WHITEFOOT IN REQUISITION.
Three days after this Bessie wrote the following letter--it was
commenced on Wednesday, and finished on Thursday morning:
"MY DEAR LITTLE HATTIE: It is your turn for a regular long
letter, as I have already written to mother and Christine. I
don't write to father because he is so busy, and letters bother
him; but you must tell him all the news. You cannot think how
Edna laughs at my correspondence; she always says it is such
waste of time; but you and I know better than that. It is just
the one thing that I can do for you all, now that I am away, and
I am not so selfish that I grudge an hour in the day. I know how
disappointed one face looks when there is no letter from Bessie
in the morning, and so I lay down my book and scribble away as I
am doing now.
"I am having a lovely time. I do not think I have ever played so
much in my life before. It is such a new thing, and yet it is
rather nice, too, to hear Edna say in the morning, 'Now, what
shall we do to-day?' as though one's whole duty were to amuse
one's self. Father always says, 'Whatever you do, do it
thoroughly,' and I am carrying out his maxim to the letter, for
I do nothing but enjoy myself, and I do it thoroughly. On
Monday I finished my letter to Crissy before breakfast, and
afterward, as Edna was busy, I spent a long morning reading 'The
Village on the Cliff.' I have finished it now, and think it
lovely. I do enjoy these mornings in the garden; but I must not
read too many stories, only Edna says I shall like 'Old
Kensington,' and I must indulge myself with that. I assure you
we make quite a picture. Mac lies at my feet, and Spot generally
curls himself up on my lap. Tim prefers lying on the lawn and
keeping an eye upon the kitten. She is such a droll little
creature, and her antics quite distract me.
"Well, I had this delicious morning to myself, and in the
afternoon we played tennis at the Athertons'. There were no
visitors, but we girls played by ourselves, and I had a long
talk with Grace Donnerton. I liked her better than ever; but
just as she was talking to me about her sister's hospital, Maud
Atherton disturbed us by telling us tea was ready.
"The next morning Edna drove me over to Kimberley--such a lovely
drive; and the ponies were so frisky and went so well. We called
at a beautiful old house, called Kimberley Hall--I never saw
such a place--and had luncheon there. Mrs. Blondell, our
hostess, is such a dear old lady, with pretty white curls, and
such a sweet old face. Her husband is such a handsome old man;
but he is quite deaf, and no one seems to make him hear anything
except his wife, and she goes up and speaks to him in a low,
distinct voice, and tells him things, and he brightens up at
once. He is such a courtly old man, and pays little
old-fashioned compliments. He took Edna's hand and said, 'We do
not often see a pretty young face, my dear, but it is a very
pleasant sight. I remember your mother when she was a girl, and
a fine, handsome creature she was. I think her daughter does her
credit, eh, Dolly?' And Dolly--that is the dear old lady's
name--put her pretty old hand on his arm, and said, 'She does
indeed, Rupert, and she has got a look of our Maisie about her;'
and then they looked at each other in such a way.
"Edna explained it to me as we drove home. She said they had one
child, a beautiful girl, who lived until she was seventeen, and
then died of some wasting disease. She had been dead fifteen
years, but the old couple had never got over her loss. 'I am
there often,' Edna went on, 'but I have never once been without
hearing Maisie's name mentioned; they are always talking about
her. One day Mrs. Blondell took me upstairs and showed me all
her things. There were her little gowns, most of them white,
folded in the big wardrobe. 'She was to have worn this at her
first ball,' said the poor woman, pulling down a lace dress; it
looked quite fresh somehow, only the satin slip was a trifle
discolored. There were the shoes, and the silk stockings, and a
case of pearls, and the long gloves. 'She would have looked
lovely in it,' she went on, smoothing out the folds with her
tremulous fingers. 'Rupert says she would have made hearts ache.
Thank you my dear, you are very kind,' for I could not help
hugging the dear old thing. It made me cry, too, to hear her.
