vicars wife, "thanks to Adela Bracy and her cousin, though, in the first
place, thanks to you. They miss you very much--indeed, we all do, at
Pinnerton. Adela says you have been most kind in allowing her to apply
to you about some little difficulties that occurred;" as was the case.
"I was so sorry to have to give it up," said Blanche simply. "I only
wish I could help Miss Bracy more."
Just then Lady Harriot appeared with some of the numerous members of the
Enneslie family in tow, to whom Miss Derwent was introduced with great
propriety. Some irrepressible allusions to the bonnet followed on the
good hostess's part, which Blanche minded very much less than the Misses
Enneslie minded them for her. They were nice girls, ready to be almost
enthusiastic in their admiration of Blanche and of her sister, whom the
youngest of them took under her wing, with the evident intention of
making her enjoy herself. And the sight of Stasy's brightening face was
enough to make her sister's spirits rise at once, more especially when
she saw how, on her side, her mother was enjoying a tour of the grounds
under old Mr Dunstan's escort.
Other introductions followed, several of them to families whose names
were not altogether unfamiliar to the girl, for as they sat working
together, Miss Halliday was not above beguiling the time by a little
local gossip of a harmless kind. And Lady Harriot's good offices did
not stop with "the county." Blanche was trotted out, so to say, for the
benefit of some of the Alderwood house-party, her hostess challenging
their admiration, not only of the _chef d'oeuvre_ reposing on her own
head, but of the charming "confections," which she described as to be
seen in the High Street at Blissmore.
"You must really drive in with me one day, before you leave," she would
exclaim to some special crony of her own. "You would think yourself in
Paris, you really would.--And yet none of your things have come from
there as yet, have they, Miss Derwent?"
"None of those you saw, I think," Blanche replied, "though I did write
for a few models to a shop we used to get our own things from. The hat
I have on is copied from one of them."
"I was just thinking how pretty it was," said the mother of some
daughters, standing beside her. "I should extremely wish to have one
like it for each of my girls, if we may call some day soon. That's to
say, if you don't mind our copying yours, Miss Derwent. It isn't as if
we lived in this neighbourhood; we're only here for a few days."
"I shall be delighted to make them for you," Blanche replied pleasantly.
And the perfect good taste of her manner increased the favourable
impression she had created.
Indeed, that afternoon at Alderwood bade fair to see her and her sister
exalted into the rank of heroines. It was plain that "taking up" the
Derwents was to be the fashion in the neighbourhood, and to a less
entirely single-minded and well-balanced nature than Blanche's, the
position would not have been without its risks. But, without cynicism,
she appreciated the whole at its just value. The neglect and
indifference and stupid exclusiveness shown to them during their first
few lonely months in England had been a lesson not lost upon her, all
the more that she had in no way exaggerated its causes.
"There are lots of kind people in the world, I suppose," she said to
Stasy, whose head was much more in danger of being turned than her own.
"But there are not many who go out of their way to make others happier,
like dear Lady Hebe, or to help them practically, like kind Mrs Bracy;
and the sort of attention that comes from ones being in any way
prominent is really worth very little."
"I know," Stasy agreed. "People are very like sheep; still, Blanche,
the Enneslies are very nice girls. You are not going to advise mamma
not to let me go to see them, when they asked me so very kindly, and not
at all in a patronising way. You have always wanted me to have nice
companions."
"Mamma can judge much better than I," said Blanche. "I should not think
of advising her one way or the other, though I hope she will let you go
to spend a day with the Enneslies."
"Really," said Stasy, "if it's to be made such a fuss about, I'd much
rather not go; if I were a poor apprentice, I should be allowed `a day
out' now and then, I suppose."
For Stasy's temper just now was, to say the least, capricious. She was
growing tired of the steady work required of her, now that the first
blush of novelty and excitement had worn off. And this invitation to
the Enneslies, a simple and informal affair, such as there could be no
possible objection to for any girl of her age, was but the precursor of
others, which, while they gratified Mrs Derwent to a certain extent, yet
gave her cause for a great deal of consideration and some anxiety.
"Stasy is too young," she said to Blanche, "too young and excitable to
go out, even in this ungrownup way, as much as would now be the case if
we laid ourselves out for it. And for her it would not be the simple
sort of thing that it is for girls in an ordinary position. Wherever we
go, you would just at present be more or less picked out for notice and
attention, and however kindly that may be meant, it would not be good
for Stasy."
