In the next week future plans were practically settled so far as the
young people were concerned. Rowena had been right in her surmise about
the boys, for, like most fathers, Mr Saxon was prepared to retrench in
any and every direction rather than interfere with the education of his
sons. It was a family tradition that the eldest son should go into the
army; therefore, at all costs, Hereward must continue that tradition.
The Saxons had for generations been Eton boys, therefore it was
impossible that Gurth could attend another school. As to the girls--
well, Mr Saxon dearly loved his three daughters, and was proud of their
grace and beauty, but in effect he held much the same ideas with regard
to their education as those which Hereward had expounded to his sisters'
indignation. He thought it quite unnecessary to spend large sums on
schooling for girls, and for his own part frankly preferred a woman who
had no pretensions to being a blue-stocking.
The boys received the intelligence with a complacent sense that all was
as it should be, and the one great anxiety being relieved, were disposed
to make light of minor privations. What though the manner of living at
home must necessarily be less luxurious than of yore, holidays occupied,
after all, a small portion of the year, and in a few years' time they
would be launching out for themselves. Hereward had an ambition to join
an Indian regiment. Gurth was destined for the Civil Service. The
Meads would be quite a good old place in which to spend an occasional
furlough. But the girls! The girls were by no means reconciled to
being sacrificed on the altar of masculine ambition. When the programme
for their own future was announced by the nervously anxious mother,
Rowena, Etheldreda, and Maud were alike consumed with indignation and
dismay. They could hardly believe the evidence of their own ears as
they listened to her words:
"Father thought I had better have a little talk with you, dear girls,
and explain to you what we have decided about your future. It has been
a difficult question--very difficult, and we have had to face
alterations which we would thankfully have avoided, for in the end it
simply comes down to the bare question of what we can or cannot afford.
The boys' education is unfortunately very costly, and those expenses
cannot be reduced."
"Why?" demanded Dreda. The crisp, sharp question cut like a lash across
Mrs Saxon's soft-toned explanation, and she started, and faced her
young daughter with a shrinking almost of dismay. Perhaps in her heart
of hearts she, too, doubted the justice of the masculine mandate that
girls should invariably be sacrificed for boys, but she was too loyal to
admit any dissension when her husband had laid down his commands.
"Why, Dreda?" she repeated, gently. "Because the boys have their way to
make in the world ... If we have not much money to leave them, we must
at least give them every chance of success. Their education will be
their capital."
"An officer in the army needs a large private allowance. Father has
always said so. Hereward will need to be helped all his life, instead
of being able to help the family as an eldest son should do ... He
could go into business."
"Oh, Dreda dear! You, who are so sympathetic and kind-hearted. Think
of the terrible disappointment! There always has been a soldier in the
family."
"The family has always been rich. Of course I don't want him to be
disappointed. I don't want _anyone_ to be disappointed," declared Dreda
with an emphasis which brought the colour into her mother's thin cheeks.
"I suppose I can go to Madame Clerc's at Easter, just the same?"
"I--I am afraid ... Madame Clerc's is a very expensive school, darling.
I am afraid it is out of the question! We will do all we can for you.
That is one of the principal things which we have had on our minds the
last week, and I trust--I believe we have made satisfactory
arrangements. Miss Bruce does not feel able to give you finishing
lessons, but Mrs Webster, of Swithin, tells me that she is quite
satisfied with the school to which she has sent her three daughters.
The education is all that could be desired, and the fees much more
moderate than Madame Clerc's. We should see more of you, too, darling,
for you would be able to come home for the exeats in the middle of the
term--"
"Mother! What are you saying? You can't possibly be in earnest.
Please, please don't frighten me! It's a hateful school. I have always
looked down upon it and detested it, and thanked goodness _I_ should
never have to go to it!"
Dreda's face was aflame with colour; her eyes had widened until they
looked about twice their natural size, in her voice there sounded a
quiver of so real a distress that the mother flushed painfully in
response.
"Dear! why be so prejudiced? It may not be so fashionable a school as
Madame Clerc's, but it is admirable in every way, and you will meet
friends there whom you already know--the Websters..."
"Know them! We don't! We have met now and then, but we always
determine not to know them. We christened them `The Currant Buns,' and
hated them from the first moment. Round, white faces and little
curranty eyes!"
