Among the crowd of relations near and far most families possess one
relation _par excellence_, who stands out from all the rest by reason
either of generosity, aggravatingness, or strength of character.
Sometimes this relation is an uncle; more often it is an aunt; almost
invariably he or she is unmarried or widowed, because the single state
naturally allows more time and energy for interests beyond the personal
household.
The Garnetts' relation _par excellence_ was Aunt Maria--_Lady_ Maria as
they erroneously called her, being unsophisticated in the niceties of
the peerage. Her rightful cognomen was Lady Hayes, and she was the
elderly, very elderly, widow of an estimable gentleman who had been
created a Baronet in recognition of services rendered to his political
party. The Garnetts felt that it was very stylish to possess an aunt
with a title, and introduced her name with an air when the Vernons grew
superior on the subject of "the grounds." Lady Hayes was an eccentric
individual who inhabited a beautiful old country house in the Midlands,
from which base she was given to suddenly swooping down upon her
relations, choosing by preference for these visits the times when
carpets had been sent away to be cleaned, or the maids granted days off
to visit relations in the country. Then Lady Hayes would appear,
announce her intention of staying a couple of nights, declare her
unwillingness to give the slightest trouble, and proceed to request that
her maid should be accommodated with a room next to her own, and that
they should both be supplied with a vegetarian diet, supplemented by
glasses of sterilised milk at intervals of every two hours. Sometimes
the vegetarianism gave place to a diet of minced beef, but whatever
might be the diet of the moment it was invariably something which no one
else wanted to eat, and which took about three times as long to prepare
as the entire rations for the household dinner of ten.
It was at the close of the Midsummer term, when the Garnett family were
blissfully preparing for the yearly migration to the sea, that a letter
from Aunt Maria fell like a bombshell upon the peaceful scene. This
year the holiday promised to be even more blissful than usual, for the
Vernons had secured a second farmhouse, not ten minutes' walk from their
own, and connected with the sea by the same fascinating field-paths. A
farm and the sea! Could there possibly exist a more fascinating
combination? The young people sniffed in advance the two dear,
distinctive odours which, more than anything else, presented the scenes
before them--the soft, cowy-milky scent of the farm, the salt, sharp
whiff of the brine. From morn till night, at every available moment,
they discussed the day's programme--feeding animals, calling the cows,
bathing, picnicking on the sands, crab-hunting, mountain climbing.
Excitement grew until it really seemed impossible to exist through the
intervening days, and then the bombshell fell! A letter arrived by an
evening post, when Mr and Mrs Garnett were enjoying the one
undisturbed hour of the day. It bore the Hayes crest, and was written
in Aunt Maria's small, crabbed handwriting--
"My dear Emily,--
"I propose, all being well, to pay you a short visit from Tuesday to
Thursday next, twelfth to fifteenth instant. Please let me have the
same rooms as on my last visit. I am at present living on Benger's
food, and must ask you to see that it is made freshly for each meal, in
a _perfectly clean, enamelled saucepan_.
"The chief object of my visit is to bring back one of your three
daughters to stay with me during the summer vacation. I have been
feeling somewhat lonely of late, and my doctor recommends young society,
so it has occurred to me that in obeying his instructions I might at the
same time afford pleasure and benefit to one of your family. Should I
become interested in the child it might be to her advantage hereafter,
but it must be understood that I can make no promises on this point.
"The eighteen months which have elapsed since my last visit have
somewhat dimmed my remembrance of your girls, so that I must see them
again before deciding as to which of the three I should prefer as a
companion.
"With love to William and yourself,--
"Believe me, my dear Emily,--
"Your affectionate Aunt,--
"Maria Hayes."
Mrs Garnett read this communication in silence, handed it to her
husband, and watched him flush and frown over the perusal.
"Does not even go through the form of asking our consent!"
"No! That's Aunt Maria all over. You could hardly imagine that she
would. Oh dear! Oh dear! I'm afraid, Will--I'm _afraid_ she will have
to go!"
"Poor little kiddie, yes! How she will hate it! Just at this moment
when they are all wild with joy at the thought of their holiday with the
Vernons. It seems positively brutal!"
"Oh, it does. I am so sorry for her--whichever it may be--but one must
sometimes be cruel to be kind. We can't afford--I am not mercenary, as
you know--but with our means we _can't_ afford to refuse any possible
advantage for our girls! The sacrifice of a summer holiday ought not to
weigh against that."
"No, you're right, quite right. So be it then. Write and tell her to
come, only I tell you plainly my holiday's spoiled... With Darsie
gone--"
"Dear! she has not chosen yet."
"Dear! you know perfectly well--"
They looked at each other, smiling, rueful, half-ashamed. It seemed
like treason to the other girls, this mutual acknowledgment that Darsie
was the flower of the flock, the child of the six to whom all strangers
were attracted as by a magnet. Clarence and Lavender were equally as
dear to the parents' hearts, but there was no denying the existence of a
special and individual pride in the fascinations of Darsie.
