MRS. WORSLEY was not long alone. Annette soon returned, flushed and
panting with exercise.
"Sarah Jane and I carried up your boxes quite easily," she said. "I had
forgotten when I spoke of the boys that they are playing in a school
cricket match, and as there will be a supper afterwards, they will not
be home till late. Your eyes are wandering round the den, aunty. It is
so desolate. It did not matter when we were less, but it would be nice
to have it made into a really charming room. A few pounds and a good
deal of handiwork and contriving would make it lovely. But there are no
pounds to spare for what would give lasting home comfort."
There was a shade of bitterness in the girl's tone which told Mrs.
Worsley whither her thoughts were tending. If only Mrs. Clifford
had been content to do without a maid at Scarborough, her children
would have reaped the benefit of her abstinence in years of increased
comfort. Fresh prettiness would have taken the place of dingy finery,
and much that was good and handsome might have been utilised by
renovation.
Mrs. Worsley did not answer directly. She showed her sympathy by
drawing Annette to her side, and holding her in an affectionate embrace.
At length she said, "It does seem rather hard for you to be left alone
in this way, darling."
"I was not thinking of that. Indeed, I have now the most delightful
companion," and she lifted her honest face to Mrs. Worsley's for a
kiss. "And I mean to make the most of my privileges, before I assume my
rôle of Cinderella during the cleaning down season. Of course it would
be impossible for you to stay in the midst of a muddle, aunty."
"Quite, Nettie; I shall stay until Saturday, and when the boys' backs
are turned, I must turn mine."
Annette's countenance fell.
"Do you know," she said, "I was just wondering if it would be possible
to keep a little nook, a sort of small house in a large house,
comfortable enough to induce you to stay another week. Cinderella
grieves at the thought of so soon parting with her fairy godmother."
"I am afraid it would be as impossible for me to remain as to exercise
the powers of a fairy godmother, Nettie. Now if I could dress you in
all sorts of braveries with a mere touch of my wand, and send you out
to meet the prince, with the retinue of a princess, I might deserve the
name."
"I should not like you to do it if you could. I hate shams of every
kind, and I have already had too long an experience of them. Some
Cinderellas would ride with a light heart in a carriage that might
at any moment turn into a pumpkin again, but not 'your' Cinderella,
godmother, dear."
The young lips quivered, and Annette, while smiling bravely into Mrs.
Worsley's face, had to turn aside to brush away a rebellious tear.
To lead the girl's thoughts to something pleasanter, the visitor
suggested a stroll through the grounds.
"I thought I had never seen them look so beautiful," she said. "How you
must revel amongst fruit and flowers!"
"Shams again, aunty. Not the fruit and flowers; they are provokingly
real, but only to be revelled in by two senses—those of sight and
smell. The grounds are let out to a gardener and florist, who pays
a rent for them. It is true that fruit and vegetables, to a certain
weekly market value, are bargained for, and our table is fairly
supplied; but each article is sent in by mamma's tenant. We cannot
bestow a bouquet on a friend, or give one permission to cull blossom
or fruit for herself. The addition to the income is very useful, and
supplies more shams, but this state of things is dreadful when one
thinks of what used to be. Stay, though, aunty, I stood out for my own
garden—the plot I called mine when I was a tiny toddles, and mamma had
not the heart to take it from me. In it are some old-fashioned flowers,
a wealth of ivy on the wall, and some lovely yellow gooseberries with a
flavour better than that of half the grapes grown in the houses."
Towards this favourite corner Mrs. Worsley and Annette strolled
arm-in-arm, and the girl's eyes grew brighter as aunty fastened a rose
in her dress, and ate of the yellow champagnes with manifest enjoyment.
Bed-time brought the boys—victorious, noisy, and full of delight,
as they talked of the approaching holidays and the enjoyable visit
to which they were looking forward. They were not, however, wholly
self-absorbed. Mingled with these gleeful anticipations were regrets at
the thought of leaving their favourite sister behind them and alone.
"If we could only take Nettie, we should have nothing to wish for,"
said Lionel.
"Oh, Nettie, why were you not a boy?" cried Fred. "You would have been
such a jolly boy, and the Cracrofts could have asked the three of us."
"I am by no means sure of this. Two such boys must be quite enough to
have at once. Besides, you would not like me half so well if I were a
boy. You squabble almost daily about some nonsense or other; how would
you get friends again if you had each a second brother to quarrel with,
instead of a sister to reconcile your differences? Considering all I
do for you, it is very ungrateful to suggest that I could be improved
by a change of sex," said Nettie, with a little pout of the lip, which
deceived nobody.
