Without exactly practising to deceive, Gillian began to find that
concealment involved her in a tangled web; all the more since Aunt Jane
had become thoroughly interested in the Whites, and was inquiring right
and left about schools and scholarships for the little boys.
She asked their master about them, and heard that they were among his
best scholars, and that their home lessons had always been carefully
attended to by their elder brother and sister. In fact, he was most
anxious to retain Theodore, to be trained for a pupil-teacher, the
best testimony to his value! Aunt Jane came home full of the subject,
relating what the master said of Alexis White, and that he had begun
by working with him at Latin and mathematics; but that they had not had
time to go on with what needed so much study and preparation.
‘In fact, said Miss Mohun, ‘I have a suspicion that if a certificated
schoolmaster could own any such thing, the pupil knew more than the
teacher. When your father comes home, I hope he will find some way of
helping that lad.’
Gillian began to crimson, but bethought herself of the grandeur of its
being found that she was the youth’s helper. ‘I am glad you have been
lending him books,’ added Aunt Jane.
What business had she to know what had not been told her? The sense of
offence drove back any disposition to consult her. Yet to teach Alexis
was no slight task, for, though he had not gone far in Greek, his
inquiries were searching, and explaining to him was a different thing
from satisfying even Mr. Pollock. Besides, Gillian had her own studies
on hand. The Cambridge examinations were beginning to assume larger
proportions in the Rockquay mind, and ‘the General Screw Company,’ as
Mr. Grant observed, was prevailing.
Gillian’s knowledge was rather discursive, and the concentration
required by an examination was hard work to her, and the time for it
was shortened by the necessity of doing all Alexis’s Greek exercises and
translations beforehand, and of being able to satisfy him why an error
was not right, for, in all politeness, he always would know why it did
not look right. And there was Valetta, twisting and groaning. The screw
was on her form, who, unless especially exempted, were to compete for a
prize for language examination.
Valetta had begun by despising Kitty Varley for being excepted by her
mother’s desire and for not learning Latin; but now she envied any one
who had not to work double tides at the book of Caesar that was to be
taken up, and Vercingetorix and his Arverni got vituperated in a way
that would have made the hair of her hero-worshipping mother fairly
stand on end.
But then Lilias Mohun had studied him for love of himself, not for dread
of failure.
Gillian had been displeased when Fergus deserted her for Aunt Jane as an
assistant, but she would not have been sorry if Valetta had been off
her hands, when she was interrupted in researches after an idiom in St.
John’s Gospel by the sigh that this abominable dictionary had no verb
oblo, or in the intricacies of a double equation by despair at this
horrid Caesar always hiding away his nominatives out of spite.
Valetta, like the American child, evidently regarded the Great Julius
in no other light than as writer of a book for beginners in Latin, and,
moreover, a very unkind one; and she fully reciprocated the sentiment
that it was no wonder that the Romans conquered the world, since they
knew the Latin grammar by nature.
Nor was Gillian’s hasty and sometimes petulant assistance very
satisfactory to the poor child, since it often involved hearing ‘Wait a
minute,’ and a very long one, ‘How can you be so stupid?’ ‘I told you
so long ago’; and sometimes consisted of a gabbling translation,
with rapidly pointed finger, very hard to follow, and not quite so
painstaking as when Alexis deferentially and politely pointed out the
difficulties, with a strong sense of the favour that she was doing him.
Not that these personal lessons often took place. Kalliope never
permitted them without dire necessity, and besides, there was always an
uncertainty when Gillian might come down, or when Alexis might be able
to come in.
One day when Aunt Jane had come home with a story of how one of her
‘business girls’ had confessed to Miss White’s counsel having only just
saved her from an act of folly, it occurred to Aunt Adeline to say--
‘It is a great pity you have not her help in the G.F.S.’
‘I did not understand enough about her before, and mixed her up with the
ordinary class of business girls. I had rather have her a member for the
sake of example; but if not, she would be a valuable associate. Could
not you explain this to her without hurting her feelings, as I am afraid
I did, Gill? I did not understand enough about her when I spoke to her
before.’
Gillian started. The conversation that should have been so pleasant to
her was making her strangely uncomfortable.
‘I do not see how Gill is to get at her,’ objected the other aunt. ‘It
would be of no great use to call on her in the nest of the Queen of the
White Ants. I can’t help recollecting the name, it was so descriptive.’
‘Yes; it was on her mother’s account that she refused, and of course her
office must not be invaded in business hours.’
