until such time as the calendar should be despatched on its travels, for
when they were installed at the Larches he was expected to be at home
each week from Saturday until Monday, and the loss of that long holiday
afternoon would interfere seriously with the work on hand. He had seen
so little of his people for the last few years, that he would be
expected to be sociable during the short time that he was with them, and
could hardly shut himself up in his room for hours at a time. Despair
then settled down upon both partners, when a letter arrived to say that
the Darcy family were coming down even earlier than had been expected,
and summoning Robert to join them at the earliest possible moment.
"This is awful!" cried the lad, ruffling his hair with a big, restless
hand. "I know what it means--not only Saturdays off, but two or three
nights during the week into the bargain! Between you and me, Mariquita,
the governor is coming down here to economise, and intends to stay much
longer than usual. Hector has been getting into debt again; he's the
eldest, you know--the one in the Life Guards. It's a lot too bad, for
he has had it all his own way so far, and when he runs up bills like
this, everyone has to suffer for it. Mother hates the country for more
than a few weeks at a time, and will be wretched if she is kept here all
through the winter. I know how it will be: she will keep asking people
down, and getting up all sorts of entertainments to relieve the dulness.
It's all very well in its way, but just now when I need every minute--"
"Shall you give up trying for the prize?" asked Peggy faintly, and Rob
threw back his head with emphatic disclaimer.
"I never give up a thing when I have made up my mind to do it! There
are ten days still, and a great deal can be done in ten days. I'll take
a couple of books upstairs with me every night, and see if I can find
something fresh. There is one good thing about it, I shall have a fresh
stock of books to choose from at the Larches. It is the last step that
costs in this case. It was easy enough to fix off the first hundred,
but the last is a teaser!"
On Saturday morning a dogcart came over to convey Robert to the Larches,
and the atmosphere of the vicarage seemed charged with expectation and
excitement. The Darcys had arrived; to-morrow they would appear at
church; on Monday they would probably drive over with Rob and pay a
call. These were all important facts in a quiet country life, and
seemed to afford unlimited satisfaction to every member of the
household. Peggy grew so tired of the name of Darcy that she retired to
her room at eight o'clock, and was busy at work over the September batch
of cards, when a knock came to the door, and she had to cover them over
with the blotting-paper to admit Mellicent in her dressing-gown, with
her hair arranged for the night in an extraordinary number of little
plaited pigtails.
"Will you fasten the ends for me, Peggy, please?" she requested. "When
I do it, the threads fall off, and the ends come loose. I want it to be
specially nice for to-morrow!"
"But it will look simply awful, Mellicent, if you leave it like this.
It will be frizzed out almost on a level with your head. Let me do it
up in just two tight plaits; it will be far, far nicer," urged Peggy,
lifting one little tail after another, and counting their number in
dismay. But no, Mellicent would not be persuaded. The extra plaits
were a tribute to Rosalind, a mark of attention to her on her arrival
with which she would suffer no interference; and as a consequence of her
stubbornness she marched to church next morning disfigured by a mop of
untidy, tangled hair, instead of the usual glossy locks.
Peggy preserved a demeanour of stately calm, as she waited for the
arrival of the Darcy family, but even she felt a tremor of excitement
when the verger hobbled up to the square pew and stood holding the door
open in his hand. The heads of the villagers turned with one consent to
the doorway; only one person in the church disdained to move her
position, but she heard the clatter of horses' hoofs from without, and
presently the little procession passed the vicarage pew, and she could
indulge her curiosity without sacrifice to pride. First of all came
Lord Darcy, a thin, oldish man, with a face that looked tired and kind,
and faintly amused by the amount of attention which his entrance had
attracted. Then his wife, a tall, fair woman, with a beautiful profile,
and an air of languid discontent, who floated past with rustling silken
skirts, leaving an impression of elegance and luxury, which made Mrs
Asplin sigh and Mellicent draw in her breath with a gasp of rapture.
