Major Winchester did not reply. He appeared engrossed with Paddy, for
as Imogen uttered the last words, they had driven to the front of the
house, and he was preparing to draw up.
"I don't quite know how best to manage," he said, after a moment or two,
glancing round him doubtfully. "Paddy has been very good, so far; but
he will probably begin now to be fidgety, and to long for his stable.
So I must not get down to ring. Can--?"
"Oh yes," said the girl, starting up as she spoke, and very nearly
precipitating herself to the ground, "I'll jump down in an instant."
"Get down, please, but don't talk of jumping. There now, very
cautiously. It needs an apprenticeship to get out and in of vehicles
like this. Yes, that is the bell, the chain at your right;" and a
ponderous resounding clang told that Miss Wentworth's vigorous pull had
taken effect. Imogen looked round half alarmed.
"What a noise!" she said.
It was not too quickly responded to, nevertheless, and when a footman at
last made his appearance, he raised his eyebrows with an expression of
surprised inquiry, which would not have conduced to the two ladies'
equanimity had they been alone and unprotected by Major Winchester's
presence.
"Quick, Thomas," he said, with a touch of imperiousness. "Call some
one, or catch hold of his head yourself. Don't you see the horse won't
stand, and the lady has to get down?"
Thomas bestirred himself to the extent of hallooing to an assistant
gardener, who happened to be passing; then, when Paddy's impatience was
perforce calmed, he himself condescended to approach the back of the
cart in a gingerly fashion. But Major Winchester was before him.
"I will help Mrs Wentworth down," he said.
"Go at once and tell your mistress, or--or Miss Florence--no, unluckily,
she's out--Miss Helmont, if you can find her, that Mrs and Miss
Wentworth have arrived by an earlier train. And tell Brewer to speak to
me before he goes to the station; there's some luggage to come up."
Most of The Fells domestics liked "the Major," as he was dubbed in the
servants' hall; but Thomas, lazy and conceited, was an exception. He
disappeared, however, as he was told, but not without some inaudible
mutterings.
"Queerish ladies," he said to himself, "arriving before lunch and no
luggage, nor maid, nor nothing. The luggage won't be much to show when
it do come, I'll take my--" But here he was interrupted, and by no less
a person than Trixie. Thomas's face cleared: he wasn't going to scour
the country in search of Mrs Helmont, nor Miss neither. Here was _one_
of the ladies; it did not in the least signify that Miss Beatrix was a
byword for never doing anything she was asked to do, or being of any use
to any one. She would serve _his_ purpose, which was to get back to his
morning paper and glass of beer "comfortable" in the pantry without
delay.
"If you please, ma'am," he began, "the Major's at the hall door with two
ladies, arrived unexpected, and I was to tell you."
To his delight and rather to his surprise, instead of telling him to
hunt up her sisters, Trixie stopped short with evident interest.
"Two ladies?" she inquired. "Did you hear their name? And did Major
Winchester tell you to find _me_?"
Thomas was obliged to equivocate.
"Not--not exactly yourself persinly, ma'am, but one of the ladies."
"All right, I'll go at once," and Beatrix, enchanted at the first act in
the drama opening so auspiciously, rushed off.
"Of course it's the girl and her mother, I'm sure of it, just because
Rex evidently _didn't_ mean me," she said to herself. "Mab shan't be
able to say I'm stupid; I won't tell her how it happened, and she'll be
all the more impressed by my cleverness when she sees me hand and glove
with the little fool at the very first go." She looked very handsome
and attractive as, moderating her rate of progress, she approached the
front hall. It was a large square room, with corners screened off,
containing couches and tables invitingly grouped. There were two
fireplaces, in which for many months in the year great logs were always
to be seen in glowing cheeriness. There was the usual display of
antlered heads and stuffed glassy-eyed reynards and other trophies of
the kind. To Imogen, new to English country life on this scale, it was
entrancing, and as Beatrix in her trim sailor-blue serge, with wavy dark
hair and the brilliant Helmont complexion and eyes, appeared at the
curtained doorway, an unusual gentleness, almost appeal, in her
expression and bearing, the poor little stranger's heart went out to her
with a great leap. Considerably to his surprise, much more considerably
to his disgust, when Rex Winchester turned round from his instructions
to Brewer on the hall steps, the two girls were, so to say, already in
each other's arms--literally speaking, they were just concluding their
greeting with a kiss, while Mrs Wentworth stood by in smiling approval.
