QUEEN ELIZABETH'S WRAITH.
"... Life indeed must always be a compromise between common sense
and the ideal,--the one abating nothing of its demands, the other
accommodating itself to what is practicable and real."--Amiel.
As they entered the large square hall with Fuss and Fury frolicking
round them, a tall respectable-looking woman came forward to meet them.
"I suppose my sister is in the library, Mitchell?" asked Miss Harford,
quickly.
"Yes, ma'am. Parker has just taken in the tea."
"Then will you please give this young lady some: take her into my room,
and make her comfortable. I must ask you to excuse me for a short time,
Miss Ward, as I have to talk over one or two things with my sister; but
Mitchell will look after you."
"Oh, please do not trouble about me!" returned Waveney; and then she
followed Mitchell down a long passage, full of beautiful plants, to a
pleasant sitting-room with a deep bay window overlooking the lawn with
the sundial; the peacock was strutting across the grass with the
mincing, ambling gait peculiar to that bird, the peahen following him
more meekly.
Through green trellised arches one looked on a tennis lawn, and beyond
that was a large red brick cottage with a porch. When Mitchell brought
in the tea-tray, Waveney asked her who lived there. The woman looked a
little amused at the question.
"No one lives there, ma'am," she answered, civilly. "My mistresses built
it, for their winter evening entertainments. There is only one room,
with a sort of kitchen behind it. It is always called the Porch House."
Waveney longed to ask some more questions, but Mitchell had already
retired, so she sat down and enjoyed her tea.
How happy she could be in this lovely place if only Mollie were with
her! And then she thought of the fifty pounds a year. After all,
Erpingham was not so far away. Perhaps they would let her go home once a
week. If she could only have her Sunday afternoons and evenings to
herself! And then her heart began to beat quickly. How delicious that
would be! How Mollie and she would talk! And after tea they would sing
their old hymns, and then they would all go to church together, and her
father and Noel would walk to the station to see her off. And then she
wondered if she should mind the long walk across the common; it would be
rather lonely, she thought, on a dark winter's evening, and perhaps Miss
Harford would not approve of it.
While Waveney indulged in these surmises and cogitations, Miss Harford
had walked briskly across the inner hall, and, tapping lightly at a
door, opened it and entered a beautiful long room fitted up as a
library. It had a grand oriel window, with a cushioned seat, and a tiny
inner room like a recess, with a glass door leading to the lawn with the
cedar-tree.
A lady writing at a table in the centre of the room uttered a little
exclamation of surprise.
"Why, Doreen, I was just writing to you; but it is the unexpected that
always happens." And then the two sisters kissed each other
affectionately.
"You can put away your letter and give me some tea instead," Doreen
said, laughing; and then Althea smiled and walked to a little tea-table
that had been placed in the window, with two inviting-looking easy
chairs beside it.
"Sit down, Dorrie, do, and tell me what has brought you over like a
flash of lightning on a summer evening," she said, as she took up the
tea-pot.
Althea Harford was a better-looking woman than her sister, but she could
never have been handsome. She was very tall, and her figure was
decidedly graceful; she walked well, and carried her head with the air
of an empress. Her eyes were expressive and even beautiful, but her face
was too long and thin, and her reddish auburn hair and light eyelashes
gave her rather a colourless look. She had a long, aquiline nose, and
some people said that she reminded them of Queen Elizabeth, though it
may be doubted whether that Tudor princess had Althea's air of
refinement and gentleness.
She was evidently a year or two younger than her sister, but her dress,
like Doreen's, was very sedate, and suitable to her age. She had a style
of her own, which certainly suited her. When excited, or under the
influence of some strong emotion, a faint pink colour would come to her
cheeks, and a vivid light to her eyes; at such moments she would be
almost beautiful.
The sisters were very unlike in disposition; but in spite of their
dissimilarity they were the best of friends, and understood each other
perfectly.
Doreen took life more lightly; she had a robust cheerfulness that seldom
failed her. Althea had a greater sense of humour, and far more
intellect; but there was a veiled melancholy about her, as though early
in life she had suffered disillusion; and she would speak sometimes as
though human existence were a comedy where the players wore masks and
performed the shadow dance at intervals.
Both sisters were Ladies Bountiful, and gave nobly of their substance,
but Althea could never be brought to acknowledge that she gave enough;
she had scruples of conscience, and would sometimes complain that they
were like Dives, and had their good things in this life.
"And as though we were not rich enough," she would grumble, "Aunt Sara
is actually going to leave us her money"--for Mrs. Mainwaring had lately
made another will in her nieces' favour. Doreen would have a large sum
of money, but Althea, who was her favourite, would be the chief legatee,
and Althea had groaned in spirit when she heard it.
"It is such a responsibility," she sighed; but Doreen would not listen
to this.