Then followed Robert with his shaggy head, scowling more fiercely than
ever in his disgust at finding himself an object of attention, and last
of all a girlish figure in a grey dress, with a collar of soft, fluffy
chinchilla, and a velvet hat with drooping brim, beneath which could be
seen a glimpse of a face pink and white as the blossoms of spring, and a
mass of shining, golden hair. Peggy shut her lips with a snap, and the
iron entered into her soul. It was no use pretending any longer! This
was Rosalind, and she was fairer, sweeter, a hundred times more
beautiful than she had ever imagined!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
ROSALIND'S VISIT.
Robert did not make his appearance next morning, and his absence seemed
to give fresh ground for the expectation that Lady Darcy would drive
over with him in the afternoon and pay a call at the vicarage.
Mrs Asplin gathered what branches of russet leaves still remained in
the garden and placed them in bowls in the drawing-room, with a few
precious chrysanthemums peeping out here and there; laid out her very
best tea-cloth and d'oyleys, and sent the girls upstairs to change their
well-worn school dresses for something fresher and smarter.
"And you, Peggy dear--you will put on your pretty red, of course!" she
said, standing still, with a bundle of branches in her arms, and looking
with a kindly glance at the pale face, which had somehow lost its sunny
expression during the last two days.
Peggy hesitated and pursed up her lips.
"Why `of course,' Mrs Asplin? I never change my dress until evening.
Why need I do it to-day, just because some strangers may call whom I
have never seen before?"
It was the first time that the girl had objected to do what she was
told, and Mrs Asplin was both surprised and hurt by the tone in which
she spoke--a good deal puzzled too, for Peggy was by no means
indifferent to pretty frocks, and as a rule fond of inventing excuses to
wear her best clothes. Why, then, should she choose this afternoon of
all others to refuse so simple a request? Just for a moment she felt
tempted to make a sharp reply, and then tenderness for the girl whose
mother was so far-away took the place of the passing irritation, and she
determined to try a gentler method.
"There is not the slightest necessity, dear," she said quietly. "I
asked only because the red dress suits you so well, and it would have
been a pleasure to me to see you looking your best. But you are very
nice and neat as you are. You need not change unless you like."
She turned to leave the room as she finished speaking; but before she
had reached the door Peggy was by her side, holding out her hands to
take possession of twigs and branches.
"Let me take them to the kitchen, please! Let me help you!" she said
quickly, and just for a moment a little hand rested on her arm with a
spasmodic pressure. That was all; but it was enough. There was no need
of a formal apology. Mrs Asplin understood all the unspoken love and
penitence which was expressed in that simple action, and beamed with her
brightest smile.
"Thank you, my lassie, please do! I'm glad to avoid going near the
kitchen again, for when cook once gets hold of me I can never get away.
She tells me the family history of all her relatives, and indeed it's
very depressing, it is," (with a relapse into her merry Irish accent),
"for they are subject to the most terrible afflictions! I've had one
dose of it to-day, and I don't want another!"
Peggy laughed, and carried off her bundle, lingered in the kitchen just
long enough to remind the cook that "apple charlotte served with cream"
was a seasonable pudding at the fall of the year, and then went upstairs
to put on the red dress, and relieve her feelings by making grimaces at
herself in the glass as she fastened the buttons.
At four o'clock the patter of horses' feet came from below, doors opened
and shut, and there was a sound of voices in the hall. The visitors had
arrived!
Peggy pressed her lips together, and bent doggedly over her writing.
She had not progressed with her work as well as she had hoped during
Rob's absence, for her thoughts had been running on other subjects, and
she had made mistake after mistake. She must try to finish one batch at
least, to show him on his return. Unless she was especially sent for,
she would not go downstairs; but before ten minutes had passed,
Mellicent was tapping at the door and whispering eager sentences through
the keyhole.
"Peggy, quick! They've come! Rosalind's here! You're to come down!
Quick! Hurry up!"
"All right, my dear, keep calm! You will have a fit if you excite
yourself like this!" said Peggy coolly.
The summons had come, and could not be disregarded, and on the whole she
was not sorry. The meeting was bound to take place sooner or later,
and, in spite of her affectation of indifference, she was really
consumed with curiosity to know what Rosalind was like. She had no
intention of hurrying, however, but lingered over the arrangement of her
papers until Mellicent had trotted downstairs again, and the coast was
clear. Then she sauntered after her with leisurely dignity, opened the
drawing-room door, and gave a swift glance round.
