GIRLISH CONFIDENCES
One afternoon Sarah Swetnam called, and Helen in person opened the great
door to the visitor.
"I saw that frock in Brunt's three days ago," Helen began, kissing the
tall, tightbound, large-boned woman.
"I know you did, Nell," Sarah admitted. "But you needn't tell me so.
Don't you like it?"
"I think it's a dream," Helen replied, quickly. "Turn round." But there
was a certain lack of conviction in her voice, and in Sarah's manner
there was something strained. Accordingly, they both became
extravagantly effusive--or, at any rate, more effusive than usual,
though each was well aware that the artifice was entirely futile.
"All alone?" Sarah asked, when she had recovered from the first shock of
the hall's magnificence.
"Yes," said Helen. "It's Georgiana's afternoon out, and uncle's away,
and I haven't got any new servants yet."
"Mr. Ollerenshaw away! No one ever heard of such a thing! If you knew
him as well as we do, you'd have fainted with surprise. It ought to be
in the paper. Where's he gone to?"
"He's gone to Derby, to try to buy some property that he says is going
very cheap there. He's been gone three days now. He got a letter at
breakfast, and said he must go to Derby at once. However, he had to
finish his rents. The trouble is that his rents never are finished, and
I'm bothered all the time by people coming with three and sixpence, or
four shillings, and a dirty rent-book! Oh! and the dirt on the coins! My
dear, you can't imagine! There's one good thing. He will have to come
back for next week's rents. Not that I'm sorry he's gone. It gives me a
chance, you see. By the time he returns I shall have my servants in."
"Do tell me what servants you're going to have?"
"Well, I went to that agency at Oldcastle. I've got a German butler. He
speaks four languages, and has beautiful eyes."
"A German butler!"
If it had been a German prince Sarah could not have been more startled
nor more delighted.
"Yes, and a cook, and two other maids; and a gardener and a boy. I shall
keep Georgiana as my own maid."
"My child, you're going it!"
"My child, I came here to go it."
"And--and Mr. Ollerenshaw is really pleased?"
Helen laughed. "Uncle never goes into raptures, you know. But I hope he
will be pleased. The fact is, he doesn't know anything about these new
servants yet. He'll find them installed when he returns. It will be a
little treat for him. My piano came this morning. Care to try it?"
"Rather!" said Sarah. "Well, I never saw anything like it!" This was in
reference to her first glimpse of the great drawing-room. "How you've
improved it, you dear thing!"
"You see, I have my own cheque-book; it saves worry."
"I see!" said Sarah, meaningly, putting her purse on the piano, her
umbrella on a chair, and herself on the music-stool.
"Shall we have tea?" Helen suggested, after Sarah had performed on the
Bechstein.
"Yes. Let me help you, do, dearest."
They wandered off to the kitchens, and while they were seated at the
kitchen-table, sipping tea, side by side, Sarah said:
"Now if you want an idea, I've got a really good one for you."
"For me? What sort of an idea?"
"I'll tell you. You know Mrs. Wiltshire is dead."
"I don't. I didn't even know there was a Mrs. Wiltshire."
"Well, there was, and there isn't any longer. Mrs. Wiltshire was the
main social prop of the old rector. And the annual concert of the St.
Luke's Guild has always been held at her house, down at Shawport, you
know. Awfully poky! But it was the custom since the Flood, and no one
ever dared to hint at a change. Now the concert was to have been next
week but one, and she's just gone and died, and the rector is wondering
where he can hold it. I met him this morning. Why don't you let him hold
it here? That would be a splendid way of opening your house--Hall, I beg
its pardon. And you could introduce the beautiful eyes of your German
butler to the entire neighbourhood. Of course, I don't know whether Mr.
Ollerenshaw would like it."
"Oh!" said Helen, without blenching, "uncle would do as I wish."
She mused, in silence, during a number of seconds.
"The idea doesn't appeal to you?" Sarah queried, disappointment in her
tones.
"Yes, it does," said Helen. "But I must think it over. Now, would you
care to see the rest of the house?"
"I should love to. Oh dear, I've left my handkerchief with my purse in
the drawing-room."
"Have mine!" said Helen, promptly.
