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WILD HEATHER
by
L. T. MEADE
With a Frontispiece in Colour
and Three Black-and-White Plates
Cassell and Company, Ltd.
London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
1911
All Rights Reserved
LIST OF PLATES
HEATHER _Frontispiece_
"'OH, BUT HE MUST STAY,' I ANSWERED" 116
"'ALLOW ME TO TELL YOU, CAPTAIN CARBURY,'
SAID LADY HELEN, 'THAT MY STEPDAUGHTER IS
NOT FOR YOU'" 184
"WE SAT ON THE HEATHER, AND HE TOLD ME THE
STORY OVER AGAIN" 310
[Illustration: HEATHER]
WILD HEATHER
CHAPTER I
There are all kinds of first things one can look back upon; I mean by
that the first things of all. There is the little toddling journey
across the floor, with father's arms stretched out to help one, and
mother's smile to greet one when the adventurous journey is over. And
there are other baby things, of course. Then there come the big things
which one can never forget.
My big thing arrived when I was eight years old. I came home with father
from India. Father's name was Major Grayson, and I was called Heather. I
was petted a great deal on board ship, and made a fuss about, and, in
consequence, I made a considerable fuss about myself and gave myself
airs. Father used to laugh when I did this and catch me in his arms and
press me close to his heart, and say:
"My dearest little Heather, I can quite perceive that you will be a
most fascinating woman when you grow up."
I remember even now his words, and the look on his face when he said
these things, but as I did not in the least comprehend them at the time,
I merely asked in my very pertest voice for the nicest sweetmeats he
could procure for me, on which he laughed more than ever, and, turning
to his brother officers, said:
"Didn't I say so? Heather will take the cake some time."
I suppose at that period of my life there was no one in the wide world
whom I loved as I did father. There was my nurse, but I was not
specially devoted to her, for she was fond of teasing me and sticking
pins into my dress without being careful with regard to the points. When
I wriggled and rushed away from her she used to say that I was a very
naughty and troublesome child. She never praised me nor used mysterious
words about me as father did, so, of course, I clung close to him.
I very, very dimly remembered my mother. As I have just said, my first
memory of all was running across the nursery floor and being caught by
my father, and my mother smiling at me. I really cannot recall her after
that, except that I have a very dim memory of being, on one occasion,
asked to stoop down and kiss her. My father was holding me in his arms
at the time, and I stooped and stooped and pressed my lips to hers and
said: "Oh, how cold!" and shuddered and turned away. I did not know then
that she was dead. This fact was not told me until long afterwards.
We had a most prosperous voyage home on board the _Pleiades_, with never
a storm nor any unpleasant sea complication, and father was in high
spirits, always chatting and laughing and playing billiards and making
himself agreeable all round, and I was very much petted, although one
lady assured me that it was on account of father, who was such a very
popular man, and not because I was little Heather Grayson myself.
By and by the voyage came to an end, and we were safe back in old
England. We landed at Southampton, and father took Anastasia and me to a
big hotel for the night. Anastasia, my nurse, and I had a huge room all
to ourselves. It did look big after the tiny state cabin to which I had
grown accustomed.
Anastasia was at once cross and sorrowful, and I wondered very much why
she was not glad to be back in old England. But when I asked her if she
were glad, her only answer was to catch me to her heart and kiss me over
and over again, and say that she never, oh never! meant to be unkind to
me, but that her whole one desire was to be my dearest, darling "Nana,"
and that she hoped and prayed I would ever remember her as such. I
thought her petting almost as tiresome as her crossness, so I said, in
my usual pert way:
"If you are really fond of me, you won't stick any more pins in me,"
when, to my amazement, she burst into a flood of tears.
Now I had a childish horror of tears, and ran out of the room. What
might have happened I do not know; whether I should have lost myself in
the great hotel, or whether Anastasia would have rushed after me and
picked me up and scolded me, and been more like her old self, and
forbidden me on pain of her direst displeasure to ever leave her side
without permission, I cannot tell. But the simple fact was that I saw
father in the corridor of the hotel, and father looked into my face and
said:
"Why, Heather, what's the matter?"