Lady Darcy sat talking to Mrs Asplin a few yards away, in such a
position that she faced the doorway. She looked up as Peggy entered,
and swept her eyes curiously over the girl's figure. She looked older
than she had done from across the church the day before, and her face
had a bored expression, but, if possible, she was even more elegant in
her attire. It seemed quite extraordinary to see such a fine lady
sitting on that well-worn sofa, instead of the sober figure of the
vicar's wife.
Peggy flashed a look from one to the other--from the silk dress to the
serge, from the beautiful weary face to the cheery loving smile--and
came to the conclusion that, for some mysterious reason, Mrs Asplin was
a happier woman than the wife of the great Lord Darcy.
The two ladies stopped talking and looked expectantly towards her.
"Come in, dear! This is our new pupil, Lady Darcy, for whom you were
asking. You have heard of her--"
"From Robert. Oh yes, frequently! I was especially anxious to see
Robert's little friend. How do you do, dear? Let me see! What is your
funny little name? Molly--Dolly--something like that, I think--I forget
for the moment?"
"Mariquita Saville!" quoth Peggy grandiloquently. She was consumed with
regret that she had no second name to add to the number of syllables,
but she did her best with those she possessed, rolling them out in her
very best manner and with a stately condescension which made Lady Darcy
smile for the first time since she entered the room.
"Oh-h!" The lips parted to show a gleam of regular white teeth.
"That's it, is it? Well, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance,
Mariquita. I hope we shall see a great deal of you while we are here.
You must go and make friends with Rosalind--my daughter. She is longing
to know you."
"Yes, go and make friends with Rosalind, Peggy dear! She was asking for
you," said Mrs Asplin kindly; and as the girl walked away the two
ladies exchanged smiling glances.
"Amusing! Such grand little manners! Evidently a character."
"Oh, quite! Peggy is nothing if not original. She is a dear, good
girl, but quite too funny in her ways. She is really the incarnation of
mischief, and keeps me on tenter-hooks from morning until night, but
from her manner you would think she was a model of propriety. Nothing
delights her so much as to get hold of a new word or a high-sounding
phrase."
"But what a relief to have someone out of the ordinary run! There are
so many bores in the world, it is quite refreshing to meet with a little
originality. Dear Mrs Asplin, you really must tell me how you manage
to look so happy and cheerful in this dead-alive place? I am desolate
at the idea of staying here all winter. What in the world do you find
to do?"
Mrs Asplin laughed.
"Indeed, that's not the trouble at all; the question is how to find time
to get through the day's duties! It's a rush from morning till night,
and when evening comes I am delighted to settle down in an easy-chair
with a nice book to read. One has no chance of feeling dull in a house
full of young people."
"Ah, you are so good and clever, you get through so much. I want to ask
your help in half a dozen ways. If we are to settle down here for some
months, there are so many arrangements to make. Now tell me, what would
you do in this case?" The two ladies settled down to a discussion on
domestic matters, while Peggy crossed the room to the corner where
Rosalind Darcy sat in state, holding her court with Esther and Mellicent
as attendant slaves. She wore the same grey dress in which she had
appeared in church the day before, but the jacket was thrown open, and
displayed a distractingly dainty blouse, all pink chiffon, and frills,
and ruffles of lace. Her gloves lay in her lap, and the celebrated
diamond ring flashed in the firelight as she held out her hand to meet
Peggy's.
"How do you do? So glad to see you! I've heard of you often. You are
the little girl who is my bwothar's fwiend." She pronounced the letter
"r" as if it had been "w," and the "er" in brother as if it had been
"ah," and spoke with a languid society drawl more befitting a woman of
thirty than a schoolgirl of fifteen.
Peggy stood motionless and looked her over, from the crown of her hat to
the tip of the little trim shoe, with an expression of icy displeasure.
"Oh dear me, no," she said quietly, "you mistake the situation. You put
it the wrong way about. Your brother is the big boy whom I have allowed
to become a friend of mine!"