'I go there very often because they like to see me; they will
have it I am like Maisie, but I am not half so pretty.' And
Edna laughed, though her eyes were moist, and touched up Jill
rather smartly.
"We had some people to dinner that evening, so Edna made me put
on my Indian muslin, which she said looked very nice. She wore a
soft white silk herself, which suited her admirably. She has
some beautiful dresses which she showed me; she says her mother
thinks nothing too good for her, and showers presents on her.
She gets tired of her dresses before they are half worn out. I
was half afraid she was going to offer me one, for she looked at
me rather wistfully, but I made a pretext to leave the room. I
enjoyed myself very much that evening. The curate took me in to
dinner, and I found him very clever and amusing, and he talked
so much that, though I was very hungry, I could hardly get
enough to eat; but Edna, who declared that she had had no dinner
either, brought me up a great plate of cake when we went to bed.
Edna sang beautifully that evening, and the curate--his name is
Horton--sung too, and Florence Atherton brought her violin. I
had never heard a lady play the violin before, but Edna tells me
I am old-fashioned, and that it is all the rage at present, and
certainly Miss Atherton played extremely well.
"Good-bye for the present, dear Hatty; I will add more
to-morrow. This is a sort of journal, you know, not a letter,
and I shall write a little bit each day.
"'Do be nice and lengthy,' you said, and I am sure I am carrying
out your wish."
"Thursday morning.
"Well, here I am again sitting at my writing-table, pen in hand,
and 'the top of the morning to ye, darlint,' as Biddy used to
say; but my Hatty will be still asleep, I know, as she is not
one of the strong ones, poor little Hatty! Such a wonderful
thing happened to me yesterday--I actually had a riding-lesson.
Do tell father that, for he knows how I used to envy Tom when
Colonel Miles gave him a mount. It happened in this way. Edna
was talking at breakfast time about her ride in the Row, and Mr.
Sefton said suddenly, 'How would you like to learn to ride, Miss
Lambert?' and not thinking he meant anything by the question, I
said, 'I should like it of all things. I do long for a good
gallop.'
"'Oh, you must not gallop before you trot,' he returned, quite
seriously; 'Edna, if you still have your old habit by you, I
don't see why I should not give Miss Lambert a lesson. Old
Whitefoot is doing nothing for her living.'
"Well--would you believe it?--he was quite in earnest, and Edna,
who is very good-natured, seemed to think it a good bit of fun,
for she jumped up from the table and told her brother to bring
Whitefoot round in half an hour; and then she made me go
upstairs with her and put on a beautiful blue habit, which
seemed to me quite new; but she said she had a much better one
made for her last season. It fitted me tolerably, and only
required a little alteration to be perfect--and I assure you I
hardly knew myself in it, I looked so nice; but a dark habit is
always so becoming. Edna looks like a picture in hers.
"Well, when we went downstairs, there was Whitefoot--such a
pretty brown mare--with Mr. Sefton standing beside her, and
Brown Bess was being brought round from the stable. I was just a
little nervous at first, but Mr. Sefton was very kind and
patient; he taught me how to gather up my reins, and how to hold
myself; and he would not mount for some time, but walked beside
me for a little distance, telling me things, and when he saw I
felt less strange he jumped on Brown Bess, and we had a canter
together.
"My dear Hatty, it was just delicious! I never felt happier in
my life. But Mr. Sefton would not let me ride long; he said I
should be very stiff at first, and that we should have a longer
ride to-morrow, when Edna would be with us; and of course I had
to submit.
"I was far too lazy to play tennis that afternoon, so Edna made
me get into the hammock, and I had a nice, quiet time with my
book, while she and the Athertons had their usual games, and bye
and bye Grace Donnerton came and sat by me, and we had another
nice talk.
"The next morning Edna said she would ride with us, so Mr.
