Darsie left home on the following Thursday, and in company with Aunt
Maria and "my woman" took train for Arden, in Buckinghamshire. The
journey was a nightmare, for Lady Hayes disliked travelling, and was in
a condition of nervousness, which made her acutely susceptible to the
doings of her companions. Within an hour of starting Darsie had been
admonished not to sit facing the engine because of the draught, not to
look out of the window in case she got a cinder in her eye, not to read
in case she strained her eyes, not to rub her fingers on the pane, not
to cross her knees because it was unladylike, not to shout, not to
mumble, not to say "What?" not to yawn without putting her finger over
her mouth, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Being called to account so frequently was an exhausting process, and
Darsie felt a thrill of joy at the announcement of lunch. A meal in a
train would be a novel and exciting experience which would go far
towards making up for the dullness of the preceding hour, but alas!
Aunt Maria refused with scorn to partake of food, cooked goodness knew
how, by goodness knew whom, and had supplied herself with a few Plasmon
biscuits, the which she handed round with the information that they
contained more nourishment than ounces of beefsteak. They were very
dull and very dry, however, and Darsie managed to get a crumb down the
wrong way, and coughed continuously for the next hour in a tickling,
aggravating manner, while Aunt Maria reiterated, "Really, my dear!
_Most_ unpleasant!" and seemed to consider herself personally aggrieved.
When Arden was reached the position improved, for stationmaster and
porters alike flew to hover round the great lady of the neighbourhood,
and Darsie sunned herself in the novel consciousness of importance.
Outside the station a cart was waiting for luggage, and a large, old-
fashioned barouche with two fat brown horses, and with two brown-
liveried servants upon the box. The village children bobbed curtsies as
the carriage bowled through the village street, and Darsie smiled
benignly and bent her yellow head in gracious acknowledgment. As niece
and guest of the Lady of the Towers, these greetings were surely partly
intended for herself. She felt an exhilarating glow of complacence, and
determined to describe the scene to Vie Vernon on the earliest possible
opportunity.
The Towers was a large, very ugly, stucco house, surrounded by a
beautiful rolling park. Inside, the rooms were huge and square, and one
and all characterised by a depressing pitch of orderliness, which made
it almost impossible to believe that they could be used as ordinary
human habitations!
Darsie was escorted to a bedroom with ponderous mahogany furniture, so
complete a contrast from her own shabby, cheery little den that the
sight of it added the final touch to her depression. She refreshed
herself by a long splash in hot water, brushed out her tangled mane, put
on her Sunday dress, and descended in state to partake of dinner, which
was served an hour earlier than usual in consideration of the
travellers' hunger and fatigue.
Despite her weariness and nervous exhaustion, Lady Hayes had made what
appeared to Darsie's unsophisticated eyes a magnificent toilette for the
meal, and she eyed the Sunday frock with a criticism which was anything
but approving. "But it's the best I've got, except the party one, and I
can't wear that for one old lady," said Darsie to herself as she
followed meekly behind the _moire antique_ train, and seated herself at
the end of the dining-table. Two men-servants stood at attention--two!
one for each diner, solemn, immovable-looking creatures who seemed to
move on wheels and who kept their eyes glued upon every mouthful you
ate, ready to pounce upon your plate and nip it swiftly and noiselessly
away. They were stricken with dumbness also, if you were to trust the
evidence of your senses, but had certainly ears, and could drink in
every word you said.
For the rest, it might be soothing to one's pride to live in a big
country house, but it was certainly abnormally dull. The day's
programme never varied by a hair's breadth, and Aunt Maria, though kind,
possessed the failing of all others most trying to the youthful mind.
_She fussed_! She fussed about clothes, she fussed about food, she
fussed about draughts, she fussed about manners, deportment, speech, the
way you sat down, the way you got up, the way you laughed, yawned,
sneezed, crossed the room, and did your hair. From morning to night,
"My dear, _don't_!" or "My dear, _do_!" rang in Darsie's ears, till she
was almost beside herself with irritation.
Honestly and laboriously she tried to practise her father's advice: to
put the thought of the seaside party aside, make the most of the good
points of her own position, and "fight the good fight," but the effort
seemed to exhaust her physically, as well as mentally, until by the end
of the day she looked white and drooping, pathetically unlike her
natural glowing self. Aunt Maria noticed the change, and fussed about
that, too, but with an underlying tenderness that was upsetting to the
girl's strained nerves.
"You look very tired to-night, my dear! Are you not well? Is there
anything the matter?"
"Quite well, thank you. Only--lonely!" replied Darsie, with a plaintive
accent on that last word which brought Lady Hayes's glance upon her in
quick inquiry--
"Lonely! But, my dear, you haven't been a minute alone all day long."
"No," agreed Darsie meekly, and said no more, but the little
monosyllable was more eloquent than any disclaimer. Lady Hayes flushed,
and knitted her brows in thought.
