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A TRUE FRIEND.
A NOVEL.
BY ADELINE SERGEANT
_Author of "The Luck of the House," "A Life Sentence," etc., etc._
MONTREAL:
JOHN LOVELL & SON,
23 ST. NICHOLAS STREET.
CONTENTS
I. AN UNSUITABLE FRIENDSHIP
II. LADY CAROLINE'S TACTICS
III. AT HELMSLEY COURT
IV. ON THE ROAD.
V. WYVIS BRAND
VI. JANETTA AT HOME
VII. NORA'S NEW ACQUAINTANCE
VIII. FATHER AND CHILD
IX. CONSULTATION
X. MARGARET
XI. JANETTA'S PROMISES
XII. JANETTA REMONSTRATES
XIII. SHADOWS
XIV. JANETTA'S FAILURE
XV. A BONE OF CONTENTION
XVI. SIR PHILIP'S OPINION
XVII. MARGARET'S FRIENDSHIP
XVIII. A NEW FRIEND
XIX. NORA'S PROCEEDINGS
XX. AN ELDER BROTHER
XXI. CUTHBERT'S ROMANCE
XXII. WYVIS BRAND'S IDEAL
XXIII. FORGET-ME-NOTS
XXIV. LADY ASHLEY'S GARDEN PARTY
XXV. SIR PHILIP'S DECISION
XXVI. "FREE!"
XXVII. A BIG BRIBE
XXVIII. "CHANGES MUST COME."
XXIX. MARGARET'S CONFESSION
XXX. IN REBELLION
XXXI. THE PLOUGHMAN'S SON
XXXII. THE FAILURE OF MARGARET
XXXIII. RETROSPECT
XXXIV. FROM DISTANT LANDS
XXXV. JULIET
XXXVI. THE FRUITS OF A LIE
XXXVII. NIGHT
XXXVIII. THE LAST SCENE
XXXIX. MAKING AMENDS
XL. MY FAITHFUL JANET
A TRUE FRIEND
CHAPTER I.
AN UNSUITABLE FRIENDSHIP.
Janetta was the music governess--a brown little thing of no particular
importance, and Margaret Adair was a beauty and an heiress, and the only
daughter of people who thought themselves very distinguished indeed; so
that the two had not, you might think, very much in common, and were not
likely to be attracted one to the other. Yet, in spite of differing
circumstances, they were close friends and allies; and had been such
ever since they were together at the same fashionable school where Miss
Adair was the petted favorite of all, and Janetta Colwyn was the
pupil-teacher in the shabbiest of frocks, who got all the snubbing and
did most of the hard work. And great offence was given in several
directions by Miss Adair's attachment to poor little Janetta.
"It is an unsuitable friendship," Miss Polehampton, the principal of the
school, observed on more than one occasion, "and I am sure I do not know
how Lady Caroline will like it."
Lady Caroline was, of course, Margaret Adair's mamma.
Miss Polehampton felt her responsibility so keenly in the matter that at
last she resolved to speak "very seriously" to her dear Margaret. She
always talked of "her dear Margaret," Janetta used to say, when she was
going to make herself particularly disagreeable. For "her dear Margaret"
was the pet pupil, the show pupil of the establishment: her air of
perfect breeding gave distinction, Miss Polehampton thought, to the
whole school; and her refinement, her exemplary behavior, her industry,
and her talent formed the theme of many a lecture to less accomplished
and less decorous pupils. For, contrary to all conventional
expectations, Margaret Adair was not stupid, although she was beautiful
and well-behaved. She was an exceedingly intelligent girl; she had an
aptitude for several arts and accomplishments, and she was remarkable
for the delicacy of her taste and the exquisite discrimination of which
she sometimes showed herself capable. At the same time she was not as
clever--("not as _glaringly_ clever," a friend of hers once expressed
it)--as little Janetta Colwyn, whose nimble wits gathered knowledge as a
bee collects honey under the most unfavorable circumstances. Janetta had
to learn her lessons when the other girls had gone to bed, in a little
room under the roof; a room which was like an ice-house in winter and an
oven in summer; she was never able to be in time for her classes, and
she often missed them altogether; but, in spite of these disadvantages,
she generally proved herself the most advanced pupil in her division,
and if pupil-teachers had been allowed to take prizes, would have
carried off every first prize in the school. This, to be sure, was not
allowed. It would not have been "the thing" for the little
governess-pupil to take away the prizes from the girls whose parents
paid between two and three hundred a year for their tuition (the fees
were high, because Miss Polehampton's school was so exceedingly
fashionable); therefore, Janetta's marks were not counted, and her
exercises were put aside and did not come into competition with those of
the other girls, and it was generally understood amongst the teachers
that, if you wished to stand well with Miss Polehampton, it would be
better not to praise Miss Colwyn, but rather to put forward the merits
of some charming Lady Mary or Honorable Adeliza, and leave Janetta in
the obscurity from which (according to Miss Polehampton) she was fated
never to emerge.
