Chapter VII The New House
As Mama had said, Astbury was a very small house, but for all that it was a very pretty one, and looked so homelike and inviting this fine spring evening. The windows shone out, lit up by the rays of the setting sun, from amid the green leaves with which the house was covered, like friendly eyes of welcome to the new-corners. Roses and wisteria seemed to vie with one another in beauty and luxuriance on the walls.
They all exclaimed with pleasure and delight at this first sight of their new home. All Lena’s visions faded away of a stately mansion, and she agreed with the others that nothing could be prettier or nicer than their new home appeared to be, and although it was small, how could they help being happy in such a pretty place? There was not much garden in the front, but behind, as they soon discovered, was quite a large one, and to the side was a kitchen-garden, and beyond, stretching far away on every side of them, was field after field. The children were so impatient to explore the garden and shrubberies, and to wander forth into this delicious green world around them, that it was with extreme unwillingness that they received the summons to tea, which ought to have been a welcome one to such young travellers. Lena and Milly were to share a room together in their new home, while Lucy still occupied one with Hester, who had come as nurse. There was no fear of their getting into trouble or difficulties here, Mama thought, so they were allowed to ramble off at their own sweet will the next morning; and what wonderful discoveries they made, to be sure; everything was new and delightful to them. Although Lena had never lived quite in the country before like this, she had been so many country rambles with Auntie, that most of the wild flowers that grew in such profusion round Astbury were known to her by sight and name. Milly and Lucy considered her as quite an authority on the subject, and consulted her about every new floral treasure they acquired. Returning home with hands full of bluebells and anemones, they met the first living human creature they had come across in their rambles. Cows and sheep they had seen in plenty—almost too many of the former for their perfect comfort—but none of their own species till this young girl, who returned their looks of curiosity with one equally as curious. She was taller and bigger than either of the elder Graham girls, with short curly hair and sun-browned face, dressed very plainly in blue serge with a plain sailor-hat perched on the top of her curls, rather, Milly thought, because it was necessary to wear a hat than to shelter her face from the sun, for it was pushed well back, which quite accounted for the young face being so sun-burnt and rosy. She hesitated as she met our young people as if about to speak, then drew back with a sort of cold shyness and hurried on. Not so a little dog she had with her. At sight of the Graham girls, he stood still and set up a series of shrill barks. Lena and Milly hesitated whether to attempt to pass him or not. Lucy settled the matter by retreating backwards into the hedge, dragging Milly with her and screaming with terror. At the noise the girl turned. Seizing the dog in her arms, she exclaimed, “Don’t be frightened, he won’t hurt you.” Then giving the dog a good hard slap, added, “Be quiet, you stupid little thing.” And without another word she hurried on again.
Lucy soon recovered from her terror, and the incident of the dog and the unknown girl was an engrossing subject of conversation for the remainder of the walk, and was eagerly related to their parents at dinner.
“It must have been Bessie Freeling, I fancy,” said Colonel Graham; “she answers to your description.”
“Would not she be afraid to go about by herself?” asked Milly.
“No, I fancy from what I have seen of her that she is only too fond of roaming about in the fields; likes it better, I suspect, than staying in the schoolroom and learning her lessons,” said their father with a smile.
“I don’t wonder, Papa,” was Lena’s emphatic remark; “I could be out in the fields all day long.”
“You must be careful what fields you go into, children, for some of them are set aside for hay, and you would be doing sad mischief if you went wandering about there.”
“Had not you better go with them and show them where they may go and where not?” said their mother.
“Yes,” said Colonel Graham, “we will all go together this afternoon, Mama and all, later in the day, I mean when it is cooler.”
“May not we go out now?” asked Milly.
“No, dear, it is too hot; besides, you have not put your books and things away tidily in your room. I thought you both had decided on making your room pretty and keeping it so.”
“So we did. Let us go and do it now, Lena, while Lucy has her sleep.” For little Lucy always required a sleep in the middle of the day, for however much she wished to be running about, her eyes would grow heavy, and her little feet weary after spending the morning trotting about.
Lena and Milly were very busy in their room when they received a summons to the drawing-room to see Mrs. Freeling, who, with her two girls, had come to call. It was Hester who had come to tell them, and on seeing Lena jump down from the chair she was standing on, so as to enable her to reach the bookcase, where hers and Milly’s books were to be kept, she exclaimed—
“Why, Miss Lena, you are not going to leave your work unfinished, now it is so nearly done, are you?”
“We can do that afterwards; I do so want to see Bessie Freeling.”
“There are so few books left, you had better put them all tidy; I know you will forget afterwards.”