"I must ask some young people to meet you. I have some nice young
friends living about a mile away. They are visiting at present, but
will soon be home. I will write. Naturally you miss the young
society."
She was so kind, so considerate, that it seemed mean to feel bored and
impatient; but, oh dear, how long the days _did_ seem, how dull and
monotonous the morning drive, the afternoon needlework, the evening game
of patience or bezique.
The climax came one rainy afternoon when the ordinary two-hours drive
could not take place, and the hostess and her young guest had spent most
of the day together in the library. Now it is trying for an old lady as
well as for a young one to be deprived of the usual exercise, and if
Darsie's impatience and rebelliousness of spirit were more acute than
usual, Lady Hayes was also more nervous and exacting. In this instance
the weight of the old lady's displeasure seemed to fall upon Darsie's
unfortunate coiffure. Whatever turn the conversation might take, it
returned with relentless certainty to "Your hair, my dear! When _I_ was
young, young girls wore their hair neatly braided. I intensely dislike
all this purring and elaboration. You would look a different girl if
you brushed it smoothly."
"I should," agreed Darsie coolly. "I should look a sight. _My_
pompadour is the best pompadour in my class. The girls all say so.
They ask me how I do it. I've taught lots of them to do their own."
"I'm sorry to hear it. Time enough when you come out to wear
`pompadours,' as you call them. And your bow! Ridiculous size! If it
were neat and small--"
"They wear them twice as big in America. And in France. Sash ribbons!
I would, too, if I could afford. It's the fashion, Aunt Maria. Every
one wears them big."
"Surely that is all the more reason why a sensible girl should set a
good example by being neat and moderate herself! I don't approve of
hair being allowed to grow long at your age, but if it _is_ long, it
ought certainly to be kept in bounds. Yours is hanging all over your
shoulders at this moment. Most untidy! I am speaking for your own
good."
There was a moment's chilly silence, then Darsie asked in a tone of
extraordinary politeness--
"Just exactly _how_ would you do my hair, Aunt Maria, if you were in my
place to-day?"
Lady Hayes straightened herself briskly. "I should _brush_ it," she
said emphatically. "It is naturally curly, no doubt, but I cannot
believe that a good brushing would not reduce it to order! I should
damp it and brush it well, and then tie it back so that it would not
hang loose over your shoulders like a mane. It would be pleasant to see
what a difference it would make. A neat head is one of the things which
every young gentlewoman should strive to possess."
Darsie folded her needlework, put it neatly away in her bag, and, rising
from her seat, marched slowly from the room. It was nearing the hour
for tea, when she usually went upstairs to wash and tidy-up generally,
so that there was nothing unusual in her departure; it was only when she
was safe inside her room that the extraordinary nature of to-day's
preparations was revealed.
She took off the lace collar and pretty bead necklace which gave an air
of lightness to her plain dark dress, wrapped a dressing-jacket round
her shoulders, and dipped her head deep into a basin of water. Then
with a comb the _wet_ hair was parted accurately in the centre, and
brushed to the ears till it had the air of being painted rather than
real, so smooth and plastered was the effect. The ends, plaited with
merciless tightness, were looped together with a fragment of a broken
shoelace, so tightly that from the front no sign of their presence could
be suspected. When all was finished and the dressing-jacket thrown
aside the effect was positively startling to behold. It did not seem
possible to believe that this prim, demure damsel could be the same
brilliant-looking creature who had entered the room but ten minutes
before, and Darsie herself was half-shocked, half-triumphant at the
completeness of the transformation.
"'Spose I had a fever and lost my hair! How simply awful!" she said to
herself in terror. "If they could see me at home, they'd never call me
pretty again. I think even Aunt Maria will jump!"
She skipped with delight at the possibility, and the gesture seemed so
singularly out of keeping with her appearance that she laughed again,
restored to good temper by the delightful experience of taking part in a
prank once more.
Ten minutes later, accurately at the moment when the tea equipage would
be in course of arrangement in the drawing-room, Darsie composed her
face into a "prunes and prism" decorum, and slipped noiselessly into the
room.
To a certain extent all was as she had expected. Mason stood
majestically over the tea-table; James, his satellite, approached with a
tray of cakes and sandwiches; Aunt Maria sat waiting in her high-backed
chair--so far all was just as she had planned; what she was all
unprepared for, however, was the presence of three youthful visitors,
two girls and a youth, who sat facing the door, staring at her in
stunned dismay.
The Percivals! By all that was ill-timed and embarrassing, the
Percivals themselves, returned from their visit, choosing a wet
afternoon to drive over and pay their respects to Lady Hayes's young
guest! Sheer horror of the situation took away Darsie's breath; she
stood stock still in the middle of the floor, felt her lips gape apart,
the crimson rush to her face, saw in a mental flash a vision of the
country bumpkin she must appear--just for a moment, then Aunt Maria's
voice said, in even, equable tones--
"Ah, here she is! Darsie, these are my young friends of whom I have
spoken. I am pleased that you should become acquainted. My niece,
Darsie Garnett. Noreen, Ida, and Ralph Percival... Now we will have
tea!"
