Mr and Mrs Saxon welcomed their children on the threshold of their
country home, but a chill seemed to settle on the young people's spirits
as they entered the great square hall, which looked so colourless and
dreary. As a rule, The Meads was inhabited during the summer months
alone, and the children were accustomed to see it alight with sunshine,
with doors and windows thrown wide open to show vistas of flower gardens
and soft green lawns. In such weather, a house was apt to be regarded
merely as a place to sleep in, but now that it would be necessary to
spend a great part of the day indoors, it was regarded more critically,
and found far from attractive.
The Meads was one of those square, uncompromisingly ugly white houses
which are so often to be found in rural England, and which were built at
that architecturally unhappy period when old traditions had been cast
aside and the modern craze for art was as yet undeveloped. There were
plenty of rooms in the house, lofty and spacious enough, but as to
outline just so many boxes, with four straight walls, and never a niche
or an alcove to break the severity of line. The hall was another
square, and the staircase ascended straightly to the first landing,
where a monstrosity of a stained-glass window lighted the long corridors
beyond.
The furniture was of the same calibre as the house, for, The Meads
having been regarded more as a convenient dumping-ground for the
children in the summer holidays than as a formal residence, everything
that was shabby, injured, or out of date had been weeded from the
beautiful town mansion and drafted down to fill up the big square rooms.
Mr Saxon had a shooting-box in Scotland in which he was wont to spend
the autumn months, Mrs Saxon had a passion for travelling, and could
not understand the joy of spending every summer in the same house. The
Meads was large, healthy, and convenient, so that while the children
were young it had filled a real need, but there was no denying that,
regarded as a winter residence, it bore a somewhat chilling aspect.
Gurth looked round the hall with eyes very wide open and nose screwed up
in eloquent disapproval.
"I say! don't it look different, just, without the sun? Regular old
grim hole of a place, ain't it? Like an institution, or a hospital, or
something of the kind--not a bit like home--"
"Oh, Gurth, don't," cried his mother quickly, while her forehead
corrugated with lines as of actual physical pain. "Dear, you are cold
and tired after your journey. Things always look dull when one is
tired. Come into the library, all of you! There's a glorious fire, and
you shall have tea at once." She slid her hand into her eldest
daughter's arm, looking with fond admiration at the fair, delicately cut
profile. "You have had a happy time in town this last week--since we
left?"
Rowena turned her tall head, and looked down upon her mother with the
air of a young goddess, offended, yet resolutely self-restrained. Mrs
Saxon was a medium-sized woman, but she looked small beside the tall
slenderness of the young daughter who held herself so loftily erect.
"Mother!" cried Rowena, in a deep tone of remonstrance, "it's the
Vincents' dance to-morrow! I was looking forward to it more than
anything else. Lots of grown-up people are going--it would have been
almost like coming out. I never thought you would have brought me away
from town the very day before _that_. You knew how I should feel--"
"Darling, I'm sorry, more sorry than I can say, but it was necessary.
As things are, it is better that you should not go. I'll explain--we
will explain. You shall hear all about it later, but first we must have
tea. I think we shall all feel better after tea."
Mrs Saxon looked from one to another of her children with the same
strained, unnatural smile which had greeted them a few minutes before,
and Gurth and Dreda, falling behind the rest, rolled expressive eyes and
whispered low forebodings.
"Something up! I thought as much. What can it be?"
"Don't know. Something horrid, evidently. In the holidays, too. What
a sell!"
Miss Bruce had considerately disappeared, and the parents and children
were left alone in the big bare library, with its rows of fusty, out-of-
date books in early Victorian mahogany bookcases, its three long windows
draped in crimson red curtains, its Indian carpet worn by the tramp of
many feet. A cheerful fire blazed in the grate, however, and the tea
equipage set out on the long table was sufficiently tempting to raise
the spirits of the travellers. It was a real old-fashioned sit-down
tea, where one was not expected to balance a cup and plate on one's knee
and yet refrain from spilling tea or scattering crumbs on the carpet.
Girls and boys arranged themselves in their usual places with sighs of
relief and satisfaction, and, disdaining bread-and-butter, helped
themselves energetically to the richest cake on the table. It was a
family custom with the Saxons to begin on cake and work steadily back to
bread and butter. There had been some opposition to encounter from
conservative elders before this reversal of the ordinary programme had
been sanctioned, but the arguments advanced had been too strong to
resist.
