life."
"And--er--(there must be other questions to ask, but it's terribly
difficult to think of them. I can't ask her to her face if she is
honest and sober--it's absurd," thought Hilary in despair). "And--er--
er--I suppose you are good-tempered, and would not quarrel with the
other servants?"
"Oh yes, miss. Oh no, miss. All my mistresses would say for me, I'm
sure, miss, that there never was a girl with a sweeter temper. I
couldn't hurt a fly, miss, I'm sure I couldn't, I've such a tender
heart."
("I'm sure she has nothing of the kind. I don't like her a bit; but, oh
dear! what can I do? If she goes on agreeing with all I say, I have no
excuse for telling her that she won't suit.")
"And--er--you would have to attend to all the bedrooms, and the
schoolroom, and help the parlour-maid with the waiting. If you have not
been accustomed to a large family, I am afraid you would find it a heavy
place."
"Oh no, miss; not too heavy, miss. I'm never so happy as when I'm
working. I've been brought up to work."
"Yes--but--but--but I'm afraid you would not suit me," cried Hilary,
summoning the courage in despair, and determined, at all costs, to put
an end to the interview. "I won't trouble you to send your character,
for perhaps your mistress might object to give it twice, and I--er--you
see--I don't quite know when my present maid is leaving, and I think--I
am afraid--"
"Oh, it's no trouble at all, miss. I'll bring it with pleasure. I am
sure you would suit me very well. I've always heard of you as such a
good mistress, and I'd like to live with you; I would indeed!"
Hilary sat dumbfounded. She was beginning to feel quite afraid of this
terrible young woman who stood up before her, looking so tall and
formidable, and tossing her head until all the shabby black feathers
shook again on her hat. "I--I won't detain you any longer," she said
icily, as she rose from her seat. "You can leave your address, and if I
change my mind I will let you know." She laid her hand on the bell as
she spoke, but, to her amazement, the young woman suddenly flopped down
on a chair, and folded her arms with a determined gesture.
"I won't stir an inch till I've had my lunch," she said; and from
beneath the skirts of her dress there appeared a pair of stout, hob-
nailed boots; from within her muff, two big, brown hands; and beneath
the veil, a laughing, mischievous face.
"Rex!" screamed Hilary, at the pitch of her voice. "Oh, you horrible,
deceiving, bad, impertinent boy!"
"Rex!" echoed Lettice in chorus. "Oh, oh! how lovely I how delicious!
However did you do it? Norah!--Norah! Norah! Oh, do come here!"
In rushed Norah, breathless with curiosity, to know what had happened,
and the next ten minutes was passed in a clamour of questionings. When
had he thought of it? How had he thought of it? Where had he found the
clothes? How had he dressed? etcetera, etcetera.
Rex paraded the room with mincing steps, and simpered at his own
reflection in the looking-glass.
"Old things of the mater's and Edna's. Brought 'em over in the cart,
and dressed in the summer-house. What a nice girl I should have made,
to be sure! Seems quite a waste, doesn't it? I say, though, I am
nearly suffocating with heat. Can't I go and take them off somewhere?"
He was crossing the hall on the way to the cloak-room, when who should
come tripping downstairs but Mary herself, trim and neat as ever, but
casting a glance the reverse of approving at the strange young woman who
had come to supplant herself.
"Good morning, Mary. I've come to apply for the place," said Rex
gravely; then suddenly picking up his skirts, displayed his trousered
legs underneath, and executed a wild schottische round the hall.
Mary gave a shriek, put her hand to her heart, and sank down on the
stairs, brushes and all, in a breathless heap. "Oh, Mr Rex, oh! I
never in all my life! Oh, what a turn you gave me! Oh! oh! oh!" And
she gasped and panted till Norah became alarmed, and went up to pat her
on the shoulder.
"Don't, Mary, don't! Oh, Mary, I wish it was all fun. I wish you
weren't going."
"So do I, Miss Norah. I don't want to leave you, but Miss Hilary--"
"I don't want you to go, Mary. I would rather have you than anyone
else."
