MOLLIE GOES TO DEEP-WATER CHINE
'Well I know what they feel.
They gaze, and the evening wind
Plays on their faces; they gaze--
Airs from the Eden of youth
Awake and stir in their soul.'
MATTHEW ARNOLD.
Mollie arrived very punctually the next afternoon. Audrey, who was
watching for her, hardly recognised the girl as she came slowly along
the terrace. She wore a pretty gray stuff frock and a straw hat, trimmed
very tastefully with the simplest materials; and her usually unkempt
locks were neatly arranged in a broad glossy plait that reached to her
waist.
Audrey felt quite proud of her appearance, and took her into the
drawing-room to see her mother and sister; for Geraldine had just
dropped in on her way down the town. Mrs. Ross received her very nicely;
but Geraldine took very little notice of her. Mollie was rather shy and
awkward, and answered all Mrs. Ross's questions in monosyllables. She
seemed so hot and confused that Mrs. Ross's motherly heart took
compassion on her.
'Do not let us keep you, my dear,' she said, addressing Audrey. 'I am
sure Geraldine will excuse you; and it is far too fine to stay indoors.'
'In that case, we will go, Mollie,' returned Audrey in a relieved tone.
'Good-bye, Gage; I daresay I shall see you to-morrow. And, mother, let
me know when tea is ready;' and then she beckoned Mollie to follow her.
Mollie was no longer silent when she found herself alone with her
friend.
'Oh dear, Miss Ross, what a grand house you live in, and what a lovely
garden! Ours must seem such a poor, poky little place after this, and
yet we were all so pleased with it. I do like Mrs. Ross so; she is such
a dear old lady'--Audrey had never heard her mother called a 'dear old
lady' before--'and what a grand-looking person your sister is! I never
saw anyone so handsome.'
But Mollie's tone was a trifle dubious.
'I hope you mean to like her too, Mollie.'
'I don't seem to know her yet,' replied Mollie evasively; 'but I liked
looking at her. Somehow I could not talk before her. Where are we going,
Miss Ross? There is no pond that I can see.'
'No lake,' corrected Audrey, with much dignity. 'No, Mollie; I am going
to introduce you to the greenhouses and poultry-yard first; then there
are the pigs, and the boys' play-ground--oh, a host of sights!--before
we make our way down to the lake.'
'Ah, now you mean to be funny, because Cyril always calls it the
pond--and Kester too. You must be very rich, Miss Ross, to live here and
have all these fine things. Mamma was saying so to Cyril when he was
telling us about it.'
'This is my favourite little bantam, Mollie,' interposed Audrey; and
then Mollie gave herself up to enjoyment, there were so many things to
see. Mollie wondered and exclaimed and admired, with flushed cheeks and
sparkling eyes, until Audrey told herself the child was positively
pretty.
At last they found themselves by the tiny lake, with their hands full of
bread for Snowflake and Eiderdown, while a little troop of rare foreign
ducks hung somewhat timidly in the rear. Presently, to Mollie's intense
delight, they got into the canoe, and Audrey, with much gravity,
commenced their voyage.
'For you may laugh, Mollie,' she said severely, 'but you have no idea of
the extent of the place. This island is called "The Swans' Nest." We
need not land, because we can see it perfectly from the canoe; but you
may perhaps notice a small wooden building somewhere in the recesses of
the island.'
'Oh yes, I see it perfectly,' returned Mollie, with the utmost candour.
'I could almost cover the island with my pocket-handkerchief; but, of
course, it is very pretty.'
Audrey gave her a withering glance.
'We will go on a little farther. You have a capital view of Woodcote
now; the house is in fine perspective. There is Michael's Bench, so
called after my cousin, Captain Burnett; and this, Mollie'--pointing to
a pretty little thicket of trees and shrubs reaching down to the
water--'is Deep-water Chine. With your permission, we will rest here a
moment.'
'Have we got to the end of our voyage?' laughed Mollie. 'Oh dear, Miss
Ross, how droll you are this afternoon! But it is pretty--sweetly
pretty; and how lovely those swans are! How happy you must be to live in
such a dear place!'
