Meanwhile, at the old rectory at Harroway, the girls who were left
behind were passing a day not without a certain interest. It was Nina
who began all the excitement. Their father, having been disappointed at
not seeing Brenda off, had gone early on a long round of parochial
visits, and the three girls had the breakfast table to themselves.
Josephine insisted on pouring out tea. Fanchon quarrelled with her over
this privilege and managed, in the dispute, to spill the contents of the
milk jug. Nina sat quiet and thoughtful, making up a little plan in her
small brain. She was really a very precocious child for her ten years.
"First come, first served!" cried Josephine in her somewhat rasping
voice. "I was down first, and I took possession of the tea tray. If
you don't behave yourself, Fanchon, I shall put so much water in your
tea that you won't be able to drink it. See what a horrid mess you have
made! Nina--get up and ring the bell this minute."
"No, I won't," said Nina. "Get up and ring it yourself."
"Well--how horrid!" cried Josephine, who knew that if she left her
coveted post of tea-maker, it would be immediately secured by Fanchon.
"I suppose we must stand this mess, and there's only a little milk in
the other jug."
"You're quite detestable!" said Fanchon, snapping her fingers with
passion. "What a mercy it is that dear Brenda is with us on other days,
or what a frightful mess we'd get into!"
"_Dear_ Brenda, indeed!" cried Nina, in a scornful tone.
"Yes, you do make a fuss about her at times," said Josephine. "But she
is gone for a day--and a good thing, too. You know how cross you are
often with her dictatorial ways and the silly manner in which she
manages to take in poor papa."
"I know something that you don't know," said Fanchon, resigning herself
as passively as she could to a humble seat at the side of the breakfast
table.
"What do you know, Fanchon? Oh, do tell us!" cried Nina.
"Well--I saw _the_ dress last night!"
"What--the dress that Brenda went away in?"
"Yes."
"You _didn't_ see it--she positively refused to let any of us look at
it--and I thought it so beastly churlish of her!" said Nina.
"Well, she showed it to me," said Fanchon carelessly, helping herself to
a piece of bread and jam as she spoke, "and it was--oh, I tell you,
girls, it was just ripping! I never saw such a beautiful creature as
Brenda looked in it. I will describe it to you presently, outside in
the garden, but not now. When I have a bit of fun, and a secret to
tell, I like to make as much of it as possible. I suppose we'll have a
good time ourselves some day, although not at present."
"I have something to talk about too in the garden," said Nina; "but
first I want to have a little chat with papa."
She looked very mysterious and the other girls glanced at her, not
particularly, however, troubling themselves with regard to her
appearance. It was Nina's _role_ to be sometimes the mere baby--the
most kittenish, babyish thing on earth--and at other times to be
inscrutable like the Sphinx. But these things did not really matter to
her sisters, who, as they expressed it, saw through her little games.
On this occasion, she suddenly darted from her seat and ran out of the
room. She had caught sight of the somewhat greasy coat of the Reverend
Josiah, who had returned unexpectedly and was passing the window on his
way to his study.
"There's papa!" screamed Nina--"the very man I want. I'll be back
by-and-by."
"What can she be up to now? Little minx!" said Fanchon. "Dear, dear!
do you like those pink muslins, Josie? I can't say that I do."
"I don't think about them," said Josephine. "Whatever we wear, we look
frights."
"Well, sometimes--sometimes I think that dear Brenda rather likes us to
look frights," said Fanchon. "I ought not to say it, for she really has
been very good to me--particularly last night--and I believe our best
policy at present is to humour her up to the top of her bent. Then if
she could get engaged, and were married--"
"Engaged! and married!" cried Josephine. "What _do_ you mean, Fanchon?"
"Well--that is what she expects. There's a _he_ somewhere in the world
who seems to want her, and she thinks he'll be at Marshlands-on-the-Sea,
and--and--it _will_ be fun to watch them together. Little Nina shall
creep into the bushes behind them in the evening and listen to what they
are saying--what a joke that'll be!"
"Yes, of course," said Josephine, brightening up very much, "it'll tell
us the sort of thing that goes on and prepare us for our own turns," she
added.
Fanchon laughed.
"Girls like us sometimes have no turns," she continued, "that's the
worst of it. Red hair and freckles _are_ so hopeless--you can never
dress up to them; everything depends on how you dress, and somehow, it
can't be done--at least, that is what Brenda says."
