The Carters were a numerous family. They lived about a mile away from
the Aldworths. The Aldworths lived in a small house in the town and the
Carters in a large country place with spacious grounds and every
imaginable luxury. Mr Carter had suddenly made a great pile of money
in iron, had retired to private life, and had given his six children
everything that money could buy. The Carters conducted themselves
always according to their special will; they had no mother to look after
them, their mother having died when Penelope, the youngest girl, was a
baby. There were two sons in the family and four daughters. The sons
were called Jim and Harry, the girls were Clara, Mabel, Annie, and
Penelope. They were ordinary, good-natured, good-humoured sort of
girls; they took life easily. Clara, the eldest, believed herself to be
the mistress of the house, and a very sorry mistress she would have made
but for the fact that there was an invaluable old nurse, a servant, who
had lived with Mrs Carter before she died, and who really held the
household reins. This kind-hearted, motherly body kept the young people
in check, although she never appeared to cross them. They consulted her
without knowing that they did so. She superintended the servants; she
saw to the linen press; she arranged the food; she kept all the supplies
with a liberal hand, and gave Clara and the other girls _carte blanche_
with regard to what they might do with their time, and when they might
entertain their friends.
The old house, Court Prospect by name, on account of its extensive view,
was very suitable for entertainments. Once it had been the property of
a gracious and noble family; but hard times had come upon them and Sir
John St Just had been glad to receive the money which the rich Mr
Carter was prepared to offer. In consequence, the St Justs had
disappeared from the neighbourhood. Beautiful Angela St Just no longer
delighted the people when she walked down the aisle of the little
village church. She no longer sang with a voice which seemed to the
parishioners like that of an angel, in the choir. She went away with
her father, and the Carters, it must be owned, had a bad time of it
during the first year of their residence at Court Prospect.
But money can effect wonders. The place was according to the Carters'
ideas completely renovated. The hideous, ugly out-of-date furniture was
replaced by maple with plush and gilt and modern taste. The gardens
were laid out according to the ideas of a landscape gardener who had
certainly never consulted the true ideas of Nature. Some of the old
timber had been cut down to enlarge the view, as Clara expressed it.
This young lady was now exactly eighteen years of age. She was out, and
so was her twin sister, Mabel. Annie, who was only seventeen, was still
supposed to be in the school-room, but she was very much _en evidence_
at all the parties and entertainments; but Penelope, who was only
fourteen, was obliged to be to a certain extent under tutelage.
The Carters' ball, or rather, as they expressed it themselves, their
little impromptu dance, had been the talk of all the girls and young men
who were lucky enough to be invited to it. It was a great honour to be
intimate with the Carters; they were jolly, good-natured girls, and
certainly without a trace of snobbishness in their compositions. They
were so rich that they did not want to be bothered, as they expressed
it, with monied people; they liked to choose their own friends. Molly
and Ethel and Nesta had attracted Clara and Mabel some time ago, and
their brothers, too, had considered the girls very pretty; for the young
Aldworths were of the laughing, joking, gay sort of girls, who could
talk in a pert, frank fashion; who were not troubled with an overplus of
brains, and, in consequence, were exceedingly popular with certain
individuals.
It was to visit the Carters, therefore, and to unburden her mind of its
load, that Ethel, with her aching head, proceeded to go on this hot
summer afternoon. She found the girls and two boy friends from the
neighbourhood having tea under the wide-spreading cedar tree on the
lawn. This cedar tree had been the pride of Sir John St Just, but Mr
Carter seriously thought of cutting it down in order to still further
enlarge the view; therefore the poor old cedar was at present on
sufferance, and the young people were enjoying its shade when Ethel
appeared with crimson cheeks, and eyes which still bore traces of the
heavy tears which she had shed. They jumped up, and Mabel ran to meet
her.
"This is good; and so you have followed your horrid, detestable note.
Why, of course, you are coming to-night. Clara and I won't hear of a
refusal."
"We cannot, really," said Ethel. "We can't either of us come."
"Let me introduce you to Mr John and Mr Henry Grace," said Mabel,
bringing Ethel up to the rest of the party.
"Have some tea, Ethel, do," said Clara, holding out her hand a little
languidly. "How awfully hot you look."
Ethel sank down on a chair which one of the others had vacated and
allowed herself to be cooled and petted. Clara suddenly began on the
subject of the ball.
"What a queer note you sent; what does it all mean?" she asked.
"I will tell you afterwards; I have come over to explain," said Ethel,
"if I can see you--you and dear Mabel for a few minutes alone before I
leave."