'I am very fond of it,' returned Audrey dreamily. 'Listen to those
birds; father is so fond of them. You cannot admire the place more than
I do, Mollie. To me Woodcote is the finest place in the world; it would
be dreadful to leave it.'
'Why should you ever leave it, Miss Ross?'
'Why, indeed?' with an amused curl of her lip. 'I don't suppose I ever
shall leave it, Mollie.'
'Not unless you married,' replied Mollie, in a serious voice. 'People
are obliged to go away when they are married, are they not? But perhaps
you will have as grand a place of your own.'
'I have half made up my mind that I will be an old maid,' returned
Audrey lazily. 'Old maids lead such nice, useful, unselfish lives.' And
then, as Mollie opened her eyes rather widely at this, she went on:
'What a pretty frock that is!--and that smocking is exquisitely done. I
really must ask your mother to give me lessons--for it will be useful if
I ever should have any nephews and nieces,' thought Audrey, who was
practical in her own way.
'Mamma will be delighted to teach you; she is so fond of you, Miss Ross.
She was talking about you half the evening. Do you know, she did not go
to bed until past one o'clock; she was finishing my blue cambric. Cyril
begged her to put it down half a dozen times, but she said no, she had
made up her mind to finish it--and the hat, too. He had to go off to bed
and leave her at last, and it was not really done until past one.'
Audrey made no comment. She was asking herself how far she ought to
encourage Mollie's childish loquacity--she was very original and
amusing.
'But if I do not check her,' thought Audrey, 'there is no knowing what
she may say next. All the Blakes are so very outspoken.'
But Mollie was disposed to enlarge on a topic that interested her so
closely. She had arrived at an age when a girl begins to feel some
anxiety to make the best of herself. Her nice new frock was an important
ingredient in the day's pleasure; she felt a different Mollie from the
Mollie of yesterday. It was as though Cinderella, dusty and begrimed
with her ashes, had suddenly donned her princess's robe.
'I am so glad you think my frock pretty,' she went on. 'I shall be able
to go to chapel with Cyril next Sunday. This is my Sunday frock; my blue
cambric is for every afternoon. It was very fortunate mamma was in her
working mood yesterday, for she would never have allowed me to come in
my old brown frock. She is so busy to-day; she made me bring her down a
pile of Kester's shirts that want mending--"For the poor boy is in
rags," she said. Stop! I think it was Cyril who said that. I thought it
was funny for mamma to notice about Kester. Yes, it was Cyril.'
'Mollie, do you know your mother calls you a sad chatterbox?' observed
Audrey at this point.
Mollie coloured up and looked perturbed.
'Oh, Miss Ross, did mamma tell you that really? Perhaps that was why she
wanted to get rid of me yesterday, because I talk so much. Do you
know'--dropping her voice and looking rather melancholy--'I never do
seem to please mamma, however much I try; and I do try--oh! so hard. I
never mind Cyril laughing at me, because he does it so good-naturedly;
but when mamma speaks in that reproachful voice, and says that at my age
I might help her more, I do feel so unhappy. I often cry about it when I
go to bed, and then the next day I am sure to be more stupid, and forget
things and make mistakes, and then mamma gets more displeased with me
than ever.'
'My dear little Mollie, I am sure you work hard enough.'
'Yes, but there is so much to do,' returned Mollie, with a heavy sigh.
'Biddy is so old, she cannot make the beds and sweep and clean and cook
the dinner without any help. Kester is always saying that if we had a
younger and stronger servant we should do so much better. But mamma is
so angry when she hears him say that; she declares nothing will induce
her to part with Biddy--Biddy used to be mamma's nurse, you know.
Sometimes I get so tired of doing the same things day after day, and I
long to go out and play tennis, like other girls. But that is not the
worst'--and here poor Mollie looked ready to cry; 'do you mind if I tell
you, Miss Ross? I seem talking so much about myself, and I am so afraid
of wearying you.'
'No, dear; you may tell me anything you like--about yourself, I mean,'
corrected Audrey hastily.
