'Don't look so unhappy,' said Sharley, 'we'llplan. We're rather short of plans just now, and we always like to have some on hand for first thing in the morning—Val and I do at least. Nan never wakes up properly. Leave it to us, Helena, and the next time we come I'll tell you what we've thought of.'
I had a good deal of faith in Sharley's cleverness in some things, already, though I can't say that it shone out in speaking French. So I promised to wait to see what she and Vallie thought of.
When we went in we told grandmamma that we had been speaking English. I made it up into verygood French, and Sharley said it, which pleased granny.
'And what was it you were so eager about that you couldn't wait to say it, or hear it in French?' she asked Sharley.
We had not expected this, and Sharley got rather red.
'It's a secret,' she blurted out.
Grandmamma looked just a little grave.
'I am not very fond of secrets,' she said. 'And Helena has never had any.'
'Oh yes, I have, grandmamma,' I said. I did not mean to contradict rudely, and I don't think it sounded like that, though it looks rather rude written down. 'I had one this time last year—don't you remember?—about your little stamp case.'
Granny's face brightened up. It did not take very quick wits to put two and two together, and to guess from what I said that the secret had to do with her birthday. And Sharley was too anxious for grandmamma not to be vexed, to think about her having partly guessed the secret.
'Ah, well!' said granny, 'I think I can trust you both.'
'Yes, indeed, you may,' said Sharley. 'There'snothing about mischief in it, and the only secrets mother's ever been vexed with me about had to do with mischief.'
'Sharley dressed up a pillow to tumble on Pert's head from the top of his door, once,' said Nan in her slow solemn voice, 'and he screamed and screamed.'
'It was because he was such a boasty boy, about never being frightened,' said Sharley, getting rather red. 'But I never did it again. And this secret is quite, quite a different kind.'
I felt very eager for the next French day, as we called them, to come, to hear what Sharley had thought of. I told Kezia about it, and then I almost wished I had not, for she said she did not know that grandmamma would be pleased at my talking about her birthday and 'such like' to strangers.
I think Kezia forgot sometimes how very little a girl I still was. I did not understand what she meant, and all I could say was that the three girls were not strangers to me. Afterwards I saw what Kezia was thinking of, she was afraid of the Nestors sending some present to grandmamma, and that, she would not have liked.
But Mrs. Nestor was too good and sensible for anything of that kind.
When Sharley and Nan and Vallie came the next time, I ran to meet them, full of anxiety to know if they had made any 'plans.' They all looked very important, but rather to my disappointment the first thing Sharley said to me was—
'Don't ask us yet, Helena. We've promised mother not to tell. She's going to come to fetch us to-day, and she's made a lovely plan, but first she has to speak about it to your grandmamma.'
'Then it won't be a surprise,' I began, but Vallie answered before I had time to say any more.
'Oh yes, it will. There's to be a surprise mixed up with it, and we're to settle that part of it all ourselves—you and us.'
I found it very difficult to keep to speaking French that day, I can tell you. And it seemed as if the hour and a half of lessons spread out to twice as much before Mrs. Nestor at last came.
We all ran out into the garden while she went in to talk to grandmamma. They were very kind and did not keep us long waiting, and soon we heard granny calling us from the window. Her face was quite pleased and smiling. I saw in a moment that she was not going to say I should not have spoken of her birthday to the little girls.
'Mrs. Nestor is thinking of a great treat for you—and for me, Helena,' she said. 'And she and I want you to know about it at once, so that you may all talk about it together and enjoy it beforehand as well. Some little bird, it seems, has flown over to Moor Court and told that next Tuesday week will be your old granny's birthday, and Mrs. Nestor has invited us to spend the afternoon of it there. You will like that, will you not?'
I looked up at grandmamma, feeling quite strange. You will hardly believe that I had never in my life paid even a visit of this simple kind.
'Yes,' I whispered, feeling myself getting pink all over, as I knew that Mrs. Nestor was looking at me, 'yes, thank you.'
Then dear little Vallie came close up to me, and said in a low voice—
'Now we can settle about the surprise. Come quick, Helena—the surprise will be the fun.'
