"I hate driving," I repeated.
"I am sorry, dear. Well, we will get the things you hate over as
quickly as possible. You must get your school outfit, you see, as you
are going to Paris on the 21st. Now run upstairs and get your hat and
jacket on."
Was there ever a girl so bullied before? I went unwillingly upstairs.
On the second floor, where I now slept, I saw Hannah coming downstairs.
I ran up to her and took one of her hands.
"What have you been doing?" I asked.
"Doing?" said Hannah. "Doing? What's the matter with you, Dumps?"
"She's going to send me away, Hannah."
"Don't talk to me," replied Hannah.
"Hannah, I must I'm just stifling."
"I can't talk to you now--not now. She's everywhere, and she has her
spies about--all them new servants; they're hand in glove with her--
eating her food and taking her wages."
"But, Hannah, we eat her food and take her wages."
"Well, I must confess I thought there was a time when I could put up
with it, but if you go I go too. There!"
I clutched her hand. There came a rustling sound of a silk dress up the
stairs. No, it was not a silk dress; it was a woollen one of good
material, but Mrs Grant had all her dresses lined with silk.
"I hate going," I had just time to whisper.
"I'll come to your bedroom to-night, and we'll talk this thing out,"
said Hannah.
But how small I felt myself, condescending to talk even to poor old
Hannah about my step-mother!
"Come, dear," cried the pleasant voice, "are you ready? The carriage is
at the door."
I rushed into my bedroom, got into my hat and jacket, and was downstairs
in a trice. Mrs Grant came up to me.
"Not tidily put on, Rachel," she said. She dragged my tie into a
straight position, and straightened my hat; then she said approvingly,
"Ah! gloves are nice, and so are the boots. Always remember, Rachel,
that a lady is known by her good gloves and good boots. Now then,
come."
She stepped into the carriage first, and I followed. She gave orders.
We stopped at a large shop, where we bought a quantity of things--or
rather she bought them--underclothing of every sort and description,
more stockings than I thought I could ever use in the whole course of my
life, a lot more handkerchiefs, embroidered petticoats, dark petticoats;
then gloves--walking gloves and evening gloves and afternoon gloves; and
by-and-by we went into the region where pretty things were to be found.
Such a sweetly becoming costume was got for me--dark-blue again, but now
trimmed richly with velvet which was embroidered in a strange and
mystical sort of pattern. In my heart of hearts I adored it, but all
the time I stood gloomy and silent and without a smile on my face.
"Come," said Mrs Grant when the purchases were nearly finished, "you
must, my dear child, put on a slightly more agreeable face, for we are
going to the millinery department, and I cannot choose a hat which will
suit you while you look like that."
I tried to smile, but instead I burst into a sort of hysterical
laughter.
"I wish you wouldn't," I said.
She took my hand and squeezed it.
"You wish I wouldn't? But I wish I could do a thousand times more for
you. Come, darling, come." The word "darling," after all the calm
insistence of having her own way all the morning, broke on my heart with
a feverish desire to respond to it, but I would not. No, I would not be
conquered.
Oh, how particular my step-mother was about that hat! As if it mattered
after all. It was the quietest and most expensive hat I had ever seen.
As to the feathers, she took them to the light, examined them and pulled
them about, and saw that they were exactly the right shade, until I
scarcely knew how to contain myself. I could not help murmuring under
my breath, "I shall become a sort of Augusta if this goes on. I shall
loathe clothes if this continues."
Finally a dark-blue hat was chosen to suit the dark-blue costume, and
then a grey hat with a long grey feather was also bought for best
occasions; and afterwards I was supplied with a perfectly fascinating
set of chinchilla furs, chinchilla for my neck and a darling little muff
to match.
"You shall wear this hat with these chinchillas," said my step-mother;
"and I will get you a very good brown fur for everyday wear--fox. You
must wear your chinchillas when you want to be extra smart."
At last all the list of things that Mrs Grant considered necessary for
a young lady's entrance into the fashionable Parisian school were
obtained.
"We have done a good morning's work," she said, and she desired the
coachman to take us home.
"At least I shall have the afternoon to myself," I thought.
