'"CAMILLA" AND "MARGARET," YES.'
There was a great writing of letters during the next day or two at Robin
Redbreast. And both Lady Myrtle and the children found it difficult to
give their attention to anything but the absorbing subject of Mrs
Mildmay's return.
And in response to a pressing invitation from the old lady, Miss Mildmay
actually managed to spare or make time to come out to Robin Redbreast to
'spend the day'--that is to say, three or four hours of it, so that she
and Lady Myrtle might have a talk about the plans under discussion.
The day chosen was the one in which Frances and Eugene were to return to
Market Square Place. The big carriage was to take them and their aunt
and Phebe home in the afternoon, leaving Jacinth for another week at
Robin Redbreast.
Never had her nieces found Miss Mildmay so pleasant and almost genial.
She was greatly delighted at the news of her sister-in-law's
return--delighted and relieved. For it had begun to strike her rather
uncomfortably that what she had undertaken was all but an impossibility.
She was very conscientious, as I have said, and no self-deceiver. She
saw that the girls, as they grew older, were becoming not less but more
in need of sympathy and guidance in their out-of-school life--sympathy
and guidance which at best she felt very doubtful of being able to give
them, _even_ if she sacrificed all the other duties and occupations
which had for so many years made her life, for their sakes. And the
sacrifice would have been a very tremendous one.
The doubts and perplexities were increasing daily in her mind when there
came this most welcome and little expected news, followed by the almost
as welcome tidings of Lady Myrtle's eager offer of hospitality to the
children's mother.
'It is very good, very, very kind and good of her,' said Miss Mildmay to
herself. 'The children's making friends with her really seems to have
brought good-luck. And she may be of lasting and substantial help to
Frank and Eugenia. Not exactly because she is rich--Frank is far too
proud to take anybody's money--but she may have interest that would be
of use to him. And there would be nothing unnatural in her leaving
something to Eugenia or to Jacinth. I don't suppose she means to leave
everything to the Elvedons, for a good deal would have been her own
share in any case, and a good deal her husband must have left her. By
the bye, I have always forgotten to ask Miss Scarlett if the Harper
girls she has, or had--some one said they had left--were any relation to
the Elvedon family. Nice girls, evidently, but very badly off, I fancy.'
And then she forgot about the Harpers again.
But with her grateful feelings to Lady Myrtle, Miss Mildmay naturally
felt that the least she could do was to clear a day for herself by
working extra hard, so as to be able to spend part of it at Robin
Redbreast, as the old lady much wished her to do.
And she was in her happiest and most cheerful mood, and all would have
gone just as Jacinth wished, but for one unfortunate allusion, which
came in the first place, strange to say, from considerate, cautious Miss
Alison Mildmay herself.
Lady Myrtle and her new guest had a long talk by themselves in the first
place. Then Jacinth, anxiously waiting, heard the boudoir-bell ring, and
a message was brought to herself asking her to join them.
'Come in, my dear child,' said her old friend; 'your aunt and I have
been enjoying a good talk. It is so pleasant when such things end in
people quite agreeing with each other, is it not?' she added, turning to
Miss Mildmay with a smile.
Jacinth's anxious face cleared.
'Then you do think Lady Myrtle's plan best, Aunt Alison?' she said.
'I think it a delightful one, for all concerned,' said Miss Mildmay. 'I
have been explaining to Lady Myrtle all my--my conflicting feelings. For
much as I should like to have your mother with me, I know it would not
be as comfortable as I should wish, nor should I be able to see very
much of her, unless'----
'Forgive my interrupting you, my dear Miss Mildmay,' interposed Lady
Myrtle; 'but I wish you would not worry yourself about all these
questions, now that they are settled and done with. Eugenia shall come
straight to Robin Redbreast for as long as I can get her to stay, and
that will be as long as she wishes. The children, as well as Jacinth,
_my_ child'--and she glanced up affectionately at the young girl
standing beside her--'shall be here to receive her, and you too, Miss
Mildmay, if you will so far honour me. It will be about Easter
probably; there are holidays then, I believe, which will be all the
better. And there need never be any difficulty about sending you all
three to school and fetching you, even when it is not holiday time. Then
if Eugenia prefers to take a little house temporarily at Thetford, I
shall leave her free to do so, though I may have my private _hopes_ on
this matter.'
Lady Myrtle's eyes were quite sparkling, and there was a bright colour
in her cheeks. It was very pleasant to see her so eager and happy.
Jacinth, in spite of her aunt's repressing presence, could not help
stooping down and gently kissing the soft old face.
'And to look further forward still,' Lady Myrtle continued, holding
Jacinth's hand which she had possessed herself of, 'your aunt and I are
of accord on another point, my child. Your father must not return to
India; he has had enough of it. And your mother too.'
'Then you think he should accept'----began Jacinth.
'We will not go into particulars,' she replied, patting Jacinth's hand.
'To begin with, Colonel Mildmay has not consulted me. He must first get
to know me. But--no, of course that dreadful Barmettle is out of the
question. You might almost as well be all in India, as far as I am
concerned, for all I should see of you. But all that is some way off
still. The first thing to do is to get your mother's promise to come
straight here.'