"Would you really be glad if Brenda were to leave us?" asked Josephine.
"I think I should--_I_ should be mistress here then, and of course papa,
who is so devoted to her, would give her a good wedding and that _would_
be sport--and we'd have to have nice frocks for that, and that would be
sport too!"
"Oh, yes--on the whole it would be nice for Brenda to go, only some one
else horrid might take her place."
"Well, don't let's sit here any longer in this choking hot room. Let us
go into the garden: we have no lessons of any sort to-day. We can get
out the frills of our muslins and continue hemming them."
"I do wonder what is keeping Nina," said Josephine. But Nina herself
had forgotten her sisters, so great was the interest of this important
occasion. To begin with--she had caught dear papa. She took dear papa
by the button-hole and, slipping her hand through his arm, led him into
his study. The Reverend Josiah was very hot, and the study was cool.
Nina was well aware which was dearest papa's most comfortable chair, and
she placed him in it, put a pillow to his head and brought him some cold
water to drink, and then sat down by him without talking.
She had a little shock head of very carroty hair. That hair neither
waved nor curled. It stood in stubborn awkwardness round her small
face; for it was thick and short and decidedly jagged. Her face was
pale, except for its freckles, and her features had the appearance of
being put on by the wide palm of a very flat hand. Her eyes were
minute, and she was nearly destitute of eyelashes and eyebrows. Her
mouth was a little slit without much colour, but, notwithstanding her
decided plainness, there was a great deal of knowingness in Nina, and
she might be as dangerous a woman by-and-by as was pretty Brenda herself
at the present moment.
"Father,"--she said now--"why did you come back? I thought you were
going out for the whole livelong day."
"So I did, my dear; but I had not gone a mile before I discovered that
Bess had cast a shoe and I was obliged to take her to the forge to be
put right. The day is uncommonly hot, and I doubt if I shall begin to
call on my parishioners until the evening."
"I wouldn't if I were you, papa darling," said Nina. "The parishioners
don't care to be bothered in the morning--do they, papa?"
"That is not the question, my dear," said the Reverend Josiah. "A
clergyman's visits ought not to be spoken of as bothers. The people
ought to be truly glad to have spiritual ministrations offered to them."
"I do not understand what that means," said Nina, patting the devoted
Josiah's decidedly fat leg. "But I do know that, if I were cooking
dinner, or gardening, or any of the sort of things that poor folks do, I
would be frightfully flustered if you came to see me; and I suppose,
papa, what I feel, the parishioners feel."
"No, they don't. They hold me in much too great respect," said Mr
Amberley, looking with some displeasure at his little daughter.
"Well--p'r'aps so," said Nina, who really didn't care a pin about the
parishioners, and whose object in sitting with her father at that moment
was not concerned in the very least with them. "Papa," she said, after
a pause, "I thought when I saw you passing the window how glad you would
be to have your little Nina with you."
"And so I am, child--so I am. You are having a holiday to-day on
account of--of Miss Carlton's being away--Brenda, I mean. You must miss
her terribly, my dear."
"Oh, no, papa--I don't miss her at all."
"Nina--I am _shocked_ to hear you speak in that tone! When I consider
the expense I go to, to give you the luxury of _such_ an excellent
governess--such a friend--such a companion, I am _amazed_ at your
remarks!"
"Oh, well,"--said Nina, who did not wish to speak against Miss Carlton,
for that would not do at present--"a holiday is a change to any girl,
and we're going to sit out in the garden and hem the flounces of those
little cheap frocks you gave us to wear at the seaside."
"What little cheap frocks, my dear? I am not aware that I gave you any
frocks."
"But that precious Brenda bought them for us out of your money."
"Oh, you mean your nice cottons that you are to wear at
Marshlands-on-the-Sea. Well, child, I did the best I could, and I think
it is unkind of you to talk to me about cheap frocks; for when I allowed
the sum of three pounds for each of my daughters, I could not afford
more. It was a great, great deal of money, Nina, and so you will find
yourself when you come to earn it." Nina had just got the information
she desired. But all she said was--raising solemn eyes to her father's
face:
"The frocks _are_ cheap--they cost sixpence three farthings a yard!"
Mr Amberley got up impatiently.