"Nor for me either, mamma," said Blanche. "I dare say I should get very
spoilt. I know I feel dreadfully lazy after these garden-parties and
things of the kind, and disinclined to do anything at all."
"My darling," said her mother, "I can scarcely imagine anything spoiling
you. The spoiling would go deeper with Stasy than in the common sense
of the word, for immediately people began to make less of her, she would
be exaggeratedly embittered and cynical."
"We must save her from that," said Blanche eagerly; "and it is just what
would happen. Still, mamma, I think we should let her have all the
change and recreation possible, for she does work so hard--harder than
she needs. She throws herself so intensely into whatever she is doing.
She gets as flushed and nervous over a hat as if her life depended upon
it."
"It is even better when she is doing some lessons," said Mrs Derwent,
"and the classes will be beginning again soon. We must just take things
as they come, Blanchie, and do our best."
So a great part of the invitations that were sent to them was
courteously declined on the plea of want of time, none being accepted
save such as it was desirable for Stasy to take part in, and which did
not involve the expense of long drives or of much loss of working hours.
One day early in October, "business"--to use Miss Halliday's
expression--"being rather slack just then," Mrs Burgess made her
appearance in a great state of excitement. She wanted some caps at
once, as she was going off unexpectedly on a visit.
It was late in the afternoon. Blanche had persuaded her mother to go
out for a little stroll. Miss Halliday, in her corner of the shop, had,
to confess the truth, been indulging in a little nap, and Stasy, some
lace-frilling in her hands, which she was working at in a rather
perfunctory way, glancing between times at a story of thrilling incident
in a volume lent her by the Enneslies, was feeling unusually restful and
contented.
"I do hope no one else will come to-day," she thought to herself. "It
is nice to have a little breathing-time before the winter season begins,
which Miss Halliday expects to be such a success."
Suddenly the shop door opened. Miss Halliday started up, looking and
feeling very guilty.
"Good-afternoon, Miss Halliday," said Mrs Burgess, the new-comer. "Dear
me, what a colour you are! I hope you're not going to get apoplectic!
Where is Miss Derwent? I must see her at once;" and she proceeded to
explain the reason of her visit, and the urgency of her wants.
Now, Mrs Burgess's caps were even more marvellous works of art than Lady
Harriot's bonnets. They had indeed set Stasy's teeth on edge to such an
extent that Blanche had taken them altogether into her own hands,
especially since some over-plain-speaking of Stasy's on the subject had
gone very near to deeply offending the doctor's wife.
No visitor could have been more unwelcome. What imp had suggested to
Blanche the desertion of her post that afternoon?
"I am sorry," Miss Halliday replied, as she collected her scattered
faculties, speaking with unusual dignity as she took in the sense of Mrs
Burgess's uncalled-for remark on her own appearance--"I am sorry, but
Miss Derwent is not in at present. If you will kindly explain to me
what you want, I will do my best, and I will tell Miss Derwent all
particulars as soon as she comes back."
"No," interposed Stasy, coming forward, before Mrs Burgess had time to
reply. "You are tired, Miss Halliday: I know you had a bad headache
this afternoon. Let me take Mrs Burgess's orders;" and she darted a
wrathful glance at the visitor. "Miss Halliday apoplectic indeed!" she
thought inwardly; "_she_ looks far more so herself."
The doctor's wife looked at Stasy rather dubiously. She had not the
same faith in the young girl as in her elder sister, and at the bottom
of her heart she was a little afraid of Stasy, whom she was given to
describing to her own friends as an impertinent, stuck-up little monkey.
But her friends did not always agree with her--that is to say, not
those among them who had benefited by the girls cleverness, or been
fascinated by the charm of manner Stasy could exert when it suited her.
Furthermore, there was no choice. The caps must be had by a certain
hour the next day, and as Mrs Burgess expected a guest to dine at her
house that evening, she knew she would have no time to call again.
"I'm sure Miss Anastasia's taste will please you," said Miss Halliday,
full of gratitude to Stasy, and recalling dire failures of her own in
time past, anent Mrs Burgess's head-dresses.
"Ah well," said the lady, "you will do your best, I have no doubt, my
dear, and I will explain exactly, so that you scarcely can go wrong.
See here"--and she drew out a little parcel from the voluminous folds of
her cloak--"I have brought one of my old caps as a pattern. This one
was made by a French milliner in London, and was a great beauty in its
day."