And when I found myself alone with the others again, all three of them, even Nan, chattering at once, I soon found my own tongue again, and the strange, unreal sort of feeling went off. They were very simple unspoilt children, though their parents were rich and what I used to call 'grand.' It is quitea mistake to think that the children who live in very large houses and have ponies and lots of servants and everything they can want are sure to be spoilt. Very often it is quite the opposite. For, if their parents are good and wise, they areextracareful not to spoil them, knowing that the sort of trials that cannot be kept away from poorer children, and which are a training in themselves in some ways, are not likely to come totheirchildren. I even think now, looking back, that there was really more risk of being spoilt, for me myself, than for Sharley and her brothers and sisters.
Being allowed to be selfish is the real beginning and end of being spoilt, I am quite sure.
The 'surprise' they had thought of was a very simple one, and one that I knew grandmamma would like. It was that we should have tea out-of-doors, in an arbour where there was a table and seats all round. And we were to decorate it with flowers, and a wicker arm-chair was to be brought out for granny, and wreathed with greenery and flowers, to show that she was queen of the feast.
'So it will be a "fête," after all, Helena,' said Sharley.
They were nearly as eager and pleased about itas I was myself, for they had already learnt to love my grandmamma very dearly.
'There's only one thing,' we kept saying to each other every time we met before the great day, 'itmustn'train. Oh, do let ushopeit will be fine,—beautifully fine.'
And itwasa fine day! Things after all do not always go wrong in this world, though some people are fond of talking as if they did.
That day, that happy birthday, stands out in my mind so clearly that I think I must write a good deal about it, even though to most children there would not seem anything very remarkable to tell. But to me it was like a peep into fairyland. To begin with, it was the very first time in my life that I had ever paid a visit of any kind except once or twice when I had had tea in rather a dull fashion at the vicarage, where there were no children and no one who understood much about them. Miss Linden, the vicar's sister, a very old-maid sort of lady, though she meant to be kind, had my tea put out in a corner of the room by myself, while she and grandmamma had theirs in a regular drawing-room way. Theyhad muffins, I remember, and Miss Linden thought muffins not good for little girls, and my bread-and-butter was cut thicker than I ever had it at the cottage, and the slice of currant-bread was not nearly as good as Kezia's home-made cake—even the plainest kind.
No, my remembrances of going out to tea at the vicarage were not very enlivening.
How different the visit to Moor Court was!
It began—the pleasure of it at least to me—the first thing when I awoke that morning, and saw without getting out of bed—for my room was so little that I could not help seeing straight out of the window, and I never had the blinds drawn down—that it was a perfectly lovely morning. It was the sort of morning that gives almost certain promise of a beautiful day.
In our country, because of the hills, you see, it isn't always easy to tell beforehand what the weather is going to be, unless you really study it. But even while I was quite a child I had learnt to know the signs of it very well. I knew about the lights and shadows coming over the hills, the gray look at a certain side, the way the sun set, and lots of things of that kind which told me a good deal that a strangerwould never have thought of. I knew there were some kinds of bright mornings which were really less hopeful than the dull and gloomy ones, but there was nothing of that sort to-day, so I curled myself round in bed again with a delightful feeling that there was nothing to be feared from the weather.
I did not dare to get up till I heard Kezia's knock at the door—for that was one of grandmamma's rules, and though she had not many rules, those therewerehad to be obeyed, I can assure you.
I must have fallen asleep again, for the next thing I remember was hearing grandmamma's voice, and there she was, standing beside my bed.
'Oh, granny!' I called out, 'what a shame for you to be the one to wake me onyourbirthday.'
'No, dear,' said grandmamma, 'it is quite right. Kezia hasn't been yet, it is just about her time.'
I sprang up and ran to the table, where I had put my little present for grandmamma the night before, for of course I had got a present for her all of my own, besides having planned the treat with the Nestors.
I remember what my present was that year. It was a little box for holding buttons, which I hadbought at the village shop, and it had a picture of the old, old Abbey Church at Middlemoor on its lid. Grandmamma has that button-box still, I saw it in her work-basket only yesterday. I was very proud of it, for it was the first year I had saved pennies enough to be able tobuysomething instead of working a present for grandmamma.
She did seem so pleased with it. I remember now the look in her eyes as she stooped to kiss me. Then she turned and lifted something which I had not noticed from a chair standing near.
'This is my present for my little girl,' she said, and though I was inclined to say that it was not fair for her to give me presents on her birthday, I was so delighted with what she held out for me to see that I really could scarcely speak.
What do you think it was?
