The door closed behind Marcia. Mrs Aldworth was so astonished that she
had not time to find her breath before the daring culprit had
disappeared. She looked now at Molly. Molly, who had quite forgotten
her role, turned to her mother for sympathy.
"Oh, mother, could you have believed it of her? She is just the meanest
old cat in existence."
"But what is it, Molly? Do you mean to say that Marcia--Marcia--won't
be with me, her mother, this afternoon?"
"Catch her, indeed," said the angry Molly. "Didn't you say, mother, and
didn't you hear father say that when Marcia came home, we three girls
would have a fine time of freedom? It was always, always like
that--`Wait till Marcia comes back.' Now she is back, and she--oh,
mother, I couldn't believe it of her, I couldn't! I couldn't!"
Molly sobbed and sobbed. At another moment Mrs Aldworth would have
sent Molly from her room, but now she was so thoroughly angry with
Marcia that she was inclined to sympathise with her.
"I will tell you everything, mother. It really is too marvellous. It
is almost past belief."
"Sit down, Molly, and try to stop crying. It is so disfiguring to your
face. You are wonderfully like what I used to be when I was a girl.
That is, before my poor health gave way, and my poor dear nerves failed
me. If you cry like that you will suffer in the end, as I am suffering.
You will be a helpless, neglected, disliked invalid."
"Oh, mother," said Molly, "I should not be at all surprised, and I only
eighteen. You know Marcia is two years older, quite old, you know, out
of her teens. When a girl gets out of her teens you expect her to be a
little bit steady, don't you, mother?"
"Of course, dear, of course. But stop crying. I can't hear you when
you sob between each word."
"It's enough to make anybody sob. We were so happy yesterday, we three.
Ethel and I had everything planned--we were going to the Carters' dance
to-night. You know Edward was to be there, and--and--Rob, who is so
taken with Ethel, and our dresses were ready and everything."
"But why cannot you go, my dear child? You must go."
"It is impossible, mother, and it is all Marcia's doing. Our only fear
was that perhaps Marcia would not come; but when she did enter the house
we did feel ourselves safe. Nesta, poor pet, was going to play tennis
with the Fortescues, but everything is knocked on the head now."
"There's an unpleasant draught over my feet," said Mrs Aldworth.
"Please, Molly, get me a light shawl to throw over them. No, not that
one, the light one, the light one with the grey border. Just put it
over my feet and tuck it in a little round the edge--not _too_ much.
You are not very skilful. Now, Marcia--"
"Oh, mother, you'll have to do without much of your precious Marcia. It
was an awful mistake to let her go to Frankfort; it has ruined her. She
has come back most terribly conceited and most, _most_ selfish."
"I never did greatly admire her," said Mrs Aldworth. "As a child she
was exceedingly obstinate."
"Like a mule, I've no doubt," said Molly. "Oh, dear, dear! I know I've
got a quick temper, but as to being mulish--I wouldn't make others
unhappy, and she has made three girls so wretched."
"Well, out with it, Molly."
Mrs Aldworth was so much interested and so much amazed, that now that
her feet had just the right degree of heat provided for them by the
shawl with the grey border, she was inclined to listen with curiosity.
"It was at breakfast, mother; we had planned our day, and then all of a
sudden Marcia turned round and faced us. She said that she was going to
look after you one day in the morning and the next day in the afternoon,
and that we three girls were to look after you during the alternate
times, and she said--"
"She surely didn't say anything so monstrous and inhuman in the presence
of your father?"
"That's the worst of it, mother, you wouldn't believe for a single
moment that she could, but she did."
"I don't believe you, Molly."
"Well, mother, I'll call her back, she will tell you, she has
practically said so already before you, now, hasn't she? She said she
didn't want to leave Frankfort, but that she had come, and she would
stay and do her duty; but that we were to do our duty too, and if we
refused, she'd go back to Frankfort. She will be of age almost
immediately, and father says she cannot be coerced, and the fact is she
will go unless we do it. And oh, Mothery, Horace too is on her side.