"Indeed," said Stasy, as she took up the crumpled and faded article
gingerly by the tips of her long delicate fingers. "That was a good
while ago, I suppose, though of course fashions change quickly. You do
not wish this to be copied exactly?"
"You couldn't do it if you tried," said Mrs Burgess, already on the
defensive, as she scented danger.
"No," replied Stasy, with apparent submissiveness, "I don't suppose I
could. But if you will be so good as to take off your bonnet and put
this cap on, it will be a guide as to the size of your head and the fit.
Then I can show you some lace and flowers, or whatever you prefer."
It took some little time for Mrs Burgess to divest herself of her bonnet
and veil, as precautions had to be observed lest the remarkable addition
to her somewhat scanty locks, which she called her "chignon," should
come off too. But at last the feat was safely accomplished, Stasy
standing by and eyeing her the while with preternatural gravity.
Then the cap was hoisted to its place and adjusted with the help of a
hairpin or two, Stasy marching round and round her victim, so as to get
a view from all sides, with no more regard for Mrs Burgess, who was hot
and flurried, and very doubtful as to the behaviour of her chignon, than
if the poor woman had been a hairdresser's block.
"Yes," she said at last, composedly, "I quite see how it should be.
Miss Halliday, please give Mrs Burgess her bonnet.--Now as to the lace
you would like the caps to be made of, and the colours? I forget how
many you said you wanted?"
Mrs Burgess had made up her mind to have three. But something quite
indescribable in Stasy's tone aroused her spirit of contradiction.
"I didn't speak of more than one," she said.
"I beg your pardon," said Stasy, with extreme deference. "I must have
been mistaken. I thought you alluded to _some_ caps."
"Well, and what if I did?" said Mrs Burgess, growing illogical as she
waxed cross. "I came, hoping to see Miss Derwent, and there's no saying
how many I mightn't have ordered if she had been in. But as it is, I
don't know but what I'd do better to wait till I get to London. I'm not
at all sure that you'll be able to manage it."
"That must be as you prefer," said Stasy, preparing to replace the lid
on a box of tempting-looking laces which had just caught Mrs Burgess's
eye. The girl knew quite well that the doctor's wife did intend to
order the caps, and in her heart she was beginning to feel some
interest--the purely disinterested interest of the artist--in
fabricating something which should for once show off her customer's
plain features to the best advantage; but she was determined to reduce
Mrs Burgess in the first place to a proper attitude of humility and
deference. Her air of profound indifference was perfect.
"You may as well let me see those laces," the doctor's wife began again.
"You needn't be quite so short about it, Miss Stasy; it's natural I
should like to see what you can do. I won't go back from having _one_
cap, and, if it's all right, I'll let you know about another."
Stasy looked at her calmly.
"I must have misunderstood you again," she said.
"I thought you wanted them at once. I could promise two, or even three,
to-morrow, if you decide upon them now, but not otherwise."
"And perhaps you will allow me to mention," said Miss Halliday, coming
forward, "that even if Miss Derwent had taken the order, ten to one but
Miss Stasy would have carried it out. There is no one like her for
quick work. She knows in an instant what's the right thing to do, and
her fingers are like a fairy's.--I _will_ say it for you, my dear!"
Mrs Burgess's respect for Stasy rapidly increased, though the girls air
of calm superiority made her try her best to hide the fact.
"Ah well," she said, in what she intended to be a tone of condescending
good-nature, but which Stasy was far too quick not to interpret truly,
"suppose we fix for two caps, one for morning and one for evening.
Yes--those laces are very nice. You have some pretty flowers, I
suppose?"
"For the evening head-dress, you mean," said Stasy. "These thick laces
are for evening caps, and, _of course_, without flowers. I should
propose a few loops of black velvet with this lace."
"Black velvet!" exclaimed Mrs Burgess. "That will be dull. I like a
bit of colour in my cap. It sets off a dark dress, and Mr Burgess likes
me best in dark things since I've got so stout."
"If you particularly wish it, you can have crimson velvet," said Stasy;
"but, of course, black would be the right thing."
"Well, I'll leave it to you," secretly convinced, but determined not to
show it, was the reply, and, feeling herself triumphant, Stasy could
afford to be generous. She drew out a box of beautiful French flowers
of various shades, in which she allowed Mrs Burgess to revel with a view
to the evening cap. And just as the doctor's wife, having recovered her
usual jollity, was impressing upon her that she _must_ have the
caps--_must_, whatever happened--to try on by eleven o'clock the next
morning, the shop door softly opened.
