THE GRAY COTTAGE
'I think I love most people best when they are in adversity; for
pity is one of my prevailing passions.'--MARY WOLSTONECRAFT
GODWIN'S LETTER.
The next morning, as Captain Burnett was strolling across the
tennis-lawn in search of a shady corner where he could read his paper,
he encountered Audrey. She was walking in the direction of the gate, and
had a basket of flowers in her hand.
She was hurrying past him with a nod and a smile, but he coolly stopped
her.
'May I ask where you are going, my Lady Bountiful?' for this was a name
he often called her, perhaps in allusion to her sweet, bountiful nature;
but Audrey, in her simplicity, had never understood the compliment.
She hesitated a moment; and this was so unusual on her part, that
Captain Burnett metaphorically pricked up his ears. To use his own
language, he immediately scented the whole business.
'I am going into the town; but I have a great deal to do,' she returned
quickly. 'Please do not detain me, Michael. I am not like you: I cannot
afford the luxury of idleness.'
'Well, no; it is rather a dear commodity, certainly,' he replied
pleasantly, though that hasty speech made him inwardly wince, as though
someone had touched an unhealed wound. 'Luxury of idleness!' how he
loathed it!
'If you are too long, I shall come and look after you,' he continued
significantly; but to this she made no reply. She took herself to task
as she walked on. She had not been perfectly open with Michael, but then
he had no right to question her movements. She had spoken the truth; she
certainly had business in the town--several orders to give--before she
went to the Gray Cottage. Michael was her ally--her faithful, trusty
ally. No knight sworn to serve his liege lady had ever been more
zealous in his fealty. But even to Michael she did not wish to confess
that the greater part of the morning would be spent at the Gray Cottage.
Audrey had no idea that her cousin had guessed her little secret--that
he was smiling over it as he unfolded his paper. Her conscience was
perfectly easy with regard to her motives. Pure compassion for those two
poor children was her only inducement. There was no danger of
encountering the elder brother.
The windows of the great schoolroom opened on the terrace, and as Audrey
had passed to gather her flowers she had had a glimpse of a dark,
closely-cropped head, and the perfect profile that she had admired last
night, and she knew the new master would be fully occupied all the
morning. Audrey felt a little needle-prick of unavailing compunction as
she remembered her allusion to the Greek god yesterday.
'I wish I were not so foolishly outspoken!' she thought. 'I always say
just what comes into my head. With some people it would not matter--with
Michael, for example. He never misunderstands one's meaning. But poor
dear Gage is so literal. Clever as she is, she has no sense of humour.'
Here she paused at the grocer's to give her orders, but directly she
left the shop she took up the same thread again:
'I am always making resolutions to be more careful, but it never seems
any use. The thoughts will come tumbling out like ill-behaved children
just let out of school. There is no keeping them in order. I fancy Mr.
Blake is outspoken, too, when he gets rid of his shyness. I was so
surprised when he blurted out that little bit about his brother. He
looked so sad over it, too. I think I must have made a mistake in
supposing that he only cared for his mother. It was odd to make me his
confidante; but, then, people always do tell me things. He is Irish, of
course. Irishmen are always impulsive.'
But here another list of orders to be given at the ironmonger's checked
these vague musings.
Audrey was fully expected at the Cottage. She had hardly lifted the
latch of the gate before Mollie appeared in the doorway.
'I knew you would come,' she said shyly, as Audrey kissed her and put
the flowers in her hands. 'Oh what lovely flowers! Are they for mamma,
Miss Ross? Thank you ever so much! Mamma is so passionately fond of
flowers, and so is Cyril.'
'And not Kester?'
'Oh yes; he loves them too,' burying her face in the delicious
blossoms--'roses especially; they are his favourite flowers. But, of
course, no one thinks of sending them to Kester; he is only a boy.'
'And I daresay you like them, too?'
Mollie vehemently nodded assent.
'Well, then, I shall bring you and Kester some next time. You are right
in thinking those are for your mother. May I go in and speak to
her?--for we have to be very busy, you know.'
'Mamma is not up yet,' returned Mollie; and as Audrey looked surprised,
she added quickly: 'She and Cyril sat up so late last night. She was
wanting to hear all about his evening, and it was such a lovely night
that they were in the garden until nearly twelve o'clock, and so, of
course, she is tired this morning.'