'Yes, I know what you mean, and it will make me so comfortable to talk
it all out--and I have only Kester, you know. I am so afraid, and Kester
is afraid, too, that with all this rough work I shall never be as
ladylike as mamma. She has such beautiful manners, and, then, have you
noticed her hands, Miss Ross? they are so white and pretty; and look at
mine!' and Mollie thrust out a brown, roughened little hand for
inspection.
'You have a pretty hand, too, Mollie, though it is not quite soft at
present; but if I were you, I should be proud to think that it was hard
with good honest work for others.'
'Yes, if only Cyril would not notice it; he told me one day that no
young lady ought to have hands like a kitchenmaid. Mamma heard him say
it, and she begged me to use glycerine and sleep in gloves, but I could
not do such things. I am afraid you think me very complaining, Miss
Ross, but I have not got to the worst trouble of all, and that is--that
I have so little time for my lessons.'
'Oh, I was going to ask you about that.'
'I fret about it dreadfully sometimes, and then Kester is so sorry for
me. He does all he can for me, poor boy! but sometimes on a hot
afternoon I am too sleepy and stupid to do my sums and Latin. I don't
like sums, Miss Ross, or Latin either: I would so much rather read
French and history with mamma--she reads so beautifully and teaches so
well--but somehow she is so often too busy or too tired to attend to
me.'
'And who teaches you music?'
'No one,' and here Mollie's face wore a look of the deepest dejection;
'we have no piano, and mamma does not play. When we lived at Richmond
the lady in the drawing-room taught me my notes, and I used to practise
scales and exercises in her room. She was such a funny old dear, with
queer little pinned-up curls. Her name was Miss Foster--she had been a
governess--and she used to be so kind to Kester and me. She would ask us
into her room, and give us cake and nice things; but I don't think she
liked mamma--she was always pitying us and calling us "poor children;"
but I am sure we were very happy.'
'And she gave you music-lessons?'
'Yes, and I got on quite nicely. I am so fond of music, Miss Ross, and
so is Cyril; he sings beautifully, and can play his own accompaniments.
He talks of hiring a piano, and then perhaps I can practise my scales
and exercises.'
Audrey made no answer for a moment--she was deep in thought--and then
she said suddenly:
'Are you busy all the morning, Mollie? I mean, if you had a piano, when
would you practise?'
This question seemed to puzzle Mollie.
'I hardly know, Miss Ross--in the morning, I think, when I had done
helping Biddy. Kester generally wants me for an hour in the afternoon,
and there is the chance, too, that mamma might call me to read history
with her. I daresay I could get half an hour or so before
dinner--luncheon, I mean.'
'Would you like to come to me twice a week for a lesson? Oh, Mollie
dear, take care!' for the girl was starting up in her excitement; 'the
water is very deep here, and if you upset us----'
'No, no, I will sit quite still; but I did so want to kiss you--it is
such a lovely idea!'
'I am so glad you approve of it. I tell you what, Mollie, I will call
one afternoon and settle it with your mother. The morning will suit me
best; I generally go out after luncheon, unless we have a tennis-party
at home; but with a little management I think I could contrive to spare
you an hour twice a week--perhaps an hour and a half,' finished Audrey,
whose busy brain had already suggested that a French exercise or half an
hour's French reading might be thrown in after the music-lesson.
Audrey was a good linguist, and played very nicely; it made her quite
happy to think that she could turn her accomplishments to account. And
really the child was so disgracefully neglected--Audrey did not scruple
a bit to use the word 'disgracefully.' It was strange how all her
sympathy was enlisted on Mollie's behalf, and yet she could not like
Mrs. Blake one whit the less for her mismanagement of the girl. On the
contrary, Audrey only felt her interest quicken with every fresh
side-light and detail; she longed to take the Blake household under her
especial protection, to manipulate the existing arrangements, and put
things on a different footing. Biddy should go--that should be the first
innovation; a strong, sturdy Rutherford girl like Rhoda Atkinson should
come in her place. Poor little Mollie should be set free from all but
the lightest household duties--a little dusting or pastry-making; she
should have regular hours for practising, for reading French, even for
drawing. Geraldine was very good-natured, she drew beautifully--Audrey
was quite sure that after a time she might be pressed into the service.
