little commission. I've made out a short list of the things we want to
begin with. We're thinking of having our first millinery class next
Wednesday evening. We can't have more than one a week, for Miss Wandle
and Miss Bracy have two other evening classes, and we don't want the
mothers to think the girls are too much away from home."
"I'm sure it's better for them than idling about the lanes," said Miss
Halliday, "and that's what they mostly spend their evenings in at this
time of year."
"Have you got anything settled about your own plans, Miss Halliday?"
asked Stasy.
The milliner shook her head, and gave a little sigh.
"Not yet, Miss Stasy," she replied; "and unless I can find a partner who
could put a little money into the concern, I'm afraid I must make shift
to go on alone for some time to come. I've got so behind with what I
owe, for the first time in my life, all through that disappointment
about Miss Green."
"I really think she should have paid you _something_," said Stasy. "I'm
afraid you're too good-natured, Miss Halliday. And now you're going to
be good-natured to us, and let us come in two or three times a week to
help you a little."
"You're really too kind, Miss Stasy," said Miss Halliday. "I don't feel
as if I could let you do such a thing. And what would your dear mamma
think of it?"
"She's quite pleased," said Blanche; "she's always glad for us to be of
any use we can."
"And really I have nothing to do now," said Stasy. "The dancing class
and the gymnastics are given up for the summer, and my lessons don't
take up long at all. I've got in the way of coming to Blissmore every
day with Herty; it would be dreadfully dull to stay always at
Pinnerton."
So it was settled that the sisters should come two or three mornings a
week to help poor Miss Halliday as much as possible, though, of course,
the arrangement was to be kept perfectly private.
It certainly did Stasy a great deal of good to have more to do and some
feeling of responsibility. She became more cheerful and more equable in
temper than she had yet been in their new home. She was even amiable
enough to offer no objection to Blanche's consent to Florry Wandle's
eager, though modest, request that she and her cousin might be allowed
to join the millinery class.
"I scarcely see that we have any right to refuse them," Miss Derwent had
said, "seeing that they actually belong to the guild. Anyway, it would
be most ill-natured to do so, as they are good, nice girls."
"I don't mind," said Stasy, "if you and mamma think it right. So long
as we are not obliged to go to their houses in return, that's to say."
But what Stasy really enjoyed was the amateur apprenticeship to Miss
Halliday. It gave her the profoundest pleasure to stroll down the High
Street and glance in at the milliner's window, where hats and bonnets of
her own creation were displayed to the admiring gaze of the passers-by.
And never had Miss Halliday's stock-in-trade changed hands so quickly.
Orders multiplied with such rapidity that the milliner was scarcely able
to execute them, and many were the compliments she received on the
improved taste and excellent finish of her handiwork.
"You've surely got a very good assistant now," said Mrs Burgess one day.
"I don't think I've seen any prettier bonnets even in Paris than some
of those you've had this year."
For Mrs Burgess had now returned from her visit to the Continent, and
was very full of allusions to her travels.
Miss Halliday smiled as she replied: "Yes, she thought she had been very
fortunate."
But she kept her secret well, and so did her little servant. And no one
noticed the frequency of the Misses Derwent's visits, as they came in
and out by the long garden at the back of Miss Halliday's house, whence
a door opening into the lane cut off the necessity of their passing
through the entrance to the town, and somewhat shortened their walk.
Summer was advancing by this time with rapid strides. The spring had
been a late one, but when the fine sunny weather did come, the delay was
amply compensated for. Sunshine, blossoms, and flowers came with a
burst. One could almost _see_ everything growing. Mrs Derwent, who was
keenly sensitive to such things, enjoyed this first spring in England,
after her many years' absence, intensely, though quietly, all the more
so that Stasy, her chief source of anxiety, was now so much more
cheerful.
"Things _must_ come right for them both," thought the mother to herself.
"They are really so good! Very few girls would make themselves happy
in so monotonous and isolated a life."
For even Mrs Harrowby had gone to stay with her own relations in London
for a time; and Rosy Milward, who had come over to Pinnerton now and
then on guild business, had taken flight, like the rest of the world.
The charms of outside nature, the peace and quiet happiness of their own
home, and a fair amount of interesting occupation, made the next few
weeks pass pleasantly. Afterwards, Blanche felt glad that it had been
so. There was a satisfaction in looking back upon this little space of
time as bright and cheerful.
