Spring was passing into the loveliest part of summer. The school girls
were beginning to count the days that must pass before the midsummer
holidays; and none counted them more earnestly than did Frederica and
her sister. What was to follow the holidays they did not know. There
had been nothing more said about sending them to England. But whether
they were to be sent there, or to come back again to Mrs Glencairn's,
there were two months of holidays on which they might safely count, and
no one knew what might happen before they were over.
Their one short visit since Easter had not been a very successful one.
Their mother had been ill and Mrs Ascot had been cross, and there was
to be no other visit till holiday time. Dixen had come once or twice
with a message from Selina, but the tidings he brought were neither very
cheerful nor very definite; and no wonder that Frederica longed for
more, and would not lose a chance to get them.
And so one morning, as Mr Vane and some of his friends were riding
through one of the wide upper streets, which at that time looked more
like the country than the town, they were startled by a voice calling,
"Papa, papa," and out from a straggling line of school girls there
sprang a little figure gesticulating eagerly. Mr Vane turned round,
and so did the others.
"It is you, Fred, is it?" said he in surprise.
"Yes, papa, I beg your pardon for calling you, but it is so stupid
walking along all in a row, and I want to ask you how mama is, and
Selina."
"Oh! they are very well--just as usual. But what will madame the
schoolmistress say to your escapade?"
"I am very naughty I know, papa, but I did so want to hear about mama.
Is she really better? Why! here she is," said Frederica in surprise.
"Here are Jack and Jill at any rate."
Yes, there were Jack and Jill, but there was not Mrs Vane nor Selina.
A very pretty lady--two of them indeed--leaned back in the carriage.
Frederica turned astonished and indignant eyes from them to her father
as the carriage stopped.
"Your mama gave herself the pleasure of lending her carriage to Mrs
Clifford to-day," said Mr Vane, and Frederica knew by his tone and
manner that he was annoyed, though it would not have done to show it to
the rest of the party.
"Let Miss Vane come with us," said one of the ladies. "We can easily
make room for her, can we not, Mrs Clifford?"
Mrs Clifford was not quite sure, but Frederica declined the invitation
with a stately little curtsey, and turned to her father again.
"Do come with us, Miss Frederica," said Major Hargrave, a gentleman whom
Frederica had several times seen before: "the day is lovely, and you
will enjoy it."
"Is it a pic-nic? Thank you. It would be very nice, I daresay, but I
would rather not. Good-bye, papa; I am afraid Miss Pardie will be very
angry with me."
"And no wonder," said her father, laughing. The admiring glances which
he saw exchanged quite dispelled his momentary vexation.
"We could manage to soothe her, I think," said he. "Would you like to
go, Fred? Where is Tessie?"
"Tessie is not walking to-day. She was naughty, and remained at home.
No, I thank you, papa. If there were no other reason, I could not go
because of Tessie. It would be too cruel to go and leave her."
"Naughty! what has she done? It would serve her right to leave her if
she has been naughty."
"Oh! as to that, yes. She was very wrong. She was playing Madame
Bulbat for the girls, and Madame heard her, and was in a rage of course.
And Miss Robina was obliged to be very severe with the child to keep
the peace. I cannot go, papa; but I daresay, if you were to ask her,
Miss Pardie would let me go and see mama for a little while."
But Mr Vane shook his head with sufficient decision.
"No: mama is all right. You are far better at school. She does not
need you."
But pleased with the whispered admiration of the foolish people who were
with him, and willing to prolong the pleasure, he moved away with his
little daughter in the direction of the line of returning school girls,
saying he must make the child's peace with her teacher; and he quite won
Miss Pardie's heart by his manner of entreating it at her hands.
"Was that your mama in the carriage, and your sister?" asked one of her
companions, as they went on together. "I think they might have asked
you to go with them."
"My mama, indeed! That great red woman!" said Frederica scornfully.
"She was very pretty," said her friend. "That is because she did not
ask you to go with them."
"She did ask me. I did not choose to go."
"Because of your print dress? Of course you could not have gone in
that."
Thus her friend chattered on, and Frederica answered at random or not at
all, thinking of other things. For it did not make her sure that her
mother was well again, that her father had said so. And though it was
no new thing to her knowledge that her father should seek his own
pleasure, without giving a thought to her mother in her enforced
retirement, it struck her with new and sharp pain to-day, and her
anxious and unhappy thoughts came back again with double force.
"I have a great mind to go home without asking anybody," she said to
herself. But she knew she must not.