Unfortunately for the purposes of the mistress of the school, Janetta
was rather a favorite with the girls. She was not adored, like Margaret;
she was not looked up to and respected, as was the Honorable Edith Gore;
she was nobody's pet, as the little Ladies Blanche and Rose Amberley had
been ever since they set foot in the school; but she was everybody's
friend and comrade, the recipient of everybody's confidences, the sharer
in everybody's joys or woes. The fact was that Janetta had the
inestimable gift of sympathy; she understood the difficulties of people
around her better than many women of twice her age would have done; and
she was so bright and sunny-tempered and quick-witted that her very
presence in a room was enough to dispel gloom and ill-temper. She was,
therefore, deservedly popular, and did more to keep up the character of
Miss Polehampton's school for comfort and cheerfulness than Miss
Polehampton herself was ever likely to be aware. And the girl most
devoted to Janetta was Margaret Adair.
"Remain for a few moments, Margaret; I wish to speak to you," said Miss
Polehampton, majestically, when one evening, directly after prayers, the
show pupil advanced to bid her teachers good-night.
The girls all sat round the room on wooden chairs, and Miss Polehampton
occupied a high-backed, cushioned seat at a centre table while she read
the portion of Scripture with which the day's work concluded. Near her
sat the governesses, English, French and German, with little Janetta
bringing up the rear in the draughtiest place and the most uncomfortable
chair. After prayers, Miss Polehampton and the teachers rose, and their
pupils came to bid them good-night, offering hand and cheek to each in
turn. There was always a great deal of kissing to be got through on
these occasions. Miss Polehampton blandly insisted on kissing all her
thirty pupils every evening; it made them feel more as if they were at
home, she used to say; and her example was, of course, followed by the
teachers and the girls.
Margaret Adair, as one of the oldest and tallest girls in the school,
generally came forward first for that evening salute. When Miss
Polehampton made the observation just recorded, she stepped back to a
position beside her teacher's chair in the demure attitude of a
well-behaved schoolgirl--hands crossed over the wrists, feet in
position, head and shoulders carefully erect, and eyes gently lowered
towards the carpet. Thus standing, she was yet perfectly well aware that
Janetta Colwyn gave her an odd, impish little look of mingled fun and
anxiety behind Miss Polehampton's back; for it was generally known that
a lecture was impending when one of the girls was detained after
prayers, and it was very unusual for Margaret to be lectured! Miss Adair
did not, however, look discomposed. A momentary smile flitted across her
face at Janetta's tiny grimace, but it was instantly succeeded by the
look of simple gravity becoming to the occasion.
