For the next few weeks Esther's approaching marriage seemed to engross
attention to the exclusion of every other topic. To Mellicent's delight
the professor fulfilled Peggy's prophecy by putting his veto on the
travelling-dress proposition. The wedding should be quiet, the quieter
the better, but Esther must wear the orthodox attire, for he wished to
keep the memory of a white-robed bride with him throughout life. Alone
with Esther, he added one or two lover-like speeches on the point, which
more than reconciled her for the extra fuss and flurry which were
involved in gratifying his desire. A white dress involved bridesmaids,
so Peggy received her invitation, and was the less appreciative of the
position since every day brought with it a fresh interview with
Mellicent, eager, incoherent, brimming over with an entirely new set of
ideas on the all-important subject of dress. Esther herself went about
her preparations in characteristic fashion, thoughtful of expense, of
fatigue for others, yet with a transparent appreciation of her own
importance, which was altogether girl-like and natural, and Mrs Asplin
entered into every detail of the arrangements with whole-hearted zeal.
She was so happy in Esther's happiness, so thankful for the feeling of
additional strength and comfort for the future given by the prospect of
the new home, so proud of her distinguished son-in-law, that the old
merry spirit sparkled forth as brightly as ever, and with it such a
marked improvement in health as rejoiced Peggy's heart to behold.
"Indeed, it's a perfect fraud I feel!" she explained one day, when the
girl had expressed delight at her altered looks; "for I seem able to do
all I want, while just as soon as I begin a tiresome duty I'm tired all
over, and feel fit for nothing but to lie down on my bed. I can stand
any amount of happiness, Peg, and not one little scrap of worry, and
that's a disgraceful confession for a woman of my years to make to a
girl like you! Ah, well, dearie, I've borne my own share of worries,
and when the old ships are worn out, they don't brave the storms any
more, but sail peacefully up and down the quiet streams. It's just a
useless old derelict I am, and that's the truth of it."
"Derelict, indeed! You will never be more than seventeen, if you live
to be seventy. You are the youngest member of the family at this
moment, and if you spoke the honest truth you would acknowledge that you
are in your element in the midst of these wedding preparations! I
believe you are far more excited than Esther herself."
"Indeed and I am. There is nothing I enjoy more than planning and
contriving, and making a great deal out of nothing at all. I've had a
grand turn out of my boxes and cupboards, and brought to light some
forgotten treasures which will come in most usefully just now. It
reminds me of the time before my own marriage, when I sat stitching
dreams of bliss into every seam, and indeed they have been fulfilled,
for I have been a blessedly happy woman! Now just look at these things
half a moment, my child, and tell me what you think I could do with
them. You are so clever at planning, and poor dear Esther is not a bit
of good in that direction. If you could suggest what to make, I could
cut out the patterns and set to work at once."
Mrs Asplin waved her hands towards a table on which her resurrected
treasures were spread out to view, and Peggy dropped her chin with a
preternaturally solemn expression, to avoid bursting into laughter. It
was such a melancholy-looking bundle, and Mrs Asplin looked so proud of
it, and it was so deliciously like the old vicarage way, to endeavour to
make everything out of something else, and to rummage out a store of old
rubbish, as the first step towards manufacturing a new garment! The
treasures which were to contribute towards Esther's trousseau consisted
of a moth-eaten Paisley shawl, a checked silk skirt of unbelievable
hideousness, a muslin scarf; yellow with age, a broken ivory fan, and a
pair of mittens. A vision of Esther figuring as a bride in this old-
world costume, rose before Peggy's quick-seeing eyes, the checked silk
transforming her slim figure into Mother-Bunch proportions, the shawl
folded primly round her shoulders, the fan waving to and fro in the
mittened hand. Do what she would, she could not control the inward
spasm of laughter; her shoulders heaved and shook, and Mrs Asplin felt
the movement, and turned a quick glance upon her.
"Laughing? What for? Don't you like them then? You saucy child, and I
thought they were so nice!"
"Oh, mater dear, and so they are--in their present condition; but the
idea of converting them into fashionable new garments is too funny
altogether. You might as well try to cut up an oak-tree into fancy
borderings. Leave them as they are, dear, and lend them to me, so that
I may dress up and amuse my people. Then they will be doing real good
work."
"I'll do nothing of the kind. Much obliged to you for the suggestion,
but I can make better use of them than that. You are as bad as
Mellicent, laughing at my poor old treasures. I don't know what the
world is coming to, I'm sure. Such upsetting notions the young folks
are getting." Mrs Asplin swept up the despised trophies in her arms,
and bustled out of the room with a show of displeasure, which, truth to
tell, had little effect upon the culprit. It was not the first, nor the
second, nor the twentieth time that a similar scene had been enacted,
for "mother's resurrections" were a standing joke in the Asplin family,
and the final fate thereof an open secret. However lofty might be the
first suggested use, the end was always the same. Her offerings scorned
by ungrateful relatives, she took refuge in dusters, and patiently
hemmed squares of the rejected fabrics, with which to enrich the already
lordly store of these useful commodities. On the present occasion she
had hardly passed the door before she had decided that for drawing-room
use nothing was really so good as a soft silk duster. The fate of the
old check skirt was sealed!
