THE NEW HOME.
Before going to Amber Hill that day, Mrs. Enderby had sent for her two
girls to come to her in her room, where she informed them of the fact
that Hetty was coming to the Hall.
"I am going to tell you some news, my children, and I hope you will feel
it to be good news. I know my little daughters have kind hearts, and I
am sure they will pity one even younger than themselves who has been
left without home or protection."
"I suppose you are speaking of Hetty, mother?" said Phyllis.
"Yes, dear. Your father and I have arranged to bring her here."
A faint colour passed over Phyllis's fair pale face, and she said:
"Did Aunt Amy not leave her any money, mother?"
"No; I am sorry to say she did not leave her anything."
"She ought to have done so," said Phyllis.
"Your Aunt Amy was a very peculiar person, Phyllis, and nothing would
induce her to make a will. She put off the task too long, and died
without fulfilling it."
"Could those who have got her money now not make it all right?" said
Phyllis. "Could they not settle some money on her?"
"That would be a difficult matter to arrange, dear. Almost all Mrs.
Rushton's property has gone to her husband's brother, who is not a very
generous man, I fear, and the rest, which returns to your father, is in
trust for his children. He does not feel himself called upon to deprive
you of what is lawfully yours in order to give a fortune to a foundling
child."
"I would rather give her some of my money than have her here," said
Phyllis bluntly.
"You must get over that feeling, Phyllis. It is perhaps a little trial
to us all to have a stranger among us, but we will endeavour to be kind,
and all will be for the best."
"And is Hetty to be our own, own sister?" said Nell, fixing her blue
eyes on her mother's face and speaking for the first time.
"No, my love, not quite. That would not be fair to Hetty, as we cannot
make her one of our own children. She will be a companion for you and
join in all your studies. But it is to be understood that such
advantages are to be given to her only to fit her to be a governess. I
am anxious that every one should be good to her, but I do not intend her
to have such luxuries as would but prepare her for great unhappiness
later on in her life."
"Hetty will never get on with that sort of thing," said Phyllis. "She is
too proud and too impertinent."
"My dear Phyllis, I believe she has a good heart; and she has been, and
will be, severely tried. Any failure of generosity on the part of my
good little girl will disappoint me sadly."
Phyllis closed her lips with an expression which meant that for reasons
of propriety she would say no more, but that nothing could prevent her
from feeling that justice and right were on her side; that she had a
better apprehension of the matter in question than mother or father, or
any one in the world.
When Hetty arrived that afternoon she was led straight into the
school-room, where tea was just ready, Mrs. Enderby judging that it
would be well to set her to work at once, giving her no time for
moping. When she appeared, looking pale and sad in her black frock, her
eyes heavy and red with weeping, even Phyllis was touched, and the
school-room tea was partaken of in peace and almost in silence. Hetty was
so full of the recollection of the last time she had been brought in
here by Mrs. Enderby, and so conscious of the change that had come upon
her since then, that she could scarcely raise her eyes for fear of
crying. Nell kept pushing cakes and bread and butter before her, Phyllis
made general remarks in a softer tone than usual, and Miss Davis, who
perhaps understood Hetty's position better, and sympathized more with
her, than any of the rest, could think of nothing better to say to the
forlorn child than to ask her occasionally if she would like some more
sugar in her tea.
After tea Phyllis and Nell set to work to prepare their lessons for the
next day, and Hetty was thankful to have a book placed before her, and a
lesson appointed for her to learn. It was a page in the very beginning
of a child's English history, and Hetty read it over and over again till
she had the words almost by heart without in the least having taken in
their sense. Her thoughts were busy all the time with the looks and
words of her companions, and with going back over all that had occurred
that day. Phyllis had been gentler than she expected. Perhaps she was
not going to be unkind any more. It was a good thing after all to be
obliged to sit over books, as it would prevent her being talked to more
than she could bear. Nell was very kind. Would Phyllis allow her to be
always kind? She had remarked at the first moment that the frocks of the
two other girls were made of finer stuff than hers, and were trimmed
with crape. Mrs. Benson had got her her mourning-frock, and had got it,
of course, as inexpensive as she thought fit under the circumstances.
"Of course they wear crape," thought Hetty, "because Mrs. Rushton was
their aunt. She was nothing to me, after all, except my mistress. Grant
used to say things like that and I would not believe her. She was right
when she said I was only a charity child."
Phyllis and Nell were accustomed to go to the drawing-room for an hour
or two in the evening after their father and mother had dined, and on
this occasion Hetty was invited to accompany them. It was not Mrs.
Enderby's intention that she should always do so, but she considered
that it would be well to include her to-night.
The last evening spent by Hetty in the drawing-room at the Hall was that
one on which she had entertained the company with her mimicries. Then,
full of pride and delight in her own powers of giving amusement, she had
felt herself in a position to despise all disapproval and dislike. Now,
how was she fallen! Yet Mr. and Mrs. Enderby received her kindly, and
paid her as much attention as if she had been an ordinary visitor.
When bed-time came she was taken, not to the pretty room she had
occupied when last in the house, but to a neat little plain chamber
which was to be henceforth her own. It was not on the same landing with
the bed-rooms of Phyllis and Nell, as she was quick to remark, but at
the end of a long passage off which were the upper maids' bed-rooms, a
fact which stabbed her pride.