"Ha! ha! ha!" Rex pranced round the hall in wild delight. "Look at
that now! Reginald Freer, Esquire, peacemaker and housemaid-waitress.
Apply--Brathey Manor--"
"What in the world is the matter? Has everyone gone mad? How am I
supposed to write in this uproar?" Mr Bertrand appeared at his study
door with an expression of long-enduring misery, whereat there was a
general stampede, and the house subsided into silence.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
VISITORS ARRIVE.
Whitsuntide fell in the beginning of June, and as Hilary went a tour of
inspection round the house and grounds, she was proudly conscious that
everything was looking its very best. The rooms were sweet with the
scent of flowers; the open doors and windows showed a vista of well-kept
lawn, and in the distance the swelling height of mountains, beautiful
with that peculiar rich, velvet green which can be seen in no other
country in the world. Who would pause to notice the deficiencies of
curtain and carpet, when they could look out of the window and see such
a scene as that? As for the garden itself, it was a miracle of beauty,
for the flowering trees were still in bloom, while the wild roses had
thrown their branches high over the tall fir trees, and transformed the
drive into a fairy bower.
Hilary had special reasons for wishing everything to appear at its best
to-day, for two visitors were expected to arrive by the afternoon
train--Miss Carr, and the crippled author, Henry Rayner himself. Half-
a-dozen times she made a round of inspection, each time finding some
trifling alteration or addition to make to her preparations. At last,
however, all was ready: the tea-tray laid in the drawing-room, her own
white dress donned, a bunch of roses pinned in her belt; and there was
nothing left but to wait in such patience as she could command, while
Lettice and Norah looked at her slyly and exchanged glances of approval.
"Doesn't she look nice?" they whispered; and, indeed, Hilary was looking
her best this afternoon, with the pretty flush in her cheeks, and her
eyes alight with excitement. A few minutes after six o'clock the fly
drove up to the door, and there sat Miss Carr, in her fashionable London
bonnet, and, beside her, Mr Rayner, pale and delicate as ever, but
looking around him with an air of intense delight in the beautiful
surroundings. Mr Bertrand was on the front seat, and Hilary came
forward to do the honours with much less assurance than she would have
shown six months earlier.
"My dear, good child, have you any tea? I am perishing of thirst!"
cried Miss Carr loudly. She was so bustling and matter-of-fact, that
she was the best remedy in the world for shyness; and Hilary led the way
to the drawing-room with recovered equanimity. She had only had time
for a quick hand-shake with the other visitor, but the glance which had
been exchanged between them was delightful in its memory of past
meetings--its augury of good times to come.
"And here are your other big girls. Dear me!" said Miss Carr, bestowing
a hasty glance at Norah, and staring hard at Lettice over the edge of
her cup. "I remember them all in long clothes, but I shall make a point
of forgetting them soon if they go on growing up like this. There is a
limit to everything--even to the memory of an old woman like myself.
The boys are at school, I suppose? But the little one--my baby--
Geraldine?"
"Quite well, sank you--how are you?" said the Mouse, coming forward from
her hiding-place, and holding out her tiny hand, with a sweet-faced
gravity which was too much for the good lady's composure. Down went the
teacup on the table, and Geraldine was folded in a hearty embrace.
"Bless your innocent face! I'm well, my darling--a great deal better
for seeing you. You don't remember me, do you?"
The Mouse put her head on one side as if considering how to answer
truthfully, without hurting the visitor's feelings. "I _sink_ I don't,"
she said slowly, "only p'raps I shall by-and-by. I'm very pleased to
see you."
"There now! What do you think of that? She couldn't possibly belong to
anyone in the world but you, Austin," cried Miss Carr in triumph; and
Mr Rayner held out his hand to the child with a smile that showed that
the Mouse had added yet another to the long list of her adorers.
It was not until dinner was over and the whole party had strolled into
the garden, that Hilary had a chance of a quiet talk with Mr Rayner;
but when her father and Miss Carr began to pace up and down the lawn, he
came up to her with a gesture of invitation.