The summer passed away very rapidly for Peggy, dividing her time between
two happy homes, on both of which the sun shone as brightly and
continuously as in the world without, and shadows seemed for the present
to have hidden themselves away. Colonel and Mrs Saville were full of
delight in their new home, and the sense of rest and security which came
from being settled down in England, with their children beside them.
Arthur's prospects improved from day to day as he became more widely
known and appreciated, while Peggy was an hourly comfort and delight.
Her post as only daughter was no sinecure, for a delicate mother left
all the household management in her hands, while an exacting father
grumbled loudly if she were not ready to bestow her company upon him at
a moment's notice. Like most men who have lived in India and have been
accustomed to an unlimited number of native servants, Colonel Saville
was by no means easy to satisfy. He expected the household arrangements
to move along as if on oiled wheels, whereas, needless to say, a
_menage_ over which Miss Peggy presided, was subject on the contrary to
some painful vicissitudes. When the post of housekeeper had been
deputed to her, Peggy had been greatly elated by her increased
importance, and with characteristic modesty had expatiated upon her
peculiar fitness for the post, and declared her intention of exhibiting
a really well-conducted establishment to the gaze of the world. She
provided herself with a huge account book, marched about the house
jingling an enormous bunch of keys, and would allow no one else but
herself to weigh out provisions in the store-room. The first week's
bill made Colonel Saville open his eyes, but his daughter explained with
much suavity that, living so far from shops of every description, it was
necessary to lay in a large stock of dried goods, so that one should be
able to supplement a meal on the arrival of unexpected visitors, and
also be independent of the vagaries of parcel post. This was an
unanswerable argument, and the colonel was the more inclined to
acquiesce, since the menus of the last week had been all that even his
exacting taste could desire.
There were few things which Peggy could not manage to accomplish if she
gave her mind to the subject, and while the novelty of the charge lasted
she spared neither time nor pains to ensure success. The morning's
consultation with the cook was a solemn function with which nothing was
allowed to interfere. New and fantastic arrangements of flowers graced
the dinner-table each day, and the parlour-maid quailed before an eye
which seemed able to descry dust in the most out-of-the-way corners.
For the first week, then, all went well, and the new housekeeper sunned
herself in an atmosphere of praise and congratulation. The colonel
tugged his moustache and vowed that at this rate she would beat the
"boy" who had managed his Indian home. Mrs Saville murmured:
"My darling, you are so clever! I can't think how you do it!" and the
cook said that she had seen a deal of the world, and knew her way about
as well as most, but never, no never, had she met a young lady with her
head screwed so straight on her shoulders.
Protestations, however, do not go on for ever, and it is astonishing how
speedily a new regime loses its novelty, and is taken as a matter of
course. When Peggy had been in command a fortnight, no one thought of
praising her efforts any more, or of expressing satisfaction at their
result. It was simply taken for granted that she would fulfil her duty
without any more being said on the subject. She had been congratulated
on her start, and that was all that was required. One could not be
expected to lay daily tribute of praise at her feet. Unfortunately,
however, this was just what Miss Peggy _did_ expect, and in proportion
as the applause died away, so did her interest in her duties. It grew
monotonous to weigh out everlasting stores: dinners and lunches seemed
to come round with disgraceful rapidity, and the question of food
absorbed an unreasonable amount of time out of one's life. Cook looked
askance when two courses were suddenly cut off the evening dinner, and
cold meat ordered as the _piece de resistance_ at lunch, hut there were
worse things in store!
There came a morning when she waited for her young mistress's appearance
until ten o'clock came, and eleven, and twelve, and waited in vain, for
Miss Peggy was far away, scouring the country on her bicycle, with never
a thought for home duties until a spasm of hunger brought with it a pang
of recollection. Horrors! she had forgotten all about the morning's
orders and here it was close upon lunch-time, and her father doubtless
already wending his way home, hungrily anticipating his tiffin.
Surely, surely cook would rise to the occasion and arrange a menu on her
own account! Peggy comforted herself in the certainty that this would
be the case, the while she pedalled home as fast as wheels would take
her. But she was mistaken in her surmises. Mistress Cook had no idea
of being played fast and loose with in this haphazard fashion, and
having, moreover, been elaborately snubbed on a previous occasion when
she had ventured to advance her own views, was not altogether unwilling
to avenge her dignity now that opportunity had arisen.
When Peggy rushed breathlessly into the kitchen at half-past twelve,
there were the remnants of yesterday's repast spread out on the table
for her inspection, and not one single preparation made for the meal
which was so near at hand. Cook was frigid, Peggy desperate, but
difficulty had the effect of stimulating her faculties, and she
approached the offended dignitary in a manner at once so ingenious and
so beguiling that her anger melted away like snow before the sun.
