AUGUSTA’S RESOLVE.
The four girls in Mayfield Gardens were very busy just now. From
morning to night there was not a moment to spare, for the holidays
were drawing near, and the prizes were to be competed for. It is true
that Augusta was not competing for any prize, but somehow in this
busy, energetic, lively household she did not count for as much as she
herself believed she ought. Nan was trying hard, with all her might,
with every scrap of energy she possessed; and so was Kitty trying, and
so was Nora. Nora was perhaps less energetic than Kitty, but she was a
very honourable, downright, straight sort of girl. She knew her mother
wished her to bring home a prize after the final examinations at her
school, and she was determined, if girl could succeed, to do so.
Immediately after the school broke up, Mrs. Richmond was going to take
the four children to her country place in Devonshire. This was a
lovely place within a hundred yards or so of the seashore. Mrs.
Richmond kept boats, and even a little yacht, and Kitty and Nora were
never tired of telling the other two of the happy, happy time which
lay before them. But Nan, although she was working so hard, had a care
on her mind; never, day or night, did it leave her. It is true her
reports in the orderly-book were first-rate; she seemed, as far as
Miss Roy could make out, to do everything not only well, but with
spirit. Her drill was splendid; she held herself erect like a real
soldier; she understood her drill-sergeant’s directions as if by
magic. Then there were other exercises to be gone through, and Nan
never failed in her early rising. No one could be more attentive and
earnest over her lessons than Nan Esterleigh; and as to her morals,
Miss Roy could find no fault with them. Sometimes, it is true, as
night after night she put down most justly and fairly the marks of
each young soldier, she would look up after her invariable question,
“Well, any special thing on your consciences, or may I mark ‘Good’
against your character for to-day?”
A wild light would come into Nan’s eyes, and her face would turn pale;
but ever and always, before she could say the fatal word, Augusta
would manage to fix her bold, bright eyes on the little girl’s face,
and Nan would drop her head and say:
“Oh yes—at least, I mean, I have tried.”
Nevertheless, she was anything but happy, and she thought of the
Asprays as a possible means of relief. She made up her mind to see
them for herself before she went to the country; not to speak to
them—oh no! she would not do that for worlds: that time would not
come until she had fully made up her mind that she would give up the
Richmonds, whom she so dearly loved, and would cast in her lot with
the Asprays. But she must see them.
One day, with her heart beating, and with great outward
_sang-froid_, she asked Mrs. Richmond if she knew where they
lived. Mrs. Richmond told her.
“Quite close to this,” she said; “just at the corner turning into the
square. It is a very large house with green railings round it; but, my
darling, you need have nothing to do with them.”
“Oh! I know. I only wanted to be sure where they lived,” answered Nan.
By-and-by, when tragic things happened, Mrs. Richmond remembered this
remark of Nancy’s.
That day the little girl was sent out for a message with Susan. Susan
the housemaid was very fond of Nan; she had quite a respect for her
since that interesting time when she went with her to see Mr. Pryor and
Phoebe and Mrs. Vincent gave her tea in the kitchen.
“I am so glad we are out together, Susan!” said Nan. “You need not
hurry back very soon, need you?”
“No, miss—that is, I expect not. I don’t think there is anything very
special doing this afternoon. I can stay with you for a little—an
hour or so, anyhow.”
“Oh! that will do splendidly,” said Nan. “You know, Susan, I like you
very much.”
“And so do I like you, Miss Nancy; but it is more than I do Miss
Augusta. We none of us can bear her—nasty, sly young lady!”
Poor Nan felt a fierce desire to corroborate these words, but she
remembered her duty as a soldier prevented her speaking evil even of
her enemies, and she restrained herself.
“We need not talk about Augusta now, need we?” she said.
“No, my dear Miss Nancy; but anybody with half an eye can see that she
worries you almost past bearing. Dear, dear! there are things I could
tell of her if I liked; but I don’t want to be spiteful.”
“It would be very wrong indeed to tell tales, Susan.”
“I ain’t telling them,” said Susan somewhat tartly. “Now miss, hadn’t
we best do our messages first?”