When the last of the pupils and the last also of the teachers had filed
out of the room, Miss Polehampton turned and surveyed the waiting girl
with some uncertainty. She was really fond of Margaret Adair. Not only
did she bring credit to the school, but she was a good, nice, lady-like
girl (such were Miss Polehampton's epithets), and very fair to look
upon. Margaret was tall, slender, and exceedingly graceful in her
movements; she was delicately fair, and had hair of the silkiest texture
and palest gold; her eyes, however, were not blue, as one would have
expected them to be; they were hazel brown, and veiled by long brown
lashes--eyes of melting softness and dreaminess, peculiarly sweet in
expression. Her features were a very little too long and thin for
perfect beauty; but they gave her a Madonna-like look of peace and calm
which many were ready enthusiastically to admire. And there was no want
of expression in her face; its faint rose bloom varied almost at a word,
and the thin curved lips were as sensitive to feeling as could be
desired. What was wanting in the face was what gave it its peculiar
maidenly charm--a lack of passion, a little lack, perhaps, of strength.
But at seventeen we look less for these characteristics than for the
sweetness and docility which Margaret certainly possessed. Her dress of
soft, white muslin was quite simple--the ideal dress for a young
girl--and yet it was so beautifully made, so perfectly finished in every
detail, that Miss Polehampton never looked at it without an uneasy
feeling that she was _too_ well-dressed for a schoolgirl. Others wore
muslin dresses of apparently the same cut and texture; but what the
casual eye might fail to observe, the schoolmistress was perfectly well
aware of, namely, that the tiny frills at neck and wrists were of the
costliest Mechlin lace, that the hem of the dress was bordered with the
same material, as if it had been the commonest of things; that the
embroidered white ribbons with which it was trimmed had been woven in
France especially for Miss Adair, and that the little silver buckles at
her waist and on her shoes were so ancient and beautiful as to be of
almost historic importance. The effect was that of simplicity; but it
was the costly simplicity of absolute perfection. Margaret's mother was
never content unless her child was clothed from head to foot in
materials of the softest, finest and best. It was a sort of outward
symbol of what she desired for the girl in all relations of life.
This it was that disturbed Miss Polehampton's mind as she stood and
looked uneasily for a moment at Margaret Adair. Then she took the girl
by the hand.
"Sit down, my dear," she said, in a kind voice, "and let me talk to you
for a few moments. I hope you are not tired with standing so long."
"Oh, no, thank you; not at all," Margaret answered, blushing slightly as
she took a seat at Miss Polehampton's left hand. She was more
intimidated by this unwonted kindness of address than by any imaginable
severity. The schoolmistress was tall and imposing in appearance: her
manner was usually a little pompous, and it did not seem quite natural
to Margaret that she should speak so gently.
"My dear," said Miss Polehampton, "when your dear mamma gave you into my
charge, I am sure she considered me responsible for the influences under
which you were brought, and the friendships that you made under my
roof."
"Mamma knew that I could not be hurt by any friendship that I made
_here_," said Margaret, with the softest flattery. She was quite
sincere: it was natural to her to say "pretty things" to people.
"Quite so," the schoolmistress admitted. "Quite so, dear Margaret, if
you keep within your own grade in society. There is no pupil in this
establishment, I am thankful to say, who is not of suitable family and
prospects to become your friend. You are young yet, and do not
understand the complications in which people sometimes involve
themselves by making friendships out of their own sphere. But _I_
understand, and I wish to caution you."
"I am not aware that I have made any unsuitable friendships," said
Margaret, with a rather proud look in her hazel eyes.
"Well--no, I hope not," said Miss Polehampton with a hesitating little
cough. "You understand, my dear, that in an establishment like mine,
persons must be employed to do certain work who are not quite equal in
position to--to--ourselves. Persons of inferior birth and station, I
mean, to whom the care of the younger girls, and certain menial duties,
must be committed. These persons, my dear, with whom you must
necessarily be brought in contact, and whom I hope you will always treat
with perfect courtesy and consideration, need not, at the same time, be
made your intimate friends."
"I have never made friends with any of the servants," said Margaret,
quietly. Miss Polehampton was somewhat irritated by this remark.
"I do not allude to the servants," she said with momentary sharpness. "I
do not consider Miss Colwyn a servant, or I should not, of course, allow
her to sit at the same table with you. But there is a sort of
familiarity of which I do not altogether approve----"
She paused, and Margaret drew up her head and spoke with unusual
decision.
