The next morning passed somehow. The girls had decided that they would
send Marcia to Coventry. They had made up their minds in a solemn
conclave late the night before.
"We daren't oppose her for the present," said Ethel, who had thought of
this daring plan, "but we'll make her life so miserable that she just
won't be able to bear it."
"She used to be so affectionate; I remember that," said Molly. "She was
very good to me when I had the measles. She used to sit in the room and
never think of herself at all."
"She caught them afterwards, don't you remember, horrid things?" said
Nesta.
"And I don't think I went to sit with her at all," said Molly.
"It was rather piggish of you, wasn't it?" said Ethel.
"Well, well; don't rake up my old faults now. Am I not sad enough? Do
you really think, Nesta and Ethel, that we had best send her to
Coventry? Do you mean really to Coventry?"
"Yes; don't let's speak to her. We'll try the effect for a week. We'll
do our duty, of course. We'll go into mother's room in turn, and we'll
give up everything for our mother's sake, and we'll deny ourselves, and
we'll never speak to Marcia at all. When we are at meals, if she forces
us to speak, we'll say yes and no, but that's all, unless Horace or
father is present. We'll leave her quite to herself; she shall have her
free hours, and her time for writing, and we wish her joy of it."
This plan of action being determined on, the girls went to bed with a
certain sense of consolation.
It was Ethel's turn to spend the morning with the invalid on the
following day, and she determinedly went there without a word. The
effect of the Coventry system seemed at first to be but small. During
breakfast that morning Marcia was absorbed in some letters she had
received. She asked her father the best way to get to Hurst Castle.
"Why do you want to go there?" asked her parent.
"I have had a letter from Angela St Just. She is most anxious to see
me."
Ethel very nearly dropped the cup of tea which she was raising to her
lips.
"Angela St Just?" she murmured under her breath. Even Mr Aldworth
looked interested.
"Do you know her?" he asked.
"Of course I do; she was one of Mrs Silchester's pupils. She wants me
to go and see her, and, if I can be spared, to spend a little time there
in the summer. I have had a long letter from her."
"She was a remarkably handsome girl; I remember that," said Mr
Aldworth. "Well, to be sure, and so she was at that school."
"You forget, father," said Marcia, "that Mrs Silchester is Sir Edward
St Just's sister-in-law."
"Indeed? That is news."
Horace made one or two remarks.
"I am glad you know her so well, Marcia, and I hope you will have a
pleasant time when you go to Hurst Castle. You say Sir Edward is
staying there at present?"
"Yes, with some relatives."
"And Angela?"
"Yes, they're going to spend some months there this summer."
Marcia then calmly read her remaining letters and then, just nodding
towards Ethel, she said:
"I think it is your turn to look after mother, dear," and she left the
room.
But just as she reached the door she came back.
"Be very careful, dear Ethel, not to allow her to sit in the sun. It is
such a beautiful day that I think you might wheel her on to the balcony,
where she can get some fresh air. Just do your best to make her happy.
I shall be so pleased if I see her looking bright and comfortable this
afternoon."
To these remarks Ethel proudly withheld any comment Marcia, not in the
least disturbed, hurried away.
"Well," said Nesta, when her father and brother and elder sister had
made themselves scarce, "she doesn't seem to be much put out by the
beginning of Coventry; does she, Molly?"
"She's so eaten up with pride," said Molly, "talking about her Angela
St Just and her Hurst Castle--snobbish, I call it, don't you, Ethel?"
"I don't know that I shouldn't like a little bit of it myself," replied
Ethel. "You should hear how the people talk of her in the town. They
don't think anything at all of the Carters, I can tell you."
"You have never explained what happened during your visit yesterday,"
said Molly.
Marcia was passing the window. She looked in.
"It's time you went to mother, Ethel," she said.
Ethel rose with a crimson face.
"Hateful old prig!" she said.
"There, girls, I can't tell you now. I'm in for a jolly time, and
you'll be amusing yourselves in the garden, and she'll amuse herself."