Between herself, Gage, and Kester, Mollie might turn out an accomplished
woman. Dreams, mere dreams, if Mrs. Blake could not be induced to part
with Biddy; and here the thought of the little work-roughened hands gave
Audrey a positive pang.
Mollie, on the contrary, sat and beamed at her young benefactress. She
was that; she was everything perfect in Mollie's eyes. Mollie's cup of
happiness was full to overflowing! to see her dear Miss Ross twice a
week, to be taught by her, to study her beloved music; Mollie's heart
sang for joy: the sunshine seemed to intoxicate her. She was in a new
world--a world with swans and birds and bees in it--full of leafy
shadows and rippling, tiny waves. The kind face opposite her broke into
a smile.
'Well, Mollie, are you tired of sitting here? Shall we go back to the
landing-place?'
'Miss Ross, there is Cyril looking for us!' exclaimed Mollie, almost
beside herself with excitement. 'Yes, do please let us go back; he is
waving to us.' And Audrey paddled across the pond.
Cyril lifted his straw hat rather gravely; but there was restrained
eagerness in his manner as he helped them to alight.
'Mrs. Ross sent me to fetch you,' he said quietly. 'Tea is ready, and
Miss Cardell and her brother are in the drawing-room. Mrs. Ross begged
me to come back with you. Why, Mollie'--with a pleased look--'I should
hardly have known you. She looks almost grown up, does she not, Miss
Ross?'
His manner had changed in a moment. He looked bright and animated; his
slight gravity vanished. It was Audrey who became suddenly embarrassed;
the eager look with which the young man had greeted her had not been
unnoticed by her. Cyril's dark eyes were very expressive. More than once
during the last day or two Audrey had innocently intercepted those
strange, searching glances, and they vaguely disturbed her.
'It is very good of you to take all this trouble with Mollie,' continued
Cyril, as he walked beside her towards the house. 'I need not ask if she
has been happy--eh, Mollie?'
'I have had a lovely time!' exclaimed Mollie, almost treading on Cyril's
heels in her excitement. 'Oh, Cyril, do ask Miss Ross to take you in the
canoe to Deep-water Chine! It is such a delicious place! The trees dip
into the water, and the birds come down to drink and bathe; and we saw
a water-rat and a water-wagtail, and there was the cuckoo; and we could
hear the cooing of the wood-pigeons whenever we were silent; and, oh! it
was paradise!'
'I can believe it,' returned Cyril, in a low voice.
'Mr. Blake,' asked Audrey hastily, 'why is it that you are not on the
cricket-field with the boys?'
'Conybeare has taken my place. A lot of the boys were kept in, which
means I was a prisoner too. I have only just opened the gaol-door to the
poor wretches. If you want to see a heart-breaking sight, Miss Ross--one
sad enough to touch the stoniest heart--go into the schoolroom on a
half-holiday on a summer's afternoon when half a dozen boys are kept in
for lessons returned. The utter misery depicted on those boys' faces is
not to be described.'
'I should just shut up their books and tell them to be off.'
'I daresay you would,' with an amused look at her. 'I can well imagine
that that would be Miss Ross's _role_. We masters have to harden our
hearts; "discipline must be maintained," as that delightful old fellow
in _Bleak House_ used to say; bad work brings its own punishment.'
'You are as stern as Captain Burnett. By the bye, where is Michael?'
'He has gone out with Dr. Ross. That is why Mrs. Ross wants me to make
myself useful'--and Cyril did make himself useful.
Some more visitors dropped in, Geraldine amongst them. She had finished
her business in the town, had paid a couple of calls, and now looked in
on her way home. Somehow, Woodcote was always on the way home; but,
then, as everyone said, there were few daughters so devoted to their
mother as young Mrs. Harcourt.
