Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover artwork]
[Frontispiece: "'The farmer would spare you those, madam.'"]
BARBARA IN BRITTANY
E. A. Gillie
[Illustration: Title page artwork]
Illustrated by FRANK ADAMS
LONDON AND GLASGOW
COLLINS' CLEAR-TYPE PRESS
1915
TO
MAISIE, MARGARET, AND CUTHBERT,
IN REMEMBRANCE OF SEPTEMBER 1905.
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I. AUNT ANNE
II. NO. 14 RUE ST. SULPICE
III. A NOCTURNAL ADVENTURE
IV. THE MAN IN BLUE GLASSES
V. GOOD-BYE TO PARIS
VI. THE REVOLT OF TWO
VII. A WILD DRIVE
VIII. MONT ST. MICHEL
IX. MADEMOISELLE VIRÉ
X. THE "AMERICAN PRETENDER"
XI. BARBARA TURNS PLOTTER
XII. THE PLOT THICKENS
XIII. THE ESCAPE
XIV. A WAYSIDE INN
XV. THE STRIKE
XVI. BARBARA TURNS DETECTIVE
XVII. A MEMORY AND A "MANOIR"
XVIII. AUNT ANNE AGAIN
XIX. THE END OF THE STORY
XX. THE CODA
ILLUSTRATIONS
Cover artwork
"'The farmer would spare you those, madam.'" . . . _Frontispiece_
Title page artwork
"Barbara was reading a guide book on Brittany."
"She glanced over her shoulder at the sea."
"They surprised Denys by suddenly joining him."
Barbara in Brittany.
CHAPTER I.
AUNT ANNE.
Barbara entered the nursery with rather a worried look on her face.
"Aunt Anne is coming to-morrow, children," she announced.
"To-morrow!" exclaimed a fair-haired boy, rising from the window-seat.
"Oh, I say, Barbe, that's really rather hard lines--in the holidays,
too."
"Just as we were preparing to have a really exciting time," sighed
Frances, who was her brother's close companion and ally.
"I know it's a little hard," Barbara said consolingly, sitting down
beside them and taking one of the twins on her lap, while the other
leaned up against her. "But you will all try to be good and nice to
her, won't you? She went away with a bad opinion of us last time, and
it worries mother. Besides, we mustn't forget that she was father's
sister."
"I can't think how she ever came to be," sighed Frances. "She's so
dreadfully particular, and we always seem naughtier when she's here.
But we'll make an effort, Barbara."
"And you won't run away as soon as she speaks to you, Lucy?" Barbara
went on, looking at the little girl in her lap. "It's rude, you know.
You must try to talk nicely when she wants you to."
"Yes;" and the child nodded. "Only she does seem to make a lot of
concussions when she comes."
"You mean discussions," Donald corrected. "You shouldn't use words you
don't understand, Lucy. But I must say I agree with you; I know she
always raises my corruption."
"What!" gasped Barbara.
"Raises my corruption," repeated her brother; "that's a good old
Scottish expression that I've just found in a book, and it
means--'makes you angry.'"
"Well, don't use it before Aunt Anne, there's a dear," Barbara urged,
getting up. "She thinks we use quite enough queer expressions as it
is."
"I'll speak like a regular infant prodigy. But surely you're not going
yet? You've just come!"
"I must help to get things ready for Aunt Anne," Barbara said gaily,
for she had recovered her spirits since procuring the children's
promise of good behaviour. "I'll come to you later."
"Barbara is really rather an angel," remarked Donald after she had
gone. "It's not many sisters would slave in the house, instead of
having another maid, to let a fellow go to a decent school."
"You're quoting mother," Frances replied, hanging out of the window in
a dangerous position; "but, of course, it's true. If I only had time
I'd write a fascinating romance about her."
"I'll read every page of it and buy a hundred copies," her brother
promised gallantly; but, as he knew that there was nothing Frances
hated more than writing, he felt pretty safe. "Of course," he pursued,
"Aunt Anne thinks mother spoils us. I don't quite think that--it's
just that she's so nice and sympathetic with us when we're naughty, and
Aunt Anne doesn't understand that. But still, to please Barbe, and as
we've promised, we must try to be respectable and good this time.
