No further reference was made to the unpleasant scene in the library.
Lady Sarah seemed disposed neither to offer nor to demand any sort of
apology. Unnoticed by the girl, however, she constantly scrutinised her
through her gold eye-glasses with a curiosity which was almost kindly.
It seemed an impossibility for the old lady to refrain from interfering
in the affairs of others, but for the next few days Mildred was allowed
to go her own way undisturbed, while she devoted her attention to the
daughters of the house.
She assured Mrs Faucit that Lois's right shoulder was higher than the
left, and insisted that she should be made to lie down for two hours
every afternoon; she gave it as her opinion that, as the girls were now
fifteen, they should not be allowed to go about unattended by a
chaperone; and last, and worst of all, she showed the Dean a prospectus
of a German school, to which she advised they should be sent at once.
The twins were in despair, and many were the indignation meetings which
were held in the school-room or the bedrooms overhead, while poor Mrs
Faucit exhausted herself in the effort to smooth down both parties and
to keep her husband in ignorance of what was passing before his very
eyes. Meantime the date of the picnic drew nearer and nearer, and in
connection with her own preparations Mildred met with an unexpected
display of kindness on the part of no less a person than Cecile herself.
The blue dress returned from the laundress looking crisper and fresher
than ever in its newly-ironed folds, and when Mildred went up to her
room the same afternoon she beheld Cecile seated by the dressing-table
busily engaged in sewing the lace-frills round neck and sleeves.
"Why, Cecile--you!" she exclaimed, and the Frenchwoman raised her
shoulders with a shrug of protest.
"Ah, Mademoiselle, what would you have? They are so careless, these
servants. Mary would iron the lace as it was, sewn in the dress, but I
say, `No, it is impossible so to do it well. You take it off,' I say,
`and I shall sew it on. Mademoiselle Mildred shall not go to the picnic
with frills untidy while I am in the house.'"
"But that is very kind of you, Cecile. I'm sure I am awfully obliged,"
said Mildred warmly. She leant up against the corner of the
dressing-table and watched the play of the nimble fingers with admiring
eyes. "How quickly you do it, and how well! It would take me about a
month to pleat the lace into those teeny little folds. I just run it up
and draw the string, but of course it is far nicer this way. The old
dress looks quite new again. It seems to enjoy being washed."
Cecile held the skirt at arm's-length, looking at it with critical eyes.
"It is a pretty colour--soft and full--just the right shade to suit
Mademoiselle's complexion. When it has the sash and the lace collar it
will have an air quite _chic_, but it could still be improved. If
Mademoiselle will, I shall stiffen the sleeves and make them more--what
you say?--fashionable! It would be much better so."
"I don't know, I'm sure. It would be very nice, but have you time,
Cecile?" asked Mildred doubtfully. "You have work to do for Lady Sarah,
and I should not like to interfere with that. It is very kind of you to
offer, but--"
"Oh, indeed, I have hours to myself--hours! I am killed with ennui in
this quiet house. It would be a charity to give me occupation. It is
still quite early; if Mademoiselle would put the dress on now, for one
little minute, I could then see what is required, and put in a stitch
here and there."
Mildred unfastened her dress with mechanical fingers. She was
bewildered by this sudden display of amiability on the part of Lady
Sarah's maid, and filled with remorse for her former misjudgments. She
had taken a dislike to Cecile from the moment when they had first met in
the corridor and the Frenchwoman's sharp eye had scanned her from head
to foot, as if taking in every detail of her attire and appraising its
value. Once or twice, moreover, upon entering Bertha's room
unexpectedly, she had discovered Cecile turning over the ornaments upon
the dressing-table, and had not felt altogether inclined to believe the
explanation that she was looking to see if there was anything she could
do for mademoiselle; yet if Cecile were now so anxious to serve herself,
why should she not have been equally well-disposed to Bertha?
Mildred argued out this question with herself as she stood before the
glass while Cecile's clever fingers busied themselves about her dress,
putting in a pin here, a pin there, achieving thereby an improvement
which seemed almost miraculous in the girl's unsophisticated eyes.
While she worked Cecile kept up a string of flattering remarks.
"I must fasten the hair up for a moment to see the back. Ah, the
beautiful hair! what a coiffure it will make some day! See how it goes
itself into a coronet like a queen's! It is easy to fit a dress when
one has the perfect model. You have the back like an arrow,
Mademoiselle. Most young ladies get into the bad habits at school, and
bend their shoulders like old women, but you are not so. There are many
princesses who would give thousands of pounds to have a figure like
yours."
"They must be very silly princesses, then," said Mildred brusquely. How
was it that she could not get over her dislike to Cecile--that the touch
of her thin fingers, the sight of her face in the glass brought with
them a shiver of repulsion? Cecile had nothing to gain by spending time
on the renewal of a school-girl's frock, and could therefore only be
actuated by kindness. If it had been anyone else who had done her such
a service Mildred would have been overflowing with thanks, but for some
mysterious reason her heart seemed closed against Lady Sarah's maid.