There's no hope at all, and we are three miserable girls! What is to be
done? What is to be done?"
Molly flung herself on her knees by her mother's side and sobbed against
her mother's thin white hand, and Mrs Aldworth never recognised the
selfish nature or perceived the shallow heart of her eldest child.
After a time, however, Number One rose paramount in the good lady's
heart.
"Now get up, my dear. Of course this little matter will be put right.
You had better stay with me this afternoon, but Marcia must come in and
we can talk things, over."
"She half promised to come in to tea. I don't believe she will; she'll
be too much afraid."
"Oh, my dear, she won't defy me long. She'll do what I wish; you leave
it in my hands. I don't say for a single moment that you may not have
to give up this one dance, but that is all. Marcia has returned to look
after me, to be with me morning, noon, and night, to read to me, and
amuse me, and alter my dresses and do everything that I require, and
you, my three little girls, are to have your pleasure. But you must
come to visit your poor old mother daily, won't you, Molly?"
"Oh, darling, of course we will. We just love to come."
"And you must tell me all about your parties and your fun generally,
won't you, Molly?"
"Oh, yes, yes, mother."
"And whisper, Molly. Marcia has very good taste; she is an exceedingly
clever girl."
"Hardly a girl, mother; she will be twenty-one, soon."
"Anyhow, dear, she is young, I must admit that, and she has very good
taste, and perhaps she'll help me to make some little extra finery for
you. Now, dear child, get up and go on with that novel. I am so
anxious to hear if Miss Melville really did accept Lord Dorchester or
not."
Mrs Aldworth's taste in reading had degenerated very much since the
days when she had won a first prize for literature at the second-rate
school which had had the honour of educating her. She now preferred
stories which appeared in penny papers to any others, and was deeply
interested in the fate of Miss Melville at that moment.
Molly read badly, in a most slovenly style. Mrs Aldworth snapped her
up every minute or two.
"Don't drop your voice so, Molly; I didn't hear what you said. Sit
nearer, and don't fidget. Oh, don't you know how you torture my poor
nerves?"
This sort of thing went on for a couple of hours. Molly grew sleepier
and sleepier, and her face crosser and crosser. The room was no longer
comfortable; the sun was pouring hotly in, the blinds were up, and
neither Mrs Aldworth nor her daughter had the least idea how to mend
matters.
But by-and-by--oh, welcome sound--there came a step in the corridor, and
Marcia entered, bearing a beautifully arranged tea tray. She carried it
herself, and there was a smile on her sweet face. She was all in white,
and she looked most charming.
"I thought I'd give you both a surprise," she said, "Shall I make tea
for you this afternoon?"
Molly glanced at her mother. Was the culprit to be received with the
coldness she deserved, or on the other hand, was this most welcome
interruption to be hailed with delight. Molly flung down her paper and
Mrs Aldworth roused herself.
"This room is too hot," said Marcia. "Molly, allow me. Another day,
dear, when you are taking charge of mother, draw this Venetian blind
down at this hour, and move mother's sofa a little into the shade. See
how hot her cheeks are. Please run for a little warm water, Molly, I
want to bathe your mother's face and hands. You will feel so refreshed,
dear, before you take your tea." Molly skipped out of the room.
"Oh, if only I might run away and not go back," she thought; but she did
not dare.
When she brought the water Mrs Aldworth was lying with cool, freshly
arranged pillows under her head, her hair combed smoothly back from her
discontented fare, and Marcia now having mixed a little aromatic vinegar
with the warm water, proceeded to bathe her hot cheeks and to cool her
white hands.
The tea itself was a surprise and a delight. There were hot cakes which
Marcia had made in the kitchen; fragrant tea, real cream, thin bread and
butter. Mrs Aldworth admitted that it was a treat.
"You're a wonderful girl, Marcia," she said, "and notwithstanding the
fact that you have behaved in a very cruel and unnatural way, I forgive
you. Yes, I forgive you, and I shall thoroughly forgive you and let
bygones be bygones if you will give Molly her freedom for the rest of
this afternoon, and sit with me yourself. I can explain a few little
things to you then, which will cause the hearts of my three dear girls
to leap for joy."