"I really think," said Stasy one day, when she and Blanche were walking
back together from Blissmore, "that we are getting acclimatised at last,
Blanchie, or rather I should say, _I_ am, for I'm sure you've never been
anything but contented. I can look forward now to going on living here
with mamma and you for--oh! for ever so long, even if nothing more
exciting comes into our lives."
"I'm so glad," said Blanche heartily. "Yes, we've been very happy
lately, haven't we?"
"But some day," Stasy went on again, "some day, Blanchie, you must
marry. Though I can't, even in my wildest dreams, picture anyone good
enough for you. But you are far too pretty to be an old maid!"
"I can't imagine marrying," said Blanche musingly; "that's to say, I
can't imagine any one caring enough for me, or my caring enough for any
one! And I can't imagine marrying without plenty of caring."
"Of course not," said Stasy. They walked on in silence for a little,
till almost in sight of their own gate.
"I thought mamma would have come to meet us, perhaps, as she often
does," said Blanche. "But let's hurry on a little, Stasy, and make her
come out in the wood before tea."
"And we might have tea in the garden, don't you think?" said Stasy.
"We've not had it out of doors once this week, the afternoons have been
so showery."
So talking, they crossed their own lawn, entering the house by one of
the French windows of the drawing-room, where they half expected to find
their mother.
She was not there, however, nor was she in the library.
"I hope she hasn't gone out alone," said Blanche. "Run up-stairs, Stasy
dear, and see if she is in her room."
Stasy did so, Blanche remaining at the foot of the staircase.
She heard Stasy's step along the passage, a door opening, and the young
girls cheerful "Are you there, mamma dear?" Then--or was it her
fancy?--a sort of muffled exclamation, and the slamming to of the door,
as there was a good deal of wind that afternoon, and for a moment or two
nothing more.
Blanche grew slightly impatient, which was not usual with her. Was
there a touch of instinctive anxiety in the impatience?
"Stasy might be quick," she said to herself. "If mamma is out, we--"
But just then came Stasy's voice.
"Blanche," it said, "come up at once. I can't leave mamma: there is
something the matter."
Blanche flew up-stairs, her imagination, even in that short space of
time, picturing to itself a dozen terrible possibilities. "Something
the matter!" What suggestions in the simple words.
It was a relief, on entering the room, to see her mother seated on her
usual chair. Pale, very pale, and looking all the more so from the
reddened eyelids which told of recent and prolonged weeping. Stasy was
kneeling on the floor beside her.
"Mamma, dearest," said Blanche, "what is wrong? You are not ill? No,
thank God--then it can't be anything very dreadful."
For there was a strange side of comfort in the isolated position of the
little family. When they were all together and well--they had caught
sight of Herty playing happily in the garden--nothing, as Blanche had
said, "_very_ dreadful" could be the matter. Still, something grievous
and painful it must be, to have thus affected the usually cheerful
mother; and again, before Mrs Derwent had time to reply, Blanche's fancy
had pictured every kind of possible and impossible catastrophe, except
the actual fact.
Mrs Derwent tried to smile.
"You are right, Blanchie," she said; "it is `Thank God,' as we are all
together. But read this."
She held out a thick foreign letter, closely written in a clerkly hand
which Blanche knew well. It was that of the lawyer at Bordeaux,
Monsieur Bergeret, and though couched in a good deal of legal
technicality, the general sense was not difficult to gather. The old
and honourable house of "Derwent and Paulmier" was bankrupt--hopelessly
ruined. Monsieur Bergeret, while expressing his deepest sympathy, held
out no hopes of any retrieval of the misfortune.
"Mamma," said Blanche, looking up with startled eyes, "what does it
mean? How does it affect us?"
For she knew that, besides any practical bearing on themselves, the blow
to her mother would be severe. Her husband's and her father-in-law's
universally respected position had for more than half her lifetime been
a source of natural pride to Mrs Derwent, and even now, though they were
dead, their honourable name must be lowered.
But alas! it was worse than this.
"It means," the mother replied quietly--"it means, my darlings, that we
are ruined too. Our money had not been paid out. You remember my
telling you that I was a little anxious about the delay; but nothing
would have made any difference: they had not got it to pay. If Monsieur
Bergeret had pressed them, it would only have hastened the declaration
of insolvency. I understand it all. I have read the letter over and
over again, since it came by the afternoon post. Dear me," and she
glanced at the pretty, quaint little French clock on the
mantelpiece--"can it be only an hour ago? It came at three, and it is
only just four. It seems years--years."
