!' she said to herself; 'it is shameful that they
and their father should suffer for their _grandfather's_ fault. But
nobody could help seeing how good they are: if only Lady Myrtle knew
them it would all be right. I wonder how would be the best way to tell
her? Jacinth will know--she is so much cleverer than I, and then she is
sure to be Lady Myrtle's favourite. I am glad she is, for in spite of
what Bessie and Margaret say, I don't feel as if I could ever like that
old lady.'
And her eagerness to go home and talk it all over with 'Jass,' made her,
notwithstanding her enjoyment of the afternoon, scarcely sorry when one
of Miss Scarlett's servants came out to tell her that her maid had
called to fetch her.
She said good-bye to her companions and ran in for a moment, by old Miss
Scarlett's special desire, to the drawing-room, where the ladies were
sitting. They kissed her affectionately.
'I've been so happy,' she said. 'We've had such beautiful games; I've
not had such fun for ever so long.'
'I am so glad, my dear child,' said the eldest lady, and she smoothed
the little girl's soft hair. 'You must come again and see something of
your companions out of lesson hours as well as in the schoolroom.'
Frances's eyes sparkled with pleasure.
'I would like it very much,' she said.
'What is your sister about this afternoon?' said Miss Marcia. 'Perhaps
she does not care so much about games and romping as you do?'
'No, she doesn't,' replied Frances, bluntly. 'This afternoon she's gone
with Aunt Alison to the girls' club.'
'Very nice,' said Miss Scarlett, approvingly. 'Jacinth is a thoughtful
girl and older than her years, in some ways. Is she interested already
in Miss Mildmay's good works?'
The old lady was pleased to hear of any bond of sympathy likely to draw
the aunt and niece together, for much as she respected Miss Mildmay, she
had had strong doubts of her fitness for the charge of the girls, and
considerable misgivings as to their happiness with her. And Miss
Scarlett was old-fashioned, and but for her native kindliness of _heart_
she might almost have been prejudiced and narrow-minded. She scarcely
belonged to the present generation. Her youth had been passed in a
somewhat restricted groove, where the Lady Bountiful notions of
benevolent work among the poor were still predominant. Her sisters, a
good many years her juniors, had to a certain extent assimilated modern
ideas.
Frances hesitated. She could not bear in the least to decry her dear
'Jass,' and yet she knew that her sister had so far troubled her head
very little, if at all, about her aunt's girls' club or other
philanthropic undertakings.
'Aunt Alison doesn't tell us much about all these things,' she said.
'To-day was the first time she asked Jacinth to go with her, but Jass
was very pleased indeed, and I'm sure she'll like to be of use.'
Miss Scarlett smiled. She was quick of perception in some ways; she
understood the little girl's loyal admiration of her sister, and again
she patted her fair head.
'Well,' she said, encouragingly, 'sometimes, I hope, Jacinth may like to
spend a holiday afternoon with us. But tell her and your aunt from me,
that if ever they are at a loss what to do with _you_, Frances, Miss
Mildmay must let me know. We can manage a good run in the garden even in
wintry weather, and there _are_ such things as blindman's-buff and
hide-and-seek in the house sometimes.'
'Thank you _very_ much,' said Frances. 'I think--I would like to come
sometimes on Saturdays, for, besides going with Aunt Alison, I shouldn't
wonder if--I daresay Jass may have often to go'----She stopped and
hesitated, and finally blushed. 'I don't think I can explain,' she said.
'Never mind, my dear,' said Miss Marcia, coming to the rescue, with a
vague idea that perhaps Jacinth had some private charities of her own in
prospect which she did not wish talked about. 'Give Miss Scarlett's
message to your aunt and sister, and good-bye till Monday morning.'
Frances ran off, much relieved in her mind.