All the same she was annoyed at herself for such ingratitude, and made a
gallant effort to carry on a friendly conversation.
"Have you been maid to many other ladies, Cecile, before coming to Lady
Sarah? You have been with her only a short time, I think." Cecile
sighed lugubriously.
"Three months, Mademoiselle. Oh, such long, slow months! Never before
have I known the time so long. Before then I was with two beautiful
young ladies in London. They went out every night--to two or three
balls very often,--and always they were the most admired among the
guests. Miss Adeline married an officer and went to India. She was
like you, Mademoiselle--the same hair, the same eyes--you might be her
sister. She would that I should go to India too. `Oh, Cecile!' she
say, `what shall I do without you? No one shall ever suit me as you
have done.' But I dare not risk the journey, the heat, the fatigue.
Then Miss Edith shared the same maid with her mama, and I came to my
lady here. Ah, what a difference! The house of Madame, it is like a
grave--no life, no sun. With my young ladies it was all excitement from
morning till night--luncheon parties, afternoon parties, evening
parties, one thing after another, and no time to feel _triste_, but now
all is changed. We drive in a closed carriage for amusement, and go to
bed at ten o'clock, just when my ladies were dressing for their balls,
and the evening should begin."
"Well, but, Cecile, I should think you would like it better," said
Mildred guilelessly, "because if they did not come home until two or
three in the morning it must have been terribly tiring sitting up for so
long, and very bad for your health. Now you can go to bed at eleven and
have nothing to disturb you until the next morning."
Cecile lifted her head from her work and darted a keen glance at the
girl's face. Her eyes were small and light, and it seemed to Mildred as
if at this moment there was something unpleasantly cunning in their
expression, but perhaps it was only the result of the strong light which
fell upon her through the open window.
"Oh, Mademoiselle, it is one thing to rest, and another to allow some
one else to do the same. My lady goes to bed but not to sleep. She
lies awake for hours, and she is cross sometimes, but so cross! She
speaks so shrill, so loud, one would suppose a calamity should happen.
It is bad for the nerves to hear such sounds in the night-time. I have
been afraid for Mademoiselle lest she should be disturbed. Her windows
are so near, and when the house is quiet--"
"Oh, you need not be afraid for me! I sleep like a top when I once
begin. Sometimes we have had dreadful thunder-storms in the night at
school, and half the girls have been sitting up shivering in their
dressing-gowns, but I have known nothing about them until the morning.
Besides, it is such a long way round to get to Lady Sarah's room, that I
never realised before that her windows were so near."
Mildred craned her head as she spoke to look out of the window. As she
had said, the entrance to Lady Sarah's room was some distance along the
corridor, and round a corner, but, as it was situated in a wing of the
house which stood out at right angles from the main wall, the window was
but a few yards from Mildred's own.
"I never realised that I was so near!" repeated the girl dreamily, and
as she busied herself with the folds of the skirt Cecile frowned and bit
her lip, as though annoyed with herself for an incautious remark.
"I am glad you have not been disturbed. I feared it might be so, but if
Mademoiselle should any time hear a noise in the night she will
understand--she will go to sleep again quite satisfied. I am always
there in my lady's dressing-room, ready to go when she calls."
"Oh, yes, I'll remember!" said Mildred easily; "but I am not in the
least likely to hear. I can't understand how people can go on talking
after they are in bed. When I go home for the holidays I sleep with my
mother, and I have so much to say that I try hard to keep awake, but I
can't. We talk for a little time, then she says something, and I repeat
it over and over to myself, trying to understand what it means. It is
probably the simplest thing in the world, but it seems like Greek, and
while I am still trying to puzzle it out, I fall asleep and remember
nothing more till the next day."
"Oh, yes! but you are young and my lady is old. Sleep does not come to
her as to you, and she is so that she cannot bear anyone to have what
she has not. If she is miserable, it is her pleasure that I also should
suffer."
Mildred knitted her brows and stared at the maid in disapproving
fashion.
"I don't think you ought to talk like that, Cecile," she said boldly.
"You are always paying Lady Sarah compliments to her face, so you ought
not to abuse her behind her back. Besides, I don't think she is cross
to you. She seems kinder to you than to other people. We all notice
it."
"Ah, yes!" replied Cecile scornfully; "my lady can be amiable enough
when it suits; but to live with all day long, to have her as mistress--
ah, Mademoiselle thinks she can understand what that means! But wait a
little time, wait until Mrs Faucit shall go away and my lady is left in
charge, then you shall see! You will feel for me then for what I
undergo!"
Mildred's eyes widened in astonishment.
"But she is not going away! What do you mean by saying such a thing?
How could she go away when she has visitors in the house, and her
children are home for the holidays?"