Her voice seemed faint and dreamy. Blanche looked at her in some alarm.
She was utterly exhausted for the moment.
"Mamma dear," said Stasy, "it is impossible to take it all in at once;
we must get used to it gradually. The first thing to attend to just now
is _you_. You mustn't make yourself ill about it, mamma."
Blanche glanced at Stasy admiringly.
"Yes," she said, "that is the first thing to care about. I am going
down-stairs to see if tea is ready. Will you come down, mamma, or shall
I bring you a cup up here?"
"I will come down," said Mrs Derwent, adding to herself, in a voice
which she tried to make firm: "I _must_ begin to get used to it at
once."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
FACING THINGS.
Derwent did not fall ill, as her daughters feared. There was great
elasticity, which was, in fact, a kind of strength, in her nature, as
well as a rare amount of practical common sense, and before long these
triumphed over the shock, which, it must be owned, was to her a
tremendous one.
For she realised, as Blanche and Stasy could not be expected to do, the
whole bearing upon their lives, of this unexpected change of fortune.
For a week or two, some amount of excitement necessarily mingled with
her distress. For, though Monsieur Bergeret held out no hopes of
anything being saved from the crash, he yet advised her to consult the
English lawyer who had had charge of her interests at the time of her
marriage, and of whom the French man of business entertained a high
opinion.
So Mrs Derwent and Blanche went up to London by appointment, to meet
this gentleman, and had a long talk with him. His view of things
entirely tallied with that of Monsieur Bergeret, but he reassured Mrs
Derwent on one or two minor points. What she had in the shape of
furniture, plate, and so on, was absolutely hers, and could not, as she
had vaguely feared, be touched by the creditors of the firm, of whom,
indeed, she ranked as first. Furthermore, there still remained to her a
trifling amount of income, all that was left of the little property she
had inherited from her father, as it will be remembered that, owing to
unwise investment, the late Mr Fenning's capital had almost disappeared.
But anything was something in the present crisis. Even eighty pounds a
year was a certainty to be thankful for.
"The best thing you can do, it seems to me," said Mr Mapleson, at the
close of the interview, "is to let your house as soon as possible, thus
making sure of the rent for which you are liable: I forget the length of
your lease?"
"Seven years in the first place," replied Mrs Derwent. "You might let
it furnished," the lawyer went on; "that would give you fifty or sixty
pounds a year more--not much. Furnished houses in the country don't let
for the rents they used to do, or you might have a sale, thus realising
a little capital, till you have, as they say, time to turn round, and
make some plan for the future. And"--he went on, with a little
hesitation--"should you be short of funds at the present moment, pray do
not hesitate to draw upon me. I wish with all my heart I could be of
more use to you."
"You are very kind, very kind and good," said Mrs Derwent. "But I think
I shall be able to manage for a little while. I will see the local
house-agent at once, and put the house in his hands. I think I should
prefer to be free from it altogether, if possible, and to have a sale."
"Perhaps it would be best," said Mr Mapleson. "Refer the agent to me in
case of need. Furniture sometimes sells very well in the country."
"We have some very pretty things," said Blanche--"uncommon things, too;
some good china that we brought from Bordeaux, and things like that."
Her voice faltered a little as she spoke, and the old man glanced at her
sympathisingly.
"What a charming girl!" he thought to himself. "Too pretty to be a
governess or companion or anything of that kind."
"I hope," he said aloud, "that you will be able to keep your daughters
with you, Mrs Derwent. I will talk it over with my wife; she has plenty
of good sense, and if any idea strikes us, I will write to you. A
school--a small, select school, for instance. Your daughters must have
been well educated, though, no doubt, private schools do not succeed
nowadays as they used to do."
"Thank you," said Mrs Derwent; "we must think it over."
Then they said good-bye, and made their way back to the station again,
feeling perhaps a trifle less depressed than on their arrival.
"Shall we stop at the agent's on our way through Blissmore, do you
think, Blanche?" said Mrs Derwent, as they were nearing the end of their
railway journey. "We must drive out, I suppose," she went on, with a
rather wan smile, "though I want to begin those small economies at
once."
Blanche glanced at her. It was a hot, close day, and Mrs Derwent seemed
very tired.