“Well, give them to me, Milly. We will stick them up anyhow now, and put them right by and by.”
“It is as easy to put them in tidily as untidily,” said Hester; “and I don’t mean to let you go down till you have done it, and seen that you are tidy also.”
So, very unwillingly, Lena had to wait till Hester considered they were fit to go down, for both children’s hands showed they had been at work. When they were ready Lena said, “Come, Milly; how slow you are! I don’t believe you want to go,” and she turned to Milly, who was still lingering at the table.
“I do hate going down to see new people. I never know what to say to them first.”
“I like it when there are children, and I do want to know if Bessie is the same girl we saw this morning. Come on, Milly.”
“Curiosity” gained the day, and overcame Milly’s shyness, for she too wanted to see if Bessie and their unknown friend were the same.
Yes, Papa had been quite right in his surmise, for when they entered the room, they at once recognised the young girl sitting so quietly and demurely beside Mrs. Freeling to be the same one they had met in the morning. Gertrude, the elder sister, was there also. Much taller than Bessie, with long fair hair, and a quiet self-possessed manner, that made both our little friends decide that she was almost grown up, though Milly thought she must be very nice, she had such a sweet gentle look. Lena did not trouble very much about her, as she saw she was so “grown-up looking;” all her looks and interest were centered upon Bessie, who looked very rosy and uncomfortable, for she was as shy nearly as Milly, and only answered Lena’s friendly advances with short low monosyllables, until the door opened and Lucy entered. At first she did not recognise Bessie as the owner of the little dog that had so frightened her, but the moment she did so she ran to her with outstretched hand, asking, “Where is your little dog? haven’t you brought him, ’cause he was naughty?”
Bessie’s eyes brightened as she greeted the child, and very soon Lucy was on her knee chattering away quite at her ease, and Bessie soon forgot her shyness also in the delight of the little one’s company.
“How nice for you to have a little sister!” she said, looking at Lena.
“Yes, she is a dear little thing. Are you so fond of little children?”
“Yes, I love them. I hate dolls; they can’t speak or anything, just pieces of wood. I would rather have Dash than any doll; but Lucy is better than Dash,” she added with a low laugh.
Lena looked rather disgusted at her words, and said in an aggrieved tone, “We all love dolls; don’t we, Milly?”
“Love dolls,” said Gertrude, joining them, “so used I; and I am not sure that I don’t still, at any rate I like dressing them.”
“Gerty has got a whole drawerful at home. I think it is so silly to like them,” said Bessie scornfully.
Mrs. Freeling rising at that moment to leave, there was nothing more said about the dolls.
“Bessie, we must ask Miss Gifford to give you a half-holiday to-morrow.”
“It is Wednesday, Mama, so I have one,” interrupted Bessie hastily.
“Ah yes, so it is, I had forgotten. Mrs. Graham has promised to bring her children to-morrow to spend the day with you and Gertrude.”
“How nice! And, Mama, mayn’t Lucy come too?”
“Of course, dear, she was included;” then she added, turning to Mrs. Graham, “We will expect you by one o’clock. You are sure you prefer to walk up?”
“Yes, we shall all enjoy the walk across the fields.” And she looked at her children, whose beaming faces showed they were delighted at all Mama’s arrangements for them.
As the carriage drove away, the three children all began a chorus of remarks upon their late visitors. Lucy was unqualified in her praises, but not so Lena and Milly; they were neither of them sure whether they liked Bessie quite so much as they expected.
“Gertrude was very nice,” said Milly.
“What fault have you to find with poor Bessie?” said Mrs. Graham.
“Why, Mama, she turned up her nose at our liking dolls, called them pieces of wood, and spoke as if she thought we were silly,” said Lena indignantly.
“Well, dear, you cannot expect to find everybody with exactly the same tastes as yourselves. I daresay you will find she is really very nice; she looks a bright frank girl, and she must be kind, judging from the way she treated Lucy.”
“She loves little girls,” said Lucy with a toss of her small head. “She likes me better than Dash; she said so.”
Mrs. Graham was right. The girls found out the next day that they had very many tastes in common with Bessie. Although she did not like dolls, there were a great many things she did like, especially playing in the garden and the fields, and before they separated that evening they were all the closest of friends. But Lucy was prime favourite with Bessie; everything that the child wanted was done at once, nothing was too much to give the little one pleasure. Bessie had spoken the truth when she had said that Gertrude had a drawer full of dolls, and as they were looking at them—for Bessie condescended to be one of the party, as Lucy expressed a wish to see the “dear dollies”—she exclaimed, “Don’t you think it silly of Gerty keeping those dolls when she is so old? And then she is so fond of books, she is always at them. Miss Gifford says she knows three times as much as I do.”