Mr Garnett turned aside with an impatient shrug.
"There's one thing, Emily, _you_ must tell her when it is settled!
There'll be a tremendous scene. I flatly refuse--"
"Very well, dear, very well; I'll do it. But it's not decided yet,
remember, and one can never be sure. I'd better break the idea to the
girls before Aunt Maria comes, and let them get over the first
excitement. To-night would be a good opportunity. You will be out
late, so would be spared the scene!"
"Bless you, Emily! I'm a coward, I know, but I _should_ be grateful. I
can't answer for what I should do if Darsie cried, and begged my
protection. Women have twice the pluck of men in these affairs!"
Nevertheless it was with a quaking heart that Mrs Garnett broached the
object of Aunt Maria's proposition over the schoolroom tea that
afternoon, and her nervousness was not decreased by the smilingly
unperturbed manner in which it was received. Never, never for a moment
did it appear possible to the three girls that such a proposition could
be seriously discussed.
"_So_ likely!" sneered Clemence with a fine disdain. "Give up all the
fun and excitement of the sea with the Vernons, to _browse_ with Aunt
Maria. _So_ likely, to be sure!"
"Poor dear old love! She _is_ deluded. Thinks it would be a pleasure
and benefit, does she. I wouldn't take a thousand pounds--"
Thus Lavender. Darsie went a step farther in tragic declamation.
"I'd drown myself first! To sit there--panting, in hot rooms, on
Benger's food, and know that all the others were bathing and running
wild on the shore--I'd burst! I'd run away in an hour--"
"Dears, it's a beautiful old place. There are gardens, and lawns, and
horses, and dogs. Cows, too! I am sure there are cows--she used to
keep a herd of Jerseys. You could see them being milked."
"Welsh cows are good enough for me. I don't need Jerseys. _Or_ lawns!
Give me the free, untrammelled countryside!
"`And to see it reflected in eyes that I love.'"
Darsie paraphrased a line of the sweet old ballad, singing it in a
clear, bell-like voice to a pantomime of clasped hands and rolling eyes.
"It would be bad enough in an ordinary year, but to rend us apart from
the Vernons--oh, no, it's unthinkable!"
"You have the Vernons near you all the year, dear. Aunt Maria only asks
for eight weeks. There are occasions in life when it does not do to
think only of our own pleasure."
Silence. A note in the mother's voice had startled her hearers into the
conviction that the invitation must be regarded seriously, and not
tossed aside as a joke. A lacerating suspicion that the authorities
were in favour of an acceptance pierced like a dart.
"Mother! What do you mean? You couldn't _possibly_ be so cruel--"
"Mother, you don't mean--."
"Mother, what _do_ you mean?"
"I mean that you ought to go, dears, which ever one of you is asked.
Aunt Maria is an old lady, and she is lonely. Her doctor has ordered
cheerful companionship. Moreover, she has been a kind friend to father
in the past, and has a right to expect some consideration in return. If
you went in the right spirit, you could be of real use and comfort, and
would have the satisfaction of doing a kind deed."
Darsie set her lips in a straight line, and tilted her chin in the air.
"Couldn't pretend to go in the right spirit! I'd be in a tearing rage.
Somebody else can have the `satisfaction,' and I'll go to the sea."
"Darsie, dear, that's naughty!"
"I _feel_ naughty, mother. `Naughty' is a mild word. _Savage_! I feel
savage. It's too appalling. What does father say? I'm sure he would
never--"
"Father feels as I do; very disappointed for our own sakes and for yours
that our happy party should be disturbed, but he never shirks a
disagreeable duty himself, and he expects his children to follow his
example."
Lavender instantly burst into tears.
"It's always the way--always the way! It was too good to be true. We
might have known that it was. She'll choose me, and Hannah will go
without me. We'd planned every day--fishing, and bathing, and making
hay, and I shall be mewed up in a close carriage, and have meals of
nuts--and n-n-nobody to talk to. Oh, I can't--I can't bear it! I wish
I could die and be buried--I _cannot_ bear it--"
"You won't have to bear it. She'll choose me. I'm the eldest, and the
most of a companion." Clemence spoke with the calmness of despair, her
plump cheeks whitening visibly, her pale eyes showing a flush of red
around the lids. "Of course, if it's my duty, I must go--but I'd as
soon be sent to prison! I'm feeling _very_ tired, and thought the
holiday would set me up. Now, of course, I shall be worse. Eight weeks
alone with Aunt Maria would try anybody's nerves. I shall be a wreck
all winter, and have neuralgia till I'm nearly mad."