A new frock—the prettiest by far I had ever had. The stuff was white, embroidered by grandmamma herself in sky-blue, in such a pretty pattern. She had sat up at night to do it after I was in bed.
'Oh, grandmamma,' I said, 'how beautiful it is! Oh, may I—' but then I stopped short—'may I wear it to-day?' was what I was going to say. But, 'oh no,' I went on, 'it might get dirtied.'
'You are to wear it to-day, dear,' said grandmamma, 'if that is what you were going to say, so you needn't spoil your pleasure by being afraid of its getting dirtied; it will wash perfectly well, for I steeped the silk I worked it in, in salt and water before using it, to make the colour quite fast. I will leave it here on the back of the chair, and when the time comes for you to get ready I will dress you myself, to be sure that it is all quite right.'
I kept peeping at my pretty frock all the time I was dressing; the sight of it seemed the one thing wanting to complete my happiness. For though Sharley and Nan and Vallie were never too grandly dressed, their things were always fresh and pretty, and Ihadbeen thinking to myself that none of my summer frocks were quite as nice or new-looking as theirs.
And to-day, though only May, was really summer.
Grandmamma wouldn't let me do very much that morning, as she did not want me to be tired for the afternoon.
'Is it a very long walk to Moor Court?' I asked her.
Grandmamma smiled, a little funnily, I thought afterwards.
'Yes,' she said, 'it is between two and three miles.'
'Then we must set off early,' I said, 'so as not to have to go too fast and be tired when we get there. I don't mind for coming back about being tired; there'll be nothing to do then but go to bed, it'll all be over!' and I gave a little sigh, 'but I don't want to think about its being over yet.'
'We must start at half-past two,' said grandmamma. 'That will be time enough.'
Long before half-past two, as you can fancy, I was quite ready. My frock fitted perfectly, and even Kezia, who was rather afraid of praising my appearance for fear of making me conceited, said with a smile that I did look very nice.
I quite thought so myself, but I really think all my pride was for grandmamma's frock.
I settled myself in the window-seat looking towards the road, as I have explained.
'Stay there quietly,' grandmamma said to me, 'till I call you.'
And again I noticed a sort of little twinkle in her eyes, of which before long I understood the reason. I must have been sitting there a quarter of an hour at least when I thought I heard wheels coming. It wasn't the usual time for the butcher or baker, orany of the cart-people, as I called them, and wheels of any other kind seldom came our way. So I looked out with great curiosity to see what it could be.
To my astonishment, there came trotting along the short bit of level road leading to our own steep path the two ponies and the pretty pony-carriage that had so delighted me the first time I saw them.
Sharley was driving, the little groom behind her. But this time my first feeling was certainly not one of pleasure. On the contrary I started in dismay.
'Oh dear,' I thought, 'there's something the matter, and Sharley has come herself to say we can't go.'
I rushed upstairs, the tears already very near my eyes.
'Granny, granny,' I exclaimed, 'the pony-carriage has come and Sharley's there! I'm sure she's come to tell us we can't go.'
My voice broke down before I could say anything more. Grandmamma was coming out of her room quite ready, and even in the middle of my fright I could not help thinking how nice she looked in her pretty dark gray dress and black lace cloak, which, though she had had it a great, great many years, always seemed to me rich and grand enough for the Queen herself to wear.
'My dear little girl,' she said, 'you really must not get into the way of fancying misfortunes before they come. It is a very bad habit. Why shouldn't Sharley have come to fetch us? Don't you think it would be nicer to drive to Moor Court than to walk all that way along the dusty road?'
'Oh, granny,' I cried, and my tears, if they were there, vanished away like magic. 'Oh, granny, that would be too lovely. But are you quite sure?'
'Quite,' said grandmamma, 'I promised to keep it a secret to please Sharley, as she is so fond of surprises. Run down now to meet her and tell her we are quite ready.'
How perfectly delightful that drive was! I sat with my back to the ponies, on the low seat opposite grandmamma and Sharley.
'Vallie wanted to come too,' said Sharley, 'but that seat isn't very comfortable for two.'
It was very comfortable for one, at least I found it so. I had hardly ever been in a carriage before, and Sharley drove so nice and fast; she was very proud of being allowed to drive the two ponies. But they were so good, they seemed, like every one and everything else, determined to make that day a perfectly happy one.
When we got to the lodge of Moor Court Sharley began to drive more slowly, and looked about as if expecting some one.