Audrey made no reply to this. Mrs. Blake was charming, but she was
certainly a little erratic in her habits. No wonder there was so little
comfort in the house when the mistress disliked early rising.
Mollie seemed to take it as a matter of course; besides, she was too
much absorbed in the flowers to notice Miss Ross's reproving silence.
She rushed off to find a jug of water, and Audrey turned into the
dining-room, which presented the same aspect of confusion that it had
worn yesterday. Kester was on his knees trying to unpack a hamper of
books. It cost him a painful effort to rise, and he looked so pale and
exhausted that Audrey at once took him in hand.
'My dear boy,' she said kindly, as she helped him to the sofa, 'how very
imprudent! You have no right to try your strength in that way. How could
Mollie let you touch those books!'
'She has everything to do, and I wished to help her,' he returned,
panting with the exertion. 'Cyril wants his books so badly, and he has
put up the bookcase, you see. He did that this morning--he had scarcely
time to eat his breakfast--and then he asked Mollie if she would unpack
the books.'
'I will help Mollie,' returned Audrey, laying aside her hat. 'Now,
Kester, I want to ask you a favour. You will only be in our way here.
Will you please take possession of that nice hammock-chair that someone
has put outside the window? and we will just fly round, as the Yankee
domestics say.'
Audrey spoke with such good-natured decision, with such assurance of
being obeyed, that Kester did not even venture on a grumbling
remonstrance--the poor fellow was too much accustomed to be set on one
side, and to be told that he was no use. But Audrey had no intention of
leaving him in idleness.
'By and by, when the room is a little clearer, you can be of the
greatest help to us; for you can sit at the table and dust the books in
readiness for us to arrange.' And Kester's face brightened up at that.
Audrey was quite in her element. As she often told her mother, she was
robust enough for a housemaid. The well-ordered establishment at
Woodcote, with its staff of trained domestics and its excellent matron,
afforded little scope for her youthful activities. Mrs. Ross was her own
housekeeper, and though she had contentedly relinquished her duties to
Geraldine for the last few years, she had not yet offered to transfer
them to Audrey.
Audrey pretended to be a little hurt at this arrangement, but in reality
she was secretly relieved. Her tastes were not sufficiently domestic.
She liked better to supplement her mother's duties than to take the
entire lead. In her way she was extremely useful. She wrote a great many
of the business letters, undertook all the London shopping, and assisted
Mrs. Ross in entertaining her numerous visitors, many of whom were the
boys' mothers; and though Mrs. Ross still regretted the loss of her
elder daughter, and complained that no one could replace Geraldine, she
was fully sensible of Audrey's efficiency and good-humoured and ready
help.
'Audrey is as good as gold, and does all I want her to do,' she said to
Geraldine, when the latter had questioned her very closely on the
subject.
It was no trouble to Audrey to dash off half a dozen letters before
post-time, or to drive into Sittingbourne to meet a batch of boys'
relatives. She was naturally active, and hated an idle moment; but no
work suited her so well as this Herculean task of evoking order out of
the Blake chaos. Molly was so charmed with her energy, so fired by her
example, that she worked like a dozen Mollies. The books were soon
unpacked and on the table; then Biddy was called in to clear away the
straw and hampers, and to have a grand sweep. Nothing more could be done
until this had been carried out, so they left Biddy to revel in dust and
tea-leaves, while they turned out another hamper or two in the kitchen;
for in the course of their labours Mollie had confided to Audrey that
certain indispensable articles were still missing.
'The best thing would be to get rid of as many of the hampers as
possible,' replied Audrey; 'they are only in the way; let us pack them
up in the yard, and then one can have room to move.'
When Biddy had finished her labours and all the dirt had been removed,
Kester hobbled in willingly to dust the books, and Audrey and Mollie
arranged them on the shelves. There were not so very many, but they were
all well and carefully chosen--Greek and Latin authors, all Carlyle's
and Emerson's works, a few books of history and philosophy, the
principal poets, and some standard works of fiction: Dickens, Thackeray,
and Sir Walter Scott--the latter bound very handsomely. Audrey felt
sure, as she placed the books on the shelves, that this little library
was collected by a great deal of self-denial and effort. The young
student had probably little money to spare. With the exception of Sir
Walter Scott and Thackeray, none of the books were handsomely bound;
that they were well read was obvious, for a volume of Browning's poems
happening to fall from her hand, Audrey could see profuse pencil-marks,
and one philosophical book had copious notes on the margin.