Now, if the truth must be known, hateful as the morning had been, there
had also been a sort of feeling of enjoyment. The things that had been
bought were good, and I was to be no longer a shabby girl. When I
remembered the dark-brown skirt of uncertain make and by no means
uncertain length, with the brick-red blouse which had been my proud
possession such a very short time ago, I could not help smiling to
myself at the vastness of the contrast. But, alas and alack! why was I
so perverse that I thought I would welcome that skirt and hideous blouse
if only I might be back again in the old days? But would I? Could I
have this afternoon to myself, I should have a certain satisfaction in
going to see the Swans, and inviting them back to tea, which I was
always permitted to do, and giving them an account of my ravishing
chinchilla, my beautiful fox, my dark-blue costume, and my new hats.
What would they not feel? I fairly believed that they would begin to
see beauty in my small and insignificant eyes, in my _retrousse_ nose,
in my somewhat wide mouth.
"Oh, riches, riches!" I muttered under my breath.
"As you did not get the dress I expected you to get before Christmas,
Rachel," said my step-mother during lunch-time, "I have ordered the
dark-blue costume and the grey hat and the grey furs to be sent home
immediately, for I am going to visit some special friends of mine this
afternoon, and I want you to accompany me."
"Oh, but twice in the carriage!" I said.
"I am sorry. To-morrow we will do a lot of walking. I have heaps to
do, and I love a tramp on my feet, as you know. I won't have the
carriage at all to-morrow; we'll walk until we are fit to drop. But go
and amuse yourself, dear, for the carriage will not be round again until
four o'clock."
I went away to my room. The little gas-stove was alight and the room
was warm and comfortable. I went and stood by the window and looked
round the apartment. It had been made so elegant, so sweet, so fresh
for me. Then I glanced at the bed; it was covered with parcels--great
big boxes, small boxes, parcels made up in brown-paper. What girl can
resist an unopened parcel? Not even Rachel Grant. I began to take out
my wonderful possessions, to look at them, to examine them. In
themselves they were fascinating, but the sting lay in the fact that
they had been given me by her. They all seemed to be witnesses against
the miniature--the dear miniature which was fading and fading out of
every one's memory.
"The only person in this house," I said to myself, "who has a grain of
sense is poor old Hannah."
Just as the thought floated through my brain the door was opened and
Hannah came in.
"I had a few minutes to spare, and I thought I'd just steal in and have
a talk with you now. She's downstairs talking to a visitor--drat her!
say I. Now then, Miss Dumps, what is it? You tell me, and as quick as
you can."
Hannah was the cook of the establishment, and I must say an excellent
cook she made.
"Why, Hannah," I said, "I can't imagine how you manage to leave the
kitchen just now."
"Oh, I can manage," said Hannah. "I get as much help as I want."
"And you are such a good cook, Hannah; you take to the new life as
kindly as I do."
"Much chance I have of not taking to it. It's do your work or go;
that's the rule of rules in this house. If you are kept to cook, cook
you must; if you don't cook, out you go, and some one else comes in who
can cook. That's the way. Now, Miss Rachel, you've got to be made into
a fashionable young lady, magnificently dressed, and educated in one of
the 'orrid French schools."
Hannah threw a world of contempt into the adjective she bestowed upon
the Parisian school.
"In one of them 'orrid French schools," she said; "and if you don't
submit, why, out you goes too."
"Why, Hannah, how could I go out? I often wish I could."
"Poor child!" said Hannah. "Well, now--oh, my word! what are all
those?"
She had not noticed the parcels before. She now sprang on them and
began to examine them. In spite of herself she was impressed by the
goodly array of garments.
"My word!" she said, "no one can accuse her of being stingy."
"And no one can accuse her," I said with feeling, "of being mean in any
sense of the word. She does her best for us all."
"Well, she has her object," said Hannah. "A-pushing of _her_ out--
a-pushing of her out. She's a'most gone, poor thing! Killed she were,
but still her spirit seems to linger; now she's a'most gone."
"Hannah, when you talk like that I sometimes hate you," I said.
Hannah looked at me in astonishment.