‘I might call on her there before she goes home,’ suggested Gillian,
seeing daylight.
‘You cannot be walking down there at dusk, just as the workmen come
away’ exclaimed Aunt Ada, making the colour so rush into Gillian’s
cheeks that she was glad to catch up a screen.
‘No,’ said Miss Mohun emphatically; ‘but I could leave her there at five
o’clock, and go to Tideshole to take old Jemmy Burnet his jersey, and
call for her on the way back.’
‘Or she could walk home with me,’ murmured the voice behind the screen.
Gillian felt with dismay that all these precautions as to her escort
would render her friend more scrupulous than ever as to her visits. To
have said, ‘I have several times been at the office,’ would have been a
happy clearance of the ground, but her pride would not bend to possible
blame, nor would she run the risk of a prohibition. ‘It would be the
ruin of hope to Alexis, and mamma knows all,’ said she to herself.
It was decided that she should trust to Kalliope to go back with her,
for when once Aunt Jane get into the very fishy hamlet of Tideshole,
which lay beyond the quarries, there was no knowing when she might get
away, since
‘Alike to her were time and tide,
November’s snow or July’s pride.’
So after a few days, too wet and tempestuous for any expedition, they
set forth accompanied by Fergus, who rushed in from school in time to
treat his aunt as a peripatetic ‘Joyce’s scientific dialogues.’ Valetta
had not arrived, and Gillian was in haste to elude her, knowing that her
aunt would certainly not take her on to Tideshole, and that there would
be no comfort in talking before her; but it was a new thing to have to
regard her little sister in the light of a spy, and again she had to
reason down a sense of guiltiness. However, her aunt wanted Valetta as
little as she did; and she had never so rejoiced in Fergus’s monologue,
‘Then this small fly-wheel catches into the Targe one, and so--Don’t you
see?’--only pausing for a sound of assent.
Unacquainted with the private door, Miss Mohun entered the office
through the showroom, exchanging greetings with the young saleswomen,
and finding Miss White putting away her materials.
Shaking hands, Miss Mohun said--
‘I have brought your friend to make a visit to you while I go on to
Tideshole. She tells me that you will be kind enough to see her on her
way home, if you are going back at the same time.’
‘I shall be delighted,’ said Kalliope, with eyes as well as tongue,
and no sooner were she and Gillian alone together than she joyfully
exclaimed--
‘Then Miss Mohun knows! You have told her.
‘No--’
‘Oh!’ and there were volumes in the intonation. ‘I was alarmed when she
came in, and then so glad if it was all over. Dear Miss Merrifield--’
‘Call me Gillian; I have told you to do so before! Phyllis is
Miss Merrifield, and I won’t be so before my time,’ said Gillian,
interrupting in a tone more cross than affectionate.
‘I was going to say,’ pursued Kalliope, ‘that the shock her entrance
gave to me proved all the more that we cannot be treating her properly.
‘Never mind that! I did not come about that. She is quite taken with
you, Kally, and wants you more than ever to be a Friendly Girl, because
she thinks it would be so good for the others who are under you.’
‘They have told me something about it,’ said Kalliope thoughtfully.
‘She fancied’ added Gillian, ‘that perhaps she did not make you
understand the rights of it, not knowing that you were different from
the others.’
‘Oh no, it was not that,’ said Kalliope. ‘Indeed, I hope there is
no such nonsense in me. It was what my dear father always warned us
against; only poor mamma always gets vexed if she does not think we are
keeping ourselves up, and she had just been annoyed at--something, and
we did not know then that it was Lady Merrifield’s sister.’
This was contradictory, but it was evident that, while Kalliope disowned
conceit of station for herself, she could not always cross her mother’s
wishes. It was further elicited that if Lady Flight had taken up the
matter there would have been no difficulty. Half a year ago the Flights
had seemed to the young Whites angelic and infallible, and perhaps
expectations had been founded on their patronage; but there had since
been a shadow of disappointment, and altogether Kalliope was less
disposed to believe that my Lady was correct in pronouncing Miss Mohun’s
cherished society as ‘dissentish,’ and only calculated for low servant
girls and ladies who wished to meddle in families.
Clanship made Gillian’s indignation almost bring down the office, and
her eloquence was scarcely needed, since Kalliope had seen the value to
some of her ‘hands’ from the class, the library, the recreation-room,
and the influence of the ladies, above all, the showing them that it
was possible to have variety and amusement free from vulgar and perilous
dissipation; but still she hesitated. She had no time, she said; she
could not attend classes, and she was absolutely necessary at home in
the evenings; but Gillian assured her that nothing was expected from
her but a certain influence in the right direction, and the showing the
younger and giddier that she did not think the Society beneath her.