'They are all Cyril's books,' observed Mollie, unconsciously answering
Audrey's thought. 'Poor Cyril! it is such a trouble to him that he
cannot afford to buy more books. When he was at Oxford he used to go
without things to get them; he said he would sooner starve than be
without books. Is it not sad to be so dreadfully poor, Miss Ross? But I
suppose you don't know how it feels. Mamma bought him that lovely
edition of Thackeray--oh, and Sir Walter Scott's novels too. Don't you
like that binding? it is very expensive. Cyril was so vexed at mamma's
spending all that money on him when Kester wanted things, I am afraid he
hardly thanked her, and mamma cried about it.'
Mollie was chattering on without thinking until a bell made her start
and hurry away. She did not come back for some time, and Audrey finished
her task alone.
'I have been making mamma some coffee,' she said gravely; 'she had one
of her headaches. She has sent you a message, Miss Ross; she is so
delighted with the flowers. She wanted to get up at once and thank you,
and then she thought she had better lie still until her headache was
better; but she will be down presently.'
'Then we must make haste and finish the room before she comes. Mollie,
I can do nothing with those pictures; we will put them up against the
wall until your brother can hang them. Let me see; that corner behind
the writing-table--no one can see them there. Quick! hand me another. Is
this a portrait of your father?' stopping to regard a half-length figure
of a fine-looking man in naval uniform.
'No, that is only an uncle of mamma's; I forget his name. Do you
remember it, Kester? Papa was a merchant--at least, I think so.'
'Has he been long dead?'
'Oh yes; he died abroad when Kester and I were quite little; that is why
we are so poor. Mamma has often told us that it is her money we are
living on. I don't know how she managed to send Cyril to Oxford; but we
had no house all that time, only poky little lodgings. Are we going to
arrange the furniture now, Miss Ross? Oh, how comfortable the room
begins to look, and how delighted Cyril will be when he comes home this
afternoon! He says that Dr. Ross wants him after school, so he will not
run home before dinner. How glad I am that Cyril will always have a nice
dinner now! He does so hate Biddy's cooking; he declares everything
tastes alike. You say so, too, don't you, Kester?'
Kester's answer was a shrug of the shoulders; he seemed more reserved
than Mollie, who was chattering to her new friend with all the frankness
and thoughtlessness of a very young girl.
'Mamma never minds what sort of dinner Biddy sends up, if only Cyril
does not find fault. I think she would live on tea and dry bread all the
year round if only Cyril could have nice things.'
Cyril--always Cyril! Audrey turned the subject by asking Mollie if she
would like the couch in the window. Mollie clapped her hands delightedly
at the effect.
'It looks beautiful; don't you think so, Kester? And how funny! Miss
Ross has put your own particular little table beside it, just as though
she guessed that it was to hold your desk and your books. There is
Kester's little box of books, but he will unpack them himself by and
by.'
'Mollie, have you ordered the dinner?' interrupted Kester a little
anxiously--and poor Mollie's face fell.
'Oh dear, I am so sorry, but I have forgotten all about it; the butcher
has not called, and there are only those potatoes and bread and cheese.
Mamma is right when she says my head is like a sieve.'
'Why don't you send Biddy for some chops, my dear?' remarked Audrey very
sensibly.
Kester had spoken in a loud whisper, but she had overheard every word.
Mollie started off with a look of relief to hunt up the old woman, and
when Audrey found herself alone with Kester she could not help saying to
him:
'Mollie is a very young housekeeper--girls of fourteen are liable to
forget sometimes;' but to her surprise he fired up at once:
'They all expect too much of her; I hate to see her slave as she does:
it is not right, it is not fair--I tell Cyril so. She has no time to
herself; all her lessons are neglected. If only mother would send Biddy
away and get another servant!'
'Who teaches Mollie, then?' she asked, a little curiously.