"Emergency," quoth Miss Peggy grandiloquently, smiling into the sullen
face--"emergency is the test of genius! You have now one quarter of an
hour in which to prepare a meal, and very poor material with which to
work. Here is a chance to distinguish yourself! I am so ignorant that
I had best leave you to your own resources; but anything you need from
the store-room I will bring down at once. Just give me your orders!"
Could anything have been more diplomatic? To be asked at the eleventh
hour to fulfil a definite order would have been an additional offence,
but it was not in cook-nature not to rise to so insinuating a bait!
Punctual to time such a tempting little luncheon appeared upon the table
as evoked special praise from the fastidious master, the cook being
commended for the success of omelette, _entree_ and savoury, and Peggy
coming in for her own share of congratulation on her powers as a
caterer. The crisis was passed, and passed successfully, but the
anxiety consequent thereon had the beneficial effect of arousing Peggy's
attention to the danger of her own position, and giving a fresh lease of
life to her energies. Mrs Beeton, the account book, and the keys were
more in evidence than ever, and it was fully a fortnight before the
second relapse recurred. It came on, however, slowly but surely, and
other crises occurred which could not be so successfully overcome, as
when Peggy drove a distance of three miles to interview butcher and
fishmonger, and meeting Rob _en route_ went off on a ferning expedition,
returning home rosy and beaming, to discover an empty larder and a
stormy parent; or again when she forgot the Thursday holiday, and
deferred her orders until closed doors barred her entrance. The stores
were frequently in request in those days, so that monotony became the
order of the day, and the colonel inquired ironically if he were living
in the Bush, since he was put on a diet of tinned food. Peggy peaked
miserable brows, and said she never had seen such a stupid little
village! She did her best. Only this very day she had left an
enthralling story to cycle miles and miles to buy fish and meat, had
suffered tortures _en route_ from the heat and dust, and behold the
shops were closed! It always _was_ Thursday afternoon somehow. She
could not think how it occurred. But the colonel was not so easily
appeased. His moustache bristled and his eyes flashed with the steel-
like glance which always came when he was annoyed.
"Excuses!" he thundered. "Idle excuses! It is your own fault for
forgetting what it is your business to remember, and it only adds to the
offence to shield yourself by blaming others. Fine thing this, to be
starved in my own house by my own daughter! I'd better sell up at once
and go and live in a club. If you were a practical, well-regulated
young woman, as you ought to be, you would put business first, and make
no more of these stupid blunders!"
"But I _should_ be so uninteresting! Practical people who never make
mistakes are such dreary bores. Novelty is the spice of life, father
dear, and if you would only regard it in the right light, even a bad
dinner is a blessing in disguise. It does so help one to appreciate a
good one when it comes! At least you must acknowledge that there is no
monotony in my method!"
But for once the colonel refused to smile, and when he had marched out
of the room, Mrs Saville took advantage of the occasion to speak one of
those rare words of admonition which were all-powerful in her daughter's
ear.
"Don't worry your father, Peg darling!" she said. "It doesn't matter
for ourselves when we are alone, for we don't care what we eat, but men
are different. They like comfortable meals, and it is only right that
they should have them. Give a little thought to your work, and try to
arrange things more equally, so that we shall not have a feast one night
and a fast the next. Little careless ways like these are more annoying
to a man's temper than more serious offences. It is difficult for you,
I know, dearie, but I won't offer to release you from the
responsibility, for it will be valuable experience. Some day you will
have a house of your own and a husband to consider."
Peggy gave a grunt of disapproval.
"I'll marry a vegetarian, and live on nuts," she declared gloomily.
"But I will try to do better, mummie dear, I will indeed, so don't you
worry your sweet head! I'll be as good as a little automatic machine,
and never forget nothing no more. When Eunice comes, I'll ask her to
say, `Lunch, lunch! Dinner, dinner!' to me every morning regularly at
nine o'clock, and then I can't forget. I like Eunice! She is such an
agreeable complement to myself. I can help her where she fails, and she
can do the same for me. You will see, mother dear, that Eunice will
exert a most beneficial influence over me! She is one of those gentle,
mousy people who have an immense influence when they choose to exert
it."
"She seems to have that. I've noticed it more than once," said Mrs
Saville drily, and her eyes wandered to a closely written sheet which
lay on the table by her side. It was Arthur's latest letter, and in it
his mother's watchful eyes had discovered an unprecedented number of
references to his chiefs daughter. "Miss Rollo did this; Miss Rollo did
that; Miss Rollo said one thing and planned another." Five separate
times had that name been connected with Arthur's own experiences. Mrs
Saville drew her delicate brows together and heaved a sigh. A mother's
unselfishness is never perhaps so hardly tried as when she feels her
ascendency threatened in the affections of an only son.