SHOPPING AND A REHEARSAL.
The next morning breaks dismally enough outside. The streets are
thickly carpeted with snow, which has fallen plenteously and almost
without cessation during the previous night. There is a deadened,
muffled sound of occasional traffic only in the usually busy streets,
and even this is soon drowned in the scrape, scrape of shovels with
which armies of small boys parade the quieter streets and terraces,
wherein are the houses of the rich and prosperous men of the large,
smoke-begrimed manufacturing town, whilst the fortunate occupants of
these large fashionable mansions, who are still curled up comfortably
under warm eider-down quilts, are unpleasantly roused to a
consciousness of what awaits them by the loud persistent cries of
"Sweep yer doorway, ma'am,--doorway ma'am?"
Indoors things look somewhat more cheerful, especially at the
Merivales, who are an early-rising family. It still wants a few
minutes to eight, but Doris and Honor, true to habit, are already
kneeling on the rug before the bright fire, spreading their hands as
near as they dare over the glowing coals, and carrying on a spirited
talk, which proves that the few hours' sleep of which they have been
deprived has not done them much harm. The door opens, and enter
Molly--yawning hopelessly, and it must be confessed looking haggard
and pale, with dark rings round her large blue eyes.
"Hallo, Moll! late hours don't evidently suit you, my dear. You _do_
look an object of pity, upon my word. Here, come to the fire and
stop chattering your teeth, for goodness' sake!"
Molly accepts the invitation and joins her sisters, and after a few
minutes Mr. Merivale comes in rubbing his hands briskly.
"Now, girls, let the old man see a bit of the fire! Ah! just eight,"
taking out his watch and comparing it with the clock on the
mantel-piece. "Good girls, to be punctual after your late hours.
Ring the bell, Honor; it's no use waiting for your mother this
morning. She has one of her bad headaches, and I shouldn't wonder if
she does not come down at all. She said she would send word by Lane
after prayers, so we need not wait now."
By this time the servants have filed into the room and taken their
places; and the old nurse having also appeared with her two
particular charges, Daisy and Bobby, Mr. Merivale takes his place at
a side-table, and morning prayers are commenced. Before leaving the
room again nurse places the two children in their usual places at the
breakfast-table, and at the same moment Lane steps forward from the
row of servants, and going up to Honor says, "If you please, Miss
Honor, your ma says will you make breakfast this morning, for her
head is that bad she can't raise it from her pillow?"
"_Honor_, of course!" and with a pout and a flounce Doris takes her
usual seat at the table, while Honor moves to the end opposite her
father, who is busily occupied in sorting the letters.
Breakfast is generally a quiet meal at No. 4 Lancaster Terrace, for
Mr. Merivale leaves the house at half-past nine punctually every
morning in order to be at the bank before it is opened to the public.
There is little or no conversation therefore this morning, the mother
being absent, and the six girls and boys take their breakfast in
almost complete silence, speaking, if at all, in low subdued voices
which will not disturb their father over his newspapers and letters.
Presently he puts these aside, however, and as he passes his cup up
to be refilled by Honor says, "Didn't I hear mother say Miss Denison
was to return to-day?"
"Yes, father," answers Doris. "Mother heard from her yesterday, and
she is to arrive by the 12.45 train."
"O, I wonder if mother will let us meet her," says Honor, looking up.
"Well, why not ask her?" says Mr. Merivale, rising from the table.
"I don't suppose she will be going out herself this morning, so you
might take the carriage in that case."
"O, that _would_ be jolly!" cries Doris, jumping up and clapping her
hands; "and I tell you what, Honor, we'll try and get mother to let
us have it all the morning, then we shall get through no end of
business. Father will ask her--won't you, dear?"
"Not I, indeed; go and ask her yourself. Besides, it is time I was
off--there will be no one to open the safe, and then what will they
do, eh?" and so saying Mr. Merivale bustles into the hall, where
William is standing waiting to help his master into his overcoat, and
snatching the _Times_ from Honor's hand, who, with Doris and Molly in
her wake, has pursued him out on to the steps, he makes his escape
into the brougham which is waiting at the door.
Doris and Honor hold a consultation on their way back to the
dining-room as to the pros and cons of their getting permission to
use the carriage, and on Doris promising to be spokeswoman, they both
run up to their mother's room.
"Mother, we want the carriage, Honor and I, to do our shopping, you
know. And father says if we are out we may as well take it on to the
station and meet Miss Denny; so we can, can't we, mother?" And Doris
takes up one of the slender white hands lying upon the coverlet, and
softly pats and strokes it between her own.
Mrs. Merivale shrinkingly turns her head away from her anxious young
daughter's appealing gaze, and closing her eyes says, "My _dear_
Doris, you might have a little more consideration for my nerves, I
think. Here I am, completely prostrated, and you rush into the room
like an earthquake, thinking of nothing but yourself. Do _pray_
leave me alone, and, oh yes! you can have _both_ the carriages if you
like, only leave me in peace; and Honor, give me the Cologne, and
then find Lane and send her to me. And _do_, all of you, try to walk
a little less like elephants than you generally do. Oh! pray shut
the door quietly."
The girls are quenched, and leave the room much more quietly than
they entered it.
"I hope to goodness _I_ shall never have any nerves," says Doris
pouting, as she links her arm in Honor's. "Mother is fussy and cross
this morning. I believe she would like us all to sit perfectly mute
through the livelong day whenever she has one of her headaches. Now
don't look shocked, Honor, my girl! You know in your own heart of
hearts you think so too, only you are too good to say it, even to
yourself. I often wonder what mother would do if father were a poor
man, and she had to make her own dresses, and do her own hair, and we
had the washing done at home. Ah! that would just suit mother,
wouldn't it? Fancy how delicious--a perpetual smell of washing!"