'Oh, mother gives her lessons sometimes, but they are not very regular,
and I help her with arithmetic and Latin. Cyril always gives me an hour
or two in the evening, when his work is done, but of course Mollie does
not care to learn Greek.'
'Do you mean that your brother gives you lessons when he has been
teaching all day?'
'Yes, and he is awfully tired sometimes; but he never likes me to be
disappointed. Mother often tries to make him take a walk instead; but
Cyril is such a brick: he never will listen to her.'
Audrey felt a little glow of satisfaction as she heard this. What a kind
brother Mr. Blake seemed to be--how truly estimable! she would never
judge hastily of anyone again. Just then the clock struck one, and she
told Kester that she must hurry away. She was disappointed that Mrs.
Blake had not yet appeared--she wanted to see the face that had haunted
her so persistently; but the bewitching widow had not shown herself.
'I am afraid I must go, or I shall be late for luncheon,' she said
hurriedly.
'I will tell Mollie,' returned the boy; and then he said a little
awkwardly: 'You have been awfully good to us, Miss Ross; I don't know
how Mollie and I are to thank you. You must be quite tired out.'
Audrey laughed.
'I am not so easily tired, Kester, and I am rather fond of this sort of
work. Do you think your mother would mind if I were to look in to-morrow
afternoon and help a little with the drawing-room? Mollie said something
about it just now, and I half promised--she is to help Biddy put up the
plates and dishes this afternoon; that will be as much as she can do.'
'I am sure mother will be only too delighted,' replied Kester
gratefully; and then Audrey went in search of Mollie, and found her
occupied with the chops, while Biddy cleaned the knives. Mollie turned a
scorched cheek to her.
'Dear Miss Ross, thank you ever so much,' she said fervently as Audrey
repeated her promise of looking in the next afternoon.
'Poor little soul! how interested Michael will be when I tell him all
about her!' she thought as she walked briskly towards Woodcote.
Audrey had scarcely closed the green gate behind her before Mrs. Blake's
foot sounded on the stairs. She looked pale and heavy-eyed, and walked
into the room a little languidly; but if Audrey had seen her she would
only have thought that her paleness invested her with fresh interest.
'Miss Ross has gone, mamma,' observed Mollie regretfully, as she
followed her into the room.
'Yes, I know; I felt too jaded to face visitors this morning--Miss Ross
looks at one so, and my nerves would not stand it. How are you, Kester?'
kissing his forehead lightly; 'you look better than usual. I don't
believe I closed my eyes until four o'clock. Dear me!' interrupting
herself; 'there are Cyril's books nicely arranged--did you do them,
Mollie? Why, the room looks quite comfortable and homelike. Miss Ross
must have helped you a great deal.'
'Oh yes, mamma,' exclaimed Mollie and Kester eagerly; and they were
about to expatiate on Audrey's wonderful goodness, when their mother
checked them:
'Please don't speak so loud, children, or you will make my head bad
again. I will tell you what we will do, Mollie. We will make those
curtains, and then this room will be quite finished. There are only the
hems and just the tops to do. We can have no difficulty in finishing
them before Cyril comes home. The red tablecloth is at the top of the
black box--if you will fetch it, Mollie--and I have arranged the flowers
in that pretty green vase.'
'But, mamma,' pleaded Mollie, in a vexed voice, 'the room will do quite
well without curtains for one day, and I promised Miss Ross to help
Biddy with the plates and dishes. All the hampers are unpacked, and
there is not a corner in the kitchen to put anything--and it does make
Biddy so cross.'
'Nonsense, Mollie! Who minds about Biddy's crossness! I suppose I may do
as I like in my own house. Let us have dinner, and then we will set to
work at once--you and I--and Kester can read to us;' and, seeing that
her mother's mind was fully made up, Mollie very wisely held her tongue,
probably admonished thereto by a mild kick from Kester.
So, as soon as the chops had been eaten, Mollie produced her mother's
work-basket and a shabby little cotton-box that was appropriated to her
own use, and sewed industriously, only pausing at intervals to watch the
white, slender fingers that seemed to make the needle fly through the
stuff.
Mrs. Blake was evidently an accomplished seamstress, and long before
four o'clock the curtains were put up, and duly admired by the whole
family and Biddy.