"How queer you are, Dumps!" she said. "I don't know that I didn't like
you twice as well in the old times, though you have plumped out like
anything. You were a very plain little creature, I will say that. But
there! handsome is that handsome does."
"And did I behave so handsomely, Hannah? You were always finding fault
with me then."
"Drat you!" said Hannah, "you were a bit of a caution--you and them
boys. Oh dear me! don't I remember the darkness in the old times? And
now it's just a blaze of light--gas every where, big fires, big j'ints,
poultry, game, fish. My word! and the sweets are enough to make your
mouth water. And I has to superintend, and it's `Mrs Joyce' here and
`Mrs Joyce' there. My word! My word!"
"Do they call you Mrs Joyce?"
"Of course they do. I wouldn't allow anything else. But there, child,
I must be off. It's a'most time for us to sit down to our dinner;
nothing less, I can assure you, than veal and ham pie, and
apple-dumplings afterwards."
"But, Hannah, you never were good at apple-dumplings, you know."
"I am now. I have everything to make them with--that's what I have; and
I had nothing afore. Oh, my word!"
"Yes, Hannah, you used to feed us very badly. Do you remember that leg
of mutton?"
Hannah laughed.
"I do," she said. "'Ot Sunday, cold Monday, cold again Tuesday, turned
upside down Wednesday, hashed Thursday, bone made into soup Friday--
couldn't do more with it if I tried."
"You certainly couldn't."
"Well, child, well, all I can say is this--if you go, and she puts more
on me, out I go too. And if ever you want a home, I'll give it to you.
I have a bit of money put by--more than you think on. You shall have my
address before you go to that school in Paris."
I kissed the poor old thing. Hannah was neatly dressed herself now, and
looked a new sort of person altogether. She no longer wore cotton-wool
in her ears; she did not need to, she said, for she was never expected
to answer any bell of any sort.
"I've enough in the kitchen to keep me agoin'," was her remark.
Hannah disappeared. It was soon time to dress. I put on my beautiful
blue dress, which fitted me perfectly--that is, as well as it was
necessary to fit a girl of my age. The short, smart little coat had not
a wrinkle in it anywhere. Over the dress I tried first the fox. It was
Russian fox, and, I thought, terribly expensive; but what was that to
the lovely chinchilla? The chinchilla must go on.
I forgot my step-mother in my excitement. The blue hat? Yes, the blue
hat was perfect; but the grey hat, which exactly toned with the
chinchilla, was still better. I found that my cheeks were flushed, and
the softness of the grey hat seemed exactly to suit the tone of my
complexion. I made my hair look as thick and important as I could. I
put on the hat; I fastened the chinchilla fur round my neck. How
delicious it was! Just as though a number of soft kittens were pressing
against my cheeks. I had grey gloves on my hands, and the little muff
was seized, and--oh yes, I kissed it. I was a new Dumps altogether. I
looked in the long glass in my bedroom, and saw an almost slender Dumps
in an elegant costume. Never mind the plain face; the whole appearance
was good, and very lady-like. And _she_ had done it all. Where was the
girl whose dress was outgrown, whose hats had often not the semblance of
respectability about them? The girl who was always in despair about the
possibility of mending her old stockings any longer, whose gloves had
mostly holes in the fingers? Where was this girl, with her hungry eyes,
her shivering body? She had vanished; she belonged to the attic
upstairs, the bare attic which contained--oh, just memories of the past.
Again I kissed the little muff; then I ran down into the hall. My
step-mother was very anxious to see the effect of the costume; she took
me into the parlour and made me turn round and round.
"It is nice!" I said.
My tone of approbation seemed to give her immense satisfaction. She
kissed me, then said, "There's the carriage--we are just in time."
We entered, and off we went. Mrs Grant looked her very best. I cannot
remember what she wore; when a person is always well dressed you take it
as a matter of course and do not notice. I kept on feeling the
delicious softness of the pussy-cat fur round my neck, and if my
step-mother had not been present I should have kissed the little muff
again.
We stopped at a house; the footman got down and came to the door. I had
not noticed before that there were two men on the box.