But even after this final proof of intimate friendship, there still
remained an obstinate trifle of insincerity in their relations that
afternoon. Helen was sure that Sarah Swetnam had paid the call specially
to say something, and that the something had not yet been said. And the
apprehension of an impending scene gradually took possession of her
nerves and disarranged them. When they reached the attics, and were
enjoying the glorious views of the moorland in the distance and of
Wilbraham Water in the immediate foreground, Helen said, very suddenly:
"Will the rector be in this afternoon?"
"I should say so. Why?"
"I was thinking we might walk down there together, and I could suggest
to him at once about having the concert here."
Sarah clapped her hands. "Then you've decided?"
"Certainly."
"How funny you are, Nell, with your decisions!"
In Helen's bedroom, amid her wardrobe, there was no chance of dangerous
topics, the attention being monopolised by one subject, and that a safe
one.
At last they went out together, two models of style and deportment, and
Helen pulled to the great front door with a loud echoing clang.
"Fancy that place being all empty. Aren't you afraid of sleeping there
while your uncle is away?"
"No," said Helen. "But I _should_ be afraid if Georgiana wasn't afraid."
After this example of courageous introspection, a silence fell upon the
pair; the silence held firm while they got out of the grounds and
crossed Oldcastle-road, and took to the Alls field-path, from which a
unique panorama of Bursley--chimneys, kilns, canals, railways, and
smoke-pall--is to be obtained. Helen was determined not to break the
silence. And then came the moment when Sarah Swetnam could no longer
suffer the silence; and she began, very cautiously:
"I suppose you've heard all about Andrew and Emanuel Prockter?"
Helen perceived that she had not been mistaken, and that the scene was
at hand. "No," said she. "What about them?"
"You don't mean to say you've not heard?"
"No. What about?"
"The quarrel between those two?"
"Emanuel and Mr. Dean?"
"Yes. But you must have heard?"
"I assure you, Sally, no one has told me a word about it." (Which was
just as true as it was untrue.)
"But they quarrelled up here. I _did_ hear that Andrew threw Emanuel
into your lake."
"Who told you that?"
"It was Mrs. Prockter. She was calling on the mater yesterday, and she
seemed to be full of it--according to the mater's account. Mrs.
Prockters' idea was that they had quarrelled about a woman."
("Mrs. Prockter shall be repaid for this," said Helen to herself.)
"Surely Emanuel hasn't been falling in love with Lilian, has he?" said
Helen, aloud. She considered this rather clever on her part. And it was.
"Oh, no!" replied Sally, positively. "It's not Lilian." And there was
that in her tone which could not be expressed in ten volumes. "You know
perfectly well who the woman is," Helen seemed to hear her say.
Then Helen said: "I think I can explain it. They were both at our house
the day we removed."
"Oh, _were_ they?" murmured Sarah, in well-acted surprise.
"And Mr. Dean fell off some steps that Emanuel was supposed to be
holding. I _thought_ he was furious--but not to that point. That's
probably the secret of the whole thing. As for Mr. Dean having pushed
Emanuel into the lake, I don't believe a word of it."
"Then how was it that Emanuel had a cold and had to stay in bed?"
"My dear, to have a cold it isn't necessary to have been thrown into
Wilbraham Water!"
"That's true," Sarah admitted.
"However," Helen calmly proceeded, "I'll find out all about it and let
you know."
"How shall you find out?"
"I shall make Emanuel tell me. He will tell me anything. And he's a dear
boy."
"Do you see him often up here?" Sarah inquired.
"Oh, yes!" This was not true. "We get on together excellently. And I'm
pretty sure that Emanuel is not--well--interested in any other woman.
That's why I should say that they have not been quarrelling about a
woman. Unless, of course, the woman is myself." She laughed, and added:
"But I'm not jealous. I can trust Emanuel."
And with marvellous intrepidity she looked Sarah Swetnam in the face.
"Then," Sarah stammered, "you and Emanuel--you don't mean----"
"My dear Sally, don't you think Emanuel is a perfectly delightful boy?"
"Oh, _yes_!" said Sarah.
"So do I," said Helen.
"But are you----"
"Between ourselves," Helen murmured. "Mind you, between _ourselves_--I
could imagine stranger things happening."
"Well," said Sarah, "this _is_ news."
"Mind, not a syllable!"
"Oh, of course not."
"By the way," Helen asked, "when are Andrew and Lilian going to get
married?"
"I don't know. No one knows. One confidence for another, my dear; they
don't always hit it off."
"What a pity!" Helen remarked. "Because if ever two people were suited
to each other in this world, they are. But I hope they'll shake down."
They arrived at the rector's.