"It would be poor economy to begin by making ourselves ill," said
Blanche. "Of course we must drive. I will write to the house-agent
to-night, if you will tell me exactly what to say, mamma. It will do
quite as well as seeing him, and be far less disagreeable."
Stasy was watching for them at their own gate as they drove up. She
looked bright and eager.
"Tell the man not to drive in," said Mrs Derwent; "we will get out here,
poor Stasy looks so anxious to hear what we have got to say."
"She looks as if she had something to tell us, I think," said Blanche.
"I must say her good spirits--for she is never low-spirited now--are a
great blessing."
"She doesn't realise it," said Mrs Derwent, with a little sigh. "But at
sixteen what would you have? That in itself is a blessing."
"Have you any news?" was Stasy's first question? "You don't look so--at
least, not any _worse_ than when you went away, except that you're
tired, of course, poor dears."
"We have certainly nothing worse to tell you," said Blanche cheerfully.
"And one or two things are just a little better than we feared." And
she gave Stasy a rapid summary of their interview with Mr Mapleson.
"That's all right," said Stasy. "Come in: I have tea all ready for you
in the library. _I_ have some news for you; at least, something to tell
you--two things. In the first place," she went on, as she began pouring
out tea, "I've had a visitor to-day. Nobody very exciting, but it may
be a good thing. My visitor was Adela Bracy."
"What did she come about?" said Blanche. "I hope they're not beginning
to think they may--well, take freedoms with us, just because we've lost
our money."
Blanche's tone was a trifle bitter. She was tired, and she could not
bear to see her mother's pale face. For the moment, she and Stasy
seemed to have changed characters.
"Take freedoms with us!" Stasy repeated. "Oh dear no! Poor Adela! if
you had seen how she blushed and stammered over her errand."
"And what was it?" asked Mrs Derwent, reviving a little, thanks to
Stasy's good cup of tea.
"She wanted to know," said Stasy, "if her father might call to see you
to-morrow morning, mamma, on business. They have heard, you know, about
our trouble, because Blanche had to tell them that we couldn't give the
other guild treat that we had promised. You said it was best to be
frank about it."
"Yes, I remember," said Mrs Derwent. "But both she and her cousin have
been very good," continued Stasy. "They have told no one at all till
this morning, and then Adela thought it would be only right to let her
father know, for our sake, and it was _that_ that she was in such a
fright about. She thought we might be vexed."
"It doesn't in the least matter who knows and who doesn't, it seems to
me," said Blanche. "Besides, I have written to Lady Hebe, to tell her I
should probably have to give up the guild work, and I made no secret of
our troubles. But you're so mysterious, Stasy: I wish you'd explain!
What can it matter about old Mr Bracy knowing?"
"I'm coming to it," said Stasy, "as fast as I can, if you wouldn't
interrupt. It's about this house. You know, mamma, you said one day
you thought we'd have to sell all our things, and I think anything would
be better than that."
"I'm afraid it will be the wisest thing to do, however," said Mrs
Derwent, rather dejectedly.
"No, mamma, perhaps not," said Stasy. "What Adela's father wants to see
you about is this. He has a brother who has been out in India for a
good many years--a rich man, Adela says--and he's coming home almost
immediately, with his wife and daughter, for a long holiday; and he
wants Mr Bracy to find a furnished house close to theirs for a year, and
it struck Adela that this might just do. She says they would take great
care of everything, and, oh mamma! think how nice it would be to feel it
was still ours, _in case_, you know, of some good luck turning up!"
Her mother smiled.
"My dear child, we mustn't begin to hope for anything of that kind, I'm
afraid," she said. "It is better to face the reality. Still, no doubt,
it would be _very_ nice not to have to part with our things at once. A
year from now, we should better know which of these we could keep. It
was very kind and sensible of Adela Bracy to think of it, and I shall
certainly be very glad to see her father. Can you send him a note to
say so, Blanche? It seems to have been a very good thing that we have
said nothing yet to the agent."
"I will write at once," said Blanche, rousing herself, for she felt that
she had been yielding too much to her unusual depression.
She got up from her place and went towards the writing-table as she
spoke.
"What's the name of the Bracys' house, Stasy--Green?--"
"Green Nest," replied Stasy.
"And will eleven o'clock be the best time, mamma?"