Esther and Mellicent gasped with amazement, while Rosalind gave a trill
of laughter, and threw up her pretty white hands.
"She's wexed!" she cried. "She's wexed, because I called her little!
I'm wewwy sowwy, but I weally can't help it, don't you know. It's the
twuth! You are a whole head smaller than I am." She threw back her
chin, and looked over Peggy's head with a smile of triumph. "There,
look at that, and I'm not a year older. I call you wewwy small indeed
for your age."
"I'm thankful to hear it! I admire small women," said Peggy promptly,
seating herself on a corner of the window-seat, and staring critically
at the tall figure of the visitor. She would have been delighted if she
could have persuaded herself that her height was awkward and ungainly,
but such an effort was beyond imagination. Rosalind was startlingly and
wonderfully pretty; she had never seen anyone in real life who was in
the least like her. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue, with curling dark
lashes, her face was a delicate oval, and the pink and white colouring,
and flowing golden locks, gave her the appearance of a princess in a
fairy tale rather than an ordinary flesh-and-blood maiden. Peggy looked
from her to Mellicent, who was considered quite a beauty among her
companions, and, oh dear me! how plain, and fat, and prosaic she
appeared when viewed side by side with this radiant vision! Esther
stood the comparison better, for, though her long face had no
pretensions to beauty, it was thoughtful and interesting in expression.
There was no question which was most charming to look at; but if it had
come to choice of a companion, an intelligent observer would certainly
have decided in favour of the vicar's daughter. Esther's face was
particularly grave at this moment, and her eyes met Peggy's with a
reproachful glance. What was the matter with the girl this afternoon?
Why did she take up everything that Rosalind said in that hasty,
cantankerous manner? Here was an annoying thing--to have just given an
enthusiastic account of the brightness and amicability of a new
companion, and then to have that companion come into the room only to
make snappish remarks, and look as cross and ill-natured as a bear! She
turned in an apologetic fashion to Rosalind, and tried to resume the
conversation at the point where it had been interrupted by Peggy's
entrance.
"And I was saying, we have ever so many new things to show you--
presents, you know, and things of that kind. The last is the nicest of
all: a really good big camera with which we can take proper photographs.
Mrs Saville--Peggy's mother--gave it to us before she left. It was a
present to the schoolroom, so it belongs equally to us all, and we have
such fun with it. We are beginning to do some good things now, but at
first they were too funny for anything. There is one of father where
his boots are twice as large as his head, and another of mother where
her face has run, and is about a yard long, and yet it is so like her!
We laughed till we cried over it, and father has locked it away in his
desk. He says he will keep it to look at when he is low-spirited."
Rosalind gave a shrug to her shapely shoulders.
"It would not cheer me up to see a cawicature of myself! I don't think
I shall sit to you for my portrait, if that is the sort of thing you do,
but you shall show me all your failures. It will amuse me. You will
have to come up and see me vewwy often this winter, for I shall be so
dull. We have been abroad for the last four years, and England seems so
dark and dweawy. Last winter we were at Cairo. We lived in a big
hotel, and there was something going on almost every night. I was not
out, of course, but I was allowed to go into the room for an hour after
dinner, and to dance with the gentlemen in mother's set. And we went up
the Nile in a steamer, and dwove about every afternoon, paying calls,
and shopping in the bazaars. It never rains in Cairo, and the sun is
always shining. It seems so wonderful! Just like a place in a fairy
tale." She looked at Peggy as she spoke, and that young person smiled
with an air of elegant condescension.
"It would do so to you. Naturally it would. When one has been born in
the East, and lived there the greater part of one's life, it seems
natural enough, but the trippers from England who just come out for a
few months' visit are always astonished. It used to amuse us so much to
hear their remarks!"
Rosalind stared, and flushed with displeasure. She was accustomed to
have her remarks treated with respect, and the tone of superiority was a
new and unpleasing experience.
"You were born in the East?"
"Certainly I was!"
"Where, may I ask?"
"In India--in Calcutta, where my father's regiment was stationed."
"You lived there till you were quite big? You can remember all about
it?"