Audrey, who was presiding at the tea-table, saw her sister looking at
Mr. Blake with reluctant admiration; she had never before noticed the
quiet ease of his manners. He had lost his first shyness, and was now
making himself exceedingly pleasant to Mrs. Ross's guests. Mr. Cardell,
who was a stiff, solemn-faced young man, was placed at a decided
disadvantage; clever and gentlemanly as he was, he looked positively
awkward beside Mr. Blake. Mr. Blake seemed to see everything--to notice
in a moment if a lady wanted her cup put down, if her tea were not to
her taste; he carried sugar and cream to one, cake or bread and butter
to another. He seemed to know by instinct when the teapot wanted
replenishing, and was ready to lift the heavy kettle; but he never
remained by Audrey's side a moment.
As Audrey busied herself among her teacups she was amused by overhearing
a fragment of conversation behind her. Emily Cardell, a plain,
good-natured sort of girl, had seated herself beside Geraldine.
'Mr. Blake seems a decided acquisition,' she observed, in a loud whisper
that was distinctly audible. 'We ought all to be very much obliged to
Dr. Ross. He is very young, but so distinguished-looking. Poor Oliver is
quite cast in the shade.'
'I don't know about that, Emily.'
'I suppose you think comparisons are odious? But, all the same, I am
sure you must admire Mr. Blake.'
'I think he is very gentlemanly and pleasant.'
'Dear me, Geraldine! that is very moderate praise. I never saw anyone
with more finished manners.'
Here Audrey moved away, but her lip curled a little. Would Geraldine's
tone have been so utterly devoid of enthusiasm if she had not known her
sister was within earshot?
Just then Mollie touched Audrey on the arm.
'Miss Ross, Cyril says that I have been here long enough, and that he is
going to take me away.'
'Are you sure that I worded it quite so ungraciously?' observed Cyril,
who had followed her. 'All the same, I think you will endorse my
opinion, Miss Ross. Mollie has been here all the afternoon.'
'It has been a very pleasant afternoon,' returned Audrey, with one of
her kind looks at Mollie; 'and I hope we shall have many more. Mollie
and I mean to see a good deal of each other.' And then she bade them
good-bye and turned to the other guests, who were also making their
adieux.
Geraldine remained behind to exchange a few confidential words with her
mother, and Audrey stepped out on the terrace. As she did so, she was
surprised to see Michael sitting just outside the drawing-room window.
He had evidently been there some time.
As she sat down beside him she was struck by his air of dejection.
'Oh, Michael, how tired you look! have you had your tea?'
He shook his head.
'Then I will go and fetch you some. Do let me, Michael;' for he had
stopped her.
Michael's hand was very thin and white, but when he cared to put out his
strength it had a grasp like iron; and that firm, soft grip on Audrey's
wrist kept her a prisoner.
'No, don't go; it is so late that I would rather wait for dinner. I
heard the teacups, but I was too lazy to move, and to judge from the
voices, the room must have been pretty full.'
'Yes; the Cardells and the Fortescues and Gage were there.'
'Mr. Blake, too, was he not?'
'Yes, mother asked him--she wanted him to help entertain the Cardells.'
'Yes, I see; and he seems disposed to be friendly--your father has asked
him to dinner to-morrow night to meet the Pagets.'
'Indeed!' and Audrey tried to suppress the pleasure she felt at this
intelligence. 'Have you any objection?' She asked the question in a
joking manner; to her surprise her cousin answered her quite gravely:
'Well, I think it will be a pity to take too much notice of him--he is
young enough to be spoilt. People are glad to have a good-looking fellow
like Blake at their parties; and, then, I hear he has a magnificent
voice. I expect half the young ladies of Rutherford will be in love with
him--Miss Emily Cardell among them; eh, Audrey?'
'I am sure I don't know,' returned Audrey coldly; 'Mr. Blake's good
looks are nothing to me.' She spoke with unusual petulance, as though
something in her cousin's remarks had not pleased her. 'Well, if you
will not have some tea, Michael, I must just go back to mother and
Gage;' and as Michael said no word to detain her, she moved away so
quickly that she did not hear the half-stifled sigh with which Michael
took up his paper again.