'But I really must be careful how I talk,' she reflected sagely. 'I had
quite forgotten that I wasn't to chatter about Lady Myrtle--except to
Bessie and Margaret. Jacinth said I might really count them my friends,
and that means being able to tell them anything I like. Besides, how
could I have helped telling Margaret about Lady Myrtle, when she told me
all the story of her being their great-aunt?'
Her conscience nevertheless was not absolutely at rest, and joined to
her eagerness to tell her sister all she had heard of the Harpers'
family history was now a slight fear of Jacinth's considering her
indiscreet, and she was so preoccupied that, as she hurried out to the
hall, where Phebe was waiting, she almost ran against Bessie, who was
eagerly watching for her.
'Frances,' she said, 'I must speak to you a moment. I asked Miss Linley,
and she let me run in, and she said I might walk down to the gate with
you.' There was rather a long drive up to the door of Ivy Lodge.
'Listen, dear; it's this. I can't bear to ask you to keep anything a
secret from your aunt or your sister, but _sometimes_ secrets may be
right, if they concern other people and are not about anything in any
way wrong. And I don't see what else to do. It is this--would you mind
promising me not to tell _anybody_ about Lady Myrtle Goodacre being our
relation, till I have written home to mother and told her that you and
Jacinth know her, and about your grandmother having been her dear
friend? I am _so_ afraid of doing harm, or vexing father, for though he
is so good, he is--very proud, you know, and--he could not bear it
to--to come round to Lady Myrtle that we were talking about her,
or--thinking about her money.'
Bessie's face by this time was crimson. Frances opened her mouth as if
about to speak, then shut it again, and gazed at Bessie with a variety
of contradictory feelings looking out of her blue eyes. There was
disappointment, strong disappointment that her wonderful schemes for
bringing the Harpers and their old relative together threatened thus to
be nipped in the bud; there was disappointment, too, that she was not to
have the pleasure and importance of relating the story 'just like one
in a book' to her sister; and yet there was considerable relief, born of
her recently aroused misgiving as to how Jacinth would look upon her
confidences with Margaret.
Bessie meanwhile stood looking at her in undisguised anxiety.
'It doesn't matter a bit about Aunt Alison,' Frances at last blurted
out. 'We're not at all bound to tell her everything; mamma knows she
wouldn't understand or take the trouble to listen. And so, when we came
here, mamma said we must just do the best we could. I've always told
Jass everything, and we write long, _long_ letters to mamma. We tell
her--at least I do--everything that puzzles us, even things I can't
understand about--about religion,' and here Frances grew red. 'Though
that's _one_ thing that's better here than at Stannesley; the Bible
classes are so nice.'
'But Frances,' repeated Bessie, 'about not telling Jacinth? It is only
till I write to mother and get her answer. And I'm not asking you to
hide anything wrong; it's really our own family affairs.'
'I know,' said Frances. 'No, I don't think it could be wrong to
promise.'
'Put it this way,' said Bessie: 'suppose you had, by some sort of
accident, overheard anything about other people, you wouldn't at all
think you were bound to tell Jacinth. Well, you see it was a _little_
like that; Margaret shouldn't by rights have told you without asking
mamma.'
'I see,' said Frances. 'Well then, Bessie, I promise not to tell anybody
till you give me leave. Only, you won't count my writing it all to
mamma? I write the most of my weekly letter to her on Sunday, so I'd
like to know, because to-morrow's Sunday, you see.'
'_Of course_,' said Bessie with the utmost heartiness, '_of course_ you
must write everything to your mother, just as I shall to mamma. Thank
you so much, dear Francie, for understanding so well. And--and--just one
other little thing--don't you think, just now, it will be better for you
and Margaret not to talk about Lady Myrtle to each other? I mean if she
invites you to Robin Redbreast and you go, I don't think you'd better
tell Margaret. She's not very strong, and she thinks of things so, once
she gets them in her head. She's different from me. I can put them right
away.'
And Bessie gave herself a little shake and stood there, all the anxiety
gone out of her face, bright, fearless, and handsome as usual.