"Well, you can think of me to-morrow," said Nesta, "giving up my walk
with Florrie Griffiths. That's what I call hard, and you and Ethel will
have a jolly afternoon all to yourselves, and a jolly morning to-morrow.
It's I who am to be pitied. I don't think I can stand it. I think
I'll run away."
"Don't be a goose, Netty. You know you'll have to bear the burden as
well as Miss Mule Selfish."
"Oh, what a funny name," said Nesta, laughing.
"Do let us call her Mule Selfish. It does sound so funny."
Ethel, having propounded this remarkable specimen of wit, went upstairs,
considerably satisfied with herself. Her post that morning was no
sinecure. Mrs Aldworth was in a terrible temper, and she was really
weak and ill, too. It was one of her worst days. Ethel, always clumsy,
was more so than usual. The sun poured in through the open window, and
when the doctor arrived he was not pleased with the appearance of the
room, and told Ethel so sharply.
"You are a very bad nurse," he said, "for all the training you've had.
Now don't allow that blind to be in such a condition a moment longer.
Get one of the servants to come and mend it. I am exceedingly annoyed
to see your mother in such an uncomfortable condition."
Ethel was forced to go off in search of a servant. The blind was mended
after a fashion; the invalid was pitied by the doctor, who ordered a
fresh tonic for her. So the weary hours flew by, and at last Ethel's
task was over. She rushed downstairs. The load was lifted from her
mind; she was free for a bit. She immediately asked Molly how they
might spend the afternoon.
Lunch was on the table and Marcia appeared. Marcia spoke to the young
lady.
"How is mother?"
"I don't know," said Ethel.
"You don't know? But you have been with her all the morning."
"The doctor called; you had better ask him."
"She will turn at that. I would like to catch her in a rage," thought
Ethel.
Marcia did not turn. She guessed what was passing through her young
sister's mind. It would pass presently. They would take the discipline
she was bringing them through presently. She was sorry for them; she
loved them very dearly; but give them an indulgent life to the detriment
of their characters, and to her own misery, she would not.
By-and-by lunch came to an end, and then Marcia rose.
"Now, you go to your imprisonment," thought Molly.
Marcia went into the garden. She gathered some flowers, then went into
the fruit garden and picked some very fine gooseberries. She laid them
in a little basket with some leaves over them, and with the fruit and
flowers in her hand, and a pretty basket containing all kinds of fancy
work, she went up to the sick-room.
Mrs Aldworth could not but smile when she saw the calm face, the pretty
white dress, the elegant young figure. Of course, she must scold this
recalcitrant step-daughter, but it was nice to see her, and the flowers
smelt so sweet, and she had just been pining for some gooseberries. Why
hadn't one of her own girls thought of it?
Marcia spent nearly an hour putting the room in order. The Venetian
blind did not work; the servant had mended it badly. She soon put that
straight. She then sat down opposite to Mrs Aldworth.
"Our afternoons will be our pleasantest times," she said. "There is so
much to be done in the mornings, but in the afternoons we can have long
talks, and I can amuse you with some of the school-life stories. I have
something quite interesting to tell you to-day, and I have brought up a
book which I should like to read to you, that is, if you are inclined to
listen. And, oh, mother, I think you would like this new sort of fancy
work. I have got all the materials for it. It would make some charming
ornamental work for the drawing room. We ought to make the drawing room
pretty by the time you come back to it."
"Oh, but I shall never come back to it," said Mrs Aldworth.
"Indeed you will, and very soon too. I'm not going to allow you to be
long in this bedroom. You will be downstairs again in a few days."
"Never," said Mrs Aldworth.
"Indeed you will. And anyhow we ought to have the drawing room pretty
now that Molly and Ethel are out--or consider themselves so. And,
mother, dear,"--Marcia's voice assumed a new and serious tone--"I have
so much to talk to you about the dear girls."