"Say any time that suits him, after ten," Mrs Derwent replied.
She spoke more cheerfully. It really seemed as if this new proposal had
come in the nick of time, and there was something infectious in Stasy's
hopefulness, little ground as there might appear for it.
"I suppose Miss Bracy said nothing about the rent her uncle would be
likely to give?" asked Mrs Derwent.
Stasy shook her head.
"No," she replied, "and I didn't like to ask her, indeed I don't think I
should have understood about it; but she did say he was liberal and
kind, as well as rich."
"Of course I should not expect more than a fair sum," said Mrs Derwent;
"the fact of its being of great consequence to us cannot be taken into
consideration. Still, it is much better to have to do with people of
that character, and no doubt the house is now unusually attractive in
many ways, all being in such perfect order."
Blanche rang the bell, and gave orders for the note to be sent at once.
Then she came back and sat down again.
"And what's your second piece of news, Stasy?" she said. "You spoke of
two."
Stasy reddened a little.
"It wasn't a piece of news," she said. "It was an--an--" And she
hesitated.
"What?" asked her mother.
"I'm not quite sure," Stasy replied. "I'm not quite sure but that it
was an inspiration!"
Both Mrs Derwent and Blanche looked up.
"Do tell us," said Blanche, but Stasy still hesitated.
"If you don't mind, mamma dear," she began, "I think I'd rather tell it
to Blanchie alone first, and see what she thinks. You _might_ be a
little vexed with me. It may have a little to do with what Mr Bracy
says to-morrow."
"Very well, dear," said Mrs Derwent. "I'm quite content to wait, and
not to hear it at all, if you'd rather not tell me after consulting with
Blanchie."
She had not, perhaps, any very great faith in the practicability of
Stasy's inspirations, but she was delighted to see the girl rising with
such unselfish cheerfulness to meet their difficulties.
"After all," she said to herself, "troubles are often blessings in
disguise. This may be the making of Stasy, and give her the stability
she needs."
Mr Bracy called the next morning, behaving with so much tact and
consideration as to make it easy to forget his somewhat rough and ready
manner, and his frequent oblivion of the letter "h."
The terms he proposed, and which he felt sure his brother would endorse,
seemed to Mrs Derwent fair and, indeed, liberal. But before committing
herself to accept them, she wished to consult Mr Mapleson, a proposal
which Mr Bracy at once agreed to. He was full of admiration of the
house, more than once exclaiming that, as far as his brother was
concerned, it was a wonderfully good chance.
"And I hope," said Mrs Derwent, "indeed, I feel almost sure that I shall
have cause to congratulate myself on meeting so readily with such an
unexceptionable tenant."
She spoke in the gracious and graceful way habitual to her, and the
retired tradesman left her with feelings of warm sympathy and respect.
Mrs Derwent had gained a friend.
Blanche and Stasy had not fallen asleep the night before without having
fully discussed the younger girl's idea.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
STASY'S INSPIRATION.
Blanche did not speak for a minute or two. Then she looked up with a
rather peculiar expression.
"Well, Stasy?" she said, as if expecting her sister to continue
speaking.
But Stasy hesitated.
"What has all this to do with your inspiration?" said Blanche.
"I'm half afraid of telling you," said Stasy. "You're rather snubby
too, to-night, Blanche, in your manner, somehow."
"I don't mean to be," said Blanche gently. "Do tell me all about it."
"Well, you see," began Stasy, "it just came into my head with a flash.
Supposing _we_ were to join Miss Halliday, and be milliners in real
earnest. Of course it would be more you than I. I should still have to
go on doing some lessons. But I could help a good deal, and we could
have the same rooms in her house that we had before. We were very
comfortable there. It would be better than going away to some horrid,
strange place, into stuffy lodgings, where mamma would be miserable."
"You didn't say anything of this to Miss Halliday, did you?" inquired
Blanche.
"Oh no," said Stasy; "of course not. But do tell me what you think of
it, Blanche."
Blanche sighed.
"It is almost impossible to say all at once," she answered. "It is
rather difficult to take it in--the idea of our really having to work
for our daily bread, to be actually shopkeepers."
"I don't feel it that way," said Stasy eagerly.
"You are hardly old enough to realise it," said her sister.
"Yes, I think I do," said Stasy; "but it seems to me that anything would
be better than being separated--being governesses or companions, or
anything like that. What would mamma do without us?"