THE GOVERNMENT OF MEG.
“Alas! how easily things go wrong.”
A week later, cards, very thick, gilt-edged, and perfumed, arrived at
Misrule, requesting the pleasure of the company of Mr. Philip and the
Misses Woolcot’s company at an “At Home” at Trafalgar House.
Pip said it was “fair cheek.” Meg raised her eyebrows, but Nellie
longed ardently to accept, and almost wept when a formal answer
pleading regret and a prior engagement was sent in return.
A fortnight passed, and more cards arrived.
Mr. and Mrs. Fitzroy-Browne.
_The Misses Woolcot._
Friday Evening.
_Dancing._ _R.S.V.P._
Meg left out the “prior engagement” this time in her reply, and merely
“regretted the Misses Woolcot could not have the pleasure, etc.”
But the girls gushed over Nellie just as much whenever they met her.
She used to go occasionally to the Parsonage to play mild tennis with
Mr. Macintosh’s delicate son, who had been ordered the exercise. The
Misses Browne also went there at times; they considered that to visit
there on equal terms was a hall mark of gentility, and persevered
therefore, even though they yawned afterwards all through the drive
home.
They always drove wherever they were going, they seemed to think foot
exercise below them. It was even said that when they went to return
a call of the Macarthys who lived two doors off, they went in their
great open carriage, with high-stepping horses, coachman, and footman
complete. So, also, whenever they went to the little homely Parsonage
on the hill top, the imposing equipage took them there, the footman
stood in petrified state while they alighted, and afterwards handed the
two racquets out with as much ceremony as if he was assisting in some
public function.
Innate good taste sometimes whispered to Nellie that these things ought
not to be so, but she generally chose to be conveniently blind.
How could she find fault with them when they petted her and flattered
her till her silly little head was swimming? when they pressed gifts
upon her,—a gold bangle that one of them wore and she had admired,
a brooch with a tiny chrysophrase heart, even a parasol composed
of billowy chiffon. She had the good sense certainly to refuse the
presents, though she looked at them with longing eyes, but none the
less she admired and envied girls who had it in their power to make the
offers.
“Your people seem determined not to come to our house,” Miss Isabel
said one day on the Parsonage tennis ground.
“They—they have so many engagements,” said Nellie, with hesitating
mendacity and a blush of distress. What would they say if they knew the
contempt the cards met with at Misrule?
Miss Browne spoke of the great ballroom at Trafalgar House, of
illuminated grounds, of the throngs of guests; to Nellie, who had not
yet been allowed more harmful dissipation than tea-parties, picnics,
and children’s romps, it sounded entrancing. “Yes, I should love to
come,” she said wistfully, as they once again regretted she should not
give the world an opportunity to see her beauty.
The child naturally was flattered that two grown-up young ladies should
take so much notice of her, and tell her so frequently of her good
looks; it seemed strange, even to her, that with all their money and
friends they should trouble to make much of a girl of her age who never
wore anything more expensive than muslin, crepon or serge, and always
trimmed her own hats.
The reason was that the Misses Browne, though they had really taken a
genuine liking to the shy, beautiful-faced child, had a great respect
for the name of Woolcot, the high esteem in which the family was held,
peccadilloes notwithstanding, and envied—greatly their unquestioned
entry into the society that, strive as they would, opened not its doors
for them. And they thought, if they could once get on to a friendly
footing at Misrule, other people in the neighbourhood who had looked
coldly on them hitherto would immediately hold out hands of friendship,
and come to their doors with the magic bits of pasteboard they so
desired.
The best means to this end they considered would be to dazzle the eyes
of the family with the luxury and unstinted wealth at Trafalgar House.
But Nellie was the only one they could get hold of, so they fed her
young vanity without stint, and tried to lure her up to the great red
mansion.
“Yes, I should love to come,” she had said on this occasion. They were
standing on the Parsonage court after a set, Nell in a pink cambric
blouse and well-worn serge skirt, the Misses Browne in elaborate
costumes of Liberty silk with crossed tennis racquets worked all round
the skirts.
“Well, _come_,” they said,—“don’t wait for the others; we want
_you_,—why can’t you come even if they won’t?”
“Oh,” said Nell, who had not dreamed of independent action, “how could
I if Esther and Meg don’t?”
Miss Browne gave a little laughing sneer.
“What a good little girl it is! Does it always ask permission for
everything, and do exactly as it’s told? Why, when we were your age we
never dreamt even of consulting our parents where we went, and they
never dreamt of interfering. Why, it’s a very old-fashioned notion to
be in bondage like that to your parents.”
Nell flushed half-shamefacedly.
She began to believe that she really gave in too much to her elders,
that she ought to have more freedom, and be more independent, now she
was nearly “grown-up.”
“Perhaps I will come some day,” she said a little uncertainly.
“Just show them a few times that you are not a child, to be dictated to
as they wish,” advised Miss Isabel; “after that it will be quite easy.
Why, I’d just like to hear ma or pa say we shouldn’t go here or mustn’t
go there, shouldn’t you, Beatrice?”
Beatrice’s laugh of utter scorn was sufficient answer. “Why, it’s just
the other way,” she said: “_we_ tell ma what to do.”
“Some day” Nellie had said, but had not imagined how soon the day would
be offered to her.
General Blaxland, the head of the forces in New South Wales, had
decided to send a certain Lieutenant Holloway and Captain Birsted to
India, with a view to gaining information from the forces there about
several reforms he wished to introduce into the colony.
Just at the last Lieutenant Holloway fell ill, and the General had
asked our Captain whether he could manage to tear himself away from
the bosom of his family for the time required, or whether they must
send one of the younger lieutenants. The Captain had asked for a day to
think it over, hastened home to Misrule, and told Esther if she would
go with him he would accept, for it would be a delightful holiday for
both.