"I can 'preciate things more when I'm hungry. Cake's the best thing;
why need I stodge on bread and butter till I can't properly 'preciate
the cake? Why can't I stodge on cake, and eat the bread when I don't
'preciate? It doesn't matter about bread!"
So ran the thread of Harold's arguments, and it must be confessed that
there was reason therein. To-day, as the young people satisfied their
first pangs of hunger on iced cake, the parents watching them exchanged
a piteous glance, for the proceeding seemed so sadly typical of the
secret that was about to be divulged! Until this day, all that was
richest and best in life had been the everyday possession of these loved
and fortunate children--after to-day, the love would continue unchanged,
but the luxuries must come to an end.
The meal was unusually silent, both Mr and Mrs Saxon and the elder
boys and girls being too much oppressed by their own feelings to be able
to indulge in ordinary light conversation; only Harold and Maud remained
unconscious of the cloud in the atmosphere, and everyone was thankful
for their artless prattle, which filled up what would otherwise have
been a painful silence. As for the twins, they were quite elated to
find so attentive an audience, for as a rule their attempts to enter the
conversation were severely nipped in the bud. "That's enough, thank
you!" Rowena would say in her most lofty manner. "Shut up, you kids.
A fellow can't hear himself speak for your row!" Gurth would call out
fiercely. Even when Mrs Saxon was present she would shake her head
gently across the table, to enforce the oft-repeated axiom that in so
large a family the younger members must perforce learn to be quiet at
table. Maud beamed with pleasure at being allowed to continue her
never-ending descriptions without a word of remonstrance. She was a
fair, pretty, somewhat stupid child, gifted with an overflow of words,
which were, however, singularly incapable of conveying any definite
impression. Observation she possessed in abundance, but her discursive
narratives were by no means improved by being weighted by a plethora of
useless detail. One could listen to Maud's efforts to describe her own
doings for half an hour on end, and remain almost as much in the dark as
at the beginning! On the present occasion she was full of excitement
about a wonderful conjurer whose tricks she had witnessed at a
children's party in town three nights before, and which she was anxious
to enumerate for the benefit of the family.
"...He was the most egg-strawdinary creature you ever saw. He did the
most egg-strawdinary things. I'll tell you what he did... You know the
Westons' drawing-room? You go upstairs--crimson carpets, and such wide
brass rods. Then there's a statue holding up a lamp, and the first
door's the drawing-room. All the doors were taken down to make more
room, and there were rows and rows of forms... He was like a Frenchman
with a pointed moustache, but his clothes weren't very clean... He
rolled up his sleeves, and there was a ring on his finger, and yards and
yards of ribbon came out of his thumb. He had a little table in front
of him with bulgy legs. It stands in the corner with silver on it.
Then he asked a boy in the front row for a watch... Mr Weston said he
wouldn't have lent _his_, but he got it back all right. It was egg-
strawdinary! Meta Rawlins sat by me. She had a pink sash. She says
her father can do it a little bit, only of course not as well as this
one. Then there was an egg. If he had broken it, it _would_ have made
a mess on the carpet! Meta said perhaps it was stone. He talked all
the time, so funny and quick, and one of his front teeth was out. He
asked if any boy or girl would go up to help him, and Brian Hackett
went. He looked so silly. He had to hold things in his hand, and when
he asked for them, they weren't there. It was egg-strawdinary! We had
supper in the dining-room, jellies and cream, and presents in the
trifle. I saw the conjurer having his in the library. I never saw
anything so egg-strawdinary in all my life!"
Gurth and Hereward exchanged expressive glances, Rowena frowned
impatience, Mrs Saxon smiled a faint amusement, and Maud continued to
prattle on, blissfully unconscious of the fact that no one troubled to
listen.
It was after everyone had been fed and refreshed that the explanation of
the mysterious summons from town was given, in response to an outspoken
question from Dreda, whose impetuous nature was ever impatient of
suspense.
"Mother, what has happened? There must be something, or you would never
have left town and sent for us in such a hurry. Can't you tell us now?
It's something horrid, of course! And it's horrid waiting for horrid
things."