‘I see all that,’ said Kalliope; ‘I wish I had not been mistaken at
first; but, Miss Mer--Gillian, I do not see how I can join it now.’
‘Why not? What do you mean?’
Kalliope was very unwilling to speak, but at last it came.
‘How can I do this to please your aunt, who thinks better of me than I
deserve, when--Oh! excuse me--I know it is all your kindness--but when I
am allowing you to deceive her--almost, I mean--’
‘Deceive! I never spoke an untrue word to my aunt in my life,’ said
Gillian, in proud anger; ‘but if you think so, Miss White, I had better
have no more to do with it.’
‘I feel,’ said Kalliope, with tears in her eyes, ‘as if it might be
better so, unless Miss Mohun knew all about it.’
‘Well, if you think so, and like to upset all your brother’s hopes--’
‘It would be a terrible grief to him, I know, and I don’t undervalue
your kindness, indeed I don’t; but I cannot be happy about it while Miss
Mohun does not know. I don’t understand why you do not tell her.’
‘Because I know there would be a worry and a fuss. Either she would say
we must wait for letters from mamma, or else that Alexis must come to
Beechcroft, and all the comfort would be over, and it would be gossiped
about all over the place. Can’t you trust me, when I tell you I have
written it all to my own father and mother, and surely I know my own
family best?’
Kalliope looked half convinced, but she persisted--
‘I suppose you do; only please, till there is a letter from Lady
Merrifield, I had rather not go into this Society.’
‘But, Kally, you don’t consider. What am I to say to my aunt? What will
she think of you?’
‘I can’t help that! I cannot do this while she could feel I was
conniving at what she might not like. Indeed, I cannot. I beg your
pardon, but it goes against me. When shall you be able to hear from Lady
Merrifield?’
‘I wrote three weeks ago. I suppose I shall hear about half-way through
December, and you know they could telegraph if they wanted to stop it,
so I think you might be satisfied.’
Still Kalliope could not be persuaded, and finally, as a sort of
compromise, Gillian decided on saying that she would think about it and
give her answer at Christmas; to which she gave a reluctant assent, with
one more protest that if there were no objection to the lessons, she
could not see why Miss Mohun should not know of them.
Peace was barely restored before voices were heard, and in came Fergus,
bringing Alexis with him. They had met on the beach road in front of the
works, and Fergus, being as usual full of questions about a crane that
was swinging blocks of stone into a vessel close to the little pier,
his aunt had allowed him to stay to see the work finished, after which
Alexis would take him to join his sister.
So it came about that they all walked home together very cheerfully,
though Gillian was still much vexed under the surface at Kalliope’s
old-maidish particularity.
However, the aunts were not as annoyed at the delay as she expected.
Miss Mohun said she would look out some papers that would be convincing
and persuasive, and that it might be as well not to enrol Miss White too
immediately before the Christmas festivities, but to wait till the
books were begun next year. Plans began to prevail for the Christmas
diversions and entertainments, but the young Merrifields expected to
have nothing to do with these, as they were to meet the rest of the
family at their eldest uncle’s house at Beechcroft; all except Harry,
who was to be ordained in the Advent Ember week, and at once begin work
with his cousin David Merrifield in the Black Country. Their aunts would
not go with them, as Beechcroft breezes, though her native air, were too
cold for Adeline in the winter, and Jane could leave neither her, nor
her various occupations, and the festivities of all Rockstone.
It is not easy to say which Gillian most looked forward to: Mysie’s
presence, or the absence of the supervision which she imagined herself
to suffer from, because she had set herself to shirk it. She knew she
should feel more free. But behold! a sudden change, produced by one
morning’s letters.
‘It is a beastly shame!’
‘Oh, Fergus! That’s not a thing to say,’ cried Valetta.
‘I don’t care! It is a beastly shame not to go to Beechcroft, and be
poked up here all the holidays.’
‘But you can’t when Primrose has got the whooping-cough.’
‘Bother the whooping-cough.’
‘And welcome; but you would find it bother you, I believe.’
‘I shouldn’t catch it. I want Wilfred, and to ride the pony, and see the
sluice that Uncle Maurice made.’
‘You couldn’t if you had the cough.’