"Yes," she said. "I was sure I was right, and you are baby Beatrix;
just--let me see--two years and a few weeks older than Imogen."
"How interesting!" said Trixie sweetly. "We must be _great_ friends,
must we not?"
"Yes, _indeed_," said Imogen. "I'm so glad to have seen you first, as
you are so much the nearest me in--"
"Is Alicia not in, Trixie?" interrupted Major Winchester. "I sent for
her."
His tone was dry, to say the least. Beatrix turned away for half a
second: he did not see the flash of rage and malice in her eyes--she had
calmed it down before she replied in the same soft, almost timid tones.
"I don't know, I'm sure. Florence is out. I daresay Alicia's resting:
she generally is at this time of day."
"And every other," thought her cousin.
"What mischief in Heaven's name is the girl up to now?" he went on to
himself. Then half shocked at his suspiciousness he glanced at her
sharply: she had not anticipated this and her eyes fell. "I knew it
could not be sincere," he thought, with a curious mixture of regret and
satisfaction.
"I knew Florence was out," he said aloud.
"But before hunting up mamma or Alicia, had I not better take our guests
to the morning-room?" said Beatrix prettily.
And Rex could not oppose so natural a suggestion.
Mrs Helmont was not in the morning-room. Truth to tell, she had
dedicated the hours before luncheon to-day to some necessary household
discussions with her upper servants.
"The Meldons will have gone, and the Wentworths not coming till nice and
late in the afternoon," she had said to herself with satisfaction; "all
the other people can be left to themselves--not like strangers."
So that, in spite of her really friendly feelings to the mother and
daughter--her own peculiar guests indeed--it can easily be understood
that the announcement of their premature arrival was not a joyful one in
her ears.
"_Come_!" she repeated to the maid who had disinterred her and the old
housekeeper in the linen-room, where she was really enjoying herself,
"you don't say so. At _this_ time of day! it is too provoking. My cap
is all on one side, I'm certain, and we were just getting into the new
pillow-cases, Baxter. The girls will be so put out too. And Florence
gone for me to Culvey! Alicia is sure to be asleep. I _must_ go--it
will all have to stand over, Baxter; you must put everything back
again," and with a very natural sigh the poor lady prepared to descend
to the morning-room.
She was hospitable and kind, but of a slightly less easy-going nature
than her husband and family in general: in reality she was less selfish.
But she did not show to advantage as the _chatelaine_ of The Fells,
when she entered the morning-room, feeling and looking worried and
perplexed.
"So glad to see you, so sorry I was not down-stairs!" she said in a
somewhat constrained tone, as Mrs Wentworth pressed forward effusively.
And the cheek which received the visitor's kiss was quickly turned
away. "Your daughter? ah, yes, of course. I remember. You have a son
too? No? Oh, I am confusing you with Mrs--Why, Trixie, you here!" in a
tone of extremest surprise. "Wonders will never cease! _Can_ she be
going to turn over a new leaf?" she asked herself mentally. Anyway, it
was a convenience for the time being to have one daughter at hand;
"perhaps what her father said to her this morning is going to have some
effect," she went on to herself, feeling by no means disposed in the
present emergency to quarrel with the goods the gods sent her, even
though they were but Beatrix.
"I was just thinking that, perhaps, Mrs Wentworth and Miss--No?" In
response to a smiling gesture of deprecation from her new friend, "am I
really to call you Imogen; that _is_ sweet of you." This was going a
little too far. An undisguised frown on her cousin's face startled
Trixie a little. "I was thinking," she repeated in a more natural tone,
"that, perhaps, they would like to see their rooms."
"Very decidedly so, I should say," replied Major Winchester sharply.
Beatrix turned to her mother.
"Which rooms, mamma?" she said in a low tone. But Imogen overheard it.
"Fancy," she thought, with a little thrill of disappointment, "fancy her
not knowing. Why, if they had been coming to stay with us, I would have
been running about to get flowers for their toilet-tables, and all sorts
of things like that. But, I suppose, it is different when people have
so many visitors."