"Nonsense, darling! If you are so tired, the rest and quiet of The
Towers will be just what you need; and as we don't know yet which one of
you Aunt Maria will wish as a companion, it is a pity for you all to
make yourselves miserable at once. Why not try to forget, and hope for
the best! Surely that would be the wiser plan."
The three girls looked at each other in eloquent silence. Easy to talk.
Forget, indeed. As if they _could_! Mother didn't really believe what
she said. She was making the best of it, and there were occasions when
making the best of it seemed just the most aggravating thing one could
do.
It was a relief to the girls when Mrs Garnett was summoned from the
room on household business, and they were left to themselves. A craving
for sympathy was the predominant sensation, and prompted the suggestion,
"Let's wire to the Vernons," which was followed by a stampede upstairs.
The telegraph was a sufficiently new institution to appear a pleasure
rather than a toil, even though a message thus dispatched was an
infinitely longer and more laborious effort than a run round the
terrace, so to-day a leaf was torn from the note-book, a dramatic
announcement penned and placed in the hanging-bag, with its jingling
bell of warning, and the three girls took it in turns to pull at the
cord till the missive arrived at its destination. Attracted by the
sound of the bell, Vie and plain Hannah stood at the window awaiting the
communication, read over its contents, and stood silent and dismayed.
The Garnetts, watching from afar, realised the dramatic nature of that
pause, and thrilled in sympathy.
"_One of us is going to be sent to prison instead of to the country_!"
"_Prison_!" Vie and plain Hannah wagged their heads over the cipher,
hesitated long, pencil in hand, and, finally, in a frenzy of impatience,
which refused to be curbed even by loyalty to the telegraph itself,
dispatched an urgent summons to speech--
"_Come round and talk_!"
The Garnetts flew. The Vernons, waiting upon the doorstep, escorted
them upstairs to the scantily furnished room which had first been a
nursery, then promoted to playroom, and, ultimately, when the more
juvenile name wounded the susceptibilities of its inmates, had become
definitely and proudly "the study." The bureau in the corner was Dan's
special property, and might not be touched by so much as a finger-tip.
The oak table with three sound legs and a halting fourth, supported by
an ancient volume of _Good Words_, was Vie's property; John and plain
Hannah shared the dining-table, covered with the shabby green baize
cloth, which stood in the centre of the room. There were a variety of
uncomfortable chairs, an ink-splashed drugget, and red walls covered
with pictures which had been banished from other rooms as they acquired
the requisite stage of decrepitude and grime.
The five girls surged into the room, faced each other, and burst into
eager speech--
"_Who's_ going to prison?"
"We don't know. Wish we did!"
"What do you mean by prison?"
"Aunt Maria's!"
"Lady Maria's?"
"Lady Maria's! One of us has to go and stay with her for eight weeks
instead of going with you to the sea."
Vie Vernon collapsed on to the nearest chair, and gasped for breath.
"Stu-pendous!" she murmured beneath her breath. Vie had a new word each
season which she used to describe every situation, good and bad. The
season before it had been "Weird!" this season it was "Stupendous," and
she was thankful for the extra syllable in this moment of emotion.
"It's really true? You mean it in earnest? _Why_?"
"Thinks it would be a pleasure to us, and that we should be cheery
companions. _So_ likely, isn't it?"
"But--but surely your mother-- What does she say?"
"Preaches! Oughtn't to think of ourselves. Ought to show a right
spirit and go."
"Stu-pendous!" cried Vie once again. Plain Hannah hoisted herself on to
the corner of the table, and hunched herself in thought. She really was
extraordinarily plain. Looking at her critically, it seemed that
everything that should have been a line had turned into a curve, and
everything that should have been a curve into a line; she was thick-set,
clumsy, awkward in gait, her eyes were small, her mouth was large, she
had a meagre wisp of putty-coloured hair, and preposterously thick
eyebrows several shades darker in hue, and no eyelashes at all. Friends
and relations lavished much pity on poor dear Hannah's unfortunate
looks, but never a sigh did Hannah breathe for herself. She was strong
and healthy, her sturdy limbs stood her in good stead in the various
games and sports in which she delighted, and she would not have
exchanged her prowess therein for all the pink cheeks and golden locks
in the world. Hannah's manner, like her appearance, lacked grace and
charm; it was abrupt, forceful, and to the point. She spoke now, chin
sunk in her grey flannel blouse, arms wrapped round her knees--
"Is she coming to see you before she chooses, or will it be done by
post?"
"She's coming! Two days next week. Isn't it too awful? We were so
happy--the telegraph up, and the weather jolly, and holidays nearly
here. `All unsuspecting of their doom the little victims played.' And
then--_this_! Holidays with Aunt Maria! Even the third of a chance
turns me cold with dismay. I couldn't bear--"
"You won't need to. She won't have you. She'll choose Darsie."