"Oh, mother, can you?"
Molly's blue eyes danced. She looked with a sense of triumph, half
amusement and half daring, from her mother to Marcia. But, alas,
Marcia's face showed not the slightest sign of yielding.
"I think, mother," she said, "that you and I must wait for our
conversation until to-morrow afternoon. I am exceedingly busy just now,
and Molly knows our compact. Have you finished your tea, Molly? If so,
I will take away the tray. Good-bye, mother, for the present.
Good-bye, Molly."
As quickly as she had come so did the angel of order and comfort retire.
Mrs Aldworth was now in a fury.
"Really, Molly," she said, "this is _insufferable_. I would much rather
she went altogether. To think of her daring to go against my wishes in
my own house." But bad as things were at present, Molly knew that if
Marcia went they would be worse. A certain amount of freedom could now
be safely claimed, but if Marcia went things would go on in their
slovenly, slipshod, good-for-nothing style; the invalid's bell always
ringing, the girls never at liberty, the house always in disorder.
"Oh, mother," said Molly, "don't rouse her; she is capable of anything,
I assure you. She has given us just a month to be on our trial, and she
says that if we don't do our part in that time she will return to
Frankfort. That horrid Miss Silchester has turned her head, and that's
a fact. She has praised her and petted her and made much of her, and
would you believe it, mother, she has absolutely offered to keep the
post open for Marcia for a whole month. Mother, dear, do be careful
what you say to her, for, I assure you, she has no heart. She would
actually allow us three girls--" Molly stopped to gulp down a sob--"to
wear ourselves to death, rather than to do one little thing to help us.
It's awfully cruel, I call it. Oh, mother, it is cruel."
Now all this was from Molly's point of view, and so it happened that
Mrs Aldworth, for the time being, took her child's part; she did not
think of herself. Besides, Marcia had dared to defy her authority, and
a sensation of fury visited her.
"You had better call the others," she said. "We must have a conclave
over this. We really must. I will not submit to insurrection in my
house. We must arrange with the girls what we shall do, and then call
your father in. His must be the casting vote."
Molly flew out of the room. She found Nesta presently, enjoying herself
in the swing. She jumped lightly from it when she saw Molly.
"Well," she said, "what has happened! Whatever did mother say?"
"Mother is in the most awful rage. Marcia has openly defied her. I
wouldn't be in Marcia's shoes for a good deal. Mother thoroughly
sympathises with us; she feels that we are most badly used, and she
wants you, Nesta, you and Ethel. Wherever is Ethel?"
"Ethel has gone over to the Carters' to explain about to-night. Poor
Ethel, her head was banging; I expect the heat of the sun will give her
sunstroke. But Marcia wouldn't care. Not she."
"Well, you had better come along, Nesta," said Molly. "Mother will be
awfully annoyed at Ethel being out. What a pity she went. It's very
important for our future."
The two sisters went up together to their mother's room, arm in arm. As
a rule they often quarrelled, but on this occasion they were unanimous
against their common fate. Mrs Aldworth, however, had changed her mood
during Molly's absence. She had begun to think what all this was about,
and what all the agony of Molly's tears really represented. The great
trial in the minds of her daughters, was having to nurse her. She was
their mother.
"Am I such a nuisance, so terribly in every one's way?" she thought, and
she began to sob feebly. She wished herself, as she was fond of saying,
out of the way. "If only I might die!" she moaned. "They would be very
sorry then. They would think a great deal of what their poor mother was
to them in life. But they're all selfish, every one of them."
It was in this changed mood that the two girls, Molly and Nesta, entered
Mrs Aldworth's room. She greeted them when they appeared in the
doorway.
"Don't walk arm in arm in that ridiculous fashion. You know you are
always quarrelling, you two. You are just in league against poor
Marcia."
"Poor Marcia!" cried Molly.
"Yes, poor Marcia. But where's Ethel; why doesn't she come when her
mother sends for her? Am I indeed openly defied in my own house?"
