THE LITTLE LADY OF HETHERTON.
Within a week after Phil’s departure the whole town was full of her, and
rumor said she was running a wild career with no one to advise or check
her except Mr. Beresford, who seemed as crazy as herself. Everybody
thought her wonderfully bright, and fresh, and pretty, but her ways
astonished the sober people of Merrivale, who, nevertheless, were
greatly interested and amused with watching her as she developed phase
after phase of her variable nature—visiting Mr. Beresford at his office
two or three times a day, ostensibly to translate foreign letters and
papers for him, but really, it was said by the gossips, to see the man
himself; galloping off miles and miles into the country on her spirited
horse, with the little old Frenchman in attendance; worrying Mrs. Jerry
by having chocolate in her room in the morning, breakfasting at twelve,
dining at six, with as much ceremony as if a dozen people were seated at
the table instead of one lone girl, who sometimes never touched the
dishes prepared with so much care—dining, too, in all sorts of places as
the fancy took her; on the north piazza, and on the south piazza; giving
her money away by the hundreds to the Fergusons, and by the tens, and
fives, and ones to anybody asking for it; sinking a little fortune on
the grounds at Hetherton Place, which she was entirely metamorphosing,
with fifteen or twenty men at work there all the time, while she
superintended them, and gave them lemonade or root beer two or three
times a day, as an incentive to swifter labor.
Such was the state of affairs when Phil, improving the very first
opportunity for leave of absence, came back to Merrivale. It was 10 A.M.
when he reached the station, and exactly half-past ten to a minute when
he found himself at Hetherton Place, his hand locked in that of Queenie,
who in her big garden hat, with trowel, and pruning-knife, led him all
over the grounds, where the fifteen men were at work, pointing out her
improvements, and asking what he thought of them. And Phil, who had
promised his mother to check his cousin if he found her going on
recklessly, as they had heard from Anna, proved a very flunky, and
instead of checking her, entered heart and soul into her plans, and even
made suggestions as to how they could be improved. So useful, in fact,
did he make himself, and so much skill and taste did he display, that
Queenie forgot entirely to chide him for his lack of a profession.
Indeed, she was rather glad than otherwise that he had no profession, as
it left him free to be with her all the time and to become at last the
superintendent of the whole, with this difference, however, that while
he directed the men, Queenie directed him and made him her very slave.
Queenie never shrank from anything, but plunged her white hands into the
dirt up to her wrists, while Phil took off his coat and worked patiently
at her side, transplanting a rose-bush or geranium to one place in the
morning, and in the evening to another, if so the fancy took his
mistress. She could not always tell where she wanted a thing until she
studied the effect of certain positions, and then, if she did not like
it, if it did not harmonize with the picture she was forming, it must be
moved, she said. And so the moving and changing went on, and people
marveled to see how rapidly what had first seemed chaos and confusion
began to assume proportions until the grounds bade fair to become more
beautiful and artistic than any place which had ever been seen in the
county. What had been done before Queenie’s arrival was for the most
part unchanged, but the remainder of the grounds were entirely
overturned. The plateau and summer-house, on which Queenie had set her
heart, were made, and the terraces, and the new walks, and the pasture
land, west of the house, was robbed of its greensward for turf to cover
the terraces and plateau, which were watered twice each day until the
well and cisterns gave out, and then the heavens, as if in sympathy with
the work, poured out plentiful showers, and so, not withstanding that it
was summer, the turf, and the shrubs, and the vines, and flowers were
kept green and fresh, and scarcely stopped their growing. Everything
went beautifully Queenie said, as she issued her orders, and, busy as a
bee, worked from morning till night, with Phil always in attendance,
while even Mr. Beresford at last caught the fever, and went himself into
the business of planting and transplanting, and working in the dirt.
_The Hetherton gardeners_ the people called the two young men, Phil
being the head and Mr. Beresford the _sub_; but little did they care for
the merry-making, so long as that bright, sparkling girl worked with
them, and then at night rewarded them with a bouquet, which she fastened
to their button-holes, standing up on tiptoe to do it, and looking up at
them with eyes which nearly drove them crazy.