Remember, twins!"
The twins were not noted for long memories, but their intentions were
good, and the first day of Aunt Anne's visit passed very well, the
children remembering to rub their feet on the mat, shut the door
softly, and not fidget at meals. But the exertion seemed too much for
them, and the second day began rather boisterously, and did not improve
as it went on. After lunch, when the twins came into the drawing-room,
Lucy drew a footstool near her aunt, and sat down meekly upon it,
thinking that the sooner Aunt Anne began to talk the sooner it would be
over.
Aunt Anne was feeling almost as much embarrassed by the presence of so
many children as they were by that of their aunt, but her sense of duty
was strong, and she began to make conversation with the one nearest
her--who happened to be Lucy.
"What are you doing in lessons now, Lucy?"
Lucy looked solemn.
"Chiefly history," she said.
Frances laughed.
"It's only stories," she exclaimed, "that Barbara tells her and Dick."
"It's history," repeated Lucy indignantly; "isn't it, Dick? It's all
about England."
"I should have thought writing was more suitable for a little girl like
you."
Frances opened her mouth to retort, but caught a warning glance from
Barbara and subsided. Then conversation languished and Lucy looked
across longingly at her sister, to see if she had done her duty. But
not being able to catch her eye, she sighed, and supposing she had not
yet fulfilled her part, cast about in her mind for something else to
say.
"Do you live far from here?" she began suddenly, staring at her aunt.
"Quite a long way," Miss Britton replied. "In Wales--perhaps you know
where that is?"
"Oh, yes," exclaimed Lucy, rising in her excitement. "It's where the
ancient Britons were sent. Barbara told us about them. Oh, please
Aunt Anne, aren't you an ancient Briton?"
Aunt Anne smiled grimly.
"No, I am not. They lived in quite the olden times, and were clothed
in skins."
"But are you sure?" pressed the child. "It's just the skins seem
wanting. They were driven into Wales, and surely you're a Briton and
come from the olden times. You're really quite ancient aren't you,
Aunt Anne?"
Barbara was thankful her aunt laughed, but she was not so glad that
Donald and Frances found their laughter so irrepressible that they had
to resort to the sofa-cushions; and when the twins were dismissed a
little later by Mrs. Britton, she was rather relieved to see them
follow. But from that moment the spirit of hilarity seemed to have
fallen upon all the children, and Barbara looked regretfully at the
falling rain and wondered how she should keep them occupied for the
rest of the day--for it was just the beginning of the holidays, when
they were usually allowed a good deal of liberty.
She knew by the noise that presently sounded from upstairs that they
had begun "hide-and-seek," and she read disapproval of the uproar in
her aunt's face, and went upstairs to suggest something else. The
children good-temperedly betook themselves to "soap bubbles," Frances
consenting to fetch the tray "to keep things tidy" if Donald would take
it back; and Barbara left them, congratulating herself that they were
safely settled over something quiet.
It was, therefore, surely an evil fate that made Aunt Anne begin to go
upstairs later in the afternoon, just as Donald was descending rapidly
with the tray--not in his hand.
"I _am_ so sorry," he said, getting up in dismay after his rapid slide.
"What a comfort I didn't knock you over; but it's so much the quickest
way of bringing a tray down. I---- Have you ever tried it?"
If he had not been considerably agitated he would not have asked such a
foolish question, and perhaps if Aunt Anne had really not got a severe
fright she would not have been so much annoyed. But as it was, she
stalked past him without saying a word and went up to her room.
"There!" he said ruefully, "I've done it, and I really did mean to be
good."
The incident subdued them all considerably, and Barbara hoped that now
they might get to the end of the visit without any further mishaps.
But next morning at breakfast that hope was banished, for her aunt came
downstairs with such an expression of annoyance upon her face, that
every one knew something really unpleasant was coming.
"Is anything wrong?" Mrs. Britton asked anxiously. "Did you not sleep
well--or--surely the children did not--annoy you in any way?" Visions
of apple-pie beds were floating before her mind, although the
children's looks of innocence somewhat reassured her on that point.