"Mind you," repeated Mrs Burgess in her loud, rather rough tones,
intending to be jocular, "you'll have them back on your hands, Miss
Stasy, unless you keep to the time."
The name "Stasy" fell on ears to which it had once been very familiar.
"Stasy," their owner repeated to himself inaudibly, as he stood
unnoticed by the door. "Can that be my little girl's child, and in such
a position? Good heavens! how careless I have been."
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
THE TALL OLD GENTLEMAN.
"Ahem!" followed by a slight cough, drew the attention of the three in
the shop wards the door, whence the sound proceeded.
There stood a tall, rather bent, grey-haired old gentleman. Miss
Halliday stared at him dubiously, but Mrs Burgess started forward.
"Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "Sir Adam! Who'd have thought it? I
had no idea, sir, you were in the neighbourhood."
The new-comer glanced at her coldly.
"Oh," he said, after a moment's pause, "Mrs Burgess, is it not? I hope
your good husband is well--But"--and he stepped forward--"may I ask,"
addressing Miss Halliday, "if it is the case that--that Mrs Derwent and
her daughters are living here for the present?"
"It is so," said the milliner, with gentle and half-deprecating
courtesy. "I am sorry."--Then remembering Stasy's presence, she turned
to her. "This is Miss Anastasia. She can explain better. Perhaps,
Miss Stasy, you will take the gentleman into the drawing-room till your
mamma returns. I daresay she will not be long now."
Stasy put down on the counter a trail of roses which she was still
holding, and laid her pretty little hand, with almost childlike
confidence, in Sir Adam's, already extended to meet it. The old man
looked at her with a curiously mingled expression. Something about her,
as well as her name, recalled her mother; still more, perhaps, her
grandfather. For, though Stasy was at what is commonly called the
"awkward age," in her very unformed, half-wild gracefulness there was
the suggestion of the underlying refinement and courtliness of bearing,
for which Sir Adam's old friend had been remarkable.
"My dear child; my poor, dear child!" he exclaimed.
Then the two disappeared--the young girl's hand still held firmly in the
old man's grasp--through the door at the end of the shop, which led into
the Derwents' own quarters, to Miss Halliday's intense satisfaction, and
Mrs Burgess's no less profound discomfiture and amazement.
"Dear, dear!" she ejaculated. "What's going to happen now?" and she
turned to Miss Halliday.
"I don't understand you, ma'am," she said quietly.
"Why, it's plain to see what I mean," returned the other. "Old Sir Adam
Nigel treating Stasy Derwent as if she were his grand-daughter! How
does he know anything about them?"
"She is not that, certainly," said Miss Halliday, referring to the first
part of Mrs Burgess's speech, "but she is the grand-daughter of his very
oldest and dearest friend, Mr Fenning--the Honourable and Reverend--and
of his wife, Lady Anastasia Bourne, to give her maiden name," rolling
out the words with exquisite enjoyment. "If you'll excuse me, Mrs
Burgess," she continued, "I think, from the first, you've just a little
mistaken the position of my dear ladies, if I may make bold to call them
so."
For a worm will turn, and all Miss Halliday's timidity vanished in
indignation, hitherto repressed, at the behaviour of the doctor's wife.
"Bless me!" exclaimed Mrs Burgess, "how was I to know? But what about
my caps?"
"You shall have your caps; no fear of that," replied Miss Halliday.
"It's not real ladies that break their word." And with a little bow of
dismissal, which Mrs Burgess meekly obeyed, she opened the door for the
latter to make her way out.
"I've done no harm," thought the little woman, with satisfaction; "she's
too pleased to have got hold of some gossip, to mind my plain-speaking."
Half-an-hour or so later, Mrs Derwent and Blanche, who had been tempted
by the loveliness of the autumn afternoon, to go farther than they had
intended, made their way home through the fields at the back of the
house, entering by a door in the garden wall, of which Blanche had the
key. Half-way up the gravel path, the sound of voices reached them
through the open glass door of the drawing-room.
"Dear me!" exclaimed Blanche, "whom can Stasy have got in there? She
seems to be talking very busily, and--yes, laughing too. Listen,
mamma."
"It must be Herty," Mrs Derwent replied, half indifferently, for she was
feeling a little tired, and, as could not but happen now and then, for
all her courage, somewhat depressed. "Herty, or Miss Halliday," she
added.