"It is such an enjoyment," she retorted. "I do so love spending money,
and so do you, Althea, in spite of your grumbling. And as to Aunt Sara's
will, we need not make ourselves miserable about that, for she will
probably live until she is ninety." And this view of the case cheered
Althea greatly. Althea's temperament was by no means pessimistic, but
like all deep thinkers she had to pay the penalty of her own acute
perceptions. The unsolved problems of life saddened her, and at times
disturbed her comfort. She envied Doreen her capacity for putting
troublesome questions out of her mind. "I wish I had your mind, Dorrie,"
she said once. "It is such a comfortable, nicely padded mind. When
disagreeable things happen, you just let down your curtains and keep
yourself snug."
"Upon my word, Althea," returned Doreen, good-humouredly, "I am glad no
one but myself heard that speech. You make me out a nice selfish sort of
person."
"No, no, you are not selfish at all, you are far more ready to help
people than I am. You are a good woman, Doreen, and you know I did not
mean that."
"Then what did your riddle mean?"
"Well, just what I said. That you never worry and fret yourself over
troublesome questions--social questions, I mean, difficult problems that
meet one in this world at every corner; I often make myself quite
unhappy over them, and go to bed with a heartache, but I do not believe
that you ever lose an hour's sleep over them."
"I daresay not. In that sense I suppose I have a nicely padded mind;
but, Althea, it is not that I do not realise the difficulty. But, my
dear child, what is the good of sitting down before a mountain and
waiting for it to open. Earthquakes of that sort won't happen. I put it
by until I am grown up;" and as Althea stared at her she nodded her
head. "Quite grown up, I mean; we are only children here, and we are not
likely to get all our lessons perfect." And then, in a low voice, she
said, a little solemnly, "'What I do thou knowest not now, but thou
shalt know hereafter;'" and as Doreen said this her plain, homely
features were transfigured and Althea looked at her with reverence; for
in her simple faith Doreen had passed her and taken the higher place.
"Well, Doreen, what has brought you over this evening?" asked Althea,
as she handed her sister a cup of tea. "I was thinking of driving over
to-morrow to see you and Aunt Sara."
"Well, I wanted to see you about two or three things, Miss Ward amongst
them. I have brought her over, and she is at present partaking of tea
and cake in my room."
"Oh--do you think she will do?" asked Althea, quickly.
"Well, that is for you to decide. You shall see her presently and judge
for yourself. At first sight I confess that I was not favourably
impressed--she is such a childish-looking little thing, with fluffy,
babyish hair curling over her head. But for her eyes, and expression, I
should never have thought her grown up. She is rather like Laura
Ridgway, only paler."
"Laura has very pretty eyes, Doreen."
"So has Miss Ward; they are quite out of the common. Aunt Sara took
rather a fancy to her."
"Aunt Sara is a very good judge of character," her sister observed.
"Well, I liked her better myself after a time; her voice is deep, but I
somehow admire it, and she read very nicely. She seems anxious to come
to us. They are evidently rather poor. But----" Here Doreen hesitated in
rather an embarrassed way.
"Out with it, Dorrie: there is something behind, I see."
"Well, it is for you to judge. I shall leave the decision in your hands.
I think Aunt Sara is right, and that Miss Ward is a nice little thing;
but she is Everard Ward's daughter."
Althea started; she was evidently quite unprepared for this. She changed
colour slightly. "Are you sure of that, Doreen?" she asked, in a low
voice. "You know how many Wards there are--dozens and dozens."
"Yes, and I never for a moment imagined that it could be Everard's
daughter; but directly she mentioned her address--Cleveland Terrace,
Chelsea--of course I recognised her. Wait a minute"--as Althea seemed
inclined to interrupt her--"let me make it all clear to you. I put the
question to her, 'Is Everard Ward your father?' That was plain enough,
was it not? And when she said yes, I managed to glean two or three
particulars, that we already know."
"Yes, but tell me, all the same;" and Althea's manner was a little
eager.
"Well, she told me that her mother was dead--we knew that--and that she
had a twin sister who was rather lame, and a brother Noel." Then, at the
mention of Noel's name, Althea looked a little amused.
"What a strange coincidence!" she murmured.
"Strange enough, but rather embarrassing. Miss Ward was very _naive_ and
frank. It seems the poor man cannot sell his pictures; he has one on
hand now. 'King Canute,' she called it, and none of the dealers will
look at it. She says her father is very low about it, and that they want
the money badly. Well, what now, Althea?" pretending to frown at her;
for Althea's face was suffused with colour, and her eyes were very
bright.
"Poor Everard!" she said, softly. "There is room for another picture in
the Porch House." And then a queer little smile came to her lips. "It
will be a valuable lesson to the girls."
Then Doreen shook her head at her.
"It could not be done, you foolish woman. You would be found out."