'The others said they would come to meet us,' she explained, 'and sometimes Pert is rather naughty about startling the ponies, even though he can't bear being startled himself. Oh, there they are!'
As she spoke the four figures appeared at a turn in the drive. Nan and Vallie in the pretty pink frocks, which no longer made me feel discontented with my own, as nothing could be prettier, I was quite firmly convinced, than grandmamma's beautiful work, which Sharley had already admired in her own pleasant and hearty way.
We two got out of the pony-carriage, leaving grandmamma to be driven up to the house by the groom, the little girls saying that their mother was waiting for her on the lawn in front.
I had never seen the boys before. Percival seemed to me quite big, though he was one year younger than Sharley and smaller for his age. Quintin was more like Nan, slow and solemn and rather fat, so his nickname of Quick certainly didn't suit him very well. But they were both very nice and kind to me. I am quite sure Sharley hadtalked to them well about it before I came, though it was easy to see that when Pert was not on his best behaviour he was very fond of playing tricks.
I felt very happy, and not at all strange or frightened as I walked along between Sharley and Val, each holding one of my hands and chattering away about all we were going to do, though I had a queer, rather nice feeling as if I must be in a dream, it all seemed so pretty and wonderful.
And indeed many people, far better able to judge of such things than I, think that Moor Court is one of the loveliest places in England. I did not see much of the inside of the house that day, though I learnt to know it well afterwards. It was very old and very large, and everything about it seemed to me quite perfect. But on this day we amused ourselves almost altogether out of doors.
Grandmamma's chair was still waiting to be decorated, so the next hour was spent very happily.—p. 67.Grandmamma's chair was still waiting to be decorated, so the next hour was spent very happily.—p. 67.
The children had already done a good deal to the arbour where we were to have tea; but grandmamma's chair was still waiting to be decorated, so the next hour was spent very happily in gathering branches of ivy and other pretty green things to twine about it, with here and there a bunch of flowers, which Mrs. Nestor had told the gardener we were to have.
Vallie was very anxious to make a wreath forgrandmamma, but though I thought it a very nice idea, I was afraid it would look rather funny, and when Sharley reminded us that wreaths couldn't be worn very well above a bonnet, we quite gave it up.
But we did make the table look very pretty, and at last everything was ready, except the tea itself and the hot cakes, which of course the servants would bring at the very end.
By the time we had finished it was nearly four o'clock, and we were not to have tea till half-past, so there was time for a nice game of hide-and-seek among the trees. I don't think I ever ran so fast or laughed so much in my life. They were all such good-natured children, even if they did have little quarrels they were soon over, and then I think they were all especially kind to me. I suppose they were sorry for me in some ways that did not come into my own mind at all.
Then we all went to the house to be made tidy for tea, and in spite of what grandmamma had said about not minding if my frock was dirtied I was very pleased to find that it was perfectly clean.
Grandmamma and Mrs. Nestor were waiting for us in the drawing-room; and we all went back to the arbour together, Sharley walking first with grandmamma,which was quite right, as the plan about tea had been all her own.
Grandmammawaspleased. I think she liked to see how fond these children had already got to be of her, though perhaps it would have been as well if Quick had not informed us in the middle of tea that he liked her a great, great deal better than his real grandmamma, whose nose was very big and her hair quite black.
'But she's very kind to us too,' said Sharley, 'only I don't think she cares much for little boys.'
'Nor for tomboys either,' said Pert, who did love teasing Sharley whenever he had a chance.
'Jerry's her favourite,' said Nan.
'And I think he deserves to be,' said her mother.
'I wish he was here to-day, I know that,' said Sharley. 'It's such a long time to the holidays, and it won't be so nice this year when they do come, as most likely a boy's coming with Jerry.'
'Two boys,' corrected Pert, 'their name's Vandeleur, and they're his greatest friends.'
'Vandeleur?' said grandmamma. 'I wonder if——' and then she stopped. 'I have relations of that name,' she said, 'but I don't suppose they belong to the same family.'
'It is not a common name,' said Mrs. Nestor. 'But these boys are, I believe, orphans. Both their father and mother are dead, are they not, Sharley? Sharley knows the most about them,' she went on, 'for Gerard and she write long letters to each other always, and she hears all about his school friends and everything he is interested in.'