"I have got to study a passage from Josephus," he said, "which has
puzzled me for some little time; and I don't care a penny piece whether
your frocks cost six-and-sixpence or sixpence halfpenny a yard. I don't
know what a yard means. Leave me now, Nina. I am quite cool, and shall
set to work to write a specially good sermon for Sunday. The
parishioners want a new sermon, for I have given them the old ones for
over a year and I am in the mood to-day. Dear Brenda sometimes helps me
with my sermons, but of late I have not found her amenable in that
respect. She has a most lively imagination and often throws a fresh
light on a text which I myself do not perceive. But go away and hem
your frills, and be thankful that you have a good father who can allow
you a nice sum each to buy clothes, and an excellent--most excellent
governess, who devotes herself to you."
"She will be home at twelve to-night: are you going to sit up for her?"
said Nina.
"Of course I am--poor girl. Do you think I wouldn't do what I could to
show how I appreciate her--how we all appreciate her? I am going to
make her a Welsh rabbit for her supper: it is the one dainty that I can
make to perfection."
"Oh, papa!" said Nina, bursting out laughing; "I don't believe there's a
scrap of cheese in the house!"
The Reverend Josiah made no response to this, but a slightly knowing
expression crossed his sandy face, and Nina had to leave him. In truth,
she did not want to stay any longer, for she had got the information she
desired.
The rectory at Harroway was by no means well furnished. It was a large,
rambling old house. What carpets there were bore traces of wear and
tear. The sofas were covered with untidy and torn chintzes. The
landings had many of them bare boards destitute of any covering
whatsoever; the bedrooms were _en suite_ with the rest of the house.
But the garden, neglected as it was, was nevertheless a source of
unfailing delight. It was an old garden, and had once been dearly loved
and carefully tended by a rector who cared more for his flowers than for
the souls committed to his care. In his day, roses had bloomed to
perfection in this old-world garden, and all sorts of plants and flowers
and shrubs had adorned the alleys and had cast their shade over the
walks.
This was some time ago, and the Reverend Josiah only employed a man once
a week to give the garden just a sort of outside semblance of order.
Nevertheless, Nature did not quite forsake the old spot. The unpruned
roses still threw out luxuriant blossom, and the shrubs still bloomed
and every sort of perennial flower--poppies, sweet peas, jasmine,
mignonette sowed themselves and blossomed again and yet again.
Now, the children cared nothing about flowers; they regarded them as
little better than weeds, for anything that could be secured without
money was to them simply worthless. Neither did they care for pets.
There was no dog, nor even a cat, at the rectory. But they liked to sit
under the shade of the old trees and, in particular, to invade the
summerhouse, which stood back in deepest shade at the far corner of the
grounds.
Here, on this hot day, Nina found her two sisters with their pink muslin
frills in a cloud about them, while they themselves were bending over
the work. Nina appeared, severely armed with a pencil and paper.
"Now,"--she said--"here I am."
"Well, that is very evident," remarked Fanchon. "Why don't you sit down
and do some work?" said Josephine.
"My frock hasn't got any flounces."
"Oh--how you will harp on that tiresome theme again!"
"I won't--at least not for much longer," remarked the tiresome child;
"but I've got something to say--I mean to do a little sum."
"A sum!--you?"
"Yes--and if I am wrong, Fanchon can help me--or you can, Josephine."
"Not I," said Josephine, "my head aches too badly."
"Well, well," said Nina, "let's begin--I know you will help me when I
ask you. We were all with Brenda, were we not, when she bought the pink
muslins?"
"Why, of course we were, you stupid," said Fanchon. "Pass me that reel
of cotton, please, Josephine." Josephine did so. Nina placed herself
on a low stool and put her sheet of paper and pencil cosily on her knee.
"I know exactly," she said, "how much muslin was bought: five yards for
me, because I was not to have flounces; and seven yards for Josephine
and eight yards for you, Fanchon, because you are the tallest."
"Well, yes--I suppose that is all right," said Fanchon; but she began,
as she said afterwards, to see some method in her sister's present
madness.
"Now," continued Nina, "I want to cast up a sum. Five--and seven--and
eight. Fanchon, do tell me how much five and seven and eight make."
"Twenty," was Fanchon's immediate reply. "Dear, dear! now I can't find
my thimble!"
"Oh, Fanchon--it's rolled away into that corner."
"Pick it up, Nina."
"No," said Nina--"not yet. How much, please, does twenty yards of
muslin, at sixpence halfpenny a yard, come to?"