She was, for the moment, very unhappy, and it was with a slow step and a
sad face that she went to make her confession to Miss Robina. For
though Miss Pardie had graciously accepted Mr Vane's apologies for his
daughter's behaviour, that was only as far as he was concerned. She had
her confession to make to Miss Robina all the same; and it is possible
that Miss Pardie was not without hope that, for the moral effect of the
thing, she would not be permitted to escape without punishment, or at
least without reproof. She got no punishment, however, and Miss
Robina's reproof was of the gentlest, when it was explained to her that
"she had been so anxious to hear about mama."
"And I am afraid it was not good news you heard, from the sad face I
see," said Miss Robina, kissing her.
"Papa said she was well, so I suppose she is at least not worse. Am I
to be punished, Miss Robina? I think Miss Pardie expects it."
"You mean you think you deserve it. Well, you must be sent upstairs for
a while. Take these strawberries to Eppie, and save me the stairs, and
you need not hasten down again."
So Frederica went slowly upstairs, believing herself to be very unhappy,
little thinking how much more unhappy she was to be before she came down
again. Eppie was not in her room, which was an unusual circumstance at
that hour of the afternoon, and Frederica set down the tiny basket of
strawberries on the table, and went to her favourite seat in the west
window, with her lesson-book in her hand. In a little while she heard
the slow, unequal steps of Eppie on the stairs, and saw her come in with
a great bundle in her arms, and watched her as she carefully laid each
garment in its place. She did not speak, and in a minute there were
other footsteps on the stairs, and Mrs Glencairn came into the room.
Frederica ought to have spoken then. She ought to have made them aware
of her presence in the room. But almost the first words she heard
startled her so much, as to take away her power of speech, and to make
her forget how wrong it was for her to listen to that which was not
meant for her ears.
She did not hear all that was said, nor did she know how long it had
taken to say it, but when she saw the door close, and heard Mrs
Glencairn's footsteps going slowly down the stairs, she slid from her
seat on the window, and confronted Eppie with a white face and angry
eyes. The old woman uttered an exclamation, and drew back with uplifted
hands.
"Tell me what she meant, Eppie."
"Miss Frederica! Who would think that you would come and frighten a
body out of their wits in that wild way? You have given me a turn that
I winna get over this while."
"Tell me what she said," repeated Frederica.
But Eppie, hoping that she might have heard little, had no mind to tell
her what her mistress had said.
"I would hae thought it o' any o' our young leddies rather than of you,
pussy. Eh, fie! to be hearkening to what other folk are saying! What
think you Miss Robina would say gin I were to tell her?"
But Frederica put her words aside with an impatient gesture.
"Tell me, or I will go to Mrs Glencairn."
"'Deed you'll do nothing of the kind. She has had trouble enew already,
and it just needs you to go with thae bleezing een o' yours to upset her
altogether. Bide still where you are, like a good bairn."
Frederica sat down, and neither of them spoke for a while.
"Eppie," said she at last, "I think I understand, but I am not quite
sure. Tell me, so that I need not make a mistake, or bring any one into
trouble."
"Whisht, lassie! It's a matter you hae nothing to do with, and I
counsel you no' to make nor meddle in it."
"You are mistaken, Eppie; there is no one but me to put this right,
unless mama is to be troubled. And she shall not be troubled. Is this
it? For more than a year and a half Mrs Glencairn has received
nothing--absolutely nothing--for all that she has done for Tessie and
me. She has asked for it more than once, but she has received nothing.
I wish to understand."
Eppie looked at her, but did not answer. The shrewd old woman had
seldom been so utterly at a loss before.
"My dear," said she, "it might have happened to anybody."
"And we have been living on charity--Tessie and I?"
"Hoot, lassie! dinna speak nonsense. It is all to the fore. And it is
a good thing, for it might have been spent, and now it is waiting for
Miss Robina to do what she likes with; to go and see her sister, maybe.
It's a good thing that it's to the fore."
Frederica looked at her without a word.
"I would advise you no' to meddle in the matter. It will be all settled
as it ought to be, and Miss Robina would be ill pleased that you should
ken. And it will be all right, you may be sure," said Eppie cheerfully.
"It would do no good to go to-day, because papa Is away, and mama is not
to be troubled. But to-morrow--Has Mrs Glencairn been very much in
need of it; Eppie? Why did they not send us away?"
"My dear, that's nonsense! What difference would one, or even two, make
in a family like this? She would rather have you here than not, though
she were never to see the colour of your father's money. And as for
Miss Robina! But the money is safe enough; so just you sit down, and
put the thought of it out of your head."