"It's Anastasia who is so queer," I said; "she is sorry about something,
and I said, 'If you are sorry you will never stick pins in me
again'--and then she burst out crying. I hate cry-babies, don't you,
Daddy?"
"Yes; of course I do," replied my father. "Come along downstairs with
me, Heather."
He lifted me up in his arms. I have said that I was eight years old, but
I was a very tiny girl, made on a small and neat scale. I had little,
dark brown curls, which Anastasia used to damp every morning and convert
into hideous rows of ringlets, as she called them. I was very proud of
my "ringerlets," as I pronounced the word at that time, and I had brown
eyes to match my hair, and a neat sort of little face. I was not the
least like father, who had a big, rather red face and grey hair, which I
loved to pull, and kind, very bright, blue eyes and a big mouth,
somewhat tremulous. I used to wonder even then why it trembled.
He rushed downstairs with me in his usual boisterous fashion, while I
laughed and shouted and told him to go faster and faster, and then he
entered a private sitting-room and rang the bell, and told the man who
appeared at his summons that dinner was to be served for two, and that
Miss Heather Grayson would dine with her father. Oh, didn't I feel
proud--this was an honour indeed!
"I need not go back to the cry-baby, then, need I?" I said.
"No," replied my father; "you need not, Heather. You are to stay with
me."
"Well, let's laugh and be very jolly," I said. "Let me be a robber,
pretending to pick your pockets, and you must lie back and shut your
eyes and pretend to be sound, sound asleep. You must not even start when
I pull your diamond ring off your finger. But, I say--oh, Daddy!--where
_is_ your diamond ring?"
"Upstairs, or downstairs, or in my lady's chamber," replied Daddy.
"Don't you bother about it, Heather. No, I don't want to play at being
burgled to-night. Sit close to me; lay your little head on my breast."
I did so. I could feel his great heart beating. It beat in big throbs,
now up, now down, now up, now down again.
Dinner was brought in, and I forgot all about the ring in the delight of
watching the preparations, and of seeing the grand, tall waiter laying
the table for two. He placed a chair at one end of the table for father,
and at the other end for me. This I did not like, and I said so. Then
father requested that the seats should be changed and that I should sit,
so to speak, in his pocket. I forget, in all the years that have rolled
by, what we had for dinner, but I know that some of it I liked and some
I could not bear, and I also remember that it was the dishes I could not
bear that father loved. He ate a good deal, and then he took me in his
arms and settled me on his knee, sitting so that I should face him, and
then he spoke.
"Heather, how old are you?"
I was accustomed to this sort of catechism, and answered at once, very
gravely:
"Eight, Daddy."
"Oh, you are more than eight," he replied, "you are eight and a half,
aren't you?"
"Eight years, five months, one week, and five days," I said.
"Come, that is better," he said, his blue eyes twinkling. "Always be
accurate when you speak. Always remember, please, Heather, that it was
want of accuracy ruined me."
"What is ruined?" I asked. "What in the world do you mean?"
"What I say. Now don't repeat my words. You will be able to think of
them by and by."
I was silent, pondering. Daddy was charming; there never was his like,
but he did say puzzling things.
"Now," he said, looking full at me, "what do you think I have come to
England for?"
I shook my head. When I did not know a thing I invariably shook my head.
"I have come on your account," he replied.
"On mine, Daddy?"
"Yes. I am going back again to India in a short time."
"Oh, what fun!" I answered. "I love being on board ship."
He did not reply at all to this.
"Why don't you speak?" I said, giving his grizzled locks a lusty tug.
"I am thinking," was his answer.
"Well, think aloud," I said.
"I am thinking about you, Heather. Have you ever by any chance heard of
a lady called Aunt Penelope?"
"Never," I answered. "Aunt Penelope--Aunt Penelope--what is an aunt,
Daddy?"
"Well, there is an Aunt Penelope waiting to see you in old England, and
I am going to take you down to her to-morrow. She is your
aunt--listen--think hard, Heather--use your brains--because she is your
mother's sister."