Nor was Hetherton Place the only spot where Queenie was busy. A few days
after Phil went to the sea-shore there had come to her a letter from
Margery, who wrote:
“MY DARLING QUEENIE.—You do not know how surprised and delighted I was
to hear that you were in America, or how sorry I was to hear of your
loss. You must be so lonely and sad, alone in a strange country. What
is Merrivale like? and do you think it would be a good place for me?
Is it not funny that I had thought to go there, and have actually
written to a Mrs. Ferguson, who turns out to be your aunt? But she
asks more for her business than I feel able to pay, and so the plan
has been abandoned for the present. But I must see you, and,
remembering all your kindness in the years past, you will not think me
intrusive when I tell you, that before the summer is gone I am coming
to Merrivale, just to look into your dear eyes again, and see if you
are changed. I like your aunt and cousins; they are genuine ladies,
and I am glad they belong to you.”
The first thing Queenie did after reading this letter, was to mount her
horse and gallop in hot haste to the village, where she astonished Mrs.
Lydia Ferguson by offering her more for her business than she had
demanded of Miss La Rue.
“It is my Margery—my friend, and I am going to have her here, if I turn
my own house into a dressmaker’s shop,” she said, and she talked so
fast, and gesticulated so rapidly, that Mrs. Lydia grew quite
bewildered, but managed to comprehend that a price was offered her which
would be well for her to accept, as it might never be offered her again.
Anna, too, was all eagerness to “get out of the vile thing and be
somebody,” as she expressed it, and so the bargain was closed, and Mrs.
Lydia was to retire at once into the privacy and respectability of
private life; the obnoxious sign was to be taken from the front window,
and Miss Anna was to be merely the daughter of a grocer which she
considered quite an ascent in the social scale.
Mrs. Lydia did not wish to sell her house, nor Queenie to buy it.
She had heard there was a charming little cottage on Maple Avenue, for
sale, and she swooped down upon the owner like a hurricane, asking him
what his terms were, and if he would vacate at once.
“You see I wish to get him out immediately, for I mean to make it just
like a palace for Margery,” she said to her grandmother, who tried to
restrain the reckless girl, telling her she was going on at a ruinous
rate, and that, of herself she could not transact business, until she
was of age.
“But Mr. Beresford can transact it for me, and I shall have it,” she
said; and she took Mr. Beresford by storm and compelled him to make an
arrangement whereby the cottage and her aunt’s business came into her
possession. Then she wrote to her friend:
“YOU DEAR OLD DARLING MARGERY:—I do know just how surprised and glad
you were to hear that I was in America, for wasn’t I just as glad to
know that you were near me when I thought you in Nice or Italy. Why
didn’t you answer my letter, you naughty girl? I wrote you six and
only had two in return. It is just like a story, isn’t it—our being
together in America? And, Margie, my grandmother is not that English
duchess I used to talk so much about, but a real, live Yankee woman,
of the very _Yankee-est_ kind, red, and fat, and good, and calls me
_Rennet_, and wears purple gloves—or she did till I coaxed her into
some black ones, which she thinks are not very dressy. And you will
like her ever so much, and you are coming to Merrivale to live at
once, now, right away. So, pack up your things as soon as you read
this. I have bought that business for you of Mrs. Ferguson, who is my
aunt, or rather the wife of my mother’s brother; and she has a
daughter Anna, who is my cousin, and very _stunning_ and _swell_. That
last is _slang_, which I have learned in America of Phil, who is
another cousin, and a Ferguson, too: or rather his mother was, which
is the same thing. There are a great many Fergusons, you see; but then
there are Fergusons and Fergusons. But you will learn all this when
you come. I have a pretty little cottage engaged, with a bit of fresh
greensward in front, and the loveliest old-fashioned garden at the
side, with June pinks, and roses, and tiger-lilies, and a nice bed of
_tansy_, I like tansy, don’t you? There was a patch of it at dear old
Chateau des Fleurs. Then there are two front rooms for the work, and a
sitting and dining-room back, with the kitchen, and three chambers
communicating with each other. One of these I shall fit up with blue
for you; it will just suit your lovely complexion and eyes; the other
is scarlet, for your mother, who is dark; and the third—well, that is
to be mine when I stay with you nights, as I intend doing often. But I
can’t have the same color as your mother, so I shall take pink, which
will make me look just like a—a—_nigger_. That’s another word I caught
from Phil. I wish he would come back. Tell him so, please.