"Oh, mother," said Molly, in some trepidation, "it isn't us, it is
Marcia."
"It's much more you, you are my children--Marcia isn't. I am your
mother. Live as long as you may you will never be able to get a second
mother."
Here Mrs Aldworth burst into sobs herself. But Nesta was an adept at
knowing how to manage the invalid when such scenes came on.
"As though we wanted to," she said. "Darling little mother; sweet,
pretty little mother."
She knelt by the sofa, she put her soft arms round her mother's poor
tired neck, she laid her soft, cool cheek against the hot one, she
looked with her blue eyes into the eyes from which tears were streaming.
"You know, mother, that we just worship you."
"But, of course, mother, it's only natural," said Molly, "that we should
_sometimes_ want to have a little fresh air."
"It is just as true," continued Nesta, "that one cannot be young twice,
as that one cannot have a real ownest mother over again."
"Of course it is," said Mrs Aldworth, whose emotions were like the
weathercock, and changed instant by instant. "I quite sympathise with
you, my darlings. You adore me, don't you?"
"We live for you," said Molly. "You are our first thought morning,
noon, and night."
"Then where is Ethel? Why doesn't she come?"
"She has gone to the Carters to explain that we cannot possibly be
present at the dance this evening."
"Poor darling," said Nesta, "she'll have sunstroke on the way, her head
was so bad."
"Sunstroke?" said Mrs Aldworth, who was now seriously alarmed, "and the
afternoon is so very hot. Why did you let her go out with a bad
headache?"
"She had to go, mother," said Nesta. "The Carters would be so
offended."
"Of course they would," said Molly. "She simply had to go. But for
Marcia it would have been all right."
"Certainly that girl does bring discord and misery into the house," said
Mrs Aldworth.
"But she won't long, mother; not when you manage her."
"You can manage anybody, you know, mother," said Nesta.
Mrs Aldworth allowed herself to smile. She mopped the tears from her
eyes and sat up a little higher on her sofa.
"Now, darling," she said, "draw up that blind. Marcia has made the room
too dark."
"Catch her doing anything right!" said Nesta.
She pulled up the Venetian blind with a bang. Alas, one of the cords
snapped. Immediately the rods of wood became crooked, and the light
darted on to Mrs Aldworth's face.
"You tiresome, clumsy child," said the mother. "Now what is to be
done?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. I'm very sorry," said Nesta. "I'm all
thumbs--I have always said so. I suppose it's because I'm so
ridiculously young."
Mrs Aldworth scolded in the fretful way in which she could scold; the
girls between them managed to move the sofa, and after a time peace was
restored; but the room was disorderly, and the crooked blind wobbling in
a most disreputable manner against the partly opened window, did not
improve its appearance.
"What will you do, mother?" said Nesta. "Do tell us what you will do?"
"Well," said Mrs Aldworth, "I shall insist firmly on obedience."
"There's no use coercing her too roughly, mother; there really isn't,"
said Molly. "She will simply do what she said."
"You leave her to me, dears. When does her so-called duty recommence?"
"To-morrow afternoon, mother, Ethel will look after you to-morrow
morning," said Nesta, in some terror for fear the unwelcome task should
devolve on herself.
"Yes, of course, Ethel will take her turn," said Molly, then she added,
glancing at Nesta, "and it will be your turn on the following
afternoon."
"Oh, but I cannot possibly come then, for I have promised to go for a
walk with Flossie Griffiths. It has been such a looked-forward-to
treat. Mother, you couldn't deprive me of the pleasure."
"I tell you it will be all right by then," said Mrs Aldworth. "Now, go
away, Nesta, your voice is much too loud, and remember, that after all
it is a great privilege for you to have a mother to attend to when she
is so devoted to you."
"Yes, yes, darling; yes, yes," said Nesta.
She kissed the hot cheek again and went slowly out of the room. In the
passage, however, she uttered a low whoop of rejoicing at her recovered
liberty, and a minute later she flew down the garden path to enjoy
herself in the swing.