"Oh!" I answered. "Does that make an aunt?"
"Yes, that makes an aunt; or if she were your father's sister she would
also be your aunt."
I tried to digest this piece of information as best I could.
"I am taking you to her to-morrow, and you must learn to love her as
though she were your mother."
I shook my head.
"I can't," I said.
"Well, don't think about it," was Daddy's reply. "Love her, without
knowing that you love her. I believe she is a very good woman."
"I 'spect so," I said. "I don't much care for good womens."
As a rule I spoke quite correctly, but when excited I did make some
lapses.
"Well, that's all," said father, suddenly putting me down on the floor.
"Run up to bed now and to sleep. You will see Aunt Penelope to-morrow;
you will like her very much. I have brought you all the way to England
in order that you might see her."
I was a bit sleepy, and it was very late for me to be up. So I kissed
Daddy two or three times and ran upstairs all alone. Anastasia was
waiting for me at the head of the stairs.
"Anastasia," I shouted, "we are going to have a real jolly time. We are
going to Aunt Penelope to-morrow. She is aunt because she is mother's
sister; she would be aunt, too, if she was father's sister. I wonder how
many people she is aunt to? Is she your aunt, Anastasia?"
"No, my dear child," said Anastasia, in quite a gentle tone.
"And isn't it fun, Anastasia?" I continued. "Daddy has brought me all
the way to England just to see Aunt Penelope, and we are going back to
India almost immediately--Daddy said so."
"Said what, Miss Heather?"
"That we were going back to India almost--almost at once. Isn't it just
lovely? You will come too, of course, only you might remember about the
pins."
Anastasia, who had placed me on a little chair, now went abruptly to the
fire and stirred it into a brilliant blaze. I stared at it as a child
will who has seldom seen fires. Anastasia stood with her back to me for
a long time, even after she had done poking the fire, and when she
turned round I thought her eyes looked funny.
"Are you going to cry again?" I said. "I don't like cry-babies."
"Of course not, Miss Heather. Now let me undress you."
A minute later I was in bed, the firelight playing on the walls. The bed
was big and warm and soft. I felt tired and very happy. I dropped into
profound slumber. When I awoke it was broad daylight, and Anastasia was
shaking me.
"Get up, miss," she said. "If you want to be off in time you must be
stirring."
"Oh, hurrah!" I answered. "This is Aunt Penelope's day. Are we all
going, Anastasia? And when we go, shall I ask her at once if she is your
aunt, too?"
"Now, for goodness' sake, stay still, Miss Heather, while I tie your
things. You are such an awful fidget."
I was dressed in an incredibly short space of time, and I had eaten a
good breakfast, and Anastasia had taken me by the hand and brought me
downstairs. Daddy was waiting for me in the hall, and he looked very big
and broad and important. He went up to Anastasia and said a few words to
her, and I think he slipped something into her hand, but I am not sure.
She turned abruptly and walked away, and I said:
"Where is she going, father?"
"Never mind."
Then we got into a cab, and I said:
"But where's Anastasia?"
"Oh, if she's quick we may meet her at the railway station," said
father; "and if she is slow she must come on by the next train."
"Oh, dear, what a nuisance!" I answered. "I did want her to come with
us."
"It all depends upon whether she is quick or slow," said father.
"Well, at any rate," I answered, with a child's easy acceptance of a
situation which she cannot understand, "it is lovely to go to Aunt
Penelope."
We reached the railway station. Anastasia was slow--she was nowhere to
be seen. Father said, in his cheerful voice:
"All right, little woman, she'll catch the next train." And then we
found ourselves facing each other in two padded compartments of a
first-class carriage, and the train moved out of the station, and we
were off. There happened to be no one else in the carriage, but Daddy
was very silent, and almost pale, for him. Once he said, bending
towards me and speaking abruptly:
"Promise me one thing?"
"Yes, Daddy," I answered.
"You will never think badly of me whatever you hear?"