"No," said Blanche, standing still for a moment. "Miss Halliday must be
in the shop, as Stasy isn't Mamma," with a quick and slightly nervous
misgiving, "I'm sure I hear a man's voice.--Surely," she thought to
herself, "it can't be--oh no, he would never come again in that way."
"Who can it be?" said Mrs Derwent, for her ears, too, were quick.
They hastened on, Stasy's cheerful tones banishing any apprehension. As
they got to the door, Blanche naturally fell back, and Mrs Derwent stood
alone on the step outside, looking into the room.
There was Stasy on a low seat, drawn up closely to her mother's own pet
arm-chair, in which was comfortably ensconced a figure, strange, yet
familiar. Stasy's face was turned from Mrs Derwent, but the visitor at
once caught sight of her, and, as her lips framed the words, "Sir Adam!"
he started up from his place and hastened forward.
"Stasy!" he exclaimed. "My little Stasy, at last!" And Stasy the
younger, glancing up, saw the words were not addressed to her.
"Mamma, mamma!" she exclaimed. "You see who it is, don't you? Isn't it
delightful? We have been longing for you to come in; but I've been
telling Sir Adam _everything_."
For a moment or two Mrs Derwent could scarcely speak. Meeting again
after the separation of a quarter of a century must always bring with it
more or less mingled emotions, and in this case there was much to
complicate Mrs Derwent's natural feelings. It was not all at once easy
to throw aside the apparent neglect of her once almost fatherly friend,
which for long she had explained to herself by believing him dead; and
yet here he now stood before her, her hand grasped in both his own, the
tears in his kind old eyes, as moved as herself--to outward appearance,
even more so.
"Stasy," he repeated; "my dear little girl, can you ever forgive me? I
have not really forgotten you." This appeal to her generosity was all
that was required.
"Dear Sir Adam," she said, "I never really doubted you."
"Until quite lately, you know," he went on, "of course I thought things
all right with you, always excepting, of course, your great sorrow some
years ago. And I was pretty ill myself for a good while. I am stronger
now than I have been for years past, thanks to all the ridiculous
coddling the doctors have insisted on, as if my life was of much value
to any one."
"I am so glad," said Mrs Derwent fervently.
"Well, upon my soul," he replied, "I think I shall begin to be glad of
it myself. I feel as if I'd got something to do now, besides running
about from one health-resort to another."
He started, as at that moment Blanche entered the room.
"And this is Blanche!" he exclaimed, with undisguised admiration.
"Stasy, my dear, you did not prepare me for two such daughters."
"But _I_ did," interposed the younger Stasy, from behind her mother; "at
least about Blanche. Didn't I tell you how lovely she was, Sir Adam?"
she went on, mischievously, rewarded by the sight of the rosy colour
which crept up over Blanche's fair face.
Stasy's high spirits, and the touch of impishness which generally
accompanied any unusual influx of these, were a godsend at this moment,
helping to tide over the inevitable constraint accompanying any crisis
of the kind, in a way that Blanche's calm self-control could not have
achieved. The younger girl was simply bubbling over with delight, and
it was very soon evident that she had completely gained Sir Adam's
heart; while the amount of information she had managed to impart during
their half-hour's _tete-a-tete_ perfectly astounded her mother.
"I know all about everything," said Sir Adam, sagely shaking his head.
"You're to have no secrets from me--none of you, do you hear? And if I
suspect you, Stasy number one, or you, Miss Blanche, of concealing
anything from me, I shall know where to go for all I want to hear;" and
he patted little Stasy's hand as he spoke. But his eyes had somehow
wandered to Blanche. Why did she again change colour? She almost bit
her lips with vexation as she felt conscious of it.
Soon after this, Sir Adam left them. He was staying at Alderwood, but
was dining that evening at East Moddersham.
"Oh, have they come back?" exclaimed Blanche impulsively. "And how
is--" She stopped.
"Hebe Shetland, you're thinking of?" he said quickly, for his instincts
were keen. "I know all about it, as I fancy you do. Yes, she has come
back too, only the day before yesterday."
"And?" said Blanche eagerly.
"They are very hopeful," he replied. "I don't know that one dare say
more as yet. I shall hear further particulars there to-night, and then
I'll tell you all about it. I shall see you again very shortly. I want
to think over things. Good-bye, my dear children, for the present I
haven't seen the boy yet."
As he reached the door, he turned round again.