"Miss Colwyn is my greatest friend."
"Yes, my dear, that is what I complain of. Could you not find a friend
in your own rank of life without making one of Miss Colwyn?"
"She is quite as good as I am," cried Margaret, indignantly. "Quite as
good, far more so, and a great deal cleverer!"
"She has capabilities," said the schoolmistress, with the air of one
making a concession; "and I hope that they will be useful to her in her
calling. She will probably become a nursery governess, or companion to
some lady of superior position. But I cannot believe, my dear that dear
Lady Caroline would approve of your singling her out as your especial
and particular friend."
"I am sure mamma always likes people who are good and clever," said
Margaret. She did not fly into a rage as some girls would have done, but
her face flushed, and her breath came more quickly than usual--signs of
great excitement on her part, which Miss Polehampton was not slow to
observe.
"She likes them in their proper station, my dear. This friendship is not
improving for you, nor for Miss Colwyn. Your positions in life are so
different that your notice of her can but cause discontent and
ill-feeling in her mind. It is exceedingly injudicious, and I cannot
think that your dear mamma would approve of it if she knew the
circumstances."
"But Janetta's family is not at all badly connected," said Margaret,
with some eagerness. "There are cousins of hers living close to us--the
next property belongs to them----"
"Do you know them, my dear?"
"I know _about_ them," answered Margaret, suddenly coloring very deeply,
and looking uncomfortable, "but I don't think I have ever seen them,
they are so much away from home----"
"I know _about_ them, too," said Miss Polehampton, grimly; "and I do not
think that you will ever advance Miss Colwyn's interests by mentioning
her connection with that family. I have heard Lady Caroline speak of
Mrs. Brand and her children. They are not people, my dear Margaret, whom
it is desirable for you to know."
"But Janetta's own people live quite near us," said Margaret, reduced to
a very pleading tone. "I know them at home; they live at Beaminster--not
three miles off."
"And may I ask if Lady Caroline visits them, my dear?" asked Miss
Polehampton, with mild sarcasm, which brought the color again to
Margaret's fair face. The girl could not answer; she knew well enough
that Janetta's stepmother was not at all the sort of person whom Lady
Caroline Adair would willingly speak to, and yet she did not like to say
that her acquaintance with Janetta had only been made at a Beaminster
dancing class. Probably Miss Polehampton divined the fact. "Under the
circumstances," she said, "I think I should be justified in writing to
Lady Caroline and asking her to remonstrate a little with you, my dear
Margaret. Probably she would be better able to make you understand the
impropriety of your behavior than I can do."
The tears rose to Margaret's eyes. She was not used to being rebuked in
this manner.
"But--I don't know, Miss Polehampton, what you want me to do," she said,
more nervously than usual. "I can't give up Janetta; I can't possibly
avoid speaking to her, you know, even if I wanted to----"
"I desire nothing of the sort, Margaret. Be kind and polite to her, as
usual. But let me suggest that you do not make a companion of her in the
garden so constantly--that you do not try to sit beside her in class or
look over the same book. I will speak to Miss Colwyn herself about it. I
think I can make _her_ understand."
"Oh, please do not speak to Janetta! I quite understand already," said
Margaret, growing pale with distress. "You do not know how kind and good
she has always been to me----"
Sobs choked her utterance, rather to Miss Polehampton's alarm. She did
not like to see her girls cry--least of all, Margaret Adair.
"My dear, you have no need to excite yourself. Janetta Colwyn has always
been treated, I hope, with justice and kindness in this house. If you
will endeavor only to make her position in life less instead of more
difficult, you will be doing her the greatest favor in your power. I do
not at all mean that I wish you to be unkind to her. A little more
reserve, a little more caution, in your demeanor, and you will be all
that I have ever wished you to be--a credit to your parents and to the
school which has educated you!"