"We should never get on without you, as you are, yet for your own
sake, we cannot help wishing to have you with us. Is it not horrid to
think of her being left at home by herself?" said outspoken Lionel,
addressing Mrs. Worsley. "Why did not mamma take Nettie to Scarborough
instead of Bolton? She does all sorts of things both for her and Laura,
when they are at home?"
"Hush, Lionel!" said Nettie.
"It is not for you boys to settle what your mother ought to do," said
Mrs. Worsley, "though I can well imagine that you would like to have
Nettie's enjoyment provided for as well as your own."
"And Laura's," interposed Fred. "It does not seem fair that Laura
should always be first and foremost, and Nettie left out in the cold."
"Mamma knows that I care less about gaieties than Laura does; and
besides, she is the eldest of us all."
"Don't tell fibs, Nettie. At least, do not pretend to be better than
you are. You may not care about parties and balls, and finery, but
never say you do not mind about being left here to see to the turning
out of rooms, the shaking of carpets, and with only the society of
Williams and Sarah Jane, for a fortnight after next Saturday. Do not
tell me that you are not longing for a whiff of the sea breeze, and the
sound of the waves as they tumble in. Heydon Hill is very beautiful,
with its flowers that we must not pluck, and its fruit that we are
forbidden to taste; but just ask us, now, whether we would not rather
go scrambling across the fells or boating on the lakes than have Heydon
Hill all the year round, even with free run at everything? As to Laura,
of course she is the eldest. She likes to claim all the privileges of
her present age. But wait a year or two, and she will be only too glad
for people to think she is the younger."
Lionel nodded sagaciously as he finished his long speech.
Nettie made no answer until Sarah Jane left the room.
Then she remarked, with a little laugh, "I think the 'reed' must be
less deaf than usual. I am almost certain she heard you, Lionel, she
looked so knowing. Now, dear boys, understand that there are many
reasons why I should stay at home. As the maid, Bolton, only counts for
half in the hotel bill, I might do a maid's duties, but I should cost
the same as mamma or Laura. I should have wanted some new gowns had I
accompanied them; my old ones are good enough for home use."
"Laura got new ones; so did mamma," said Fred.
"When I go away for a holiday, I shall have them, too," insisted Nettie.
"When? I should like to know when?" replied Lionel, in a tone of
disgust.
"And you shall know, my dear boy," said Mrs. Worsley. "Nettie's holiday
will begin on Saturday next. When she and I have seen you two safe off
these premises, we shall prepare for our own departure. If there had
been no other reason for her staying here until then, you boys would
have furnished two substantial ones. You are to blame for the fact that
one sister is gone to the seaside, the other is left to take care of
you."
The speaker's face expressed no little amusement as she observed the
effect of her words.
"Aunty, what do you mean?" asked Annette. "It cannot be true that I am
to go somewhere with you. What would mamma say?"
"She has said you may go, dear."
"But when? How did you hear from her? I do not understand," replied
Nettie, more bewildered than ever.
"I had a letter from your mother about a week ago, in which she told me
that she and Laura were at Scarborough, and you here with the boys. She
suggested my joining them on my way home, for I was then in Scotland. I
did spend a single night under the same roof for I wanted to run away
with you, Nettie, and I thought I could negotiate for that purpose
more successfully in person than by letter. After a little talk, it
was arranged that as soon as the boys were off I might have you. The
method of taking possession was left to myself. I might write for you
and enclose this, or do as I chose about communicating your mother's
consent to my plan."
Mrs. Worsley handed a note to Nettie.
And the girl exclaimed, "How kind of you, aunty! To think of you
travelling so far out of your way on my account, first to Scarborough,
then to this place! How can I thank you?"
"Do not try, dear. Read your mother's note," said Mrs. Worsley. "But
please do not put me down as another sham, because I asked you so many
questions when I already knew the answer to some of them. I wanted to
have a peep into your mind. As to Bolton, I inquired after her in all
good faith, for neither your mother nor Laura told me that she was with
them, or how very much you had been left to yourself."
Nettie gave her godmother a girlish hug and a little shower of kisses,
then applied herself to the letter, whilst the boys expressed their
delight at her improved prospects, after the manner of their kind.
They repeatedly embraced their sister, showered thanks on Mrs. Worsley
in rather slangy English, and finally gave relief to their exuberant
spirits by dancing round the den in a sort of wild Indian style, which
was not calculated to render the reading of the letter an easy task to
Nettie.