Mrs Aldworth trembled. Now, indeed, was the moment when she ought to
begin, but somehow, try as she would, she found it impossible to be
cross with Marcia. Still, the memory of Molly and her wrongs, of Nesta,
and the burden she was unexpectedly forced to carry, of Ethel, and her
tendency to sunstroke, came over her.
"Before you say anything, I must be frank," she said.
"Oh, yes, mother; that's what I should like, and expect," said Marcia,
not losing any of her cheerfulness, but laying down her work and
preparing herself to listen.
She did not stare as her young sisters would have done, for she knew
that Mrs Aldworth hated being stared at. She only glanced now and
then, and her look was full of sympathy, and there was not a trace of
anger on her face.
"You really are very nice, Marcia; there's no denying it. I do wish
that in some ways--not perhaps in looks, but in some ways, that my girls
were more like you. But, dear, this is it--are you not a little hard on
them? They're so young."
"So young?" said Marcia. "Molly is eighteen. She is only two years
younger than I am."
"But you will be twenty-one in three months' time."
"I think, mother, if you compare birthdays, you will find that Molly
will be nineteen in four months' time. There is little more than two
years between us."
Mrs Aldworth was always irritated when opposed.
"That's true," she said. "But don't quibble, Marcia; that is a very
disagreeable trait in any girl, particularly when she is addressing a
woman so much older than herself. The girls are younger than you, not
only in years but in character."
"That I quite corroborate," said Marcia firmly.
"Why do you speak in that tone, as though you were finding fault with
them, poor darlings, for being young and sweet and childish, and
innocent?"
"Mother," said Marcia, and now she rose from her seat and dropped on her
knees by the invalid's couch, "do you think that I really blame them for
being young and innocent? But I do blame them for something else."
"And what is that?"
"For being selfish: for thinking of themselves more than for others."
"I don't understand you."
"If you will consider for a moment I think you will quite understand
what I mean."
"Marcia, my head aches; I cannot stand a long argument."
"Nor will I give it to you. I have come back here to help you--"
"Why, of course, you were sent for for that purpose."
Marcia felt a very fierce wave of passion rising for a moment in her
heart. After all, she had her passions, her strong feelings, her
idiosyncrasies. She was not tame; she was not submissive; hers was a
firm, steadfast, reliable nature. Hers also was a proud and rebellious
one. Nevertheless, she soon conquered the rising irritation. She knew
that this bad hour would have to be lived through.
"I am glad you are talking to me quite plainly," she said, "and I on my
part will answer you in the same spirit. I have come back here not
because I must, for as a matter of fact, I am my own mistress. You see,
by my own dear mother's will I have sufficient money of my own--not a
great deal, but enough to support me. I can, therefore, be quite
independent; and the fact that by my mother's will I was made of age at
twenty, puts all possibility of misconstruction of my meaning out of the
question."
"Marcia, you are so terribly learned; you use such long words; you talk
as though you were forty. Now, my poor children--"
"Mother, you are quite a clever woman yourself, and of course you know
what I mean. I have come back to help you, because I wished to--not
because I was forced to do so."
"Molly says you are terribly conceited; I am afraid she is right."
Marcia took no notice of this.
"Although I have come back to help you, I have not come back to ruin my
young sisters."
"Now, Marcia, you really are talking the wildest nonsense."
"Not at all. Don't you want them to love you?"
Mrs Aldworth burst into tears.
"What a dreadful creature you are," she said. "As though my own sweet
children did not love me. Why, they're madly devoted to me. If my
little finger aches they're in such a state--you never knew anything
like it. I have seen my poor Molly obliged to rush from the room when I
have been having a bad attack of my neuralgia, just because her own
precious nerves could not stand the agony. Not love me? How dare you
insinuate such a thing?"
"Mother, we evidently have different ideas with regard to love. My idea
is this--that you ought to sacrifice yourself for the one you love.
Now, if I came here and took the complete charge of you away from your
own daughters; if I gave them nothing whatever to do for you, and if
they were to spend their entire time amusing themselves, and not once
considering you, I should do them a cruel wrong; I should injure their
characters, and I should make them, what they are already inclined to
be--most terribly selfish. That, God helping me, I will not do. I will
share the charge of you with them, or I will return to Frankfort to Mrs
Silchester, whom I love; to the life that I delight in; to the friends I
have made. I will not budge an inch; I will nurse you with the girls,
or not at all."
