THE FALL.
Nan had gone about for the remainder of the day with a lump in her
throat. It was not the least like the heavy weight of sorrow which
pressed on her yesterday—but nevertheless it was a curious and
strange sensation. To all intents and purposes Sophia Maria no longer
existed; that battered and torn and disreputable doll in the cupboard
could not be the darling whom she had pressed to her heart and loved
and worshipped during all the sorrowful days when her mother lay dead
in the lodging-house in Bloomsbury.
But although the lump was there, and the sorrow and the dismay there
also, Nan’s day was one rush, one continued succession, of excitement;
there was literally no time in Mrs. Richmond’s happy house for brooding
or grieving.
“I must try and forget Sophia Maria for the present,” thought the
child; “there is such a lot to be done! But when I get into bed
to-night, oh! won’t I have a good cry?”
She made up her mind also not to tell either Nora or Kitty what had
happened to her dear baby.
“As for Jack,” she said to herself, “I shall hate him all the rest of
my days.”
But when he came up to her, and sprang with great appreciation into
her lap and cuddled down there, and licked her hand with his little
red tongue, she found that, far from hating him, she was loving him
better and better each moment. At last bedtime came, and Nan as she
laid her head on her pillow and said “Good-night” to nurse, who had
come in to put out her candle, whispered to herself:
“Now I _must_ have a tremendous cry for my darling Sophia Maria.”
But, behold! the very next instant she was sound asleep. So Maria lay
neglected in the cupboard. Some day, of course, Nan would dress her,
and make her a pet and an idol once more, but meantime she was too
busy.
As the days flew on she grew busier and busier, for on the following
Monday she went to school with Nora and Kitty. It was discovered at
school that she was a very clever and well-informed little girl for
her age, and she was put into quite a high-up class for a girl of
eleven, and had many lessons to learn, and much to attend to. And as
Nan had not only school-hours to live through, but private lessons in
music to work for at home, and walks to take, and romps to enjoy, and
the animals one and all to idolise, she had not been a month in Mrs.
Richmond’s house before she became a very merry and a very happy
little girl. Not that for a single moment she forgot her mother; but
she was wise enough and sensible enough to know that if she would
really please that mother she would do it best by being happy and
contented. Once she saw Mr. Pryor; and when Mr. Pryor said to her, “Are
you trying to be the best girl?” Nan coloured, and squeezed his hand,
and said:
“Oh! but I have got such a darling little puppy—all my very, very
own—and his name is Jack. And I do love Kitty and Nora! And Mrs.
Richmond is very kind.”
Then Mr. Pryor looked straight into the dancing, dark eyes of Nan, and
he laid his hand for a moment on her head and said:
“I think you are going to be the best girl.”
“I wonder what he really means,” thought Nan. “It is nice to be happy;
even in mother’s time I was never as happy as I am now. In mother’s
time there was always the pain—her pain—to remember, and the empty
purse, and Mrs. Vincent, who was so cross, and—— Oh! lots and lots of
such things. But now nothing seems sad, and no one seems sorry; and
the animals alone would make any girl happy.”
But as it is not appointed in this life for any one to pass from the
cradle to the grave without anxiety and troubles and temptations and
fears, so was Nan Esterleigh no exception to the general rule.
She had been two months at Mrs. Richmond’s, and in that time had grown
strong and healthy, and a pretty rose colour had beautified her dark
little face, and her eyes were very bright, and her whole appearance
that of an intelligent and happy child. During those two months the
spring had advanced so far that it was now the daffodil and primrose
time, and the children had arranged to go to the nearest woods to
gather baskets of primroses on a certain Saturday, which was of course
a whole holiday. Saturday was the most delightful day of the seven in
Nan’s opinion, for there was no school and there were no classes of
any sort. It was the animals’ special day, when extra cleanings had to
be given and extra groomings gone through; when the cages and baskets
had to get fresh flannels and fresh gravel; when the mice and the rats
had in especial to be looked after. Nan always enjoyed Saturday best
of all, and this special Saturday was to be indeed a red-letter day,
for Miss Roy had decided to take the children to the country by a
train which left Victoria at one o’clock. They would get to Shirley
Woods in half-an-hour; there they could pick primroses to their
hearts’ content, and bring them back in basketfuls. Nan was very much
excited. She had never been to Shirley Woods, and the thought of some
hours in the country filled her with the wildest glee.
“Why, you dance about and make more fuss even than we do,” said Nora,
looking at her as she skipped up and down the room.
“Yes; I am in very high spirits,” said Nan, “and I am ever so happy.”
“I wonder how you will enjoy it when our cousin Augusta comes.”
“Who is your cousin Augusta? I have never heard of her.”
“I dare say not; but she is coming for a couple of months, either
to-night or to-morrow morning—to-night, probably. Mother had a letter
from our aunt, and she wants mother to take care of Augusta until she
comes back from the Riviera. Her name is Augusta Duncan. She is a very
handsome girl, and has a lot of spirit. She is the fashionable sort,
and thinks a lot of her dress and her appearance. What fun we shall
all have together!”
“But is she coming to school with us? How will she spend her day?”
asked Nan.
“No, she is not going to school, for she has not been quite strong,
and is to have a complete holiday. I expect she will stay here a good
bit and amuse herself.”
“How old is she?” said Nan again.
“She is a year and a half older than me,” replied Nora, “so she is
going on for fourteen. She is a very big girl for her age. I am quite
curious to see her.”