"Why, step-mother," I said, "we are grand!"
She gave a smile as though she had not heard me; then, bending forward,
she told the man to inquire if Lady Anne Churton was within. He ran up
the steps, pulled the bell, and a powdered footman in livery opened the
door. A minute later we found ourselves in the hall.
We went upstairs; Mrs Grant, of course, going first, I following. It
was a smart-looking house, but it seemed dull and heavy to me; the air
was so hot, too. I was certain that I should have to part with my
beloved pussy-cat fur when once I entered whatever room we were being
conveyed to.
A door was flung open by the man who had preceded us upstairs; our names
were called out, and a lady, who must have been between fifty and sixty
years of age, came to meet us.
"Now this is good, Grace," she said. "How sweet of you to come! You
are not a bit formal. Oh, this is your--"
"My daughter," said Mrs Grant.--"Rachel, this is my very great friend,
Lady Anne Churton."
A hand jewelled with many valuable rings was held out to me. I was
asked to come near the fire. I followed my step-mother and Lady Anne
across the room. It was a very large room, and absolutely crowded with
furniture. Wherever you turned you saw a little table; and where a
table was not, there was a little chair; and every chair was different
from its neighbour, and each table was also of a different shape from
the one next it. The tables were laden with what my step-mother called
_bric-a-brac_ and curios of all sorts and descriptions. The nearest
table to me was covered with old-fashioned articles of silver.
Lady Anne and my step-mother began to talk earnestly together in low
tones. I got up and went nearer to the silver table to examine it.
But, alack and alas! notwithstanding my beautiful dark-blue costume, my
chinchilla furs, and all the rest, I was awkward. I was carried off my
feet into this new region of soft things and little tables and
_bric-a-brac_ and every kind of luxury. I stumbled and knocked over a
still smaller table which contained but one priceless treasure, a piece
of glass of most wondrous make. I had meant to examine that glass when
I had done looking at the silver, for it had the power of taking on
every imaginable ray of colour. But it existed no longer; it lay in
fragments on the ground.
My step-mother came at once to the rescue. Lady Anne said in the
calmest voice, "Fray don't trouble. Miss Grant; it was a mere accident.
Come a little nearer to me, won't you?"
Then she rang the bell. When the footman appeared he was told to remove
the broken glass. Everything was done quietly; there was not the
faintest trace of displeasure on Lady Anne's face; but any girl who
reads this can well imagine my feelings. Talk of being hot! I thought
I should never need furs again as long as I lived. The soft pussy-cats,
dear pets, no longer comforted me. I removed the chinchilla, and sat
with blazing cheeks gazing straight before me. But Lady Anne was
nothing if she was not kind.
"So you are going to school next week?" she said. "And to Paris? You
will enjoy that."
"Oh yes," I murmured. I really had not a vestige of character left; I
could only mutter--I, who felt myself to be a person of great energy and
determination and force of speech.
"It was very kind of Mrs Grant to arrange it all for you."
"Very kind," I said, loathing Mrs Grant as I uttered the words.
Lady Anne stared at me. Her eyebrows went up the very least bit in the
world.
"Ah! here comes tea," she said.
A footman appeared with a tray. A little table opened of its own accord
in some extraordinary way. It had looked like a harmless bundle of
sticks leaning against one of the walls. The tray, one of rarest china,
was placed upon it. Lady Anne poured thimblefuls of weak tea into cups
of matchless china. I was trembling all over. I was actually so
nervous that I was sure I should break one of those cups if I touched
it. But I did take it, nevertheless; I took this terrible thimbleful in
its beautiful little saucer in my gloved hand, and sat down and received
a plate of the same type to rest on my lap with an infinitesimal morsel
of wafery bread-and-butter. The tea was scalding hot, and it brought
tears to my eyes. I felt so bewildered and upset that it was with
difficulty I could keep myself from making an ignominious bolt from the
room. But worse was to follow.