‘Then I should stay there instead of coming back to school! I say it is
horrid, and beastly, and abominable, and--’
‘Come, come, Fergus,’ here put in Gillian, ‘that is very wrong.’
‘You don’t hear Gill and me fly out in that way,’ added Valetta, ‘though
we are so sorry about Mysie and Fly.’
‘Oh, you are girls, and don’t know what is worth doing. I _will_ say it
is beast--’
‘Now don’t, Fergus; it is very rude and ungrateful to the aunts. None
of us like having to stay here and lose our holiday; but it is very
improper to say so in their own house, and I thought you were so fond of
Aunt Jane.’
‘Aunt Jane knows a thing or two, but she isn’t Wilfred.’
‘And Wilfred is always teasing you.’
‘Fergus is quite right,’ said Miss Mohun, who had been taking off
her galoshes in the vestibule while this colloquy was ending in the
dining-room; ‘it is much better to be bullied by a brother than made
much of by an aunt, and you know I am very sorry for you all under the
infliction.’
‘Oh, Aunt Jane, we know you are very kind, and--’ began Gillian.
‘Never mind, my dear; I know you are making the best of us, and I
am very much obliged to you for standing up for us. It is a great
disappointment, but I was going to give Fergus a note that I think will
console him.’
And out of an envelope which she had just taken from the letter-box
she handed him a note, which he pulled open and then burst out, ‘Cousin
David! Hurrah! Scrumptious!’ commencing a war-dance at the same moment.
‘What is it? Has David asked you?’ demanded both his sisters at the same
moment.
‘Hurrah! Yes, it is from him. “My dear Fergus, I hope”--hurrah--“Harry,
mm--mm--mm--brothers, 20th mm--mm. Your affectionate cousin, David
Merrifield.”’
‘Let me read it to you,’ volunteered Gillian.
‘Wouldn’t you like it?’
‘How can you be so silly, Ferg? You can’t read it yourself. You don’t
know whether he really asks you.’
Fergus made a face, and bolted upstairs to gloat, and perhaps peruse
the letter, while Valetta rushed after him, whether to be teased or
permitted to assist might be doubtful.
‘He really does ask him,’ said Aunt Jane. ‘Your cousin David, I mean. He
says that he and Harry can put up all the three boys between them, and
that they will be very useful in the Christmas festivities of Coalham.’
‘It is very kind of him,’ said Gillian in a depressed tone.
‘Fergus will be very happy.’
‘I only hope he will not be bent on finding a coal mine in the garden
when he comes back,’ said Aunt Jane, smiling; ‘but it is rather dreary
for you, my dear. I had been hoping to have Jasper here for at least a
few days. Could he not come and fetch Fergus?’
Gillian’s eyes sparkled at the notion; but they fell at once, for Jasper
would be detained by examinations until so late that he would only just
be able to reach Coalham before Christmas Day. Harry was to be ordained
in a fortnight’s time to work under his cousin, Mr. David Merrifield,
and his young brothers were to meet him immediately after.
‘I wish I could go too,’ sighed Gillian, as a hungry yearning for Jasper
or for Mysie took possession of her.
‘I wish you could,’ said Miss Mohun sympathetically; ‘but I am afraid
you must resign yourself to helping us instead.’
‘Oh, Aunt Jane, I did not mean to grumble. It can’t be helped, and you
are very kind.’
‘Oh, dear!’ said poor Miss Jane afterwards in private to her sister,
‘how I hate being told I am very kind! It just means, “You are a not
quite intolerable jailor and despot,” with fairly good intentions.’
‘I am sure you are kindness itself, dear Jenny,’ responded Miss Adeline.
‘I am glad they own it! But it is very inconvenient and unlucky that
that unjustifiable mother should have sent her child to the party
to carry the whooping-cough to poor little Primrose, and Mysie, and
Phyllis.’
‘All at one fell swoop! As for Primrose, the worthy Halfpenny is quite
enough for her, and Lily is well out of it; but Fly is a little shrimp,
overdone all round, and I don’t like the notion of it for her.’
‘And Rotherwood is so wrapped up in her. Poor dear fellow, I hope all
will go well with her.’
‘There is no reason it should not. Delicate children often have it the
most lightly. But I am sorry for Gillian, though, if she would let us, I
think we could make her happy.’