'Yes,' said Sharley, 'they are orphans. They have an old aunt or some relation who takes care of them. But I think they are rather lonely. They often spend all their holidays at school—that was why Jerry thought it would be nice to invite them here. I daresay it will be very nice forthem, butIthink it will quite spoil the holidays forus.'
'Come, Sharley,' said her mother, 'you must not be selfish.'
'What are the boys' Christian names?' asked grandmamma.
'Harry and Lindsay,' Sharley replied.
Grandmamma shook her head.
'No,' she said, as if thinking aloud, 'I never heard those names in the branch of the Vandeleurs I am connected with.'
I was only eight years old at the time we made the acquaintance of the family at Moor Court. It may seem strange and unlikely that I should remember so clearly all that happened when we first got to know them, but even though I was so young at the time Idorecollect all about it very well.
For it was so new to me that it made a great impression.
Till then I had never had any real companions; as I have said already, I had scarcely ever had a meal out of our own house. It was like the opening of a new world to me.
But I have asked grandmamma about a few things which she remembers more exactly than I do. Especially about the Vandeleur boys, I mean about what was said of them. But for things that happened afterwards I daresay I should never havethought of this again, though grandmamma did not forget about it. She told me over quite lately everything that had passed at that birthday tea.
The months, and indeed the years that followed that first happy day at Moor Court seem to me now, on looking back upon them, a good deal mixed up together—till, that is to say, a change, a melancholy one for me, came over my happy friendship with the Nestor children.
This change, however, did not come for fully three years, and these three years were very bright and sunny ones. Sharley and her sisters continued all that time to be my grandmamma's pupils—winter and summer, all the year round, except for some weeks of holiday at Christmas, and a rather longer time in the autumn, when the Nestors generally went to the sea-side for a change; unless the weather was terribly bad or stormy, twice a week they either walked over with a maid, or the governess-cart drawn by the fat pony made its appearance at the end of our path. Sometimes the little groom went on into the village if there were any messages, sometimes if it was cold he drove as far as the farm at the foot of the hill, where it was arranged that he could 'put up' for anhour or two, sometimes in warm summer days the pony-cart just waited where it was.
Often, once a fortnight or so at least, in the fine season, I made one of the party on the little girls' return home. How we all managed to squeeze into the cart, or how old Bunch managed to take us all home without coming to grief on the way, I am sure I can't say.
I only know wedidmanage it, and so did he. For he is still alive and well, and no doubt 'ready to tell the story,' if he could speak.
We never seemed to be ill in those days. The Nestor children were no doubt very strong, and I grew much stronger. Then Middlemoor is such a splendidly healthy place.
I have some misty recollections of Nan and Vallie having the measles, and a doubt arising as to whether I had not got it too. But if it was measles it did not seem worse than a cold, and we were soon all out and about again, as merry as ever.
And grandmamma seemed to grow younger during those years. Her mind was more at rest for the time, for the steady payment she received for the girls' French lessons made all the difference in our little income, between being comfortable, with asmall extra in case of need, and being onlyjustable to make both ends meet with a great deal of tugging. And grandmamma was happy about taking the money, for it was well earned; Sharley and the others made such good progress in French and after a little while in German also, even though Nan was by nature rather slow and Vallie dreadfully flighty, and not at all good at giving her attention.
But shewasso sweet! I never saw any one so sweet as Vallie, when she had been found fault with and was sorry; the tears used to come up into her big brown eyes very slowly and stay there, making them look like velvety pansies with dewdrops in them.
Somehow Sharley always seemed themostmy friend, though she was a good deal older. Perhaps it was through having known her the first, and partly, I daresay, because insomeways I was old for my age.
The big brother Gerard came home for his holidays three times a year. He was a very nice boy, I am sure, but I did not get to know him well, and I had rather a grudge at him. For when he was at Moor Court I seemed to see so much less of Sharley. It wasn't her fault. She was not a changeable girl at all, but Jerry had always been accustomed to havingher a great deal with him in his holidays, as she took pains to explain to me. So of course if she had given him up for me shewouldhave been changeable.
She did her best, I will say that for her. She told Gerard all about me, and he was very nice to me. But it was in rather a big boy way, which I did not understand. I thought he was treating me like a baby whenheonly meant to be kind and brotherly. I remember one day being so offended at his lifting me over a stile, that it was all I could do not to burst into tears!