"Dreda! Dreda! What has appearance to do with it? You confess
yourself that you are prejudiced, so you cannot possibly judge... They
are said to be clever and industrious, and exceptionally well brought
up, but there will be other girls, plenty of other girls from whom to
choose friends."
"It is settled, then? Really _settled_. You have seen the mistress?"
"Yes, dear, it is settled. You are to begin work at the beginning of
the term. The Websters are delighted to think of having you as a
companion."
Dreda flung out her arms with a gesture of passionate despair, stood for
a moment confronting her mother with flashing eyes and quivering lips,
then suddenly wheeled round, and rushed headlong from the room.
Her first overwhelming impulse was to get out into the air. The house
suffocated her, and besides, she was going to do something ... something
desperate ... and there was no scope indoors. She thought of the lake,
lying dull and grey within its reedy bank, and saw a vision of herself
floating on the surface, with her unbound hair streaming round her face.
In the Academy a year before she had been much attracted by a picture
of the dead Elaine, and her own hair was exactly the same shade... But
it was wicked to commit suicide, and, miserable though she was, life
held too many attractions to be lightly abandoned. She would just run
away into the darkness and the silence, with her sore, sore heart--to
commune with nature, and face the future alone with her own soul! Dreda
sobbed aloud at the pathos of the thought, and, racing down the passage,
threw open the side door leading into the garden.
A gust of wind blew into her face, a dash of cold sleety rain. The sky
was inky black, so black that it was impossible to distinguish even the
outline of the trees: the air was soaking with moisture. To one longing
for darkness and loneliness, the prospect should have been all that
could be desired; yet Dreda drew back shuddering, and shut the door with
a hasty hand. It was wet. She hated to get wet, yet she could not take
an umbrella. When your heart was breaking, and you were face to face
with one of the tragic moments of life, to walk abroad sheltered by an
umbrella was too calm and commonplace a proceeding to be contemplated
for a moment! Dreda decided that on the whole it would be better to do
her wrestling in her own room; but the noise of the opening and shutting
of the door had attracted attention, and as she slowly retraced her
steps the pantry door opened, and Martin the parlourmaid thrust her head
inquiringly outward.
Martin was a pleasant middle-aged woman, an old retainer in the family,
and the pantry at The Meads was quite a good-sized room, and a
comfortable one at that, boasting a fireplace in which blazed the
cheeriest of fires, for Martin was fond of comfort, and took a pride in
keeping her domain spick and span. Her face brightened as she saw the
girl standing in the passage, for Dreda was a favourite with all the
servants. Miss Rowena, they agreed, was "high;" but Miss Dreda was
"feelin'."
"Very feelin' was Miss Dreda!" She was always sorry for you, and wanted
to help. They bore her no grudge because the "wanting" frequently went
no farther than words. She was but young. Young things did forget. It
was entered to her abiding credit that she was "feelin'."
This afternoon one glimpse at the flushed, excited face was sufficient
to show that the girl herself was in trouble, and Martin threw open the
door to show the hospitable glow of the fire.
"Miss Dreda! Was that you standing by that door in the cold? You'll be
catching cold; that's what you'll be doing! I'm having a snack of cocoa
and buttered toast. Come in and have a bite by the fire."
Dreda hesitated. Buttered toast was incongruous--painfully incongruous;
for among the other desperate resolutions which had rushed through her
brain, a slow, determined starvation had held a foremost place. She
would turn with a sick distaste from the pleasures of the table; would
eat only the plainest of viands, and of them barely enough to keep
herself in life. She would grow thin and hollow-eyed, and her parents,
looking on, would repent their cruelty in sackcloth and ashes. But--the
buttered toast smelt wonderfully good!
"I'll come in and warm myself, but--I'm not hungry," said Dreda,
hesitating. But Martin did not appear to have heard. As her young
mistress seated herself by the fire, a stool was quietly placed by her
side, and on the stool appeared, as if by magic, a plate of toast and a
cup of cocoa.
Dreda's hand stretched out involuntarily; she ate and drank, and
reflected that, after all, as her father had lost money so unexpectedly,
it was only reasonable to suppose that he would recover it in a manner
equally rapid. She was sorry she had been cross. She would never be
cross any more. In the recovered days of prosperity it would be so
pleasant to remember how nobly she had borne herself in the hour of
trial!