Dreda put both elbows on the table, in flagrant disregard of schoolroom
rules, and leant her charming, eager face in the cup of her hands. She
might describe her state of mind as "horrid," but an appearance more
opposed to such a description it would be impossible to imagine. Dreda
had been hungry, and her hunger was satisfied; she had been cold and
tired, now she was warmed and refreshed; she talked vaguely of horrible
things, but nothing approaching real fear had as yet entered her heart.
Grown-ups made such a fuss about trifles. Probably it was something
quite silly and unimportant after all.
Mrs Saxon did not answer. She looked down at her hands and twisted the
rings on her fingers, the while her husband took upon himself the burden
of explanation.
"Yes, Dreda, we wish to speak out plainly. As far as possible we have
always taken our children into our confidence, and now we must all try
to strengthen each other, for a great change is before us. It must
affect us all... I have lost money--a great deal of money. I am no
longer a rich man. Your mother and I came down here to face the
situation quietly, and to think out our plans. We wished to be by
ourselves for a few days before saying anything to you."
"Oh-h. Is that it? Poor father! What a shame!"
"What a beastly fag! How did it happen, Pater?"
"Poor old father! Yes! I _quite_ understand."
They spoke together with impetuous warmth, Gurth, Hereward, and
Etheldreda, but, in spite of their words, none of them understood in the
least. Maud and Harold stared open-mouthed. Only Rowena turned white,
and pressed her lips nervously together.
"Thank you, dears. I knew you would sympathise, but our grief is on
your account more than on our own. If you can bear the change bravely,
our worst fears will be allayed. It will be a big change. To begin
with, I have let the town house. An offer came to take it furnished on
a lease, and I dared not refuse. The Meads will now be our settled
home."
Silence... One definite statement has more effect than a dozen vague
forebodings, and the young people sat stunned with dismay, while the
thoughts of each wandered away on a voyage of personal reflections.
"No town house! No season! Shut up here all the year round, just as I
was coming out, and expecting to have such a lovely time."
"Let the house! Whew! Things must be precious bad ... Suppose, after
all, the Governor can't afford to send me to the army!"
"Here's a pretty go! The house doesn't matter. The country knocks town
into fits any day, but it will be a beastly fag if we have to cut things
down fine. What about the horses?"
"Poor father. Oh, dear, how awful mother looks! Rowena is a brute to
look so cross. P'raps the Spider will have to go, and I shall be
finished, and done with lessons. Topping!"
"Bateson's father lost his money and he went to sea. I wonder if they'd
let me!"
"I've got five pounds six in the bank. I'll draw it out, and give it to
them to help. That would last for mumfs and mumfs."
Mrs Saxon lifted her sad eyes and glanced wistfully round the table.
When she herself had first heard the news she had been stunned into
silence; she hardly expected words, but her mother's heart yearned for a
glance of sympathy and love. The boys, as is the habit of boys, were
rendered awkward and uncomfortable by the atmosphere of emotion, and
stared stolidly at their plates. Rowena sat like a frozen statue of
misery, Maud gaped blankly from one face to another; only Dreda was
ready and waiting with her sunny smile and her easy flow of sympathy.
"Darling! Of course we'll be brave! Don't worry about us. Everyone
says money doesn't matter a bit. You can be perfectly happy without
it... Perfectly sickening for you and father, down here by yourselves
with all that worry. You must have been bored!"
Bored! The utter inadequacy of the word brought a smile to the parents'
eyes, but the kindly warmth of voice and manner was as balm to their
sore hearts. What though Dreda's conduct belied her words time and
again, her impetuous kindliness of heart was for the moment infinitely
soothing, and a blessed contrast to Rowena's gloom. Both parents smiled
lovingly upon her, and Dreda glowed with satisfaction. Really, being
ruined was quite exciting and dramatic!
"Thank you, Dreda," said her father, gratefully. "These have been very
sad days for us, as you say, and even yet we are feeling rather stunned
by the suddenness of this trouble, and have not been able to think out
definite plans for your future. It was necessary to tell you the bare
fact, but you must be patient and forbear from questioning for a few
days. We shall not keep you in suspense longer than is necessary."
Suspense! Six pairs of ears pricked uneasily at the sound of that word;
six hearers seemed to hear in it the knell of a cherished hope. Even
Dreda was awed into silence. The "horrid things" were evidently not yet
finished. What was going to happen next?