Mrs Aldworth looked up. After all, with a captious, fretful, irritable
invalid, a woman with so vacillating a nature as Mrs Aldworth's, there
was nothing so effective as firmness. She succumbed. In a minute she
had flung her arms round Marcia's neck.
"My darling," she said, "I do see what you mean. And you are right; you
will train them, you will be, in my absence, a mother to them."
"Not a mother, for I, like them, am young; but I will be to them an
elder sister, and I will teach them--not in words, but by precept and by
sympathy and by love, what I should like them to learn. They want a
great deal of looking after; and, first of all, they want a complete
change in their method of living."
"I am afraid even for them, and for you, I cannot quite ignore my pain,
my constant suffering, my weary nights, my long, long, fatiguing days."
"Of course you cannot, and I have said enough for the present. Now, let
us have a jolly time. See, I am going to have a particularly nice tea
for you this afternoon. I have told Susan to bring it up when it is
ready. We'll have it on that balcony."
"Oh, but I shall catch cold."
"Indeed you won't. Do you see that shady corner, and how the
scent-laden air is pervading the whole place, and the sun will be
shining across the other half, and you can see a long way down the
garden? I'll sit near you and read to you when you like, out of such a
funny book."
"My taste and yours don't agree with regard to reading," said Mrs
Aldworth, always glad to hail any interruption. "I suppose I have
degenerated; I am certainly not an intellectual woman; I don't pretend
that I am. I like the stories that are in the penny papers. We get two
or three of them, and we always enjoy them. Will you read me one of
those?"
"No, mother."
"Oh, how cross you are!"
"I am very sorry, mother, but I will read you something just as amusing.
Did you ever hear of `The Reminiscences of an Irish R.M.'?"
"No, it sounds very dull."
"Wait till you hear it. It will make you laugh a great deal more than
the stories in the penny papers."
"They make me cry a great deal. Molly reads rather badly, but yesterday
I found myself weeping in the middle of the night over the woes of the
poor little heroine. I am sure the next number of the paper has come
in, and I am so anxious to know if she is really married to the Earl of
Dorchester."
"It will be Nesta's turn to-morrow, and she can read to you. Now for
the balcony and a pleasant time." They had a pleasant time, and the
hours flew by on wings. Marcia told stories; she laughed, she chatted,
and she read a little from "The Reminiscences of an Irish R.M." Mrs
Aldworth laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.
"Oh, rich! rich!" she exclaimed. "That scene with the dog is
inimitable. How funny, how truly funny! But, Marcia, isn't it bad for
my nerves to laugh so much?"
"It's the best thing for them in all the world."
"Marcia, you are wonderful!"
"Now for the new fancy work," said Marcia.
She taught the invalid a different sort of stitch from any which she had
before learned. She gave her bright-coloured silks, and a piece of art
cloth to embroider upon, and soon her stepmother was so fascinated that
she allowed her young companion to work in silence, often raising her
eyes to look across the distant garden.
The girls were spending the afternoon in the garden; but presently they
went out, all three of them gaudily and badly dressed. They walked
through the garden, gathered some roses, and then disappeared through a
little wicket gate at the further end.
Marcia felt quite sure that they did this for the purpose of showing her
how they were enjoying themselves, while she was in prison. She smiled
to herself.
"Poor little things," she thought. "I wonder how soon I shall win their
hearts."
She had marked out a plan of action for herself. She had practically
secured Mrs Aldworth--not for long, of course, for Nesta would turn her
round the next day, and Molly the day after. It would be a constant
repetition of the battle; but in the end she would win her. The girls,
of course, were different. Unselfishness must be born within them
before they really did what Marcia wanted them to do. Unselfishness,
brave hearts, pure spirits, noble ways.