"All I want to remember. There was a great deal that I choose to
forget. I don't care for India. England is more congenial to my
feelings."
"And can you speak the language? Did you learn Hindostanee while you
were there?"
"Naturally. Of course I did."
A gasp of amazement came from the two girls in the window, for a
knowledge of Hindostanee had never been included in the list of Peggy's
accomplishments, and she was not accustomed to hide her light under a
bushel. They gazed at her with widened eyes, and Rosalind scented
scepticism in the air, and cried quickly--
"Say something, then. If you can speak, say something now, and let us
hear you."
"Pardon me!" said Peggy, simpering. "As a matter of fact, I was sent
home because I was learning to speak too well. The language of the
natives is not considered suitable for English children of tender age.
I must ask you to be so kind as to excuse me. I should be sorry to
shock your sensibilities."
Rosalind drew her brows together and stared steadily in the speaker's
face. Like many beautiful people, she was not over-gifted with a sense
of humour, and therefore Peggy's grandiose manner and high-sounding
words failed to amuse her as they did most strangers. She felt only
annoyed and puzzled, dimly conscious that she was being laughed at, and
that this girl with the small face and the peaked eyebrows was trying to
patronise her--Rosalind Darcy--instead of following the vicar's
daughters in adoring her from a respectful distance, as of course it was
her duty to do. She had been anxious to meet the Peggy Saville of whom
her brother had spoken so enthusiastically, for it was a new thing to
hear Rob praise a girl, but it was evident that Peggy on her side was by
no means eager to make her acquaintance. It was an extraordinary
discovery, and most disconcerting to the feelings of one who was
accustomed to be treated as a person of supreme importance. Rosalind
could hardly speak for mortification, and it was an immense relief when
the door opened, and Max and Oswald hurried forward to greet her. Then
indeed she was in her element, beaming with smiles, and indulging a
dozen pretty little tricks of manner for the benefit of their admiring
eyes. Max took possession of the chair by her side, his face lighted up
with pleasure and admiration. He was too thoroughly natural and healthy
a lad to be much troubled with sentiment, but ever since one winter
morning five years before, when Rosalind had first appeared in the
little country church, she had been his ideal of all that was womanly
and beautiful. At every meeting he discovered fresh charms, and to-day
was no exception to the rule. She was taller, fairer, more elegant. In
_some_ mysterious manner she seemed to have grown older than he, so
that, though he was in reality three years her senior, he was still a
boy, while she was almost a young lady.
Mrs Asplin looked across the room, and a little anxious furrow showed
in her forehead. Maxwell's admiration for Rosalind was already an old
story, and as she saw his eager face and sparkling eyes, a pang of fear
came into his mother's heart. If the Darcys were constantly coming down
to the Larches, it was only natural to suppose that this admiration
would increase, and it would never do for Max to fall in love with
Rosalind! The vicar's son would be no match for Lord Darcy's daughter;
it would only mean a heartache for the poor lad, a clouded horizon just
when life should be the brightest. For a moment a prevision of trouble
filled her heart, then she waved it away in her cheery, hopeful
fashion--
"Why, what a goose I am! They are only children. Time enough to worry
my head about love affairs in half a dozen years to come. The lad would
be a Stoic if he didn't admire her. I don't see how he could help it!"
"Rosalind is lovelier than ever, Lady Darcy, if that is possible!" she
said aloud, and her companion's face brightened with pleasure.
"Oh, do you think so?" she cried eagerly. "I am so glad to hear it, for
this growing stage is so trying. I was afraid she might outgrow her
strength and lose her complexion, but so far I don't think it has
suffered. I am very careful of her diet, and my maid understands all
the new skin treatments. So much depends on a girl's complexion. I
notice your youngest daughter has a very good colour. May I ask what
you use?"
"Soap and water, fresh air, good plain food,--those are the only
cosmetics we use in this house," said Mrs Asplin, laughing outright at
the idea of Mellicent's healthy bloom being the result of "skin
treatment." "I am afraid I have too much to do looking after the
necessities of life for my girls, Lady Darcy, to worry myself about
their complexions."