Esther was charmed with the idea. India had always seemed a kind
of beautiful enchanted country to her, where Arabian Night kind of
entertainments went on from morning to night. She begged for small
Essie’s company, but the Captain would not hear of such a tie. So as
they would only be away four months Esther at length consented, and
delivered her baby into Meg’s care with numberless injunctions.
There was one week of wild confusion at Misrule. The children had
holidays from lessons; dressmaking and millinery seemed going on all
over the house; trunks, cabin boxes, and portmanteaux stood gaping open
in Esther’s room, and the Captain had a fit of intense irritability all
the time.
Monday, the day the _Orotava_ started, came at last, and Meg awoke from
the confused dream she had been in all the week to find herself on the
Quay waving a wet handkerchief to a boat almost out of sight, and only
refraining from more tears by a hastily got up argument between Peter
and Essie.
“Ze tissed me last,” said Essie, trying to derive tearful superiority
from the fact.
“The waved to me latht, tho there!” Peter said.
“Ze never!” said Essie.
“The did!” cried Peter.
Meg thought it time to put away her handkerchief and interpose herself
between the two “grass orphans,” or the quarrel would end in Essie
slapping Peter, and Peter growing red and pushing her down on the
ground.
Every one was looking a little grave and upset. It is impossible to see
a great ship bearing our dear ones move slowly away toward the wide,
terrible ocean without quickened heart-beatings, and serious if not
misty eyes, even if they are only going for a very little time, and
accidents are unheard-of things with such splendid ships.
Meg proposed an adjournment.
“Let’s go and have tea and cakes or ice-creams at Quong Tart’s” she
said.
“Who’ll pay?” asked Bunty the practical.
Meg waited a moment; she half hoped Pip would come with them, his own
merry self again, and offer to “go halves,” but he made no movement.
“I might take it out of the housekeeping money just this once,” she
said. “Seven of us,—that would be three-and-six; only, Peter, you
mustn’t ask for ice-cream too if you have a custard roll or anything;
every one can only have one thing, or it makes it too expensive.”
Pip moved away.
“Won’t you come, Pip?” she said half beseechingly, and catching his
coat sleeve.
But he gave her a cold look.
“No, thanks,” he said, and walked off.
So only six of them went to drown their grief in tea and ice-cream.
There had been talk of asking Mrs. Hassal to come down and look after
Misrule and its inmates for the four months; but then, what would have
become of Yarrahappini?
Meg begged her father to have no one. Surely, she said, for that
short time she was capable of being head of the house. The cook was
a married woman, and would give an air of steadiness to the place;
Martha was thoroughly reliable; and Pat had the virtue of doing as he
was told. There would be herself and Pip in authority, with Nellie as
aide-de-camp; Bunty was a changed character; and as to Poppet, Peter,
and Essie, any one with a little tact could manage them.
So it was decided at last, and Meg picked up the reins of government
with a pleasurable feeling of responsibility and no misgivings whatever.
Pip felt he had done his duty for the time when he spoke a word in
season to Peter and threatened “hidings” innumerable if he waxed
obstreperous.
But the aide-de-camp was tried and proved wanting,—all the trouble that
followed came through her.
Meg, who desired everything to go on smoothly and pleasantly, made
a point of consulting Nellie in many things, and treating her as an
equal in age. As it happened, it was the worst policy she could adopt
just then, for it strengthened the younger girl’s growing ideas of
independence.
A little firmness—a mother’s firmness—and the enforcement of
unquestioned authority at this juncture would have saved her from many
a subsequent heartache. But alas! there was no mother, and Meg’s rule
was certainly not despotic, though it was firm in its way, and answered
excellently with the young ones.
“Where are you going, Nell?” she said one afternoon, going up into the
bedroom, and finding her young sister in the midst of as elaborate a
toilet as her simple clothes would allow.
“Up to Trafalgar House for tennis, that’s all!” Nell replied, in a tone
whose studied nonchalance was somewhat overdone.
Meg fairly gasped. Was she going to have open rebellion among her
subjects as soon as this?
“You are going to do nothing of the kind, I hope,” she said, with
considerable warmth in her tone. “What are you thinking of? Of course
you can’t accept hospitality from people we refuse to visit!”
“Oh, that’s all nonsense!” Nellie replied, fluffing a strand of hair
backward with the comb and pinning it up into a roll. “I consider
Esther and you were very rude and unneighbourly not to call on them,
and it’s no reason I should be impolite as well!”
[Illustration: “‘NELLIE, I FORBID YOU TO GO!’ MEG CRIED.”]
“But you can’t do such an impossible thing!” Meg cried. “Don’t be such
a child, Nellie. Go to the Parsonage, or the Courtneys, or anywhere if
you want a game; but, for goodness’ sake, keep away from that horrid
place!”
Nellie proceeded quietly with her dressing, the resolute light in
her eyes not a whit diminished. She buttoned her blue tennis blouse,
brushed some specks of dust off her skirt, and put a piece of clean
belting in her silver waist-clasp.
“I can’t believe you’re in earnest,” Meg began again; “why, you _must_
remember father expressly said we were not to go!”
“He did not tell me; he only said Esther needn’t call,—that’s not
forbidding _me_!” Nell said calmly.
She put on her sailor hat, stuck the pins through with great care, and
made a few little deft dabs at her fluffy side hair. Then she put on
her very best gloves and picked up her racquet.
“Nellie, I _forbid_ you to go!” Meg cried, finding neither reasoning
nor asking would answer. “Remember, I have been left here in charge of
you all, and I absolutely _forbid_ you to go near those Brownes!”
“Pooh!” said Nellie, “I’m nearly as old as you—I’m too big to be
forbidden. Give your orders to Peter and Poppet—I’m _going_!”
And she went.