So it came to be the way among us, without anything being actually said about it, that during Jerry's holidays I was mostly with the four others—Nan and Vallie and the two younger boys.
And I daresay it was a good thing for me. For none of them were at all old for their age; they were just hearty, healthy, regularchildren, living in the present and very happy in it. And if I had been altogether with the older ones I might have grown more and more 'old-fashioned.' For Gerard was a very serious and thoughtful boy, and Sharley, though in outside ways she seemed rather wild and hoydenish, was really very clever and very wise, to be only the age she was. I never quite took in that side of hercharacter till I saw her with Jerry—she seemed quite transformed.
One thing came to pass, however, which was a great pleasure to the two people it chiefly concerned and to Sharley. As for me, I don't think I gave much attention to it, and I am not sure that if it had at all interfered with my own life I should not have been rather jealous!
This was a close friendship between Gerard Nestor and grandmamma.
And it is necessary to speak about it because it was the beginning of things which brought about great changes.
Grandmamma loved boys and she was one of those women that are well fitted to manage them. She used to say that till she gotme, she had never had anything to do withgirls. For her own children were both boys—papa was the elder, and the other was a dear boy who died when he was only sixteen, and whom of course I had never seen, though grandmamma liked me to speak of him as 'Uncle Guy.' Then, too, she had had some charge of her nephew, Mr. Cosmo Vandeleur.
Her friendship with Jerry came about by his reading French and German with her in the holidays.He had never been out of England and he was anxious to improve his 'foreign languages,' as he was backward in them, besides having a very bad accent indeed.
Granny has often said she never had so attentive a pupil, and it was in talking with him—for 'conversation' was a very important part of her teaching—that she got to know so much of Gerard, and he so much of her.
She used to tell him stories of her own boys, Paul—Paul was papa—and Guy, in French, and he had to answer questions about the stories to show that he had understood her. And in these stories the name of Cosmo Vandeleur came to be mentioned.
The first time or so he heard it I don't think Jerry noticed it. But one day it struck him just as it had struck grandmamma that first day—the birthday-tea day—at Moor Court.
'Vandeleur,' said Jerry—it was one day when he had come over for his lesson, and as it was raining and I could not go out, I was sitting in the window making a cloak or something for my doll. 'Vandeleur,' he repeated. 'I wonder, Mrs. Wingfield, if your nephew is any relation to some boys at my school. They are great chums of mine—they were to have come homewith me for the summer holidays'—it was the Christmas holidays now,—'but their relations had settled something else for them and wouldn't let them come. I think their relations must be rather horrid.'
'I remember Sharley—I think it was Sharley—speaking of them,' said grandmamma. 'They are orphans, are they not?'
'Yes,' said Gerard. 'They've got guardians—one of them is quite an old woman. Her name is Lady Bridget Woodstone. They don't care very much for her. I think she must be very crabbed.'
'I do not think they can be related to my nephew,' said grandmamma. 'I never heard of any orphan boys in his family, and I never heard of Lady Bridget Woodstone. But Mr. Cosmo Vandeleur is only my nephew, because his mother was my husband's sister—so of course hemayhave relations I know nothing of. He always seemed to me very near when he was a boy, because he was so often with us.'
She sighed a little as she finished speaking. Thinking of Mr. Vandeleur made her sad. It did seem so strange that he had never written all these years.
And Jerry was very quick as well as thoughtful.He saw that for some reason the mention of the name made her sad, so he said no more about the Vandeleur boys. Long afterwards he told us that when he went back to school he did ask Harry and Lindsay Vandeleur if they had any relation called Mr. Cosmo Vandeleur, but at that time they told him they did not know. They were quite under the care of old Lady Bridget, and she was not a bit like granny. She was the sort of old lady who treats children as if they had no sense at all; she never told the boys anything about themselves or their family, and when they spent the holidays with her, she always had a tutor for them—the strictest she could find, so that they almost liked better to stay on at school.
The three years I have been writing about must have passed quickly to grandmamma. They were so peaceful, and after we got to know the Nestors, much less lonely. And grandmamma says that it is quite wonderful how fast time goes once one begins to grow old. She does not seem to mind it. She is so very good—I cannot help saying this, for my own story would not be true if I did not keep sayinghowgood she is. But I must take care not to let her see the places where I say it. She loves me as dearlyas she can, I know—and others beside me. But still I try not to be selfish and to remember that when the dreadful—dreadful-for-me—day comes that she must leave me, it will only forherbe the going where she must often, often have longed to be—the country 'across the river,' where her very dearest have been watching for her for so long.