The momentary feeling, however, was visible, as were most of the girl's
feelings to quick observation at least, on her transparent countenance.
As she raised her sweet eyes, she caught Major Winchester's fixed on her
with a curious expression. She felt herself flush a little.
"I do believe he knows what I am thinking," she said to herself, with a
strange mingling of pleasure and annoyance, "and I have not known him
two hours!"
But the sound of Mrs Helmont's voice recalled her to practical matters.
"The brown room and the little pink room beside it; you know, Trixie, in
the corner by the west staircase. Only--I am really so vexed--I am
afraid your room is not quite ready, Mrs Wentworth, you see--"
"Mrs Wentworth," repeated the owner of the name reproachfully, "am I
not to be `Lucy' to you, dear Mrs Helmont?"
At another time the good lady would probably have been touched and would
have responded kindly, but just now she was thoroughly put out.
"It is twenty years, if not more, since we met, and then only for a
couple of days. I really had not the least idea what your name was; but
the question is your room.--Trixie!" glancing round despairingly.
Mrs Wentworth put a brave effort on herself; she was determined that
Imogen should not suspect she was feeling mortified.
"What does it matter about my room?" she said, laughingly. "I can't
allow you to treat me as _quite_ a stranger, even though you had
forgotten my name. Can't I take off my wraps in--" "In Beatrix's room,"
she was going to have said, but she was interrupted.
"In mine," said a new-comer. "It is Mrs and Miss Wentworth, is it not?
I heard of some arrival, and knowing Florence was out, and you busy,
dear Mrs Helmont, mayn't I be of a little _use for once_?" and Miss
Forsyth--for she it was--drew near her hostess with an air of half-timid
deprecation. Mrs Helmont felt completely bewildered. She had little
presence of mind at any time, and this extraordinary metamorphosis was
too much for her. Major Winchester, be it observed, had before this
taken his departure.
"I--I am sure I have never refused to let you be of use, Mabella," said
the elder lady, rather stiffly.
Miss Forsyth drew still nearer, and whispered a word or two in her ear.
Mrs Helmont's face softened.
"Now, Mrs Wentworth, do come with me," said the young woman. "My room
is next to Trixie's, where I know she is dying to take your daughter. I
can lend you anything--slippers, brushes, combs--even a tea-gown if your
dress is damp, and if you would so far condescend?"
Mrs Wentworth looked at her. Miss Forsyth was undeniably plain, almost
coarse-looking. Her features were large, her complexion swarthy; the
only redeeming point, as not infrequently is the case with otherwise
ugly people, was her eyes. They were large and dark, and therefore
supposed to be beautiful.
"She has nice eyes," thought Mrs Wentworth, "and she seems very
amiable. For such a plain girl to be amiable she must be _very_
amiable, I should say.--And thank you very much, Miss--" And she
hesitated.
"Forsyth," said Mrs Helmont. "Miss Forsyth is a very frequent visitor
with us," she went on, her conscience smiting her a little for making
over these innocent lambs to the wolf Mabella, whom, truth to tell, she
herself was not a little afraid of. But Baxter would not have got all
the linen put away yet: there would be time for her to resume and
complete the interesting review of her possessions before luncheon if
she went at once.
"If you will be so kind, Mabella," she went on.--"You, dear Mrs
Wentworth, will, I know, excuse me. I really am very busy this
morning."
"Of course, of course," cried Imogen's mother, delighted to have won the
gratifying adjective. "We shall be perfectly happy.--Thank you so much,
Miss Forsyth," and she turned to follow Mabella, Beatrix and the other
victim having already disappeared. Trixie managed to hang back on the
stairs, however, and to exchange an aside with her double.
"I like you," she said, "preaching to me about not overdoing it, and
there you are, humbugging away to such an extent. Any fool could see
you were up to mischief."
"I know what I'm about, thank you," said Miss Forsyth. "If you manage
your part of it as well, you'll have no reason to turn upon me. Your
mother is incapable of more than one idea at a time, and just now her
only thought is to hand over these people to somebody or anybody till
luncheon time."
And long before luncheon time one part of Mabella's task was
accomplished. She had won thoroughly and completely Mrs Wentworth's
confidence, and this with so little difficulty that she almost despised
herself as well as her unconscious victim for the ease of the
achievement.