“And now, Margery, come as soon as you can. And don’t be silly about
my buying the cottage and business for you. It is only a little bit of
payment on the big sum I owe you for that sacrifice you were ready to
make for me. How well I remember that day, and how plainly I can see
you now, as you went up to the master, with your face as white as
paper, and your eyes so pitiful and appealing as they looked at me,
and yet so full of love. And I, the coward, shut my eyes, and clenched
my fists, and said to myself just as fast as I could, ‘Nasty beast!
nasty beast!’ till the first blow fell, which hurt me more than it did
you, for it cut right into my conscience, and there has been a little
smart there ever since, while your dear hand is just as white and fair
as if that vile old man’s ferrule had never reddened and wounded it.
Splendid old Margery! I want to hug you this minute!
“And—oh, Margie, don’t think I have forgotten papa, because I have not
said more of him; for I haven’t, and there is a thought of him and a
little moan in my heart for him all the time. No matter what I am
doing, or how gay I seem, I never forget that he is dead, and that
there is nobody to love me now but you, who seem so near to me,
because you knew of the old life at home now gone forever. Answer at
once, and say when I may expect you.”
To this letter Margery replied within a few days, thanking Queenie for
her generous interest, but saying she could not accept so much from her;
she should come to Merrivale with her mother as soon as they could
arrange matters where they were, but she should insist upon paying rent
for the cottage, and also upon paying for the business.
“I can do that in a short time,” she wrote, “if I have work, and I shall
be happier to be independent even of you, my darling. Besides I do not
think the Rossiters and Fergusons would like you to do so much for a
stranger. I am nothing to them, you know, except their dressmaker—”
“I think her a very sensible girl. I could not respect her, if she were
willing to receive so much from you,” Mr. Beresford said when Queenie
read him Margery’s letter; whereupon Queenie flew into a passion, and
said he did not understand—did not appreciate the nature of the
friendship between herself and Margery; adding that she should never
tell Margery how much she paid her Aunt Lydia, and that she would never
take any rent and she should furnish the house herself.
And she did, and, with Phil to help her after he came, she accomplished
more at the cottage and at Hetherton Place than any ten ordinary women
could have accomplished in the same length of time. Every day she
managed to spend two or three hours at the cottage, which, with plenty
of money and perfect taste, was soon transformed into a little gem of a
house. It is true there was nothing expensive in it in the way of
furniture, except the upright Steinway, which Queenie insisted upon; but
everything was so well chosen and so artistically arranged, that the
whole effect was like a lovely picture, and the villagers went to see
it, and wondered what this Margery could be that Miss Hetherton was
doing so much for her.
“She is only a dressmaker, after all,” Miss Anna said, with a toss of
her head, as she sat in what had been her mother’s work-room
entertaining a visitor and discussing the expected Margery.
Anna had lost no time in removing the sign from the window, and had even
carried out her threat of splitting and burning it up, thinking thus to
wipe out a past which she foolishly thought had been a disgrace, because
of her mother’s honest labor. The work-room, too, had been dismantled of
everything pertaining to the obnoxious dressmaking, and Mrs. Lydia,
deprived of her occupation, found the time hanging heavily upon her
hands, for she had no taste for housekeeping, and could not at once
interest herself in it. Besides, she missed the excitement of the people
coming in and going out, and missed the gossip they brought, and almost
every hour of her life repented that to gratify her daughter she had
been persuaded to retire from business and set up for a lady.
Anna, on the contrary, enjoyed it immensely, and held her head a good
deal higher, and frizzed her hair more than ever, and wore her best
dresses every day, and spoke slightingly of Margery La Rue as only a
dressmaker, and told half a dozen of the neighbors, confidentially, that
she thought her cousin Reinette fast and queer, though she supposed it
was the French of her, to go on, as she did, with Phil and Mr.
Beresford, both of whom were making fools of themselves. For her part
she could see nothing attractive in her whatever, except that she was
bright, and witty, and small, and tall men, as a rule, liked little
women. To Queenie herself, however, she was sweetness itself, and as the
latter never heard of her ill-natured remarks, there was a show of
friendship between the two girls, and Anna was frequently at Hetherton
Place, where the envy of her nature found ample food to feed upon, as
she contrasted Reinette’s surroundings with her own.