There was not another word said about it, and Mistress Campbell rejoiced
in the readiness with which her counsel had been taken. But Frederica
had no thought of "putting it out of her head" in the sense that Eppie
hoped. The first sudden shock of anger and shame passed, but it was
followed by a pain and doubt not more easily borne. She had only just
been able to shut her lips closely, when the name of Mrs Ascot had
risen to them; but as she sat there in silence, seeming to read quietly,
her thoughts went beyond Mrs Ascot. They followed her father and his
gay friends; away into the sunshine of the pleasant fields, and they
went to her mother left solitary and suffering, with only Selina to
comfort her, and with Mrs Ascot to vex her with cares which she ought
never to know.
"It is not kind of papa," she said, over and over again.
She did not get further than this; for hitherto she had looked at their
life and their household ways and cares with the unreasoning eyes of a
child. Her father was gay and careless, and apt to forget about things
that did not specially concern himself, even a child could see that; but
she had never regarded all this as worthy of blame. She had not thought
about it in that way at all. But she thought about a great many painful
things as she sat with her head bent over her book in Eppie's garret
that night.
There was nothing to be said by anybody. Frederica did not even tell
Tessie, as she was almost sure to tell anything that vexed her, in the
few minutes that were allowed them for talk before silence was commanded
for the night. Tessie could not help her to do as she had determined to
do, and Tessie was rather apt to exclaim about things, and to take other
girls into her confidence, and such a thing was not to be thought of
now.
It would not be easy for her to obtain permission to go home next day,
she knew, but she determined to go all the same, whether she got
permission or not. But something in the girl's face made Robina pause
before she answered her in one way or the other.
"Has anything happened, love? You have heard no bad news, I hope," said
she kindly.
Frederica did not find it easy to answer.
"Your mama is not worse, I hope."
"She is not better," said Frederica huskily. "Won't you let me go home,
Miss Robina? I might go with Nora when she goes to the market, and
Dixen will bring me back. Please do, dear Miss Robina, for a little
while."
"I am by no means sure that I ought to say `yes,'" said she; but she
kissed the sweet pleading face and said it, notwithstanding.
Frederica did not go home first. She took Nora some distance out of her
way to her father's office, and bade her good-bye at the door.
"Thank you, Nora, don't wait. Papa will take care of me now."
Her father looked surprised, and not very well pleased to see her. Not
that she was interrupting his business, for she saw that he was only
reading the newspaper. She did not give him time to express his
surprise in words, nor did she greet him in her usual fashion, but said
hurriedly, "I came on business, papa." She did not find it easy to say
more for a minute; and something which he saw in her face kept her
father silent also.
"Papa, do you know that Mrs Glencairn has not been paid for more than a
year and a half? for Tessie and me, I mean."
Her father stared at her in astonishment, not understanding for the
moment what she meant.
"What nonsense, Frederica!" said he: "and what have you to do with it?"
"It is quite true, papa, and of course I have to do with it. Mrs
Glencairn must be paid."
"And did she send you here to say that to me? She has been paid. I
cannot say that I admire either her taste or her judgment. I think we
have had almost enough of madam the schoolmistress."
"I think she must have had quite enough of us, papa. But she did not
send me. She is not aware that I know about it. I overheard her
speaking about it to Mistress Campbell."
"Overheard! and you have been suffering the usual penalty of listeners."
"No, papa, and I did not mean to listen. But I was so shocked. Mrs
Glencairn and Miss Robina have been very kind to us, papa, and they must
be paid."
"I have not the least doubt that they have been paid, over and over
again. Let them alone for that!"
"Did you pay them, papa?"
"No. I did not give the money to them, but I have a distinct
recollection of its being provided."
"So have I, papa. Mama was obliged to ask Mr St. Cyr for more money,
and she said it was very painful, and she could not do it again."
"All that relates to Mr St. Cyr's connection with our affairs is
painful. You are old enough now, Frederica, to understand that it was
never with my consent that he had to do with--with our affairs--with
your grandfather's property. I can do nothing. If things go wrong, it
is not my fault. I protested against such an arrangement at the time,
and--and washed my hands of them. And it is a matter with which you can
have nothing to do."
"Except about Mrs Glencairn's money, papa. I _must_ have to do with
that, you know. Tell me what I must do, papa."
"You can do nothing. There must be some mistake. A year and a half!
It would be a large sum."
"Yes, indeed! But, papa, don't you think it possible that--that Mrs
Ascot may have made some mistake?"
"She may certainly have made a mistake. I will see that it is put
right. But you can do nothing, and you must not try. You will only
make matters worse."