"Hush, dear!" says Honor gently, "you must not talk like that about
mother; she is delicate, of course, and you know what Miss Denison
says about the back being fitted to the burden."
"O, that's all very well! but you know there are burdens clapped on
people's backs when they least expect it sometimes, at least so I've
read in books, so I don't altogether believe in _that_ statement."
In half an hour's time the two girls, radiant and comfortable, with
rugs, foot-warmers, and muffs, are being whisked through the now
slushy streets by a pair of fresh young horses. A very delightful
morning of shopping follows, until Honor, looking at her watch, is
startled to find that they have only just time to get to the station
to meet the train by which their governess is travelling.
"Be quick, dear," she says to Doris, who is divided between the
conflicting beauties of two delicate chintzes, one of which is
destined to adorn the person of "Mary," of the perverse character,
"or we shall not be there before the train comes in, and then poor
Miss Denny will think there's no one there to meet her."
Honor's fears of being late are not without some foundation, they
find, for as they step on to the platform the train is already
gliding into the station. A hand is seen waving a recognition from
one of the carriage windows, and as Doris and Honor rush up to the
door, a tall pleasant-looking woman steps down, and is quickly being
nearly stifled and smothered in the embraces of her impetuous pupils.
"And now, girls," straightening her bonnet and then giving a hand to
each, "how are all at home?"
"O, all right!" replies Doris, promptly dismissing the subject; "and
we have no end to talk to you about. The theatricals will be a
_tre-men_-dous success. Honor and I have been shopping this morning;
that's how it is we have got the carriage. Mother had one of her
headaches, you know, so she couldn't come and meet you herself; and
oh, isn't it _splendid_?--Colonel Danvers is really going to be the
old woman!"
"My _dear_ Doris, how you do run on!" says Miss Denison, smiling down
at the bright face by her side. "A few moments ago you said all were
well at home, and now you say your mother has a bad headache. Now do
let Honor speak too, dear," she adds laughing, as Doris shows signs
of starting off on a fresh subject.
All chatting pleasantly together the drive home seems to be
accomplished in about half the usual time, and as soon as Miss
Denison has been extricated from the carriage, which, in addition to
the three occupants, is filled almost to overflowing with packages,
she has to undergo a warm reception from Molly and Dick, who are
dancing a sort of Highland fling of expectation on the door-step as
the carriage drives up.
Then they all follow Miss Denison up to Mrs. Merivale's boudoir,
where, now almost recovered, she is languidly looking over her
letters of the morning.
"My _dear_ Miss Denison," she says, holding out both hands as the
governess approaches her, "you can have no conception what an
unspeakable relief your return is to me. I thought I should have
_died_ sometimes with the terrible racket these children have made.
Their father doesn't seem to mind it--indeed I really believe he
_likes_ it rather than otherwise; but oh, what my poor nerves have
gone through!" and Mrs. Merivale shudders and looks round for her
smelling-salts.
"_What_ we shall do without you when you leave us for good I really
_don't know_," she continues. "Honor and Molly will have to go to
school, I think. Doris must stay at home, of course, if she is to
come out next season. O, how I wish Honor was the eldest!--she is so
quiet and sensible compared to that child there. It is all very well
when I am quite well myself, but these headaches completely prostrate
me, and when they are all at home together it is almost _more_ than I
can stand. Molly, _do_ stop shuffling your feet!"
"I am sure, dear Mrs. Merivale, I would willingly have made my
engagement a longer one still," says Miss Denison sitting down close
to her, while Doris squeezes up to her side, Honor sits on a stool at
their feet, and Molly and Dick take up their position behind the
sofa; "but Frank declares he will wait no longer, saying--which is
quite true, of course--that I have put him off twice already. I
should like to have finished Honor as well as Doris, especially as I
fear that young lady has not done me as much credit as she might have
done. Now, Honor is more studiously inclined, and so I _think_ is
Molly."
"Now, I call it mean talking like that!" cries Doris pouting. "If I
haven't a natural taste for study it isn't _my_ fault, and it's twice
and three times as easy for people to learn when they really _like_
it, and not half so praiseworthy in _my_ opinion. Never mind," she
adds, tossing her head, "I shall marry a duke; and it won't matter
then whether or not I can speak French, German, or Italian!"
"O my stars, hark to that, Miss Denison!" exclaims Dick. "Why, my
good Doris, if you marry a duke you will have to go to court, you
know; and supposing the queen invited you to dinner, and she took it
into her head suddenly to have nothing but Chinese, or--or Fi-ji-an
spoken all the time, where would you be _then_, my girl?"
"Don't be absurd!" retorts Doris loftily; "and do let Miss Denny go
on with what she was saying."
But at this moment the gong sounds and there is a general move. A
merry and noisy meal is the luncheon to-day; Mr. Merivale, who has
come home unexpectedly, being himself one of the merriest of the
party.
After much discussion and a few passages-at-arms between Doris,
Molly, and Dick, which are promptly suppressed, however, by Miss
Denison, a rehearsal is called for half-past six o'clock, after the
school-room tea. A note, in a somewhat sprawling masculine hand, is
written and despatched by Molly to command the presence of the five
Horton boys at that hour; and as the carpenter has pronounced the
school-room to be most suitable for the erection of a stage, the time
before tea is devoted chiefly to the clearing of all superfluous
articles (of which there are not a few) away into cupboards and
ottomans, &c. Presently Hugh, Regy, Alick, Ted, and Joey Horton
arrive, and hard, steady rehearsal is the order of the evening until
bed-time.