"Dear me, what is the mystery?" said Jim, who had flung himself on the
grass. "Why can't you tell us all? It would be no end of a lark.
Another rumpus with the mother. Is she more cantankerous than ever?"
"No, mother is quite nice, particularly nice," said Ethel, who had often
explained to the young Carters what a trial her mother was.
"Well, then, come and have a game," said Jim. "Come along, do, and
forget all the worries. If it isn't the mother it can't be anything
very serious."
"Yes, but it is, and I cannot tell you," said Ethel.
She looked so forlorn that everyone present pitied her. Her soft brown
eyes filled with sudden tears and overflowed.
"Oh, how my head is aching. I've been lying down all the afternoon. I
just managed to come out to tell you, for I felt you must know."
"Is it as bad as that? Then we had best make ourselves scarce," said
Jim. "Come along, let us go away, we who are the unfavoured; we'll
leave the select few to listen to confidences."
A game of tennis was presently in active progress, Clara and Mabel, who
both longed to join, did not feel too sympathetic.
"Well," said Clara, "whatever is it? Do tell all. If you won't come
to-night and you won't play, why--"
"Oh, you mean me to go," said Ethel. "It's always like that--I might
have expected it."
"Oh, no; don't go," said Mabel, who was more good-natured than her
sister, "that is," she corrected herself, "if we can do anything to help
you."
"I must tell you--I won't keep you more than a few minutes. You know
Marcia--you have heard of her?"
"Of your elder sister? Oh, how funny! There came a letter yesterday
from Colonel St Just to father, and he said that his sister, Mrs
Silchester, is coming to spend the holidays with them, and that she had
mentioned your sister, Miss Marcia Aldworth. She said what a splendid
girl she was. Colonel St Just told us to tell you--he thought you
would be pleased."
"Oh, she is deceived in her," said Ethel, her face getting redder than
ever. "She is deceived in her. I wish she knew. Well, I'll tell you
all about it. You know Marcia isn't our real sister--"
"Oh, my dear, of course, that is no news," said Clara more crossly than
ever.
"But she is older--she is older than I am, and older than Molly. She is
twenty."
This was said with effect, and a long pause followed. "She will be
twenty-one before long. You can't call that young, can you?"
"Well, not as young as eighteen, of course."
"But it isn't young at all," said Ethel, in a fretful tone. "Now I am
only seventeen, and dear Molly is only eighteen; we are quite young."
"And so are we, we are both eighteen, aren't we, darling old Clay?" said
Mabel, patting her sister on the face.
"Yes, but don't call me Clay--it does sound so earthy," said Clara.
"But do go on, Ethel. Out with this trouble."
"Well, it is this--father sent for Marcia."
"What, from that delightful school where Mrs Silchester adores her so
much?"
"Yes, why not? She is his child, and he sent for her, and she came, and
Horace approved of the plan."
"I am always so frightened of that Horace of yours," said Mabel. "But
do hurry up."
"Well, she came. We feared she wouldn't, for she is awfully selfish;
but she did; she came, and we were so happy. It was, you know,
liberation for us, for dear mother, poor darling, does take up such a
lot of time. One of us has always to be with her, and sometimes two
have to be with her, for father insists on her never being alone, and we
are not rich like you, and cannot afford a hired nurse."
"And who would give a hired nurse to one's mother?" said Mabel.
"Well, anyhow, that is how it is; we wouldn't, of course, and Marcia
came. She came last night. She is very staid, you know, not a bit like
us."
One of the boys shouted across to ask Clara when she would be finished
and ready to make up a set.
"I really cannot stay," said Clara. "Oh, you aren't a bit sympathising.
I thought you would be; but I don't suppose any one will be. Well, she
came, and she absolutely refused to give more than a little bit of her
time to mother. We're to be tied as much as usual, and we cannot come
to-night. You know Molly and I never do anything apart, and Molly won't
be free, for mother is never settled till between nine and ten o'clock,
and it would be much, much too late. We'll never be able to go
anywhere. Marcia will manage that we're to be tied and bound as much as
ever we were, and Marcia will have all the honour and glory. Oh dear,
we can only be young once. I think Marcia might have remembered that--
Marcia, whose youth is quite over. I do think she might--I do!"
"Poor Ethel," said Clara, with more sympathy. "It does seem hard.
Well, we'll try and get some fun for you on your free days. After all
she is your mother. Coming, Jim, coming. Sorry you can't be here
to-night, Ethel; but we'll get up some fun again in a hurry. Now, cheer
up, old girl, cheer up."