"We must discover another way, then," returned Althea, who was quite in
earnest. "Perhaps Thorold will give it house room."
"But you must be prudent, dear."
"I will be discretion itself. The picture will not be purchased in my
name, you can depend on that. I begin to think my nature is not
straightforward, I do so love little plots, and underhand schemes. I
should have made a good secret conspirator. Now about this girl: if she
pleases me, I can see no objection to our engaging her. It is perfectly
simple, Dorrie; they are poor, and the girls have to work. Fate, or
rather--for it is no joking matter--Providence, has brought her to us.
Is it too superstitious to say that I feel that I dare not refuse to
take her. It may be another way of helping them."
"Yes, but in my opinion, Everard ought to know to whom he is sending
her."
"Ah, I agree with you there, in spite of my subterranean and complicated
schemes. I did not propose any fresh masquerade, as far as the girl is
concerned. I am willing to be as open as the day. Now, as we have
finished tea, shall I go to your room?" And Doreen smiled assent.
Waveney was standing by the window, crumbling some sweet-cake for the
peacock. She turned round at the sound of the opening door.
The evening sun was shining into the room, and perhaps the light dazzled
Waveney a little; but certainly she gave a very droll description of
Althea to Mollie afterwards.
"The door opened, and a very tall woman in a grey gown seemed to glide
in, for she walked so quietly that I could not hear a footstep; and lo
and behold, it was Queen Elizabeth's Wraith."
"Oh, Waveney, what nonsense! And I do hate that horrid old Elizabeth."
"Well, so do I; but, all the same, Miss Harford is remarkably like
her--such a long, thin face and nose, and reddish hair; and she had a
sort of ruff of lace round her throat, and such a stately manner, it was
quite queenly. And, I think, really, that I should have made my curtsy,
only she came up to me in the kindest way and took my hand. 'I am so
sorry that you have been alone all this time,' she said, in such a sweet
voice, 'but my sister and I had so much business to discuss. She has
told me all about you, so I am not going to trouble you with needless
questions. You can just tell me anything you like about yourself. I have
a great respect for workers, and always love to help them.'"
"It was nice of her to say that."
"Yes; it quite won my heart. I like both the Miss Harfords, Mollie; but
Miss Althea--or Queen Bess, as I prefer to call her--is more to my
taste. She interested me directly, and we had such a nice talk, just as
though we were old friends; and she said at once that I could have my
Sunday afternoons--think of that, sweetheart! I shall be with you every
Sunday."
Althea's sympathetic nature had at once grasped the girl's trouble at
leaving home.
"I think I could arrange for you to spend the greater part of your
Sundays at home," she observed, "that is, if you are a good walker, for
we never use our horses on Sundays, unless the weather is very bad. We
dine early, for I always have a busy afternoon in the Porch House, and I
could spare you easily."
"But the long walk back in the dark," faltered Waveney, who knew well
that her father would make objections to this. Then Althea considered
the point.
"Yes, you are right. You could not walk alone on dark evenings, and the
winter is coming. There are houses, of course, but they stand so far
back, and the gates are locked. Oh, no, my dear, that would never do.
Neither my sister nor I could permit you to walk alone." Then her face
brightened, and she continued with more animation, "I have an idea. My
maid Peachy always goes to see her mother on Sunday afternoons; she
lives near Victoria, and she always takes the same train back. We will
find out which that is, and then you can walk up the hill together." At
this the girl's joy was so evident that Althea had been quite touched.
Just at the close of the interview she had said a few words that greatly
surprised Waveney.
"And now, my dear, I should like you to go home and talk things over
with your people, and then you can write me a line saying whether you
wish to come to us. We must not decide things finally until your father
gives his consent. He will know our names." And, as Waveney seemed
puzzled at this, "When we were young he visited at our house. Oh, not
here; we lived in Surrey then."
"But when shall you want me," asked Waveney, anxiously. "Oh, I am sure
father will give his consent. He is dreadfully unhappy at the idea of
our working, but he knows it must be done."
"Still you must consult him," returned Althea, gently, and her manner
was a little stately. "As for my wanting you, I shall be content if you
could come to me in about ten days. Now I hear the carriage coming
round. Good-bye. I think I will add _au revoir_;" and then she shook
hands very cordially, and the next moment Doreen joined them.
There was very little conversation during the drive back. Miss Harford
was busy with her letters and note-book, and Waveney leaned back on the
cushions, and thought over her talk with Althea.
"How strange that father should have known them!" she said to herself.
"He often talks of his old friends, but he has never mentioned their
name. Harford--no, I am sure I never heard it until Miss Warburton spoke
of them. If I go anywhere it shall be to the Red House--I have made up
my mind to that. I like both of them--they are different somehow from
other people; but I like Queen Bess far the best."