Frances, however, gave a little sigh.
'Very well,' she said, 'I won't speak about it any more to Margaret if
you think I'd better not. But it's rather hard not to have any one I can
tell about it, when I've been so interested.'
And Frances's face grew very doleful.
Bessie Harper looked and felt sorry for her. She knew what a warm
faithful little heart she had to do with, and unaware as she was of
Frances's slight fear of Jacinth's displeasure, she perhaps
overestimated the trial it was to the younger sister to be debarred from
giving her confidences to the elder one.
'I'm very sorry,' she said, sympathisingly. 'I really am very sorry
indeed. But still I'm sure it's better for Jacinth not to know about it
till I hear what mother says. You see she _may_ be invited to Lady
Myrtle's any day, and if anything about the Elvedons or our family was
said, it would be impossible for her not to feel uncomfortable
and--and--not open, you know, unless she told what Margaret told you,
and that might be just what father would dislike.'
'And suppose _I_ go to Robin Redbreast too,' said Frances, 'what am I to
do?'
'I thought you said Jacinth was the one who would go,' said Bessie.
'Oh well,' replied Frances, who had raised the difficulty partly out of
half-petulant contradiction, 'I am pretty sure it will be Jass. I don't
think Lady Myrtle noticed me much, and I don't want to go. I don't like
her; at least I don't care about her unless she could be made nice to
you. And any way she wouldn't ask _me_ questions, even if by chance she
did hear your name'----
'And Jacinth isn't the least likely to speak about us, as things are. So
it's all right; and any way, Frances, you can write a very long letter
to your mother to-morrow.'
'Yes,' the little girl agreed. 'That's better than nothing; only, just
think of the weeks and weeks before I can get an answer! Whatever other
troubles you have, Bessie, you _are_ lucky to have your father and
mother in England, and to know them. I don't know mamma for myself a
bit; only by her letters, and because I just feel she _must_ be very
good and kind. When I was very little it seemed something like--no,
perhaps you wouldn't understand'----
'I think I would,' said Bessie, who was eager to make up by every means
in her power for any distress she was causing to her friend. 'Tell me.'
'I was only thinking what queer feelings children have,' said Frances.
'When I was little, before I had ever seen mamma--of course I can
remember her since the time I _did_ see her, five years ago, and since
then she has seemed real--but before that, it was only a kind of faith.
Writing letters to her was a very little--don't think it's naughty of me
to say it--a very little like saying our prayers. They went out, away to
somewhere, to some one I'd never seen; just like, you know, when we
pray.'
'Yes,' said Bessie gently, 'but the answers came.'
'I know,' replied Frances simply. 'And sometimes I think it helped to
make me feel that there is something _real_ in saying our prayers. But I
must go.'
'And so must I,' said Bessie. 'And thank you, dear Francie.'
She kissed the little face affectionately, and then hastened back to her
companions.
'I do love Frances,' she thought. 'Somehow, I don't feel as if I could
ever love Jacinth quite as much. I do hope all this won't bother the
poor little thing. I should make Margaret unhappy if I blamed her for
having told Frances, and I scarcely see how she could have helped it. It
isn't as if we were in disgrace,' and Bessie threw back her head
proudly. 'We have no secrets: father's whole life and character are
_grand_; and rather than have that horrid old Lady Myrtle--there, now,
I'm calling her just what I told Frances she mustn't--rather than have
her thinking _we_ want her money, I'd--I don't know what I wouldn't do.
If only'----And here poor Bessie's heroics broke down a little. There
came before her a vision of 'father' with his crutch--for he had been
wounded in the hip and was very lame--with the lines of suffering on his
face, showing through the cheery smile which it was seldom without; and
of 'mother' in her well-worn black poplin, which she used to declare
was 'never going to look shabby,' planning and contriving how to send
the two girls, neatly and sufficiently provided for, to school, when the
wonderful chance of a year at Miss Scarlett's had so unexpectedly come
in their way.