To me those three years seem like one bright summer. Of course we had winters in them too, but there is a feeling of sunshine all over them. And, actually speaking, those winters were very mild ones—nothing like the occasional severe ones, of another of which I shall soon have to tell.
I was so well too—growing so strong—stronger by far than grandmamma had ever hoped to see me. And as I grew strong I seemed to take in the delightfulness of it, though as a very little girl I had not oftencomplainedof feeling weak and tired, for I did not understand the difference.
Now I must tell about the change that came to the Nestors—a sad change for me, for though at first it seemed worse for them, in the end I really think it brought more trouble to granny and me than to our dear friends themselves.
It was one day in the autumn, early in OctoberI think, that the first beginning of the cloud came. Gerard had not long been back at school and we were just settling down into our regular ways again.
'The girls are late this morning,' said grandmamma. 'You see nothing of them from your watch-tower, do you, Helena?'
Granny always called the window-seat in our tiny drawing-room my 'watch-tower.' I had very long sight and I had found out that there was a bit of the road from Moor Court where I could see the pony-cart passing, like a little dark speck, before it got hidden again among the trees. After that open bit I could not see it again at all till it was quite close to our own road, as we called it—I mean the steep bit of rough cart-track leading to our little garden-gate.
I was already crouched up in my pet place, when grandmamma called out to me. She was in the dining-room, but the doors were open.
'No, grandmamma,' I replied. 'I don't see them at all. And I am sure they haven't passed Waving View in the last quarter-of-an-hour, for I have been here all that time.'
'Waving View,' I must explain, was the name we had given to the short stretch of road I have just spoken of, because we used to wave handkerchiefs toeach other—I at my watch-tower and Sharley from the pony-cart, at that point.
Grandmamma came into the drawing-room a moment or two after that and stood behind me, looking out at the window.
'I do wonder why they are so late.'—P. 82.'I do wonder why they are so late.'—P. 82.
'Not that I could see them coming,' she said, 'till they are up the hill and close to us. But I do wonder why they are so late—half an hour late,' and she glanced at the little clock on the mantelpiece. 'I hope there is nothing the matter.'
I looked at her as she said that, for I felt rather surprised. It was never granny's way to expect trouble before it comes. I saw that her face was rather anxious. But just as I was going to speak, to say some little word about its not being likely that anything was wrong, I gave one other glance towards Waving View. This time I was not disappointed.
'Oh, granny,' I exclaimed, 'there they are! I am sure it is them—I know the way they jog along so well—only, grandmamma, they are not waving?'
And I think the anxious look must have come into my own face, for I remember saying, almost in a whisper, 'I do hope there is nothing the matter'—granny's very words.
Grandmamma was the one to reassure me.
'I scarcely think there can be anything wrong, as they are coming,' she said. 'You did not wave to them, either?'
'No,' I said, 'Ididwave, but I got tired of it. And it's always they who do it first. You see there's no use doing it except at that place.'
'Well, they will be here directly, and then I must give them a little scolding for being so unpunctual,' said grandmamma, cheerfully.
But that little scolding was never given.
When the governess-cart stopped at our path there were only two figures in it—no, three, I should say, for there was the groom, and the two others were Nan and Vallie—Sharley was not there.
I ran out to meet them.
'Is Sharley ill?' I called out before I got to them.
Nan shook her head.
'No,' she was beginning, but Vallie, who was much quicker, took the words out of her mouth—that was a way of Vallie's, and sometimes it used to make Nan rather vexed. But this morning she did not seem to notice it; she just shut up her lips again and stood silent with a very grave expression, while Vallie hurried on—
'Sharley's not ill, but mother kept her at home, and we're late because we went first to the telegraph office at Yukes'—Yukes is averytiny village half a mile on the other side of Moor Court, where there is a telegraph office. 'Father's ill, Helena, and I'm afraid he's very ill, for as soon as Dr. Cobbe saw him this morning he said he must telegraph for another doctor to London.'
'Oh, dear,' I exclaimed, 'I am so sorry,' and turning round at the sound of footsteps behind me I saw grandmamma, who had followed me out of the house. 'Granny,' I said, 'thereissomething the matter. Their father is very ill,' and I repeated what Vallie had just said.