The sum was made up by Fanchon, who was quite quick at arithmetic.
"Ten shillings and ten-pence," she replied.
"Yes, I thought so--and there were no linings of any kind got; for dear
Brenda said that we could use up some of the frocks we had outgrown, for
that purpose. So our three muslin frocks cost exactly ten shillings and
ten-pence. It doesn't seem much for three girls, does it, Fanchon?"
"I don't know," said Fanchon, crossly. "Why will you bother us in this
queer way, Nina?"
"Well--I am thinking," said Nina; "you will see my meaning after a bit.
After Brenda had got the frocks and paid for them--only she did it so
quickly, I can't make out how much money she put down--she bought the
hats. The hats untrimmed were one shilling each, she bought a yard of
white muslin to trim each and the white muslin was eight-pence a yard.
She grumbled at the price. Three times eight is--"
"Oh--two shillings, two shillings!" said Josephine.
"Well, yes--that is quite right," said Nina. "Our three hats, trimmed,
came to five shillings. Add five shillings to ten and ten-pence--that
makes fifteen and ten-pence. Then there were our sand shoes--one and
eleven-pence each--_they_ came to five and nine-pence; and our gloves;--
white washing gloves--don't you remember what a fuss Brenda made about
them, and said that she would wash them herself for us at night, so that
they would be clean every day? and I know they were only sixpence. Now
then--let us count up the whole sum."
The other two girls were now immensely interested. They did count the
sum, doing it wrong once or twice, but finally producing a total which
could not be gainsaid, and which came out precisely at one pound, three
shillings, and a penny. Nina's little white face was flushed when this
great task had been accomplished.
"Can you remember any other single thing?" she asked of her sisters.
"No, there was nothing else," said Josephine.
"And did Brenda say, or did she not, that she had spent a lot of money
on us, and that we must do with it, whether we liked it or not, because
there was not a farthing more that could be produced?"
"Well, yes, she did," said Fanchon, "and it seemed a lot at the time--at
least, I thought so."
Nina rose solemnly now from her little stool. "Girls,"--she said--"I
have something to say to you. I have found Brenda out. She spent one
pound--three shillings--and one penny--on _us_, and do you know how much
money father gave her to spend upon us?"
"_No_," said Fanchon.
"No," echoed Josephine. "What _do_ you mean, Nina? you extraordinary
child!"
"Well--he told me this morning quite simply; I didn't ask him, he just
mentioned it. You won't guess--it is really awful--it will put you
out--it gives me a sort of lumpy, throaty feeling. He gave Brenda nine
pounds! three pounds for each of us! and she must have kept back--oh, I
can't make it out--it makes my head turn round--she must have bought her
own _lovely blue silk_, and all her own _lovely_ clothes out of our
money! Oh dear! oh dear! I wouldn't have thought it of her. And to
think that I am not even to have frills to my muslin frock!"
"And to think that the frocks must be pink for us!" said Fanchon. "Oh,
I can't believe it."
"It is true, though," said Josephine. "She has kept back--oh dear, oh
dear--how much is it? I wonder!"
Again three puzzled heads bent over the piece of paper, and at last the
full enormity of the beloved Brenda's conduct was revealed to the
children. She had, of their money--yes, their own money--given to them
by their own father--seven pounds, sixteen shillings, and eleven-pence
to account for!
"We might have been dressed like duchesses," said Nina. She burst out
crying. "Oh--this _horrid_ frock!" she said, and she kicked the
offending pink muslin to the opposite side of the summerhouse. "I'll
never wear it--_that_ I won't!" she cried. "I'll disgrace her, that I
will--horrid _thief_ of a thing!"
As to Fanchon--she walked deliberately out of the summerhouse. With
steady steps this young lady, who was very wise for her years,
approached her father's study. The Reverend Josiah was supposed to be
busy with his sermon. At such times, it was considered exceedingly
ill-advised to molest him. Brenda would never do it. She said that all
muses ought to be respected--the sacred muse most of all. But there was
no respect in Fanchon's heart just then. She opened the door with
violence and--alas!--it must be owned--aroused Josiah out of a profound
sleep. His head had been bent down on the historic pages of old
Josephus, and sweet slumber had there visited him.
He started up angrily when detected in his nap by his eldest daughter.
He would have forgiven Brenda, but Fanchon had not at all charming ways.