Bessie's eyes filled with tears.
'I'd do anything for them,' she thought. 'I'd go to be Lady Myrtle's
companion or lady's-maid or _anything_, if it would do any good. It's
all very well to be "proud," but I'm afraid my pride would melt very
quickly if I could see any way to help them. But I'm glad I stopped
Frances talking about it; it really might have done harm. I must write a
long letter to mother. I wonder if I can begin it to-night?'
Frances, escorted by Phebe, made her way home in greater silence for
some minutes than was usual with her. She was revolving many things in
her fluffy little head.
'Had they come in when you started to fetch me?' she inquired at last of
the maid.
'Not yet, Miss Frances. Miss Mildmay gave me orders to go for you at
half-past six, before she went out. But I don't think they'll be long.
Late tea is ordered for half-past seven, and Miss Mildmay is never
behind time on Saturday evenings.'
'I don't mind whether they're in or not--not much,' said Frances. 'I
don't want any more tea. I suppose Eugene has had his?'
'Yes, Miss Frances, his tea and an egg. He was very pleased. Master
Eugene does enjoy a nice boiled fresh egg. I think you'll have to go
down to late tea, though, Miss Frances; perhaps Miss Mildmay wouldn't be
pleased if you didn't; and perhaps'----
'Nonsense, Phebe,' said her young mistress; 'Aunt Alison doesn't care.
You speak as if she was like a mamma, wanting to have us beside her
always. She's had Miss Jacinth all the afternoon, and she likes her
better than me. I'm sure she wouldn't care if she never saw me again.
Well, no; perhaps I shouldn't say that, for she's quite kind. She was
very kind about letting me go this afternoon, and sending you to take me
and to fetch me, Phebe.'
'Yes, Miss Frances,' began Phebe, again with some hesitation, 'it was
just that I was thinking about. If you go down to tea just as usual,
nice and neat, it'll make it more likely that she will let you go again.
It will show that a little change now and then will do you no harm, nor
get you out of regular ways, so to say, Miss Frances.'
'Very well,' the child agreed; 'I don't care much one way or another. Oh
Phebe,' she went on, brightening up again--it would have been difficult
to depress Francie for long--'we had such fun this afternoon;' and she
went into some particulars of the games, which Phebe listened to with
great interest. 'I wish Aunt Alison would _sometimes_ let us have
friends to play with us. We could have beautiful "I spy" in the garden.'
'Yes, Miss Frances, so you could,' agreed Phebe.
'You see at Stannesley there were really no children, no girls any way
near our age except the Vicar's daughter, and though she came to have
tea with us sometimes it wasn't much pleasure--not _fun_, at least.
She's a little older than Miss Jacinth, and oh, Phebe, she's so
_awfully_ deaf. It's almost like not hearing at all.'
'Poor young lady!' said Phebe, sympathisingly.
'Yes, isn't it sad? And so, you see, the one thing we were glad of about
coming here--I was, any way--was about going to school; just what some
girls wouldn't have liked. I've always wanted so to have some
companions, only it isn't half as much good having them if you only see
them at lessons. I don't think Miss Jacinth minds. She was pleased to go
to school because of learning better and finding out how much other
girls know compared with us, but I don't think she minds the way I do.'
She had almost forgotten whom she was speaking to, or indeed that she
was speaking aloud, and half started when Phebe replied again to this
long speech.
'It's just because of that, Miss Frances,' said the girl, 'that I was
thinking how nice it will be if you're invited sometimes to play with
the young ladies of a holiday afternoon like to-day. And if I were you,
I'd take care to show Miss Mildmay that it doesn't unsettle you, and I'd
just put out of my mind about having any young ladies to come to you.
It'd not suit your aunt's ways.'