Sefton ordered the horses directly after breakfast, and we had a
glorious ride for more than two hours. I found trotting rather
difficult at first, but Mr. Sefton would not let Edna laugh at
my awkwardness, and he encouraged me by telling me that I
should soon ride well, and after that I did not mind a bit. Edna
really rides perfectly; it was a pleasure to watch her. Once she
left us and had a tearing gallop by herself over the common. The
other horses got excited and wanted to gallop too, but Mr.
Sefton held Whitefoot's reins, and managed to quiet them both
with some difficulty. I thought Edna looked lovely as she rode
back to us; she had such a beautiful color, and her eyes looked
so bright I don't wonder people admire her so.
"Edna was going to an archery meeting that afternoon with the
Athertons, but as there was no room for me in their wagonette, I
stayed at home quietly with Mrs. Sefton, and managed to make
myself useful, for several people called, and I had to make tea
and help entertain them; but I got a quiet hour in my favorite
garden seat. Edna brought Florence and Maud Atherton back to
dinner, and we had a very merry evening, playing all sorts of
games. Mr. Sefton came into the drawing-room for a little while,
but he did not stay long. I think the girls quizzed him, and
made him uncomfortable. It is such a pity that he is not more at
his ease in society; people think he is stupid and cannot talk,
but he is really very intelligent, and knows a great deal about
a good many subjects. There is to be no ride to-morrow. Mrs.
Sefton is going up to town on business, and Edna is to accompany
her to the station, for, although Mr. Sefton suggested that I
should go out with him for an hour, I could see that they did
not second it.
"Now, darling, I have told you everything, and I think you will
own that I am having a good time. I hope all this pleasure is
not spoiling me, but I think of you all as much as ever, and
especially of my Hatty. Are you very dull without me, dear? And
how do you sleep? Write and tell me everything--how mother
looks, and what Tom said in his last letter, and if father is
busy. And if any of you want me very badly, you must say so, and
I will come home at once, though I do want some more rides, and
Edna has promised to drive me over to Kimberley again. But there
is the gong, and I must run down to breakfast. Good-bye, my
dearest Hatty.
"Your loving
"BESSIE."
Bessie had written out of the fullness of her girlish content. She
wanted to share her pleasure with Hatty. Happiness did not make her
selfish, nor did new scenes and varied experiences shut out home
memories, for Bessie was not one of those feeble natures who are carried
out of themselves by every change of circumstances, neither had she the
chameleon-like character that develops new tendencies under new
influences; at The Grange she was just the same simple, kindly Bessie
Lambert as she had been at Cliffe.
After all, she was not disappointed of her ride. Jennings, the groom,
had a commission to do at Leigh, and Richard proposed to his stepmother
that Bessie should ride over there too. Jennings was an old servant, and
very trusty and reliable, and she might be safely put in his charge. To
this Mrs. Sefton made no objection, and Bessie had a delightful morning,
and made good progress under Jennings' respectful hints. Bessie had just
taken off her habit, and was preparing for luncheon, when Edna entered
the room.
"What dress are you going to wear this afternoon, Bessie?" she asked
rather abruptly, and her manner was a little off-hand. "I shall be in
white, of course, and I shall wear my gray dust cloak for the roads,
but----"
"What dress!" returned Bessie, rather puzzled at the question; she was
hot and tired from her long ride, and had been looking forward to an
afternoon of delicious idleness. "Is any one coming? I mean, are we
going anywhere?"
"Why, of course," replied Edna impatiently, and she did not seem in the
best of tempers; "it is Thursday, is it not? and we are engaged for the
polo match. You must make haste and finish dressing, for we must start
directly after luncheon."
"Do you mean that Mr. Sefton is going to drive us over to Staplehurst,
after all?" asked Bessie, feeling very much astonished at Richard's
change of plan; he had not even spoken on the subject at breakfast-time,
but he must have arranged it afterward.