Lady Anne and my step-mother continued to talk as placidly together as
though nothing whatever had happened, as though I had not disgraced
myself for ever and ever, when the door was flung open and a perfect
swarm of gaily dressed ladies appeared. I think there were five of
them. They made the silent room alive all at once, each talking a
little higher and more rapidly than the other. One rushed up to Lady
Anne and called her an old dear, and kissed her and patted her cheek;
another tapped her with her lorgnette and said, "You naughty old thing,
why weren't you at the bazaar yesterday? Oh, we had such fun!"
Then they all sat down, spreading out their garments and seeming to
preen themselves like lovely tropical birds. I pushed my chair a little
farther from the fire, which had caught my cheeks and made them burn in
a most terrible manner. When would my step-mother go? But no, she had
no intention of stirring. She knew these people; they were quite
interested on seeing her.
"Oh, how do you get on? How nice to see you again! But what an
extraordinary thing you have done, Grace! And you have step-children,
too. Horrors, no doubt!"
The words reached my ears. I could scarcely bear myself. Mrs Grant
said something, and there was an apologetic, almost frightened look on
the lady's face.
The next minute a girl, doubtless about my own age, but who had all the
_savoir-faire_ which I did not possess, came swiftly forward and dropped
into a low chair near me.
"I must introduce myself, Miss Grant," she said. "I know you are Miss
Grant. I am Lilian St Leger. I am so glad you are here; all the
others are so terribly old, you know. Where shall we go to have a nice
little talk all to ourselves? Into the back drawing-room? Oh, but have
you had enough tea?"
"Quite," I replied.
Now, if there was an absolutely radiant-looking creature on this earth,
it was Lilian St Leger. I won't attempt to describe her, for I have no
words. I don't suppose if I were to take her features separately I
should be able for a single moment to pronounce them perfect; but it was
her sweetness and tact, and the way she seemed to envelop me with her
bright presence, which was as cold water to a thirsty person.
"I have had quite enough tea," I said.
"And I hate tea in drawing-rooms; it is always so weak, and you can only
snatch a mouthful of food at a time," said Lilian. "Come along, then."
She held out her tiny hand and clasped mine. I felt vulgar and rough
and commonplace beside her; but she steered me right past the numerous
tables until we got into a room which was comparatively cool, and we
sank down together on a sofa.
"This is better. Oh, you do look hot! Have you been sitting by the
fire?"
"Yes, Miss St Leger, I have; but I've also done such an awful thing."
"I am sure awful things have been done to you. You heard, of course,
what mother said. She didn't mean it; she couldn't have meant it if she
had seen you."
"If she had seen me she would have meant it in very truth," I replied,
"if she had witnessed me a few minutes ago."
"Oh! what happened? Tell me everything. It would be lovely if you
broke the proprieties of that drawing-room."
Lilian was wearing a black velvet hat, which had a great plume of
feathers that drooped a little over her face. Her hair was golden, and
very thick and very shining. It was not, like mine, hanging down her
back, but fastened in a thick knot very low on her neck.
"What did you do?" she said, and she clasped my hand and gave it a
squeeze.
"I knocked over a small table; there was a solitary glass ornament in
the middle."
"What! Not the Salviati?"
"It was glass, not Salviati," I said.
She laughed.
"Salviati is the maker of some of the most perfect opalescent glass in
the world, and this was one of his oldest and most perfect creations.
But you saved it?"
"I didn't, Miss St Leger. It is in pieces. It was taken away in
something that a footman brought in; it doesn't exist any longer. I
have smashed it."
"What happened?"
"I don't know what happened; nothing, I think. There was a kind of icy
breath all over the room, and I thought my heart would stop. But Lady
Anne's voice was as cool as--oh! cool as snow, if snow could speak.
Afterwards I got burning hot; the ice went and the fire came, and--and I
have done it!"
Lilian looked perplexed. She turned round and gazed at me; then she
burst into a peal of merriest laughter.
"Oh, you funny girl!" she said. "Just to think of you--the horror, as
mother called you--calmly breaking dear Lady Anne's sacred Salviati, and
Oh, you don't _half_ know the heinousness of your crime!"
"You are rubbing it in pretty hard," I said.
She laughed again immoderately; she could not stop laughing.