'No,' said Frances, 'I suppose not. It's only really the Harpers I care
about,' she added to herself. 'And now,' she went on thinking, 'with
this muddle about the old lady at Robin Redbreast--if their mother
doesn't want her to know about them, perhaps it's best for Jacinth not
to see them much. And I'll have to forget what Margaret told me, after
I've written to mamma. I want to remember it _exactly_ to tell her.'
She sighed a little. Almost for the first time Frances began to realise
that, even when one is possessed of the purest motives and the best
intentions, life may be a complicated business. Right and wrong are not
always written up before us on conspicuous finger-posts, as we fancy in
childhood will be the case. There are shades and modifications, wisdom
and unwisdom; apparently, though, thank God, only 'apparently,'
conflicting duties, whose rival claims it is not always easy to measure.
And it is not till some stages later in our journey that we come to see
how our own prejudices or shortsightedness or self-will are really at
the root of the perplexity. For God demands no impossibilities. As has
been quaintly said, 'He neither expects us to be in two places at once,
nor to put twenty-five hours' work into twenty-four.'
To do what is the least agreeable to us, though far from an invariable
rule, is often a safe one. Frances would have liked to run up-stairs to
the nursery, and to sit down there and then to the long letter to
'mamma,' to the outpouring of confidence to the almost unknown friend
she had learned to trust. But common-sense and a certain docility, which
was strongly developed in her, in spite of her superficial
self-assertion and blunt, even abrupt outspokenness, made her yield to
Phebe's advice.
And it was a neat, composed-looking little maiden who met her aunt and
sister on their return half an hour or so later, somewhat tired and
fagged by their rather tedious afternoon's work.
'I am glad you are back, my dear,' said her aunt. 'I wished afterwards I
had made a point of your not keeping Phebe waiting, as I had forgotten
that Eugene would be alone, and I am always afraid of any accident with
the fire, or anything of that kind.'
'I did keep her waiting a little,' said Frances, honestly. 'But I've
been back a good while. I've heard Eugene his Sunday lessons: he knows
them quite well. And I think tea is quite ready, Aunt Alison.'
'That's right,' Miss Mildmay replied. 'You may ring for it to be brought
in, while Jacinth and I take off our things.--Frances seems none the
worse for her visit,' she added to her elder niece as they made their
way up-stairs. 'I shall not object to her going to Ivy Lodge sometimes
in this way, if it does not make her rough or hoydenish.'
'I don't think there is much fear of her learning anything of that kind
from the _boarders_,' said Jacinth, gratified by her aunt's confidential
tone. 'I shouldn't be so sure of the day-scholars, but you know, Aunt
Alison, the Miss Scarletts keep them very distinct. It is a--well,' with
a little smile, 'a great compliment for Francie to be asked this way.'
'The Miss Scarletts have plenty of discrimination,' her aunt replied.
'They know that my nieces--your father's daughters--going to any school,
especially a day-school, is a great compliment to that school.'
It was not often that Miss Mildmay indulged in any expression of her
underlying family pride. It suited Jacinth's ideas 'down to the ground.'
'Yes, of course,' she agreed quietly. 'Still the school _is_ an
exceptional one. I think Frances is learning to understand some things
better,' she went on. 'But of course she is _very_ young for her age. At
first she was far too ready to rush into bosom friendships and
enthusiastic admirations and all that sort of thing. And she perfectly
adores games,' with a slight intonation of contempt.
'_You_ don't?' said Miss Mildmay, smiling. 'There is nothing to be
ashamed of in liking games, if not allowed to go too far.'
'I think it must be born in some people,' said Jacinth. 'It isn't
laziness that makes me not care for them. For I love riding and long
walks and dancing. Only, somehow, I feel so much _older_.'
'I can sympathise with you,' said her aunt. 'I have never been able to
care for any game that ever was invented. So I have not been victimising
you this afternoon, you are sure?'
'Oh indeed, no,' replied Jacinth heartily.
On the whole the domestic atmosphere in Market Square Place seemed more
genial.