Nan agreed to this. They went to one or two shops for Mrs. Richmond,
and Susan put her purchases into a bag which hung upon her arm.
“Now then, Miss Nancy, shall we go home, or what shall we do?”
“I know what I want to do,” said Nancy. “I want to walk up and down
outside a house.”
“Oh, lor’, Miss Nancy! that do sound queer.”
“And there is another thing,” continued Nancy, speaking very eagerly,
and a spot of bright colour coming into each of her cheeks; “I want
you, Susan, not to tell anybody what we are going to do. Do not gossip
about it when you get back to the servants’ hall. You won’t, will you?”
“Not me,” said Susan; “I ain’t that sort.”
“I know you are not,” said Nancy in a sweet tone of voice, touching
Susan’s arm for a minute with her hand; “and because I know it, that
is why I like you so much. Now then, this is the house.”
Nan found herself outside the Asprays’ dwelling. She looked up with a
beating heart. The house was handsome, large, and commodious; compared
with the Richmonds’ house, which was also a very handsome one, it
looked palatial. There were balconies to most of the windows; and
awnings were put up now, and sun-blinds, and a lot of people were
seated in the drawing-room balcony chatting and laughing. Their
laughter was borne down on the breeze, and it reached Nan’s ears. They
were having tea on the balcony, and a couple of girls were seated
close together talking eagerly. One of them turned to her companion
and said:
“Do you see that odd-looking child? She keeps walking up and down just
outside our house. I suppose the person with her is her maid. Don’t
you recognise her, Flora?”
“No, I am sure I do not, Constance.”
“Well, you have a very short memory. Don’t you know that time when we
were at the florist’s round the corner, and a nasty, horrid
bull-terrier came and pulled your skirt? It belonged to that child.
Oh, see! oh, see! She has raised her eyes and is looking at us. Of
course it is she.”
“Of course; I remember quite well now,” said Constance. “How funny!
She is a strange-looking little girl! I do not admire her at all. I
trust we may never see her again.”
Down in the street, Nancy said in a faint voice to Susan:
“I have walked up and down long enough now, Susan; I should like to go
home.”
For she, too, had recognised the girls with golden hair and handsome
faces. They were the Asprays! Would she exchange to a better fate if
she threw in her lot with theirs? She felt very sad and lonely.
But the busy time was at hand; the very next day the school
examinations began. These continued for nearly a week, and then came
the prize-day, when all the parents and friends of the girls were
invited; and Nan had the extreme felicity of winning a prize for her
French studies. Oh, how proud she felt as she walked up to receive the
handsome volume from the hands of her mistress! She trembled all over
as she clasped it to her heart, bowed to her mistress, said “Thank
you” in a tremulous voice, and went back to her seat. She was so happy
and pleased that she even forgot Augusta in her joy. Kitty and Nora
had also won prizes, and three happy, almost riotous schoolgirls
assembled in the schoolroom that night. Augusta came in with her head
in the air.
“Hoity-toity!” she cried; “what a noise! Well, let me see the books. I
trust they are novels, for I have read through all my own store, and
want some fresh ones to amuse myself with.—Nan, you come and show me
yours. Why, child, you look as if you were standing on your head; what
is the matter with you?”
“I am so awfully delighted,” said Nan, “that I did get it.—Oh Kitty,
Kitty, I almost wonder if it is true!”
“It is true enough, Nan,” said Kitty. “Don’t be over-excited, darling.
Oh! I know you want to write to Uncle Peter.”
“Indeed I do: and I will, too. I expect he will be pleased.”
“He will,” said Kitty. “He will be extra pleased with you, for you
worked so very hard.”
“Well, show me the book, and do stop talking,” said Augusta.
Nan put her treasured volume in Augusta’s hands. It was a beautifully
bound copy of the works of Racine. Augusta tossed it back.
“Beyond words tiresome,” she said. “Who wants to read that stupid
thing?”
“But I do; I mean to read every word of it. And, oh, it is so
beautifully bound! And see—do see where they have put my name—‘Nancy
Esterleigh, Prize I. for’”——
“Oh! don’t go on,” said Augusta.—“Show me your book, Kitty.”