Gillian meantime, after her first fit of sick longing for her brother
and sister, and sense of disappointment, was finding some consolation
in the reflection that had Jasper discovered her instructions to Alexis
White, he would certainly have ‘made no end of a row about it,’ and
have laughed to scorn the bare notion of her teaching Greek to a
counting-house clerk! But then Jasper was wont to grumble and chafe
at all employments--especially beneficent ones--that interfered with
devotion to his lordly self, and on the whole, perhaps he was safer
out of the way, as he might have set on the aunts to put a stop to her
proceedings. Of Mysie’s sympathy she was sure, yet she would have
her scruples about the aunts, and she was a sturdy person, hard to
answer--poor Mysie, whooping away helplessly in the schoolroom at
Rotherwood! Gillian felt herself heroically good-humoured and resigned.
Moreover, here was the Indian letter so long looked for, likely by its
date to be an answer to the information as to Alexis White’s studies.
Behold, it did not appear to touch on the subject at all! It was
all about preparations for the double wedding, written in scraps by
different hands, at different times, evidently snatched from many
avocations and much interruption. Of mamma there was really least of
all; but squeezed into a corner, scarcely legible, Gillian read, ‘As
to lessons, if At. J. approves.’ It was evidently an afterthought;
and Gillian _could_, and chose to refer it to a certain inquiry about
learning the violin, which had never been answered--for the confusion
that reigned at Columbo was plainly unfavourable to attending to minute
details in home letters.
The longest portions of the despatch were papa’s, since he was still
unable to move about. He wrote:--‘Our two “young men” think it probable
you will have invitations from their kith and kin. If this comes to
pass, you had better accept them, though you will not like to break up
the Christmas party at Beechcroft Court.’
There being no Christmas party at Beechcroft Court, Gillian, in spite of
her distaste to new people, was not altogether sorry to receive a
couple of notes by the same post, the first enclosed in the second, both
forwarded from thence.
‘VALE LESTON PRIORY,
‘9th December.
‘MY DEAR MISS MERRIFIELD--We are very anxious to make acquaintance
with my brother Bernard’s new belongings, since we cannot greet our new
sister Phyllis ourselves. We always have a family gathering at Christmas
between this house and the Vicarage, and we much hope that you and your
brother will join it. Could you not meet my sister, Mrs. Grinstead, in
London, and travel down with her on the 23rd? I am sending this note
to her, as I think she has some such proposal to make.--Yours very
sincerely,
‘WILMET U. HAREWOOD.’
The other letter was thus--
‘BROMPTON, 10th December.
‘MY DEAR GILLIAN--It is more natural to call you thus, as you are
becoming a sort of relation--very unwillingly, I dare say--for “in this
storm I too have lost a brother.” However, we will make the best of it,
and please don’t hate us more than you can help. Since your own home is
dispersed for the present, it seems less outrageous to ask you to spend
a Christmas Day among new people, and I hope we may make you feel at
home with us, and that you will enjoy our beautiful church at Vale
Leston. We are so many that we may be less alarming if you take us by
driblets, so perhaps it will be the best way if you will come up to us
on the 18th or 19th, and go down with us on the 23rd. You will find no
one with us but my nephew--almost son--Gerald Underwood, and my niece,
Anna Vanderkist, who will be delighted to make friends with your brother
Jasper, who might perhaps meet you here. You must tell me all about
Phyllis, and what she would like best for her Cingalese home.--Yours
affectionately,
GERALDINE GRINSTEAD.
Thus then affairs shaped themselves. Gillian was to take Fergus to
London, where Jasper would meet them at the station, and put the little
boy into the train for Coalham, whither his brother Wilfred had preceded
him by a day or two.
Jasper and Gillian would then repair to Brompton for two or three days
before going down with Mr. and Mrs. Grinstead to Vale Leston, and they
were to take care to pay their respects to old Mrs. Merrifield, who had
become too infirm to spend Christmas at Stokesley.
What was to happen later was uncertain, whether they were to go to
Stokesley, or whether Jasper would join his brothers at Coalham, or come
down to Rockstone with his sister for the rest of the holidays. Valetta
must remain there, and it did not seem greatly to distress her; and
whereas nothing had been said about children, she was better satisfied
to stay within reach of Kitty and mamma, and the Christmas-trees that
began to dawn on the horizon, than to be carried into an unknown region
of ‘grown-ups.’
While Gillian was not only delighted at the prospect of meeting Jasper,
her own especial brother, but was heartily glad to make a change, and
defer the entire question of lessons, confessions, and G.F.S. for six
whole weeks. She might get a more definite answer from her parents,
or something might happen to make explanation to her aunt either
unnecessary or much more easy--and she was safe from discovery. But
examinations had yet to be passed.