"Richard!" rather contemptuously. "Richard is by this time lunching at
the Fordham Inn, with half a dozen stupid farmers. Have you forgotten
that he flatly refused to drive us at all? Oh, I have not forgotten his
lecture, I assure you, though it does not seem to have made much
impression on you. Well, why are you looking at me with such big eyes,
Bessie, as though you found it difficult to understand me?"
"Because I don't understand you Edna," replied Bessie frankly. "You know
both your mother and brother objected to Captain Grant's invitation; you
cannot surely intend to go in opposition to their wishes."
"Their wishes! I suppose you mean Richard's wish, for mamma never opened
her lips on the subject; she just listened to Richard's tirade."
"But she did not contradict him; and surely you must have seen from her
face that she agreed with every word." Bessie did not dare to add that
Mrs. Sefton had expressed her strong disapproval of Captain Grant to
her. "She was looking at you so anxiously all the time."
"Oh, that is only mamma's fussiness. Of course I know she does not want
me to go. I don't mean to pretend that I am not aware of that, but mamma
knows that I generally have my own way in this sort of thing, and she
did not actually forbid it."
"Oh, Edna! what can that matter when you know her real wishes?"
"My dear, don't preach; your words will not influence me in the least. I
told Richard, before mamma, that I should go, and I mean to carry out my
word. You are a free agent, Bessie; I cannot oblige you to go with me,
but as the Athertons are all engaged, I could not get one of them in
your place."
"But if I say I cannot go, what will you do then?" asked Bessie
anxiously.
"In that case I should go alone," returned Edna coldly; "but I should
think you were unkind to desert me."
"I should have to bear that," replied Bessie rather sadly; "it is not
what you would think of me, but what I ought to do. Oh, Edna, you are
placing me in a very difficult position. I do not know how to act, and
the whole thing distresses me so. Do give it up for my sake, and just to
please me; do Edna, dear."
"I cannot give it up," was Edna's answer; "but I will not argue any more
about it. Make up your mind quickly, Bessie, for there is no time to
lose." And so saying, she left the room, and a moment afterward Bessie
heard her ringing for her maid.
Bessie had never felt more distressed; she was so tired and so perplexed
how to act, that she could almost have cried from worry. "If I go with
her, will not Mrs. Sefton and Mr. Richard have a right to be offended
with me?" she thought. "They will not know that I have tried to turn
Edna from her purpose; they do not know me well enough to be sure of my
motives. Edna told him that I wanted to see polo played; they may
believe that I was willing to go. I cannot bear to put myself in this
position; and yet, will it be right to let her go alone? Will they not
blame me for that, too? Oh, how I wish I could speak to Mr. Sefton; but
he is away. What shall I do? I must decide. It seems such a little thing
to pray about, and yet little things bring big consequences. No, I can't
moralize; I am too worried. Why can I not see the right thing to do at
once?"
Bessie sat and reflected a moment, and then a sudden impulse came to
her, and she opened her blotting-case, and wrote a few hurried lines.
"Dear Mrs. Sefton," she wrote, "I am so troubled, I hardly know what to
do. Edna has just told me that she intends to drive over to Staplehurst
after luncheon to see polo played, and has asked me to accompany her. I
cannot induce her to give it up. Please do not think that I have not
tried. I know how much you and Mr. Sefton were against it; but I do not
think you would wish me to stay behind. She ought not to go alone. I
feel you will be less anxious if I go with her." Bessie dashed off these
few lines, and then dressed herself hurriedly; but before she had half
finished the gong sounded.
As she ran downstairs she met Dixon, the butler, coming out of the
dining-room, and putting the note in his hand, begged that he would give
it to his mistress directly she returned.
"Certainly, ma'am," replied Dixon civilly; and it struck Bessie that he
looked at her in an approving manner. He was an old servant, too, and
most likely was accustomed to his young mistress' vagaries. "We expect
my mistress home at six, and I will take care she gets the note," he
continued, as he opened the door for her.