It was, however, a nice little room, placed above the passage and
ascended to by a few steps, and it had a picturesque lattice window,
embowered in ivy and passion-flowers. She had hardly comforted herself
by observing this when she was overcast again by a fresh and unpleasant
discovery. Her trunk, which had been sent after her by Mrs. Benson, had
already been unpacked and her things disposed of in a wardrobe. But,
alas! all her handsome clothing had disappeared. Her velvet and silk
frocks trimmed with lace and fur, her sashes and necklaces, silk
stockings and shoes with fantastic rosettes, these and numbers of other
treasures were no longer to be seen in her room. A sufficient quantity
of plain underclothing, a black frock to change the one she wore, a
black hat and jacket, and one or two of her plainest white frocks, these
were all that remained of the possessions which had but yesterday been
hers.
When she had recovered herself sufficiently after this disappointment
to be able to look around the chamber, she saw that her desk and
work-box, and some of her favourite story-books, had been placed on a
table at the window. These she was glad to see, and recovering her
spirits began to remember that after all she had now no right to any of
those costly articles which she had been allowed to use during Mrs.
Rushton's lifetime. As she was to live henceforth a humble dependent in
this house she could have no further need of such luxuries. She had
remarked that Phyllis and Nell were always simply dressed, and yet they
had more right to finery than she had.
Hetty had sufficient good sense to know all this without being told. Her
peculiar experiences had sharpened her reasoning faculties and made her
keenly observant of what passed before her, and had also given her an
unusually acute perception of the meanings and influences floating in
the atmosphere about her from other people's thoughts and words. Child
as she was, she was able to take, for a moment, Mrs. Enderby's view of
her own position, and admitted that the kind yet cold lady had acted
justly in depriving her of useless things. Yet her wilful heart longed
for the prettinesses that she loved, and she wept herself to sleep
grieving for their loss, and for the greater loss which it typified.
The next morning her head was aching and her eyes redder than ever when
she appeared in the school-room, and she seemed more sullen and less
meek than she had been yesterday. She could not fix her mind on the
lesson Miss Davis gave her to learn, and made a great display of her
ignorance when questioned on general subjects. All this was not
improving to her spirits, and in becoming more unhappy she grew more
irritable. Miss Davis felt her patience tried by the troublesome new
pupil, and Phyllis eyed her with strong disapproval over the edges of
her book. Phyllis loved order, regularity, good conduct, and in her
opinion Hetty was an intolerably disagreeable interruption of the
routine of their school-room life.
That was a bad day altogether. Some friends of Mr. and Mrs. Enderby were
dining with them, and when the school-room tea was over Phyllis and Nell
told Miss Davis that their mother wished them to come to the
drawing-room for a short time. Hetty looked up, as she thought herself
included in the invitation; but Miss Davis, who had received general
instructions from Mrs. Enderby, said to her quietly:
"You will stay here with me, Hetty, for this evening."
Hetty flushed crimson and her pride was kindled in an instant. She was
not to go to the drawing-room any more, because she was only a charity
child. Tears rushed into her eyes, but she forced them back and
pretended to be very busy with a book. After the other girls had been
gone some time Miss Davis said:
"I am going to my own room for half an hour, Hetty, and I suppose you
can amuse yourself with your book till I come back."
When left alone Hetty flung away her book, went down on her face on the
hearth-rug, and cried with all her might. She thought of evenings when
she had tripped about gaily in Mrs. Rushton's drawing-room and every one
was glad to see her. Now, it seemed, she must live all alone in a
school-room. She forgot that she had ever been unhappy with Mrs.
Rushton, ever been left alone, or snubbed or neglected in her house; for
Hetty, like many other people, old and young, lost all her excellent
power of reasoning when overmastered by passion. In the old time she had
been happy, she thought, cared for, loved, made much of. Now she was
beloved by nobody, not even for an hour.
In her desolation she could not think of any creature that loved her
except Scamp, the dog who had been her only comfort since this trouble
had befallen her; and he was left behind at Amber Hill. She had begged
to be allowed to bring him with her to Wavertree, but Mr. Enderby
objected, saying that there were already too many dogs about the place.
As soon as Miss Davis returned to the school-room Hetty asked to be
allowed to go to bed.
"I have just been looking out some materials for needlework for you,"
said Miss Davis. "It is quite time you learned to sew; I hope you will
find amusement in the occupation. However, if you are tired you may go
to bed. As a rule the girls do not go to bed till nine o'clock."
Hetty shuddered as she looked at the needle-work which was prepared for
her. In her eyes it was only a new instrument of torture. She did not
even know how to hold a needle; she did not want to know. Mrs. Rushton
had never been seen sewing; it was only the maids who had any occasion
to sew.
"I hate sewing," said Hetty despairingly.
"Then you must learn to like it," said Miss Davis briskly; "little girls
are not allowed to hate anything that is useful, especially little girls
who must look forward to providing for themselves in the world by their
own exertions. But go to bed now. Tomorrow I hope you will be in a
better humour."
And Hetty vanished.