'I am sure she will,' said Jacinth. 'I don't feel any anxiety about
that.'
'Nor do I,' said her aunt.
Just then the luncheon gong sounded, and they all went down-stairs in
the best of spirits. In the dining-room they were joined by Frances and
Eugene, who thanks to the genial influences of the morning's news, ran
up to Miss Mildmay, and kissed her much more effusively than was usual
with them.
'How well you are both looking!' she said, and Lady Myrtle glanced
round, pleased at the remark. 'I don't think his mother will recognise
Eugene,' Miss Mildmay went on. 'Well, no, she could scarcely do that in
any case. But I mean to say I think she will find it difficult to
believe we are not cheating her altogether when she sees this great,
strong, rosy fellow. He was such a poor little specimen!'
'He must have been brought home in time, however,' said Lady Myrtle.
'Ah, yes, our Indian possessions cost us dear in some ways. Though it is
nothing to the old days; my people were soldiers for generations you
know, so we had full experience of these difficulties. I and my brothers
were born in India; my father was only captain in his regiment when he
came into the Elvedon title and property unexpectedly. He would have
lived to be very distinguished, I feel sure, if he had not left the
army;' and she sighed a little.
'But you have distinguished relatives in the army still,' said Miss
Mildmay. 'The Captain Harper who was wounded at----after his most
gallant conduct. He is a relation, is he not? I heard about him from
Miss Scarlett: you know his daughters were at Ivy Lodge, and'----
'Indeed!' said Lady Myrtle, and a very strange expression came into her
voice--not annoyance, not even constraint--more like a sort of repressed
anxiety and painful apprehensiveness. 'Indeed! No, I do not
remember--what were you going to say?'
For Miss Mildmay had stopped abruptly. She was seated opposite Jacinth,
and as she got to her last words, some consciousness made her glance
across the table at her elder niece. In an instant she saw her mistake,
and recalled her own vague warnings to the girls to avoid allusions to
Lady Myrtle's family history. But she was far from cowardly, and
essentially candid. And in her mind there had been no mingling of any
selfish motive; nothing but the desire to prevent any possible annoyance
to their kind old friend had prompted her few words of advice to the
girls. And now the strange look--a look almost of restrained anger--on
Jacinth's face positively startled her.
'I may have been mistaken in my impression that the family in question
was in any way related to you,' she said quietly. 'One should be more
cautious in such matters.'
'Yes,' said Lady Myrtle, nervously, 'I think you must have been
mistaken. I do not know anything of such people, and Harper is not a
very uncommon name. By the way, that reminds me--was it you, my dear?'
and she turned somewhat abruptly to Frances--'was it not you who once
mentioned some school-fellows of the name, and afterwards something was
said which removed the impression that they could possibly be Elvedon
Harpers? I am confused about it.'
All this time Frances's eyes had been fixed on her plate; she had
scarcely dared to breathe since her aunt's allusion. Now she looked up,
bravely, though her cheeks were flaming and her heart beating as if to
choke her. An inner voice seemed to tell her that the moment had come
for _something_ to be said--the something which even Camilla Harper in
her letter had not debarred her from, which her own mother had hoped
some opportunity might arise for.
And in spite of Jacinth's stony face, and her aunt's evident wish to
change the subject which she herself had brought on to the _tapis_,
Frances spoke out.
'Yes, Lady Myrtle,' she said clearly. 'It was I that spoke about Bessie
and Margaret Harper. They were at school with us then, and before that,
their big sister Camilla was there. But they've left now, I'm afraid,'
and her voice trembled a little. 'I think it's because their father's
very ill, and it costs a lot, and they're not at all rich. They're the
very nicest girls in the world; oh, they _are_ so good and nice.--You
said so too, Jacinth?'
Lady Myrtle's eyes turned to Jacinth.
'Yes,' the elder girl replied coldly; 'I believe they are very nice
girls. But I did not know them nearly as well as you, Frances. I do not
care for making friends as you do.'
'No,' said Frances, rather lamely. 'I know you don't; but still I'd like
you to tell Lady Myrtle how nice they are.'
'Why should it interest Lady Myrtle to hear about your school-fellows,
my dear?' said Miss Mildmay, surprised and a little annoyed by Frances's
rather pertinacious manner. 'These girls are very nice, I have no doubt;
indeed I recollect Miss Scarlett speaking very highly of them; but no
one doubts it. I think all your school-fellows must be nice girls--not
only the Harpers. And the name may be a mere coincidence. I have never
heard certainly that they were of the Elvedon family.'
Lady Myrtle had not seemed to be attending to what Miss Mildmay said.
She was speaking to herself.
'"Camilla,"' she murmured softly, '"Camilla" and "Margaret." Not
"Bessie;" no I never heard of a Bessie, and "Margaret" is not uncommon.
But "Camilla"--yes, I suppose it must be.'