"Won't you sit down for a few minutes on this seat?" Then, with a smile
of friendly interest, "Well--how goes it?--How goes it?"
Hilary drew in her breath with a gasp of pleasure. She had not realised
when in London how greatly she had been touched and impressed by her
meetings with the crippled author; it was only after she had returned to
the quiet of the country home that she had found her thoughts returning
to him again and again, with a longing to confide her troubles in his
ear; to ask his advice, and to see the kindly sympathy on his face. The
deep, rich tone of his voice as he said that "How goes it?" filled her
with delighted realisation that the long-looked-for time had arrived.
"Oh, pretty well--better and worse! I have been making discoveries."
"About--?"
"Myself, I think!" And Hilary stretched out her hands with a little
gesture of distaste, which was both graceful and natural.
Mr Rayner looked at her fixedly beneath bent brows. "Poor little Two
Shoes!" he said gravely. "So soon! It hurts, Two Shoes, but it's good
in the end. Growing pains, you know!"
"Yes!" said Hilary softly. It was good to find someone who understood
without asking questions or forcing confidence. "And you?" she asked
presently, raising her eyes to his with a smile of inquiry--"what have
you been doing?"
"I? Oh! making discoveries also, I fear; among others, the disagreeable
one that I can no longer work as I used, or as other men work, and must,
therefore, be satisfied to be left behind in the race. But we are
getting melancholy, and it's a shame even to think of disagreeable
subjects in a place like this. What a perfect view! I should never
tire of looking at those mountains."
"Aren't they beautiful? That is Coniston Old Man right before us, and
those are the Langdale Pikes over there to the right. I like them best
of all, for they stand out so well, and in winter, when they are covered
with snow, they look quite awful. Oh, I am so glad you have come! We
generally have good weather in June, and we will have such lovely
drives--"
Meantime Mr Bertrand and Miss Carr were having an animated
conversation.
"What do you think of my three little girls?" had been his first
question, and Miss Carr laughed derisively as she answered--
"Little girls, indeed! They will be grown-up women before you know
where you are, Austin. I like that young Norah. There is something
very taking about her bright, little face. Miss Consequence has
improved, I think; not quite so well pleased with herself, which means
more pleasing to other people. She looks well in that white dress. As
for Miss Lettice, she is quite unnecessarily good-looking."
"Isn't she lovely?" queried Mr Bertrand eagerly. "And you will find
her just as sweet as she looks. They have been very good and contented
all spring, but it has been in the expectation of your visit, and the
changes which you were to make. We are looking to you to solve all our
difficulties."
"Very kind of you, I am sure. It's not an easy position to fill. The
difficulty, so far as I can see, is compressed into the next three
years. After that you will have to face it, Austin, and come back to
town. You can keep on this house for a summer place, if you wish, but
the boys will be turning out into the world by then, and you ought to be
in town to keep a home for them. Hilary will be twenty-one, the other
two not far behind, and it is not fair to keep girls of that age in this
out-of-the-way spot all the year round, when it can be avoided. For the
next three years you can go on very well as you are; after that--"
"I'm afraid so! I'm afraid you are right. I've thought so myself,"
said Mr Bertrand dolefully. "I can't say I look forward to the
prospect, but if it must be done, it must. I must make the most of my
three last years. And, meantime, you think the girls are all right as
they are? I need make no change?"
Miss Carr pressed her lips together without speaking, while they paced
slowly up and down the lawn. "I think," she said slowly, at last, "that
three girls are rather too many in a house like this. You have Miss
Briggs to look after Geraldine, and three servants to do the work.
There cannot be enough occupation or interest to keep three young people
content and happy. I have thought several times during the spring,
Austin, that it would be a good plan if you lent one of your daughters
to me for a year or two."
"My dear Helen! A year or two! One of my girls!"
