"Really, Amethyst, I don't see how I am to manage, if we pay many more
visits. You see, all my things were got for the season, and I haven't
got an autumn gown or jacket that's fit to be seen; and I _can't_ go to
a hunt-breakfast in a summer hat, and just look at this one."
The speaker was Una Haredale, one lovely autumn day in late October, as
she stood by the wardrobe in her bedroom in Mrs Lorrimore's country
house, and displayed its contents ruefully to her sister.
The view from the window had all the charm of exquisite rural peace.
The woods in every tint of gold and russet stretched away over wide
outspreading country beyond the green slopes of the park where single
trees blazed and shone in their autumn dresses; cattle and sheep dotted
the grass between and beneath them. Restharrow, as the house was
called, looked the _very_ home of quiet and virtuous content. But the
house-party who were staying with Mrs Lorrimore contrived to amuse
themselves, and Restharrow was not regarded as a quiet house.
"Well, Una, I don't know what is to be done. I haven't an idea how long
my lady means to leave us here, and stay at the Fitzpatricks'. I've got
exactly seven and sixpence left, and if mother sends us more money--she
must, of course, before we go away--heaven knows where she will get it
from. You must wear my grey hat and jacket to-morrow, and your own red
skirt."
"And you?"
"I'll do with the brown tweed. Who is there to see that matters?"
"How I hate this house!" said Una, dropping into a straw chair by the
window, and stretching her arms above her head.
"I don't think its as bad as the Fitzpatricks'."
"Perhaps not, when the card-playing set is there, but it's more rowdy.
I never did see the fun of chasing men up and down stairs, and setting
booby-traps in their bedrooms."
"Nothing would ever induce me to do such a thing," said Amethyst
scornfully.
"You have only to choose what you will do. They'll all come after you
for the sake of saying afterwards they've been in with you. But--I
shall never be a good girl, Amethyst. I can't keep out of the fray. I
want them to talk to me, and I know how to make them. Then one gets led
on. No, I don't bear-fight and romp; but oh, Amethyst, I talk--I say
such horrid things--just things that make people stare and wonder if I
_can_ mean it. Oh, how I hate men!" stamping her foot. "They _delight_
in making girls sail near the wind, and then, how they talk of us!
That's what Tony used to make me do when I was little. How he used to
laugh! And the books," went on Una, after a pause. "When do we ever
see one, French or English, that you'd like Sylvester Riddell, or any
nice man, to see you read? Oh, if men in general liked girls to be
decent, how easy goodness would be!"
"Well," said Amethyst, "if we are to be good, it certainly won't be
because we don't hear of wickedness, either in books or in real life.
But I wouldn't say what I was ashamed of, to please any one. And I'm
sure, darling, you hardly ever do."
"You're a sweet comforter," said Una, kissing her. "My dear old
mother-confessor! But really I sometimes hear things that make me think
that my lady brought us up in a pattern way. Well, I believe Mr and
Mrs Jackson are pattern people, so let us hope the hunt-breakfast will
be highly proper too. Half an hour before lunch. I'll do some sewing."
"You are a pattern girl about your East End work, at any rate."
"Oh, but, Amethyst, I like to hear from Miss Waterhouse about the girls.
I do feel as if I exactly understood how hard it is for them to be
good, when they want so to be _bad_, you see, and know just how; and how
getting fond of her is such a help to them. And she tells them that I
care when she gives them the things I make. If I only worked better!"
This was the fourth of a set of visits which Amethyst and Una had paid,
sometimes alone, and sometimes with their mother. One of these visits
had been to the Fowlers at the country house which was part of Mrs
Fowlers fortune, and, little as the girls had wished to go there, they
had found Mrs Fowler far the kindest friend they met in their wandering
life. She was very good to the lonely girls, though they never knew in
what light Major Fowler had represented their story to her; and Una was
loyal and brave, and resisted even the temptation of not being tempted
by notice from her host But the visit was a great strain on her, she
felt the force of the temptations in her path, and did not know what
upward growth was indicated by her knowing them to be temptations. She
was too young and too impressionable not to be influenced by the
atmosphere around her; outward helps were very few, and the struggle was
hard within her. Still there were moments of peace, times which taught
her what a holy life might be, times which upheld and uplifted her, the
poor sinful girl who was trying to be a saint.
Amethyst's troubles were of a different sort. She had left Cleverley
with several growing purposes and intentions, and with a strong desire,
an earnest wish to win that nobleness of character of which Mr Riddell
had spoken, a wish that had always been as salt within her, but which
Sylvester had touched with fire. She threw all the weight of her beauty
on the side of maidenly conduct and modest speech, and there was neither
man nor woman in the free-and-easy, careless-tongued set among whom she
moved, who would take a liberty with Amethyst Haredale. But she was
bored to death. There was nothing to do, nothing to know, nothing to
feel. She was like a wild, strong creature in a cage. She worked at
her Latin and mathematics in the early morning, she played tennis with
vigorous interest in the game, and none in her partners, she took long
walks by herself, but everything was dull, stale, flat, and
unprofitable. The rebellion in her soul grew more and more violent.
There were hours when she came to wish that she had resisted Sylvester
and married Sir Richard. Anything would have been better than the life
she had to lead now.
She heard occasionally from Miss Riddell, and had so been told of the
terrible accident to Lucian Leigh, and of his almost fatal illness, but
the same letter contained also better news, and since then she had heard
that he was slowly recovering. She had been shocked and startled, but
it was difficult to realise Lucian as otherwise than well and strong,
and no details had been given to her.