“That is your own fault, Bessie, you know; for you won’t try to learn, so how can you get on?”
“How can one think of lessons when one wants to be out of doors? I don’t mind them on wet days, but on fine ones I cannot bear the sight of a book. I envy you,” looking at her friends as she spoke, “for you have holidays and no governess.”
“But only for a week longer. Our new governess is coming then, and we are not to have any more holidays this summer, except a fortnight in August.”
“What a shame!”
“Mama says we have had so many lately; but we shall have the same half-holidays as you.”
“Then we can be out together, and the summer evenings are lovely for the fields.”
“Don’t you like your lessons at all, Bessie?” asked Milly.
“No. How can I, when I feel I am such a long way behind Gerty? It’s no good my trying to get on—I can’t,” and a shade passed over the bright face as she sighed. Bessie was in fact disheartened and disappointed. She had been, when younger, considered quicker at her work than Gertrude, and when she found she could learn so much sooner the lessons set them, she had become idle and careless, thinking she could easily catch up Gerty, though she did work so hard and was so fond of her books. But Bessie soon found she had made a mistake, for the careless roving habits she had given way to grew fast upon her, and soon her sister outdistanced her on the path of learning. So Bessie grew disgusted and disheartened. Instead of trying to make up for lost time, she said “It was of no use,” and grew fonder, or said she did, of shirking her work. The Graham girls often wondered that Mrs. Freeling allowed her so much liberty, for not only on the summer evenings, but every spare hour she could get, Bessie made her way to the Grahams, and would coax Mrs. Graham to let her carry off little Lucy to the garden, much to the child’s delight. The reason of this was that Mrs. Freeling had come to the decision that Bessie must go to a boarding-school. She had watched with sorrow how the girl’s idle habits were increasing, and she also saw that a good deal of it was caused by her being so thoroughly put out of heart about her own doings and work. It would be better for her, Mrs. Freeling knew, to have a change, and she hoped that being with other girls, with whom she had not lost ground, would give her courage to make a fresh start. Little did Bessie guess, as she played with Lucy or her sisters, that very soon all this wild free life was to be exchanged for the routine and discipline of a school. Gertrude knew of it, and over and over again would she try and persuade Bessie to settle down more steadily to her lessons; but argument and persuasion were alike in vain. She was always unprepared and in trouble. “You will be sorry for it,” Gertrude would many a time say; but Bessie’s answer was always the same, “It is no good trying; I can’t get on.” Thus the next week or two slipped away. Miss Marshall had arrived, and lessons were begun regularly, when one morning Lucy rushed in, throwing the door wide open, and forgetting in her excitement that she was breaking through all rules by thus disturbing her sisters during working hours.
“O Miss Marshall, Lena, Milly, what do you think?” she exclaimed eagerly, her eyes sparkling with delight. Then without waiting for an answer she went on, “We are all to have tea in the hayfield. Mrs. Freeling has asked us, and Mama says we may go, and this afternoon Bessie is going to buy me a little rake, and I shall make hay.” Here the child stopped for sheer want of breath, while Lena and Milly both exclaimed in tones of delight at the proposed treat.
Fortunately lessons were nearly over for the morning, for Miss Marshall found it very difficult to restrain her pupils’ eagerness to get them finished, and go and hear all about the treat in store. Bessie, who had brought the news to Lucy, was quite ready and able to give them all particulars. And the two elder girls looked wistfully after the carriage that conveyed Mrs. Graham and Lucy with Mrs. Freeling to the neighbouring town when they began afternoon lessons.
“Lucy gets all the treats,” murmured Lena crossly, while Milly added with a little sigh, “I wish I was her.”
This was to be a day of surprises for them, for when Mama returned she told them she had heard from Mrs. Clifford, who wrote she had that day sent off a box. “It is addressed to you, Milly dear,” she continued.
“When do you think it will come?” asked Milly.
“It has arrived at the station, dear. Mrs. Freeling kindly called, meaning to bring it back with her; but we heard then that it had been sent by the carrier, so I expect it will soon be here.”
After tea and lessons were over, the three girls went down the road to look if they could see the carrier’s cart coming. Lena and Lucy were both as excited about the expected parcel as Milly herself, for they had quite talked themselves into the belief that Mrs. Clifford would be sure to send them something. Mrs. Graham had repeatedly told them that it was not at all probable; but they thought otherwise, and as they wished to think so, Mama’s warnings were all thrown away upon them. Bessie, too, had helped to increase Lucy’s confidence, for she had said, “Of course she would not forget to send such a little darling as you something nice.” So all three were in a state of great delight when they saw the cart coming towards the house. They all scampered back to call to Mama that the precious parcel would very soon arrive, and to entreat her to come and see it opened.”