But just as she said this, Miss Mildmay's last words--the good lady had
rather an emphatic way of speaking--rang out clearly: 'I have never
heard certainly that they were of the Elvedon family.'
'That's just it,' said Frances, and by this time Lady Myrtle's attention
was fully caught. 'Of course I don't mean to contradict you, Aunt
Alison, but I _do_ know they're the same family, and so they are
relations of Lady Myrtle's. And it's not only that I like them. I'm so
very sorry for them, so _very_ sorry. They are all so good, and they
have so very, very many troubles,' and here the irrepressible tears rose
to poor Frances's eyes, and she turned her head away abruptly.
Lady Myrtle glanced at her and then at Jacinth. Jacinth's face was quiet
and very grave.
'You are a very loyal friend, I see, Frances,' said the old lady; and
rather to every one's surprise the words were accompanied by a little
smile, and then she turned to Jacinth.
'I don't think you have ever named these--these Harpers--to me, have
you, my dear?' she asked.
Jacinth looked up at once.
'No,' she said; 'I have not, and I have refrained from doing so on
purpose. I--I did not think it concerned me, and you might not have
liked it. I--I should be so sorry to vex you.'
The appeal in her eyes touched Lady Myrtle more than Frances's tears.
And in what she said, so far as it went, Jacinth was sincere. She did
shrink from any possible allusion that could annoy or upset her kind
friend; and the selfish motives underlying the prejudice, almost
amounting to positive dislike, which she had allowed to take root in her
feelings to the Harpers, she blinded herself to, or called by some other
name.
Lady Myrtle was silent, but there was no resentment in her face. She
only looked sad--very, very sad.
'You know these girls very much less well than Frances did,' said Miss
Mildmay, whose sympathies were just now all with Jacinth. 'You see,' she
went on, turning to her hostess, 'Frances has been in the habit of
spending holiday afternoons at school--sometimes when you had kindly
invited Jacinth here, on a Saturday, for instance.'
Lady Myrtle started a little. Her thoughts had been far away. She leaned
forward and took hold of Jacinth's hand--Jacinth was sitting next to
her, and the servants had left the room--and patted it affectionately.
'Of course. I know Jacinth is very, very thoughtful for me,' she said.
'And I see that you understand it, my dear Miss Mildmay. Not that I am
vexed with little Frances. I like children to be children, and of all
things I like a loyal friend.'
Then she at once and with evident intention, which the others were quick
to read, changed the subject of conversation. On the whole, vexed though
she was with Frances's persistence--'self-willed obstinacy' as she
called it to herself--Jacinth felt that the dreaded crisis had passed
off better than might have been expected, and in some things it was a
relief. Things were on a clearer basis now.
'It was bound to come, I suppose,' she said to herself. 'Mamma seems
almost as impulsive and quixotic as Frances--quite bewitched by these
people. But at worst there's nothing more to tell now, and Lady Myrtle
appreciates my feelings if no one else does.'
Frances, on her side, though her heart was still beating tumultuously,
felt glad that she had had the courage and opportunity to say what she
had. But for her dread of a private reprimand from Jacinth afterwards,
the little girl would on the whole have had a somewhat lightened heart
about her friends. For, as she said to herself, 'Lady Myrtle had
certainly not seemed angry.'
Strange to say, the anticipated reproof from Jacinth never came. It was
true there was not much time for any private talk between the sisters,
for Frances and Eugene went back to Market Square Place that same
afternoon with their aunt. But even when, a week later, Jacinth herself
rejoined them there a day or two before the reopening of Ivy Lodge
school, there was no mention of the Harpers, and no allusion to what had
passed at luncheon the day of Miss Mildmay's visit to Robin Redbreast.
'Can it be that Lady Myrtle is really going to be kind to them, and that
she told Jacinth not to be vexed with me?' thought sanguine little
Frances. She would have felt less hopeful had she known that not one
word had passed between her sister and the old lady on the subject of
her unknown relations. And Jacinth had simply made up her mind to think
no more about them; her conscience now being, or so at least she told
herself, completely at rest--the matter entirely out of her hands.
It was the easier to carry out this resolution that Bessie and
Margaret's places were vacant, though no one seemed very clearly to
understand why they had not returned, and the Misses Scarlett expressed
the heartiest regret that they had not done so. Honor Falmouth too had
left, but this had been known by anticipation to her companions for
some time. And in the little world of a school, as in the bigger world
outside, it is not for long that the circles in the waters of daily life
mark the spot of any disappearance; it has to be so, and does not
necessarily imply either heartlessness or caprice. We are limited as to
our powers in all directions--the more marvellous that somewhere,
invisible, unsuspected, our innermost self lives on. And far down, below
the surface restlessness and change, may we not hope that we shall find
again the fibres of loving friendships and pure affections whose roots
were deep and true, though at times it may seem that like other precious
and beautiful things they were but as a dream?
Frances missed her friends sadly, the more so that not knowing their
exact address, and half afraid also to do such a thing on her own
responsibility, she could not write to them. But nothing depressed
Frances now for very long or very deeply. She had found a panacea. All
would be right soon, 'when mamma comes home.'