"She is charming," said poor Mrs Wentworth, when at last she found
herself alone with her daughter, "quite charming, so kind and unselfish.
I really must say I should have felt just a little, a very little
strange and uncomfortable arriving so early, and poor dear Mrs Helmont
so busy and the elder girls out, if it hadn't been for Miss Forsyth. It
shows how unwise it is to judge by appearances; at first, I confess, I
did not at all feel as if I should take to her."
"_I_ never shall take to her," said Imogen, bluntly; "I can't bear her.
She has a sort of patronising way that I think is perfectly horrid.
Still, I'm glad if she made you more comfortable. I felt _horribly_
uncomfortable, and I don't think Mrs Helmont is `poor dear' at all: she
really didn't seem the very least glad to see us--hardly as if she knew
whom we were. I felt inclined to beg you to go back to London again."
"My darling!" exclaimed Mrs Wentworth in horror.
They were in Imogen's room--which was at last ready--doing their best,
though without their luggage, to make themselves presentable for
luncheon.
"Yes," said Imogen. "I did, indeed. And I felt very cross with you
too, mamsey, for it really was all with you insisting on coming so long
before they expected us: it _was_ a stupid thing to do. Trixie allowed
that it was, though she's as nice as can be. _She_ made me feel at home
almost at once, I must say."
"I am so glad," said Mrs Wentworth, fervently.
"All the same." Imogen went on thoughtfully, "I think I understand what
Major Winchester meant." Was it fancy, or did a faint, the very
faintest pink flush steal over her face at the mere mention of his name?
"How do you mean, darling?" asked her mother. "You seem to have made
great friends with this Major Winchester already."
"Nonsense, mamsey!" said Imogen, not too respectfully, it must be
allowed; "he was very kind to us, and of course it was natural for him
to tell me a little about the girls, when he saw I was so anxious to
know. He likes Florence much the best; but in spite of what he said, I
am not sure that _I_ shall. There is a great deal of good in Trixie, I
am sure. She has been telling me about herself: she has been spoilt and
selfish, she says, and rather wild. And though she didn't say so, I
fancy Miss Forsyth has not had a good influence on her. That's why I
don't like her."
"My dear, you must not jump to conclusions so quickly," remonstrated
Mrs Wentworth.
"I'm not jumping more quickly than you, mamma," Imogen replied. "You
have made up your mind that Miss Forsyth is all that is delightful; _I_
only say I don't think so. I did not at first think I should like
Trixie particularly, except that she really met us very kindly. But she
seemed to me to have something rather hard about her; only now I
understand it." Imogen paused for a moment, as if thinking out
something to herself, and that not with perfect satisfaction--"at least
I think I do. They don't understand _her_; she wants to be nice and
good, I'm sure, but nobody believes her. Major Winchester is dreadfully
down upon her, she says; he can't bear girls who are at all loud, you
know, or fast. And poor Trixie has no friend to help her at all. She
says she does so hope we shall be friends, mamsey."
"Yes, dearest, I am sure she will learn nothing but good from you," said
Mrs Wentworth, well pleased. "It is very evident that he appreciates
Imogen already," she added, to herself with a little thrill of maternal
pride. "But, darling, we must be quick. I do hope the luncheon bell
hasn't gone without us hearing it, and I'm half afraid I don't remember
the way to the dining-room."
"We needn't go straight there," said Imogen. "Trixie said we should
find some of them in the morning-room. You look quite right, mamsey;
you do really. But oh dear! I do wish we hadn't arrived before our
luggage and Colman, my boots do clump so. Trixie offered to lend me a
pair of shoes, but I could see hers would be too big, so I said I didn't
mind keeping on my boots."
"Your feet are so tiny; just the least little atom longer than mine,"
said her mother, with an amusing mixture of admiration and
self-complacency. "And mine were always spoken of as _quite_
extraordinary. Your dear father used to wonder how I could walk upon
them."
"Well, in India that didn't matter much, as nobody ever does walk--not
what _I_ call walking," Imogen remarked.
And thus chattering, with the real though unavowed motive of keeping up
their courage and keeping down their shyness, the mother and daughter
slowly descended the great wide shallow-stepped staircase which led to
the hall.