"Some one has annoyed me considerably," Aunt Anne said coldly, "by
interfering with my clothes. When I came to put on my blue blouse this
morning, I found that every other one of the silver buttons had been
cut off."
There was a gasp of astonishment, and Barbara was just about to scorn
the notion that any of the children could have been concerned in the
matter, when her eyes fell on Dick's face. Miss Britton was looking in
the same direction.
"I should think that little boy knows something about it," she said.
"Dick!" Mrs. Britton exclaimed, for he was usually the least apt of the
three to get into mischief.
"Dick, what did you do it for? Tell us why you did it?" Barbara
questioned eagerly, and the little boy was just about to reply when
Miss Britton spoke again.
"I should think he had no reason at all except wanton mischief.
Perhaps he used the buttons for marbles; there cannot be any real
reason for such a silly deed, though he may make one up. Well, why did
you do it?"
Barbara saw the obstinate expression that they dreaded creeping over
the little boy's face at her aunt's words, and knew that now they would
probably get nothing satisfactory from him; but she was not quite
prepared for the answer that came so defiantly.
"I did it for ornament, of course."
There was silence for a moment; then Mrs. Britton sent the little boy
to the nursery to stay there till he was sent for.
"I _am_ so sorry, Anne," she said in distress. "I cannot think what
has made him do it."
"It is just the result of your upbringing. I always said you were
absurdly indulgent to the children."
Then, because Barbara was sure that Dick had had some other reason that
would perhaps have explained his action, and because she saw tears in
her mother's eyes, and knew how lonely and tired she often felt, and
how anxious about the welfare of the children and the care of the
house, she turned wrathfully upon her aunt.
"You have no right to criticise mother like that, Aunt Anne, and, of
course, she knows a great deal more about bringing up children than you
do. If you had not interfered, Dick would have given the proper
reason, and, certainly, if we do what we shouldn't it's _our_ fault,
not mother's."
At this there were confirmatory nods from the children, who continued
to gaze in startled, but admiring, astonishment at Barbara, whose
politeness was usually their example, and whom they hardly recognised
in this new role. They awaited--they knew not what--from their aunt,
but except for a horrified cry of "Barbara!" from Mrs. Britton, the
girl's outburst was received in silence, her aunt merely shrugging her
shoulders and continuing her breakfast. The children finished theirs
in uncomfortable silence, then slipped quietly away.
"Well!" Donald said ruefully, when Frances and he had climbed into the
apple-tree where they usually discussed matters of importance. "She
did look fine, didn't she? But I'm afraid she's done it now. Aunt
will clear out soon enough, I should think, and Barbe will just be as
sorry as can be to have flared out like that at a guest, and father's
sister too."
In that last supposition Donald was quite right, for Mrs. Britton
needed to say nothing to make Barbara feel very much ashamed of
herself. But in his conclusion about his aunt he was quite wrong, for,
to the children's astonishment, Miss Britton showed no signs of speedy
departure. Indeed, later in the day, the children felt honesty
demanded they must own her to be "rather a brick," for she accepted
Barbara's apology with good grace, and said that though, of course, she
had been rude, she would not deny that there had been some provocation,
and that if Barbara could find out anything more from Dick, she would
be glad to hear of it.
It was then, after much manoeuvring, that the girl got to the truth of
the matter, which Dick related with tears. He had taken the buttons
for mother, he said. When he was out with her the other day they had
looked for quite a long time at some beautiful silver ones, and when he
asked his mother why she did not buy them, she had said she had not
enough money just then. They were very like the kind on Aunt Anne's
blouse, and having noticed that she did not use half of them to button
it up, Dick had not seen any reason why they should be left
on--although he had meant to tell her what he had done immediately
after breakfast.
Miss Britton accepted the explanation, and said she thought there was
no need for the culprit to be punished this time, and she hoped he
would have more sense soon. But about Barbara she had something of
more importance to communicate.