"My dear," he said, "you know when I am busy with my sermon that I will
not be disturbed."
"Yes, papa--of course, papa," said Fanchon. "I just wanted to ask you a
question, and I will go away again. How much money do you give Brenda
every year to spend on clothes for us?"
"What a funny question to ask me, my dear. I have no stated sum; I give
just what I can afford."
"And are you satisfied with the way your daughters are clothed, papa?"
said Fanchon, kicking out a long leg as she spoke and showing an
untidily shod and very large foot.
"Oh, my dear--my dear! I know nothing about ladies' dress. I can't
afford silk--I wish I could; I should love to see you in silk; but in my
present state, and with my poor stipend, it has to be cotton. I told
dear Brenda so, and she agreed with me. Cotton in summer, and a sort of
thick stuff--I think they call it linsey-woolsey, but I am not sure--for
the cold days. I cannot do better, Fanchon--there is no use in your
scolding me."
"I am not scolding you, papa. You gave Brenda three pounds for each of
us--didn't you--the other day, to get our things for the seaside?"
"Yes, of course I did: that was the very least she said she could
possibly have. I gave it to her with her own quarter's salary, which
the dear girl required a fortnight in advance; there was nothing in
that. Her quarter's salary was seven pounds ten, and the money for you
three--nine pounds. Brenda said it was very little, but it really
seemed a great lot to me, and I regret it when I think of my poor
parishioners. But there's nothing cheaper than cotton--at least, I have
never heard of it; of course, if there were, it would be my duty to
clothe you in it."
"Did you ever hear of art muslin, papa?" asked Fanchon. "That is
cheaper, but I won't disturb you any more." She went up to him and gave
him a kiss. Then she left the room.
Having obtained her information, Fanchon went deliberately into the
filbert walk. There she paced about for some time, her eyes fixed on
the ground, her hands locked tightly together in front of her. She was
not exactly depressed, but she was troubled. She was old enough to see
the advantage of the revelation being arrived at which little Nina had
so cleverly accomplished, and she was determined to make it in every way
available for her own purposes. But to do this, she must put her
sisters off the scent. At dinner time, she ate a very scanty meal. She
hardly spoke to them, but, after dinner, she had a long conference with
them both.
"Now, look here, Nina," she said.
"Yes," said Nina.
"I want you to make me a promise."
"Oh, I do hate promises," said Nina.
"I don't," said Josephine, "they're rather interesting; nothing cheerful
ever comes in our way, and even to make a promise seems better than
nothing."
"Well, the promise I want you two to make to me is this: that you won't
breathe a word of what I have said to you, either to father or Brenda--
that you will keep it entirely to yourselves and allow _me_ to manage
Miss Brenda. I think I can promise that if you do this you will both
have rather pretty frocks at the seaside, and that Nina shall have her
flounces. Go on finishing the pink muslins, girls, for they'll be a
help, and certainly better than nothing, and let me approach Brenda
to-morrow morning."
"Oh dear!" said Nina, "how clever you are! I am sure I, for my part,
will be only too delighted. But how dare you?" she added. "Does it
mean that you would go--and--put her in prison?"
"_I_ put her in prison--you little goose! What _do_ you mean? No, no!
But she'll buy our clothes for us out of father's own money or--there!
don't let's talk any more about it."
Josephine hesitated for a moment, then she flew to her sister's side,
flung her arms round her neck, and kissed her heartily.
"I think we ought to be awfully pleased with Nina," was Fanchon's
response, "for she's quite a little brick, and I tell you what it is,
girls--we'll go and pick some fruit for tea and I shall send Molly for
two-pennyworth of cream to eat with it; we may as well enjoy ourselves.
Brenda has left a few pence with me in case of necessities. She warned
me to be awfully careful, but I think she won't scold us much about the
cream when I have said a few things to her I mean to say."
"Mightn't we have some currant buns?" said Nina. "I was so hungry at
lunch--there didn't seem to be a scrap of meat on that bone."
"Yes--we'll have currant buns, too. She left me eleven-pence. You can
run to the village, Nina, if you like, and get the buns. Mrs Simpson
must have them out of the oven by now."
Off scampered Nina. Josephine and Fanchon had a little further
conversation, and, by the time Nina returned, the whole matter with
regard to Brenda and her shortcoming: was left in the elder sister's
hands.