"Yes--yes! I knew that you would work yourself up into a state of
excitement. What a boy you are, Austin! Listen quietly, and try to be
reasonable. If you send one of the girls to me, I will see that she
finishes her education under the best masters; that she makes her
entrance into society at the right time, and has friends of whom you
would approve. It would be a great advantage--"
"I know it, I feel it, and I am deeply grateful, Helen; but it can't be
done. I can't separate myself from my children."
"You manage to exist without your boys for nine months of the year; and
I would never wish to separate you. She could come home for Christmas
and a couple of months in summer, and you yourself are in town half-a-
dozen times in the course of the year. You could always stay at my
house."
"Yes, yes; it's all true; but I don't like it, Helen, and--"
"And you think only of yourself. It never occurs to you that I have not
a soul belonging to me in that big, lonely house, and that it might be a
comfort to me to have a bright young girl--"
Mr Bertrand stopped short in the middle of the lawn and stared into his
companion's face. There was an unusual flush on her cheeks, and her
eyes glistened with tears.
"Oh, my dear Helen," he cried. "I am a selfish wretch! I never thought
of that. Of course, if you put it in that light, I can say no more. My
dear old friend--I accept your offer with thanks! You have done so much
for me, that I can refuse you nothing. It will be a lifelong advantage
to the child, and I know you will make her happy."
"I will, indeed; and you may trust me, Austin, to consider more than
mere happiness. I will do my best to make her such a woman as her dear
mother was before her."
"I know you will. Thank you, Helen. And which--which--?"
"Nay, I am not going to tell you that." Miss Carr had brushed the tears
from her eyes, and with them all signs of her unusual emotion. She was
herself again--sharp, decisive, matter-of-fact. "I must have my choice,
of course; but I will take a week to make up my mind. And she must be
left entirely in my hands for the time being, remember! I shall look
after her clothes, education, pleasuring, as if she were my own child.
There must be no interference."
"Obstinate woman! Who would dare to enter the lists against you?" cried
Mr Bertrand between a laugh and a sigh. "Heigho! Which of my little
lasses am I going to lose? Whichever it is, I shall feel she is the
last I could spare, and shall bear you a grudge for your choice. Can't
you give me a hint?"
"No! and I wouldn't if I could. I'll tell you when I am ready," said
Miss Carr coolly. And that settled the question for the time being.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
A TETE-A-TETE.
During the next few days the girls could not help noticing a peculiar
contradiction in their father's manner towards themselves. He was
alternately demonstratively affectionate and unreasonably irritable. He
snubbed Norah's performance on the violin, scolded Lettice because she
was wearing white dresses instead of her old blue serge, and called
attention to flaws in the housekeeping in a manner which sent the iron
into Hilary's soul. And then, when a chance meeting occurred on the
landing or stairs, he would throw his arms round them and kiss them over
and over again with passionate tenderness.
"Something is happening, but I haven't the remotest idea what it is,"
said Norah to her sisters; and it added to their curiosity to notice
that Miss Carr was openly amused at their father's demeanour, while he
was as evidently embarrassed by her quizzical smiles.
Mr Bertrand had decided to say nothing of Miss Carr's invitation until
that lady had made her final choice; but when the third day came he
could restrain himself no longer, and taking the girls aside he
proceeded to inform them of the new life which was before one of their
number. The news was received in characteristic fashion. Hilary stood
in silence, thinking deeply; Lettice promptly burst into tears, and
clung round her father's arm; and Norah blurted out a dozen
contradictory speeches.
"How horrid of her! I won't go! I should hate to leave you all. It's
very kind. ... The best masters! It would be lovely, of course, but--
Oh, dear! whom will she choose?"
"I couldn't leave home, father. Who would look after the house? It
would be impossible for Lettice to do the housekeeping. Miss Carr knows
me best. I should love it if it were not for leaving home."
"I don't want to go! I don't want to leave you. Oh, father, father!
I'd be so homesick! Don't let me go!"
Mr Bertrand stroked Lettice's golden locks, and looked on the point of
breaking down himself.