This sentiment was so effusive that it stopped Margaret's tears out of
sheer amazement; and when she had said good-night and gone to bed, Miss
Polehampton stood for a moment or two quite still, as if to recover from
the unwonted exertion of expressing an affectionate emotion. It was
perhaps a reaction against it that caused her almost immediately to ring
the bell a trifle sharply, and to say--still sharply--to the maid who
appeared in answer.
"Send Miss Colwyn to me."
Five minutes elapsed before Miss Colwyn came, however, and the
schoolmistress had had time to grow impatient.
"Why did you not come at once when I sent for you?" she said, severely,
as soon as Janetta presented herself.
"I was going to bed," said the girl, quickly; "and I had to dress myself
again."
The short, decided accents grated on Miss Polehampton's ear. Miss Colwyn
did not speak half so "nicely," she said to herself, as did dear
Margaret Adair.
"I have been talking to Miss Adair about you," said the schoolmistress,
coldly. "I have been telling her, as I now tell you, that the difference
in your positions makes your present intimacy very undesirable. I wish
you to understand, henceforward, that Miss Adair is not to walk with you
in the garden, not to sit beside you in class, not to associate with
you, as she has hitherto done, on equal terms."
"Why should we not associate on equal terms?" said Janetta. She was a
black-browed girl, with a clear olive skin, and her eyes flashed and her
cheeks glowed with indignation as she spoke.
"You are not equals," said Miss Polehampton, with icy displeasure in her
tone--she had spoken very differently to Margaret. "You have to work for
your bread: there is no disgrace in that, but it puts you on a different
level from that of Miss Margaret Adair, an earl's grand-daughter, and
the only child of one of the richest commoners in England. I have never
before reminded you of the difference in position between yourself and
the young ladies with whom you have hitherto been allowed to associate;
and I really think I shall have to adopt another method--unless you
conduct yourself, Miss Colwyn, with a little more modesty and
propriety."
"May I ask what your other method would be?" asked Miss Colwyn, with
perfect self-possession.
Miss Polehampton looked at her for a moment in silence.
"To begin with," she said, "I could order the meals differently, and
request you to take yours with the younger children, and in other ways
cut you off from the society of the young ladies. And if this failed, I
could signify to your father that our arrangement was not satisfactory,
and that it had better end at the close of this term."
Janetta's eyes fell and her color faded as she heard this threat. It
meant a good deal to her. She answered quickly, but with some
nervousness of tone.
"Of course, that must be as you please, Miss Polehampton. If I do not
satisfy you, I must go."
"You satisfy me very well except in that one respect. However, I do not
ask for any promise from you now. I shall observe your conduct during
the next few days, and be guided by what I see. I have already spoken to
Miss Adair."
Janetta bit her lips. After a pause, she said--
"Is that all? May I go now?"
"You may go," said Miss Polehampton, with majesty; and Janetta softly
and slowly retired.
But as soon as she was outside the door her demeanor changed. She burst
into tears as she sped swiftly up the broad staircase, and her eyes were
so blinded that she did not even see a white figure hovering on the
landing until she found herself suddenly in Margaret's arms. In defiance
of all rules--disobedient for nearly the first time in her
life--Margaret had waited and watched for Janetta's coming; and now,
clasped as closely together as sisters, the two friends held a whispered
colloquy on the stairs.
"Darling," said Margaret, "was she very unkind?"
"She was very horrid, but I suppose she couldn't help it," said Janetta,
with a little laugh mixing itself with her sobs. "We mustn't be friends
any more, Margaret."
"But we will be friends--always, Janetta."
"We must not sit together or walk together----"
"Janetta, I shall behave to you exactly as I have always done." The
gentle Margaret was in revolt.
"She will write to your mother, Margaret, and to my father."
"I shall write to mine, too, and explain," said Margaret with dignity.
And Janetta had not the heart to whisper to her friend that the tone in
which Miss Polehampton would write to Lady Caroline would differ very
widely from the one that she would adopt to Mr. Colwyn.