The purport of it was, however, soon mastered. Mrs. Clifford wrote
warmly of Mrs. Worsley's kindness, and told her daughter that she must
consider herself at liberty to leave Heydon Hill as soon as Williams
returned and the boys were gone. There were loving messages and a
promise of another letter to follow by post, and that was all.
Annette's dreams were pleasant ones for that night, but the waking was
less agreeable. The morning brought the promised letter, with detailed
instructions as to certain matters for the house and the boys, and a
cheque to meet the expenditure involved by their coming journey, and
the domestic supplies alluded to. But for Annette herself there was
nothing, not even a hint as to possible wants. The girl thought she
must be mistaken, that there must be another enclosure; but a further
examination revealed the fact that the envelope contained nothing more.
"How can I go?" she exclaimed. "Mamma knows that I need at least a
couple of new gowns to make me fairly presentable, and it would be
a dreadful scramble to get one in the short time there is. Besides,
Laura's last are unpaid for, and I will not go for more on credit,
though I suppose that is what she must have meant me to do. Mamma must
feel that I cannot go away without even the means to pay my travelling
expenses, or a spare pound in my pocket."
Annette's self-communings had reach this point when Mrs. Worsley
entered the den, where breakfast awaited her coming.
"I thought you were still asleep, aunty," said the girl. "I have been
twice to your door, but everything was so quiet that I stole softly
down again. The boys had to go, you know, to be in time for school, so
I shall have you all to myself. Have you rested well?"
"Delightfully, Nettie, and I am quite ready for breakfast, and work to
follow, for we must begin our preparations for the journey without an
hour's delay."
Annette's face flushed and paled as she turned her mother's letter
round in her fingers in an absent fashion. Then she said, "I am afraid
I can make none. Mamma has written about everyone but me. She must know
that I need more than her permission to go with you."
"My dear, I am sorry that you have had a moment's anxiety on that
score, which I might have prevented by a word. Your mother and I
arranged everything on your behalf when we met at Scarborough. This is
for you, Nettie, to meet any minor expenses, and after breakfast we
will see what sort of a substitute for the fairy godmother I shall make
in providing the more substantial portion of your outfit."
Mrs. Worsley handed Annette an envelope addressed in her mother's
handwriting.
And on opening it, she found, to her utter amazement, a ten-pound note.
"For me, aunty? How has mamma spared it? Did she really send it?" asked
Annette, half ashamed of her question.
"I saw Mrs. Clifford place the note in the envelope, which she
addressed, and then handed to me, for your sole use, my dear, if that
is what you mean. And she sent her love, and hoped you would spend it
judiciously."
The young face brightened again at these words.
"Mamma is very kind; I did not expect this," she said. "Now I can
manage quite nicely. But how disgracefully selfish I am, to keep
you talking about my concerns when you must be famishing for your
breakfast!"
"Not famishing, dear, but with a good healthy appetite to enjoy this
tempting breakfast," replied Mrs. Worsley. "But, Nettie, you have not
asked whither we are bound when we leave Heydon Hill."
"I thought I was going home with you, aunty."
"Home in one sense, dear, but not to the one I call my very own. We are
going to my brother's."
"To Broadlands! You cannot mean it?"
"I am quite in earnest. My brother and his wife have given you a warm
corner in their warm hearts, Nettie. Your last year's visit established
you as first favourite with them and the children, and I believe if I
were to make my appearance alone, I should be sent back to fetch you.
The people at Ferndene are having a large party of young guests, too. I
believe almost the same who were there twelve months ago, so you will
meet a host of old young acquaintances."
Mrs. Worsley was looking straight at Nettie as she spoke, and, lo!
across the girl's face stole a look of indescribable gladness, along
with a rich rosy glow that spread from cheek to brow; a sort of
dancing, happy light, the reflex of some deep-seated joy, brought to
the innocent young heart by her friend's words.
Nettie turned away quickly and shyly, as if afraid that secret of hers
should be read, and she could not have borne a significant look just
then, much less a jesting word. That expression, however, set Mrs.
Worsley thinking and wondering whether, amongst the guests at Ferndene,
Cinderella might have met her prince.
Truly the girl was very young in her ways and simple in her tastes,
as innocent of flirting and coquetry as the most loving mother could
desire her child to be. But time had not been standing still with
Nettie any more than others; she would keep her nineteenth birthday
during the visit to Broadlands.