The voice, the manner, were absolutely normal. Was it possible that she
had not _seen_? Darsie shot a quick glance at the old lady's face, met
an unconcerned smile, and for the first time in the history of their
acquaintance felt a thrill of admiration. Splendid to have such self-
control, to show _no_ sign of surprise or irritation! She shook hands
awkwardly with the three visitors, and sat down on the nearest chair.
"So awfully pleased to meet you!" cried Noreen gushingly. She was a
smart-looking girl of sixteen, with brown eyes and a deeply dimpled
chin. Darsie knew exactly what she was thinking--understood that the
gushing manner had been adopted to disguise dismayed disappointment in
the aspect of a possible companion. Ralph was quite old--eighteen at
least, with well-cut features, thin lips, and small grey eyes, a dandy
wearing a fancy waistcoat and resplendent white spats. His whole aspect
breathed a loud, "I told you so! You _would_ drag me with you. _Told_
you how it would be. Lady Hayes's grand-niece! What could you expect?"
Ida was bubbling over with curiosity. What a fine story she would have
to tell to the family party on her return!
Conversation would have dragged pitifully if it had not been for Aunt
Maria's efforts, for the visitors seemed smitten with dumbness, and
beneath the fire of their glances Darsie's embarrassment increased
rather than diminished. She had no spirit left; a succession of
monosyllables and an occasional "Oh, really!" made up the sum of her
contributions to the conversation. It must have been a strong sense of
duty which nerved Noreen Percival to offer the invitation which
presumably was the object of her visit.
"We want to know if you will come to lunch with us on Thursday, and stay
for the afternoon? If it's fine, we can have some tennis. We will
drive you back after tea."
Darsie hesitated, but apparently the decision was not to be left to her.
Aunt Maria accepted with a gracious acknowledgment of Mrs Percival's
kindness, and in answer to a scowl from Ralph his sisters rose and made
a hasty adieu.
"We came in the governess cart. The pony gets restless--mustn't keep
him waiting. Thank you _so_ much! Goodbye!"
They were gone; the outer door was shut behind them. Darsie, standing
by the tea-table, caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a mirror at
the opposite end of the room, a stiff, Dutch-doll of a figure, with
plastered hair, crimson cheeks, and plain frock. She glanced at Aunt
Maria reseating herself in her high-backed chair, and taking up the
inevitable knitting. Now for it! now for the lecture! Well, after all,
she had only done what had been suggested, a trifle _more_ perhaps
than had been suggested, but that was erring on the right side, not the
wrong. Besides, if a naughty impulse to annoy and humiliate Aunt Maria
had really existed, in the end she had been a thousand times more
humiliated herself. And now, if you please, she was to be scolded and
lectured into the bargain!
But Aunt Maria neither lectured nor scolded. All through that next hour
when pride kept Darsie chained to her place, the older lady talked in
her most natural manner, and even smiled at her companion across the
patience-board without a flicker of expression to betray that the figure
confronting her was in any way different from the one which she was
accustomed to see.
Once more admiration vanquished irritation, and Darsie roused herself to
join in the problem of "building," and ended in actually feeling a
dawning of interest in what had hitherto appeared the dreariest of
problems. When seven o'clock struck, and the old lady closed the board,
and said, in her natural, every-day voice, "And now we must dress for
dinner!" Darsie walked slowly across the room, hesitated, and finally
retraced her steps and knelt down on a footstool by Lady Hayes' side.
"Aunt Maria--_please_! I should like to thank you!"
"Thank me, my dear. For what?"
"For--for saying nothing! For not crowing over me as you might have
done!"
The flushed, upturned face was very sweet--all the sweeter perhaps for
the plastered hair, which gave to it so quaint and old-world an air.
Lady Hayes laid a wrinkled hand on the girl's shoulder; her eyes
twinkled humorously through her spectacles.
"No, I won't crow, my dear! That would be ungenerous. Circumstances
have been pretty hard on you already. This--this little exhibition was
not intended for an audience, but for my own private edification. It
was unfortunate that the Percivals should have chosen such a moment for
their first call. I was sorry for your discomfiture."
"You oughtn't to have been! I _meant_ to be naughty. Oh, you've
scored--scored all the way. I apologise in dust and ashes, but please--
if you will be very noble--_never_ speak of it again!"
She reached the door once more, was about to make a bolt for the
staircase, when Lady Hayes's voice called to her to return--
"Darsie?"
"Yes!"
"Come here, child!"
The thin hand was held out to meet hers, the kind old eyes looked
wonderfully soft and tender.
"I think it is only fair to tell you that ... in your own language, you
have scored also! ... Oblige me by doing your hair in your ordinary
fashion for the future!"
"Oh, Aunt Maria, you _duck_!" cried Darsie, and for the first time in
her life flung her arms voluntarily around the old lady's neck and gave
her a sounding kiss.