Now this was such a queer speech that I could not in the least
understand it, but I answered at once, in the queer sort of metaphor
that a child might use:
"I would not think badly of you, father, if the world rocked."
He kissed me two or three times after I said this, and so far recovered
his usual self that he allowed me to sit on his knee and play with his
watch chain. I was greatly taken with a little charm he wore, and when I
said I liked it he told me that it had once belonged to a great idol in
one of the most marvellous temples in the historic town of Delhi. He
said it was supposed to be a charm and to bring luck, and then he
detached it from his chain and slipped it on to a narrow gold chain
which I wore round my neck. He told me to keep it always, for it was
certain to bring luck. I said:
"What's luck?"
He answered: "Fair gales and a prosperous sail."
I nodded my head satisfactorily at that, and said:
"Then I will wear it, and you and me, Daddy"--I went wrong again with my
grammar--"will have fair gales and a prosperous sail when we are
returning to India."
He thrust his head out of the carriage window when I said this, and when
he put it back again I noticed that for some reason his face was as red
as ever.
Aunt Penelope's name was Penelope Despard, and she lived in a pretty
little place outside a pretty little town about fifty miles away from
Southampton. We got out at the station, which was called Cherton, and
there a cab awaited us, which had evidently been sent by order, and some
luggage was put on the roof. I was too excited by then to make any
comment with regard to the luggage, although I noticed it afterwards and
observed that it was all marked "H. G.," and there was nothing marked
"G. G.," for father's name was Gordon Grayson. I said to father, as we
got into the cab:
"I do wonder when Anastasia's train will arrive." And he said:
"So do I. I must make inquiries presently." But although I expected him
to make these inquiries at once he did not do so, and the cab started
off in the direction of Miss Despard's cottage.
Miss Penelope Despard lived in a little house with a little garden
attached. The little house went by the name of Hill View, and the garden
and tiny lawn were very pretty and very neatly kept. But I was
accustomed to big things--that is, except on board ship, when, of
course, I had the sea to look at, which seemed to go on for ever and
ever. So I was not excited about Aunt Penelope's garden. Father's face
continued to be very red. He held my hand and took me up the neatly-kept
gravel walk, and pushed a very brightly-polished brass button, which was
instantly answered by a neat-looking boy, with a perfectly round face,
in buttons.
"Is Miss Despard in?" asked father. And then a lady in spectacles came
out of a room at one side of a narrow hall, and father said:
"Hallo, Penelope! It is years since we met, and, Penelope, this is
Heather. Heather, my darling, here is your Aunt Penelope."
"I hope you are a good child and do what you are told always," said Aunt
Penelope.
She spoke in a very prim voice, and stooping down, kissed me, hurting my
face as she did so with the rim of her spectacles. I disliked her on the
spot and told her so with the frank eyes of a child, although I was not
quite rude enough to utter any words by my lips.
"Well, Gordon," said my aunt, "you were a little late, and I was
beginning to fear that you had missed your train. We shall just have
time to arrange everything before you return to Southampton."
"I am going to London to-night," said father.
"Well, well, it really doesn't matter to me. Child, don't stare."
I looked away at once. There was a parrot in a cage, and the parrot
said, in his shrill voice at that moment: "Stop knocking at the door."
I burst into a peal of laughter and ran towards him. I was about to
approach his cage with my finger, when Aunt Penelope said:
"He bites."
I did not want him to bite my finger, for his beak was so sharp. So I
said:
"Please, Aunt Penelope, are you aunt also to Anastasia?"
"I have never heard of her," said Aunt Penelope. "Little girls should be
seen and not heard."
At that moment the parrot again shouted out, "Stop knocking at the
door," and I was so amused by him that I did not mind Aunt Penelope.
After all, nothing much mattered, for I would be going to London
immediately with Daddy.
I stood and stared at the parrot, hoping much that he would speak again.
The parrot cocked his head to one side and looked at me, but he did not
utter a word.
"Speak, oh! do speak," I said in a whisper; the parrot turned his back
on me.
Aunt Penelope said, "Sit down, Heather."