"Oh! I could kiss you," she said; "I could hug you. I hate that room
and those tables and curios; it is wicked--it is wrong for any one to
make her room exactly like a curiosity shop, and that is what Lady Anne
does. But then it's her hobby. Well, you have knocked over one of her
idols, and she'll never forgive you."
"If she never expects me to come to see her again I shall certainly
survive," I said. "But please don't laugh at me any more."
"Oh, I admire you so much," said Lilian; "you have such courage!"
"But you don't think I did it on purpose, do you?"
"Of course not You just did it because you are accustomed to space, and
there is no space allowed in Lady Anne's drawing-room. Oh! I shall
tell Dick to-night, and Guy."
"Who are they, please?"
"My brothers. Won't they roar? Well, my dear, she'll never say a word
to you or your step-mother; she'll never say a word to anybody; but I
shouldn't be a bit surprised if the doctor was summoned to-night. She
has had a sort of shock; but she won't show it, for it's considered
underbred for any one to show anything."
"Oh, what an appalling life to lead!"
"I lead it--at least I generally do; it is only now and then that I can
give myself away. You dear, refreshing young soul, how you have cheered
me up! I was so loathing the thought of this afternoon of visits. But
now, do tell me something more! Are you _always_ doing _outre_ things?
If I could only convey you to our house and send you sprawling round, it
would be such fun!"
"I know you are laughing at me," I said.
"Well, yes, I am and I am not. But there! tell me about yourself."
"I have nothing to tell; I am just a plain girl."
"However plain, you are delicious--delicious! How old are you?"
"I shall be sixteen in May."
"Well, I was seventeen a month ago, so I have put up my hair. How do
you like it?"
"It is lovely," I said.
"My maid thinks it is. I don't much bother about it. I have one great
desire in life. I long for the unattainable."
"I should think anything could be attained by you."
"Not a bit of it. The thing that I want I can't attain to."
"What do you want?"
"To be very, very plain, to have a free time, to do exactly what I
like--to knock over tables, to skim about the country at my own sweet
will unchaperoned and unstared at; never to be expected to make a great
match; never to have any one say, `If Lilian doesn't do something
wonderful we shall be disappointed.'"
"Oh, well, you never will get those things," I said. After a time I
continued--for she kept on looking at me--"Would you change with me if
you could?"
"I shouldn't like to give up mamma--dear mamma _is_ a darling; she
really is, although she is always putting her foot into it. She put her
foot into it now; but, you see, it was rather good after all, for I saw
you and I noticed that you had heard what mamma said. Now, mother never
does _outre_ things with her body, but with her lips she is always
giving herself away. I couldn't leave her even to change with you."
"Well, I'm plain enough."
"Thank Providence for that. You are plain; I quite admit it. But I
will tell you something else. Your step-mother is the most delightful
woman--"
"Oh, you have been very nice, Miss St Leger--"
"They call me Lady Lilian," she interrupted.
"Oh, but that is rather too terrible."
"Why should the fact of being an earl's daughter make me a scrap better
than you, who are the daughter of a very great professor? But, anyhow,
you may call me Lilian; you may drop the Lady. Now go on."
"I wish you wouldn't begin to praise _her_."
"Oh, then, you don't like her? You are one of those naughty little
girls who won't take to her dear step-mother. Dear, dear!"
"She is as good as gold," I said.
"I see what it is," said Lady Lilian; "you and I must have a long talk.
We must be friends. Have we not talked together over the lost Salviati?
Have we not both sighed over the _mal-a-propos_ remarks of my dear
mamma? We ought to be friends. Don't I wish to have your looks? And
doubtless you wish to have mine? Why shouldn't we be friends?"
"Let us," I said. I was bewitched, charmed. I had forgotten my shyness
and felt quite at home with her. In fact, as Lady Lilian went on
talking I felt rather superior to her. It was the first time in all my
life I had regarded my plainness as a distinct and most valuable
acquisition.
"That's all right. I'll introduce you to mamma. Come along now this
very minute; she is rising to go."
"But I sha'n't see much of you, for I am going to school on the 21st."
"To school! Heavens! Why?"
"My step-mother wishes it."
"Poor little thing! I see. And where?"