“Well, don’t let us bother about her now,” said Nan. “Let us get ready
to go off for our happy day in the country.”
Kitty looked at the clock.
“I had not the least idea it was so late,” she said. “What is to be
done? Mother wants us to get some flowers for the drawing-room before
we start. Cannot you go, Nan? Just run and ask Susan the housemaid to
go with you. You have very nice taste, and can choose just the flowers
mother would like. Get them at Johnson’s at the corner. I know mother
wants heaps of violets, and as many yellow flowers as you can put
together. You had better select about five shillings’ worth, for some
people are coming to tea with mother this afternoon.”
“Very well,” said Nan, in high good-humour. “I’ll be off at once.”
She put on her hat and jacket and ran downstairs, calling to Susan to
accompany her. Susan, however, was very busy, and grumbled when the
little girl made her request.
“Dear me, Miss Nan!” she said; “nurse has given me a lot to do, and I
am very late as it is. Cannot the flowers wait?”
“Oh! it does not matter,” answered Nan.
A daring idea rushed through her mind. Why should she have Susan, to
keep her company? It was only a step from the Richmonds’ house to
Johnson’s shop; she could easily go there alone. The fact that she was
forbidden ever to go out by herself was completely forgotten. In her
mother’s time she had constantly been sent on messages, and surely she
was just as sensible a little girl now. So, calling Jack the puppy to
accompany her, she started on her mission. She arrived at the shop in
good time, and there she saw two girls standing by the counter. They
were ordering flowers too, and talking to each other in a somewhat
excited manner. Their accents were not the accents of London girls;
they had a high-pitched note in them, which Nan at first thought very
disagreeable, and then considered fascinating. The girls were
beautifully and extravagantly dressed. They were taller and older than
Nan. They wore velvet frocks of a rich blue, and fawn-coloured
jackets, and they had blue velvet hats which drooped over their faces.
The hats were trimmed with enormous ostrich-feathers, also a deep
royal-blue. The girls had quantities of very thick and very bright
golden hair, which hung in curly masses down their backs and over
their shoulders. They had each of them deep-blue eyes—very deep and
very dark—and long, curly black lashes. Nan considered them quite the
most lovely human beings she had ever looked at. They would not have
taken the least notice of the quiet, grave-looking little girl who had
come into the shop but for the fact that Jack suddenly made a dive at
one of their dresses, and catching it in his teeth, pulled at it, as
much as to say, “Now for a game of play!”
The girl whose dress was attacked immediately tried to shake the
bull-terrier off; but the bull-terrier would not let go. It was the
mission of all bull-pups never to let go, and here was his
opportunity. He hung on as if for grim death, and the girl’s face got
red and her eyes flashed with temper. She turned to Nan and said in an
imperious voice:
“Do take your dog off, please. What a horrid little beast he is!”
“He is not horrid at all,” said Nan, very cross at anything
disparaging being said of Jack; but she caught the pup in her arms,
and stood red and panting, waiting for the girls to leave the shop.
The elder girl, whose dress had been the subject of Jack’s attack,
found that it was slightly torn, and she turned to her sister and
said:
“What an insufferable little dog, and what a still more insufferable
girl!”
“Oh, hush, Flora!” said the girl so addressed.
“Where shall I send the flowers to, miss?” asked the man who was
serving the girls, bending over the counter as he did so.
“Send them to Mrs. Aspray, Court Mansions,” was the elder girl’s reply.
“Be quick, please,” she added; “you had better send a man round with
all those flowers in pots. We are expecting company this afternoon,
and mother says the flowers must arrive before two o’clock.”
The man promised; and the girls, the elder one still very cross and
angry, left the shop.
Just as she was doing so she flashed her handsome blue eyes in Nan’s
direction, and Nan gave her back quite as indignant a glance.
“Well, miss, and what can I do for you?” said the shopman, now turning
to Nan.
Nan gave her order; the man promised to attend to it immediately, and
the little girl returned home.
Now, how it happened she never knew, but going back, she trod suddenly
on a piece of orange-peel. The next moment she was lying on her face,
white and sick and dizzy with pain. She had sprained her ankle. For a
moment or two she lay still. Then a man rushed up and raised her to
her feet. She made a frantic effort, and leaning on his arm, got as
far back as Mrs. Richmond’s house. When the door was opened for her,
great was the astonishment of Caroline the parlour-maid.
“Why, Miss Nan,” she cried, “how white you are! What has happened?”
“I have sprained my foot. I fell when I was out; I trod on a piece of
orange-peel.”
“And you were out, miss, all alone?”
“Yes, yes; Susan was not able to come.”
“My mistress will be angry, miss.”
“I am ever so sorry; but please don’t tell her—please don’t,
Caroline.”
“She will find out when she discovers that you have sprained your
foot.”
“Please don’t tell her; I will manage somehow,” said the child; and
she limped upstairs.
In consequence of her escapade, however, she could not possibly go to
the country that day. Kitty and Nora decided that they would not tell
about her naughtiness in going out alone. They were really fond of
Nan. They said that she was very silly to have disobeyed their mother,
and very wrong, but they would make some excuse about her not going
into the country; and as Mrs. Richmond was extremely busy, what with
Augusta’s expected arrival and her visitors of that afternoon, it was
unlikely that she would miss Nan or say anything about her.
Accordingly, at half-past twelve Miss Roy and the two little Richmonds
started alone for their country expedition, and Nan was left in the
schoolroom.