Her natural good spirits often got the upper hand of her burden of
discontent, and when all the house-party started for the meet at Mr
Jackson's place, Beechgrove, in a bright sparkling morning under brown
trees and blue sky, amid golden and tawny ferns and ruddy hedgerows, she
enjoyed herself as if she had never known a care. The red coats, the
dogs, and the horses, the noise and the bustle of a hunting morning were
delightful to her, and she had never looked more blooming and full of
life than when she went into the house at Beechgrove to breakfast,
followed by Una. Mrs Jackson received the two handsome young strangers
pleasantly, and called to her son to come and wait on them and take care
of them.
"As you have nothing else to do, Wilfred," she said smiling.
Young Mr Jackson was pale and very lame, and it was explained that he
was only just getting over a bad accident which had invalided him for
some time.
"Stopped all my fun in the Rocky Mountains, Miss Haredale," he said,
"where I had gone on the jolliest trip, and I mustn't ride all this
winter. Hard lines, isn't it?"
"Very hard," said Amethyst, feeling that the accident in the Rocky
Mountains was not quite new to her, though she could not recall how she
had heard of it.
"Have you heard of poor Leigh lately, Jackson?" said another young man
across the table.
"Oh, yes," said Wilfred Jackson, with sudden gravity. "Riddell, his
friend, who has been with him, you know, wrote to me yesterday. He is
better, and able to walk a little, and they have got away from Edinburgh
and down to Bournemouth. I believe he is to go abroad for the winter.
It has been a frightful business."
"Were you with Mr Leigh in the Rocky Mountains? He is a neighbour of
ours at Cleverley," said Amethyst.
"Ah, you know him? Yes, and I spoiled his trip by getting my back hurt.
He gave it up to look after me. Never was such a good fellow. I can't
take in the idea of his being helpless and ill himself."
"But you are having better accounts of him. I never heard exactly how
he was hurt?"
"Nor I, in detail. He fell over the cliffs in the Orkneys. There was
some internal strain which has caused frightful suffering, and besides,
one of the ribs, which were broken, pierced the lungs so that he cannot
breathe, or speak, without pain. They brought him back to Edinburgh in
his yacht, where his mother met him. He is wonderfully patient and
plucky, Riddell says--that he was sure to be. They are very anxious,
but I can't help hoping and thinking--don't you, Miss Haredale?--that
any fellow so young and strong _must_ get over it. I was very bad last
summer, and I shall soon be right again now."
There was a warm-hearted simplicity in the young man's manner, as he
spoke of his friend, that was very engaging; but his last words
tightened Amethyst's breath, and made her fingers cold. Not get over
it! Lucian! She had never dreamed of such a possibility. Una struck
into the conversation, and asked a few more questions, eliciting a good
deal of information as to the accident in America, and as to Lucian's
present condition. To Wilfred Jackson he was evidently a hero.
"I hope to be quite strong by Christmas," he said, "and no trouble to
anybody. Then I shall go out and see him. Riddell is going back to
Oxford, he seems anxious at leaving Mrs Leigh alone. But my father's
on the move, Miss Haredale; will you come out?"
As Amethyst stood on the steps at the front door, and looked out again
on the gay scene of active, vigorous life, she recalled how Lucian had
once planned taking his bride to such a meeting in his own county, and
had discoursed on the perfect horse he would get for her, and directed
her taste as to the kind of habit in which he thought it correct for a
lady to ride. She had always pictured him in some sort of active
exertion. When she thought of him lying prostrate, the contrast, and
the pity of it, gave her a new sense of the sadness and the mystery of
life. There was no time, however, for sad thoughts. She and Una were
asked to go in a large brake with Wilfred Jackson and one of his sisters
and some other girls who were not mounted. The meet was as much for
show as for business, and there was time to drive about the beautiful
park and to chatter pleasantly over the little incidents of the
occasion.
Miss Jackson was an engaging girl, and Amethyst and Una felt that they
were in another and a wholesomer world than that in which they lived at
Restharrow. Presently it appeared that, as everything possible must be
done to amuse Wilfred Jackson while he was lame, and deprived of his
usual resources, some _tableaux vivants_ and charades were in prospect,
and it was soon hinted that if the Miss Haredales would come and help in
getting them up, it would be too delightful.
Amethyst, of course, referred the matter to Mrs Lorrimore, a
good-natured woman, who was only too glad that her young guests should
enjoy themselves, and the result was a great deal of going backwards and
forwards, and once, a visit of two or three days to Beechgrove.
The Jacksons were a large family, prosperous, merry, and affectionate.
Una, at any rate, had never known people of the same kind before, nor
had she ever been so gay and so like other girls in her life. The
acquaintance gave her that fresh start which is often so good and
wholesome. She struck up a friendship with the girl nearest her own
age, and forgot her sins and her sorrows in the natural, genial
companionship. She became on intimate terms with Wilfred, and in his
company learned to laugh because she was gay, and not because she was
scornful.
The acquaintance with the Leighs was of recent date, and Lucian's past
history was evidently unknown. He was a great hero to Wilfred's
sisters, and when a cheerful account of him arrived from Mrs Leigh to
her son's friend, they all rejoiced as if he had been their brother.
Amethyst and Una had one point in common with their mother; they were
quite capable of keeping their own counsel when they thought it
desirable.