“You can bring it into the dining-room and open it there,” said Mrs. Graham to the eager party.
“Such a nice big one, Mama,” said Milly, appearing with a box in her arms, done up in brown paper, and addressed to “Miss Millicent Graham.”
“It must have more than one thing in it,” said Lena anxiously. Then the string was undone and the paper taken off, and a square card-board box was displayed to view.
“I see two parcels,” said Milly excitedly as she opened it.
“Mine will be in the corner or underneath!” cried Lucy, as she danced about in her excitement.
Milly took out the first thing, and taking off the paper coverings that were round it, held up a very pretty white hat, trimmed with lace and a large white ostrich feather.
“Oh, how lovely! I hope mine is the same,” said Lena, putting down the hat on the table.
Milly took out the other thing. It was not a hat she felt at once. Uncovering it, she saw a white straw work-basket, and opening it they further saw that it was lined with blue satin, and filled with all the necessary things for working with. Laying that on the table beside the hat, she dived again into the box. A look of disappointment crept over her face as she felt, for nothing more was there but the paper which had been placed in it to keep the hat from being hurt by the basket.
“That’s all,” she said at length.
Lucy stood the picture of disappointment, and screwed up her little face ready for a good cry, when Mama said, “Look, dear, here is a note in the work-basket.”
Lucy waited for her cry to hear if there was any good news in the note.
“Read it, please, Mama,” said Milly, putting the paper into her mother’s hands. She had caught a glimpse of what was written, and she could not bear to read out the words which she knew were coming.
“For dear Milly, hoping she will like her god-mama’s choice.” Not a word about either Lena or Lucy.
The latter set up a howl of disappointment, but Lena said never a word. Her disappointment was very great—she had so made up her mind that she would be remembered, and had spoken so decidedly on the subject before them all. Her heart swelled with feelings of wounded pride, disappointment, and anger, for at the moment she was angry, not only with herself for having so hoped for it, but with Mrs. Clifford, who she considered had behaved very unkindly to her. Though why Mrs. Clifford should have sent her a present she could not have told you herself.
“May Lena have the hat, and me the basket, Mania?” asked Milly pleadingly. “You like the hat best, don’t you, Lena?”
Mrs. Graham was trying to comfort the weeping Lucy, who refused to be comforted, and wept and raved at the cruelty of every one in general and Mrs. Clifford in particular.
“No, Milly, I don’t want the hat: they were both sent to you; of course she likes you best—every one does.” And with these words, and without a kind look or word of thanks to her sister, Lena left the room.
Poor Milly! Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at the presents that but a few minutes before she had thought of with such pleasure.
Mrs. Graham came to her side, and lifting up her face, kissed her, and whispered, “My poor little Milly, this is a sad way to receive your present.”
“O Mama, I wish it had never come. I can never wear the hat.”
“No,” screamed Lucy, “it’s a nasty hat—I’ll spoil it,” and she seized the unoffending hat roughly; but Mrs. Graham at once took it from her, and handing it to Milly, said, “Put it in the box again, and take it to my room.”
“Nasty horrid thing! I’ll spoil you,” screamed Lucy again, and thus, screaming and struggling, the passionate child was taken by her mother to the nursery, while Milly put the hat and work-basket away in the box, and carried it up as told to her mother’s room. Opening the wardrobe she put the box into it, and then shut and locked the door.
“There, you are out of sight now,” she said as she did so. Then sitting down on the sofa she gave way to a burst of tears. She had looked forward with such pleasure to receiving her promised present; in her secret heart she had hoped that it might be the very work-basket that had come, for she had admired it so much in the shop one day, and Mrs. Clifford had alluded to it before she left. Now it had really been given to her, and had brought her nothing but sorrow. Why would not Lena take the hat? for she had said she hoped there would be one for her the same, and Milly couldn’t wear it after what Lena had said. She was sorry there was nothing for Lucy, but she knew she would soon be comforted by some small present, and that she should have something Milly quite settled in her own mind; but she felt that with Lena it was very different, nothing she had to give her would make up for the disappointment and the wound to her self-love. It was not thus that Milly called it; she so dearly loved her sister that she made excuses for her in her own mind and also to her mother, who very soon came to seek for and comfort her.
“Mama, Lena says she won’t have the hat—do make her take it.”
“No, dear; I don’t wish her to have it. It was sent to you, and I want my children to learn to see each other given pleasure without coveting it for themselves or being jealous about it.”
“O Mama, but it was such a disappointment to her!”