"In my opinion," she said, in a manner that inferred she expected her
advice to be taken, "the girl is much too young to have finished her
education--boys or no boys--and I am thinking of sending her to France
for a time, to learn more of the language and see something of the
world. It is not good for a girl of her age to have so much
responsibility."
Now, it had been Barbara's dream to go abroad, but after the first gasp
of delight and astonishment she grew grave, and said she was afraid she
could not leave her mother and the children.
"Fiddlesticks!" Aunt Anne replied, without allowing Mrs. Britton time
to speak. "You are far too young, my dear, to imagine yourself of such
importance in the world. I will send a good old-fashioned nurse that I
know of to take your place, and it will be good for the children to
have a stricter regime than yours has been for a while."
Even if Aunt Anne had been accustomed to have her words
disregarded--which she was not--Mrs. Britton would not have needed much
persuasion to make her fall in with the proposal, for she had often
grieved in private over the fact that, since her husband's death,
Barbara's education had had to suffer that Donald's might advance. And
now, though she wondered how she would get on without her eldest
daughter, she was only too thankful to have such an opportunity thrown
in her way.
"I cannot think why I never interfered before," Miss Britton said, "but
it is better late than never, and we will have as little delay now as
possible."
In a few days the children were all as busy as bees helping to get
Barbara ready. They assisted in choosing her new frocks and hats, and
the style of making; and poor Miss Smith, who came to sew for her, was
nearly distracted by their popping in every now and then to see how she
was getting on. Even Donald, who hated talking about "girls'
fashions," bought a paper, because he saw it had a pattern of a blouse
advertised, and he thought it might be useful.
The family were very curious to hear with whom she was going to France
and where she was going to be, for Aunt Anne had undertaken to make all
the arrangements, and it certainly was a slight shock to the children
when she wrote to say she had made up her mind to go herself for a
fortnight to Paris before sending Barbara off to Brittany, where she
had found a "most suitable place" for her in the house of two maiden
ladies who took in people wanting to learn French.
Donald whistled when Mrs. Britton read that out.
"Fancy a fortnight with Aunt Anne, and then the two maiden ladies.
Jiggers!" (that was a favourite expression of his)--"you'll be worried
out of your life, Barbe."
The worst of it was, that Aunt Anne, who had not been abroad for many
years, said she was going to let Barbara manage the journey and the
sight-seeing in Paris, and sent her a guide-book to read up everything
of interest. She said she was doing this to give her niece experience
and prepare her for being by herself later on; but Donald declared she
wanted to see "what kind of stuff" she was made of, and that if Barbara
did not do things well, she would scoff at her greatly for thinking she
could manage a house and children while she could not succeed in
finding her way about France.
"But I know the old lady, and we'll just show her you're _our_ sister,
and before we've done you'll know that guide-book from cover to cover,"
he assured her.
They had only a week left, for Aunt Anne was very rapid in her
decisions and plans; but they studied the guide-book morning, noon, and
night. It was most instructive holiday work, Donald said, and when
Barbara had not time to read it, Frances and he read for her and poured
their knowledge into her ears at meal-times.
They learned what coloured omnibus went to the different parts of
Paris, and on what days different buildings were open, and by the end
of the week they all felt they could "personally conduct" tours all
over Paris.
It was rather hard when the last day came, because they knew that the
house would seem horribly empty without Barbara. The two little ones
were on the verge of crying all the afternoon, and Frances had to be
very stern, while Donald rose to flights of wit hitherto undreamed of,
to keep up every one's spirits.
Of course the two elder ones knew it would be hardest on them after
Barbara left, because some of her responsibility would fall on their
shoulders. But they were quite determined she should have a cheerful
"send-off" next morning, so they bribed the children with promises of
sweets if they did not cry, and they succeeded in giving her quite a
hilarious good-bye at the station.
After the train had gone, however, and they turned homewards, Frances
felt that if she had not promised Barbara to help her mother she would
have hidden herself in the attic and cried, although that would have
been so "horribly babyish" for a girl of twelve that she knew she would
have felt ashamed of herself afterwards; though perhaps, her pillow
could have told tales of a grief confided to it that the gay-hearted
Frances did not usually indulge in.