The Frenchwoman flushed and looked strangely embarrassed.
"Oh, I mean nothing--nothing! I had the impression that it was said.
The servants talk among themselves, Mademoiselle. But you know best--
you are of the family. It has been a mistake. See, then, Mademoiselle,
I have made what I can. Do you find the dress is better?"
"It looks ever so much nicer, Cecile. I can't imagine what you have
done to make such an improvement. I am awfully obliged to you for all
your trouble."
"It is nothing, Mademoiselle, not worth speaking about. When the lace
is on and the ribbon--big, full bows instead of the little, old ones--
you shall see what a difference I make. They will say no one can tie a
bow like a Frenchwoman; and even in Paris, where I learn my business, no
one in the room could make one like me. I had them always to arrange,
on the handsomest dresses. Mademoiselle shall see the lovely bows I
shall make--"
Cecile lifted a roll of shimmering, satin ribbon from the table as she
spoke, and shaking out a length of two or three yards, began to gather
it up in her fingers. It was a beautiful ribbon, soft and thick, and of
the richest texture, but Mildred flushed as she looked at it, and her
voice sounded sharp and disapproving.
"What ribbon is that? It's not mine! You are not going to put that on
my dress, Cecile!"
"But yes, Mademoiselle, I was told to do so. My lady rang the bell and
asked what I did. When I said I helped with the dress of Mademoiselle
Mildred, she took the ribbon from her drawer and asked if it should be
useful. `Use what you will,' she say to me. It is a beautiful ribbon,
Mademoiselle, and goes well with the lace. You look not satisfied, but
believe me, when you see it arranged, you will agree--"
"I wasn't thinking about that. I dare say it would look very nice, but
I can't take it, Cecile," said the girl firmly. "I am glad you have not
cut it up, for it will not be spoiled. I am much obliged to Lady Sarah,
and you may tell her so, but I prefer to use my own things. If the old
ribbon is too shabby, I can do without altogether; but it's no use
putting that on, for I won't wear it."
Cecile stared in amazement, but there was no mistaking the girl's
sincerity. Her eyes were bright with anger, she held her head at a
defiant angle, and her lips were pressed into a thin scarlet line.
Mildred was disgusted to hear that Lady Sarah had any share whatever in
Cecile's services. She wished with all her heart that she had not
accepted the Frenchwoman's offer. Now if the dress looked at all
respectable on the day of the picnic, Lady Sarah would take the credit
to herself, because she had allowed her maid to make alterations; and
how dare she send contributions of her own, and give instructions as to
what was to be done with them, without asking permission!
Cecile was quite awed by the young lady's air of indignation, and
carried away the white ribbon without a word of protest. She evidently
informed her mistress of what had occurred, for after dinner the same
evening Lady Sarah detained Mildred on her way to the garden, to
question her on the subject.
"So, Miss Mildred, my maid tells me that you refused to use the ribbon
which I gave her for your dress. Is that true, may I ask?"
"Yes, quite true. I told Cecile to tell you that I was very much
obliged for the offer, but that I preferred to wear my own things."
"You are very independent. Was the ribbon not to your fancy? Have you
one of your own which you prefer?"
"Oh, no, it was beautiful; it could not have been nicer!"
"Your own is not so good?"
"Not nearly so good, Lady Sarah!"
Cecile might well have said that Mildred had the good, straight back, if
she had seen her at this moment. Her cheeks were flushed, but her mouth
had the stubborn look which her friends knew so well.
"You refuse, then, simply because you object to receiving anything from
me?"
"I am much obliged to you, Lady Sarah, but I prefer to wear my own
things."
"Oh, well, well!" sighed the other wearily; "I won't argue with you, my
dear. Do as you please. I meant to do you a kindness, but, if you
choose to take it in this way, there is no use saying anything about it.
Don't let me keep you. Run away to your friends."
She turned towards the window as she spoke, and the sun shone full on
her face. It looked tired and grey, and very, very old; and the thin
hands crossed on her lap, how shrivelled they were!--they trembled all
the time as though they could not keep still. Mildred walked out into
the garden, a pang of compunction at her heart. Dreadful to be so
old!--not to be able to see without spectacles; to hear,--unless people
spoke at the pitch of their voices; to walk,--unless supported by a
stick; to feel cold even on the hottest day; to feel tired the first
thing in the morning;--how dreadful! Lady Sarah had looked sad too--not
merely cross, as usual, but really and truly sad and lonely.
Suppose she had seriously meant to be kind--to show that she regretted
her interference in the past? Mildred's face clouded over as this
thought passed through her mind, but before she crossed the lawn to join
her friends her lips stiffened into the old, obstinate line.
"I don't care. She had no right to send in her scraps of finery,
without even asking my permission. And after saying that Mother didn't
provide for me properly, too! No, I am not a bit sorry; I would do the
same thing over again!"