“Yes, I know it is; but Lena has brought it on herself, for I have told her over and over again that she was raising false hopes both for herself and Lucy, and so it has ended in sorrow to you all.”
“Can’t I leave it in your wardrobe and say nothing more about it?”
“The hat you may leave in my wardrobe, and you needn’t wear it just yet,—indeed there won’t be an opportunity for doing so,—but the work-basket must be taken down to the drawing-room. Both Lucy and Lena must learn to see it, dear, without wanting it.”
Milly felt somehow that Lena wouldn’t mind the work-basket so much, especially as she had a nice one of her own, while Milly’s was an old and rather shabby one, so she took it down more contentedly; now that the hat was well out of sight, she hoped that it would soon be forgotten.
Lena walked out of the dining-room with a swelling heart and clouded brow. She had been very unkindly and ungently treated, she considered. It was very hard that Milly should have everything. What right had she to have a godmama who gave presents when she herself had not, forgetting that the Aunt who had done so much for her was her godmother as well as Aunt, and had done for her far more than Milly’s had ever done. Running up to her bedroom for her garden-hat, she opened the drawer where her best hat was kept. She had thought it very pretty and nice when it was given her, but now, as she looked at it, and compared it with Milly’s new one, she thought how shabby and plain it was. “Not even a feather!” And she shut to the drawer with a slam, and seizing her garden-hat ran downstairs again and out of the house. As she wandered on by herself, all the jealous fancies that had raised their heads before, now began slowly to return and show themselves once more. Ah me! Lena was not only allowing them to do so unopposed, but encouraging them both to come back and remain with her. Looking back at the house, she saw, through the open window of her mother’s room, Milly standing up, and beside her stood Mrs. Graham. If Lena had only heard the words her sister was saying, her heart would have softened. “It was such a disappointment to her,” the gentle voice pleaded; but unfortunately, the words were unheard, and Lena, turning her back to the sight, walked on hurriedly. “I knew she was Mama’s favourite, she has got everything; it is me Mama might be sorry for. Oh, I wish Aunt Mary was here!” At this thought the tears filled her eyes, but she pressed them back; if any one saw her crying, they would think it was because she was sorry for the hat, and she would not let them think that Very soon she caught sight of Bessie coming across the fields. As soon as the latter saw her, she hurried on, calling out the moment she was within hearing, “Has the parcel arrived?”
“Yes,” said Lena, trying to speak indifferently. “But it was only for Milly—a hat and a work-basket.”
“Nothing for you?”
“No,” said Lena with a shaky voice, which Bessie seeing, she slipped her arm in hers, saying, “What a shame! And nothing for little Lucy; she will be disappointed!”
Lena began to walk off in the direction away from the house; and Bessie, who was always good-natured, especially when any one was in trouble, walked beside her, and began telling her what they hoped to do the next day, when they were to spend the afternoon in the hay-field. “Mama wants Mrs. Graham to let Hester and the other servants come too—every one ought to help in the hay-field.”
Lena did not return home until as late an hour as she dared to, but nothing was said by either Mama or Miss Marshall at her being a little late, both hoping that she had had time to reflect on what had passed, and that by this time she knew she alone had been to blame for the false hopes she had raised for herself and her little sister. Not one word did Lena say about the parcel or her disappointment. She would show them she did not care. And when Milly, who was longing for an opportunity to say something kind about it, saw that Lena did not wish the subject mentioned, she kept silence, only trying, by being extra kind and loving to her, to show she felt with and for her. When they were alone in their room Lena said she was tired and sleepy, hurrying over her undressing, and, alas! her prayers also. She did not wish to forgive, and the girl’s mind was so clouded by her wrong and jealous thoughts, that she would not allow that she herself had any need of forgiveness. With a cold kiss she returned Milly’s clinging, loving embrace; and prayerless—for no mere formal words, repeated from habit only, can be called prayer—and unhappy,—for how could she be otherwise with such thoughts as hers?—she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. So still did she lie, that when Mrs. Graham came in to see her little girls, as was her custom every night, Milly said softly, “Lena was tired, Mama, and she is asleep already.”
“Poor child,” said her Mother, “I won’t stay and talk to you, dear, for fear of waking her. I am glad she has taken the disappointment so quietly.” After kissing Milly, she stooped over Lena, and with a tender “God bless you, my child,” she kissed her forehead softly, and left the room.
The tears forced themselves under the closed lids, but Lena gulped them back, and with them, all the softened thoughts that began to rise at her mother’s words; and as she drove back the good, the wrong thoughts returned and filled the child’s mind with seeds that were to reap a bitter harvest ere long.