"Two, three months should do it," thought the girl; "then I can go back
with Angela St Just in the autumn; for she is returning to Frankfort, I
know, just to be with Mrs Silchester, and I can take her back. Oh,
little Angela!"
Marcia recalled the soft touch of Angela's blooming cheek; the look in
her lovely eyes; the refinement in all her bearing.
Mrs Aldworth indulged in a nap; but now tea appeared and there was
again bustle and movement, and when Mr Aldworth entered the room
presently, he was so surprised at the improvement in his wife that he
scarcely knew her.
"Marcia, you are a magician," he said.
"You must uphold me with regard to the girls," said Marcia.
"Of course, dear, you must uphold her. She has been explaining things
to me," said the wife. "She says that my children are exceedingly
selfish."
"I have always known that," replied Mr Aldworth, looking at his
daughter.
Mrs Aldworth began to frown. "I must say I think it is very unkind of
you to say so; but of course you stick up for Marcia, and you abuse my
poor children. That is always the way. I suppose just because Marcia's
mother thought herself a fine county lady and I--my people only in
common trade, that--"
"Oh, hush, Amelia," said her husband.
"Mother--dear mother!" said Marcia.
Mr Aldworth backed out of the room as quickly as he could. He met his
son on the stairs.
"Don't go in," he said. "She's as jealous as ever she can be. Like a
bear with a sore head. The girls are all out enjoying themselves and
Marcia is keeping guard. I must say that she makes an excellent nurse.
I believe your mother will be ever so much better in a short time. She
has her out on the balcony, prettily dressed, surrounded by coloured
silks and all that sort of thing, and Marcia herself is looking like a
picture."
"She is very handsome," interrupted Horace. "I'll go in and have a
peep. I don't often visit mother."
If there was a person in the whole world whom Mrs Aldworth respected,
it was her stepson. She was, of course, a little bit afraid of him; she
was not in the least afraid of her husband. She had led him a sorry
sort of life, poor man, since he had brought her home, an exceedingly
pretty, self-willed, rather vulgar little bride. Horace and Marcia had
a bad time during those early days, but Marcia had a worse time than
Horace, for Horace never submitted, never brooked injustice, and managed
before she was a year his stepmother to turn that same little stepmother
round his fingers. Marcia, luckily for herself, was sent to school when
she was old enough, but Horace lived on in the house. He took up his
father's business and did well in it, and was his father's prop and
right hand.
"Horace, dear," exclaimed Marcia, when she saw her brother.
Horace came out through the open window, bending his tall head to do so.
"Upon my word," he said, "this is very pleasant. How nice you look,
mother, and how well. Marcia, I congratulate you."
"Horace, she has been reading me such a lecture--your poor old mother.
She says that my children are so selfish."
"A most self-evident fact," replied Horace.
"Horace! You too?"
"Come, mother, you must acknowledge it."
"Marcia is going to take them in hand."
"Good girl, capital!" said Horace, giving his sister a glance of
approval.
"Don't you think we needn't talk of it just now?" said Marcia. "We
don't see so much of you, Horace. Have you nothing funny to tell
mother?"
"I have, I have all kinds of stories. But you look tired, old girl.
Run away and rest in the garden for an hour. I'll stay with mother for
just that time."
Marcia gave him a glance of real gratitude. Oh, she was tired. The
invalid was difficult; the afternoon hours seemed as though they would
never end.
When she went back again Horace had soothed his mother into a most
beatific state of bliss. She told Marcia that she was the best girl in
all the world; that she would confide the entire future of her three
girls to dear Marcia, that Marcia should train them, should make them
noble like herself.
"And I'll tell them so: I'll tell that naughty little Nesta to-morrow
afternoon. I'll tell her she must look after me: I'll be firm; I'll put
down my foot," said Mrs Aldworth.
Marcia made no response. Another long hour and a half had to be got
through and then the invalid was safe in bed, with all her small
requirements at hand. She opened her eyes sleepily.
"God bless you, Marcia dear. You are a very good girl, and the joy of
my life."