"Whichever Miss Carr chooses will have to go," he said slowly. "I have
promised as much, and I think it will be for the best. I shall be in
town every two or three months, and she will come home for the Christmas
and the summer holidays, so that it will not be a desperate matter.
Don't cry, my pet; you are only one of three, remember; it is by no
means certain that Miss Carr would have you, even if you begged to go.
Perhaps I should not have said anything about it; but it was on my mind,
and I was bound to speak. London is a fascinating place. It is the
centre of the world--it _is_ the world; you will find many
compensations."
"I shall see a great deal of Mr Rayner. I'm sure she will choose me.
It's only fair. I'm the eldest, and she knows me best," thought Hilary
to herself.
"I should go to the Royal College of Music, learn from the best masters,
and play at the concerts," thought Norah. "I wonder if it would stop
Edna's lessons! I should feel mean if it did that, and I _do_ enjoy
going over every fortnight and having fun at the Manor!"
Lettice sobbed on her father's shoulder, and tried to smother the
thought that it would be "nice" to know grand people, and drive in the
park dressed in pretty, fashionable clothes.
Very little more was said on the subject. The girls were shy of
revealing their secret thoughts, and Mr Bertrand was already beginning
to repent the confidence which had had the effect of damping their high
spirits.
"We must get up an excursion of some kind to-morrow, or we shall all be
in the blues," he said to himself, and when tea-time arrived he had all
the plans cut and dried.
"A char-a-banc will be at the door at half-past ten to-morrow, good
people. We will drive over to Grasmere and lunch at the Rothay. It is
convenient for the churchyard and the gingerbread shop, and there is a
good garden. We can lounge about in the afternoon, and get back in time
for a late dinner. There will be eight of us, and the char-a-banc holds
twelve, so we shall have plenty of room."
"Oh, father!--Rex and Edna! Do let us ask them! There is time to send
a letter to-night, and we could pick them up at the cross-roads. Oh,
father!"
"Oh, Norah! Certainly, my dear; ask your friends if you wish. I shall
be pleased to have them," said Mr Bertrand laughingly; and Norah rushed
off in delight to scribble her note of invitation.
When the char-a-banc came to the door the next morning, Hilary busied
herself looking after the storage of cloaks, cushions, camp-stools, and
various little etceteras which would add to the comfort of the
excursion. She looked a very attractive little mistress of the
ceremonies as she bustled about, with a sailor hat on her head and the
nattiest little brown shoes in the world peeping out from beneath the
crisp, white, pique skirts. Hilary was one of the fortunate people who
seemed to have been born tidy, and to have kept so ever since. The wind
which played havoc with Norah's locks never dared to take liberties with
her glossy coils; the nails which tore holes in other people's garments
politely refrained from touching hers; and she could walk through the
muddiest streets and come home without a speck upon boots or skirt.
Mr Rayner leant on his crutches and watched her active movements with
the wistful glance which was so often seen upon his face. Hilary knew
that for the thousandth time he was chafing at his own inability to
help, and made a point of consulting him on several matters by way of
proving that there were more ways than one in which he could be of
service.
"I don't know. In the front--in the back; put them where you like. Are
you going to sit beside me?" he replied hurriedly, and with an
undisguised eagerness which brought a flush of pleasure into the girl's
cheek.
"Oh, yes, I should like to!"
Hilary stood still in a little glow of exultation. The last few days
had been delightful with their experiences of lounging, driving, and
boating, but the coach-drive along the lovely roads, side by side with
Mr Rayner, able to point out each fresh beauty as it appeared, and to
enjoy a virtual _tete-a-tete_ for the whole of the way--that was best of
all! And he had chosen her as his companion before Lettice, before
Norah, before any one of the party! The thought added largely to her
satisfaction.
As Miss Carr refused point-blank to take the box seat, and as Mr
Bertrand insisted that it should be taken by the other visitor, Hilary
advanced to the ladder, and was about to climb up to the high seat, when
she turned back with an expression of anxious inquiry.