“You need not be so ungracious,” said Kitty. “I do not think I will
show you my book. Nancy has got a darling, lovely prize.—Have you
not, Nancy pet?”
Kitty’s prize consisted of a vellum-bound copy of Macaulay’s History,
and Nora had the works of Shakespeare in several small volumes.
Augusta pronounced all the prizes not worth considering, and
ensconcing herself in a low chair in the window, continued to devour a
volume which she had secreted from the drawing-room. Nan was not the
only one who had noticed this habit of Augusta’s. Miss Roy was also
aware of it; but she had made up her mind to say nothing yet.
On the very day before the little party were to go to the country,
Augusta received a letter from her mother. It was written from South
America, and evidently caused the young recipient a good deal of
consternation.
“My dear Augusta,” wrote her mother, “I have been wishing for some
time to send you a really serious letter. I am leaving you at present
in Aunt Jessie’s care, and I have no doubt that all has been done for
your benefit. My dear, we left home in a great hurry, and a quick
change had to be made in all our plans. You know, Augusta, that one or
two things occurred at home before we left which displeased your
father and me very much. I allude to a certain matter when you were
not quite straight with us. If there is one thing more than another
which your father and I would break our hearts over, it is that you,
our precious only child, should be guilty of want of openness or want
of regard for the truth. Now, my dear, I wish to say that we intend to
put you on trial during your stay with Aunt Jessie. I have not
breathed a word to her of that fault which, alas! most undoubtedly
lies in your character—you are arrogant and selfish, and if it were
to further your own interests you would not hesitate to tell a lie. It
is terribly painful to me to have to write like this to you whom I so
dearly love; there is a dreadful pain in my heart, and I could cry
over it. But now, Augusta, your father and I have made up our minds.
If during your stay with Aunt Jessie you are discovered to have
swerved in the very least from the path of truth and honour, we will
not send you to school in Paris, which it is our present intention to
do on our return to England; on the contrary, we will keep you at home
with a very strict governess. My dear, I am obliged to say this, and
you must take what comfort you can out of this letter. It remains with
you whether you go to Paris or not; all, all depends on your conduct
while we are away from you. Pray to God to help you, my dear girl. I
write in great sorrow of mind.—Your affectionate mother.”
Augusta read this letter over twice; then she took it to her room and
put it away in a little drawer, which she locked. That night as she
lay down to, rest she thought a good deal over what her mother had
said. She was quite determined, at any cost, to go to Paris. If her
conduct with regard to Nan were ever known she would lose her chance
of this delightful plan being carried out. Far from going to Paris,
she would be immured at home with a dull, old-fashioned, and tiresome
governess to look after her. Augusta knew by past experience what such
a life would mean. She had more than once already tried the patience
and half-broken the hearts of different governesses who had been
engaged to instruct her. She was fully resolved to have nothing more
to do with so dull an existence. At any cost, therefore, Nan must be
silenced. For if Nan brought herself to confess what lay so heavily on
her conscience, Augusta must be implicated; therefore Nan must keep
silence.
“What a tiresome little girl she is! I have met no one like her. How
swiftly she fell! and ever since she has been in a wretched state of
mind—making my life quite a misery. Well, I have her pretty much in
my power. I will cosset her up a little when I get to the country, and
make a fuss over her. With all her faults, she is affectionate, and if
I coax and flatter her a bit she will come over to my way of thinking.
But I do wish one thing, and it is this—— Why did that tiresome
Uncle Peter propose that extraordinary plan of his? I am sure I don’t
want to be a soldier. Tiresome, stupid man! But I have promised, and I
must go on with it. To be degraded from the ranks now would be as good
as a failure; to have bad marks in the orderly-book would stamp me for
ever in mother’s eyes. Captain Richmond’s plan is just what would
delight the mother; and father too would be pleased. Of course, when
they both come back they will hear all about it. Yes, I see what must
be done: Nan must be encouraged and petted and fussed over, and I must
take my laurels modestly; and then, when the good parents come back
from America, hurrah for Paris and a good time!”