'I am very grieved to hear it,' said grandmamma. Afterwards she told me she had had a sort of presentiment that something was the matter. 'I am sosorry for your mother,' she went on. 'I wonder if I can be of use to her in any way.'
Then Nan spoke, in her slow but very exact way.
'Mother said,' she began, 'would you come to be with her this afternoon late, when the London doctor comes? She will send the brougham and it will bring you back again, if you would be so very kind. Mother is so afraid what the London doctor will say,' and poor Nan looked as if it was very difficult for her not to cry.
'Certainly, I will come,' said grandmamma at once. 'Ask Mrs. Nestor to send for me as soon as you get home if she would like to have me. I suppose—' she went on, hesitating a little, 'you don't know what is the matter with your father?'
'It is a sort of a cold that's got very bad,' said Vallie, 'it hurts him to breathe, and in the night he was nearly choking.'
Granny looked grave at this. She knew that Mr. Nestor had not been strong for some time, and he was a very active man, who looked after everything on his property himself, and hunted a good deal, and thought nothing about taking care of himself. He was a nice kind man, and all his people were very fond of him.
But she tried to cheer up the little girls and gave them their lesson as usual. It was much better to do so than to let them feel too unhappy. And I tried to be very kind and bright too—I saw that grandmamma wanted me to be the same way to them that she was.
But after they were gone she spoke to me pretty openly about her fears for Mr. Nestor.
'Dr. Cobbe would not have sent for a London doctor without good cause,' she said. 'All will depend on his opinion. It is possible that I may have to stay all night, Helena dear. You will not mind if I do?'
Ididmind, very much. But I tried to say I wouldn't. Still, I felt pretty miserable when the Moor Court carriage came to fetch grandmamma, and she drove away, leaving me for the first time in my life, or rather the first time I could remember, alone with Kezia.
Kezia was very kind. She offered me to come into the kitchen and make cakes. But I was past eleven now—that is very different from being only eight. I did not care much for making cakes—I never have cared about cooking as some girls do, though I know it is a very good thing to understandabout it, and grandmamma says I am to go through a regular course of it when I get to be seventeen or eighteen. But I knew Kezia's cakes were much better than any I could make, so I thanked her, but said no—I would rather read or sew.
I had my tea all alone in the dining-room. Kezia was always so respectful about that sort of thing. Though she had been a nurse when I was only a tiny baby, she never forgot, as some old servants do, to treat me quite like a young lady, now I was growing older. She brought in my tea and set it all out just as carefully as when grandmamma was there, even more carefully in some ways, for she had made some little scones that I was very fond of, and she had got out some strawberry jam.
But I could not help feeling melancholy. I know it is wrong to believe in presentiments, or at least to think much about them, thoughsometimeseven very wise people like grandmamma cannot help believing in them a little. But I really do think that there are times in one's life when a sort of sadness about the future does seemmeant.
And I had been so happy for so long. And troubles must come.
I said that over to myself as I sat alone after tea,and then all of a sudden it struck me that I was very selfish. This trouble was far, far worse for the Nestors than for me. Possibly by this time the London doctor had had to tell them that their father would never get better, and here was I thinking more, I am afraid, of the dulness of being one night without dear granny than of the sorrow that was perhaps coming over Sharley and the others of being without their father for always.
For I scarcely think my 'presentiments' would have troubled me much except for the being alone and missing granny so.
I made up my mind to be sensible and not fanciful. I got out what I called my 'secret work,' which was at that time a footstool I was embroidering for grandmamma's next birthday, and I did a good bit of it. That made me feel rather better, and when my bedtime came it was nice to think I had nothing to do but to go to sleep and stay asleep to make to-morrow morning come quickly.
I fell asleep almost at once. But when I woke rather with a start—and I could not tell what had awakened me—it was still quite, quite dark, certainly not to-morrow morning.
'Oh, dear!' I thought, 'what a bother! Here Iam as wide awake as anything, and I so seldom wake at all. Just this night when I wanted to sleep straight through.'
I lay still. Suddenly I heard some faint sounds. Some one was moving about downstairs. Could it be Kezia up still? It must be very late—quite the middle of the night, I fancied.
The sounds went on—doors shutting softly, then a slight creak on the stairs, as if some one were coming up slowly. I was not exactly frightened. I never thought of burglars—I don't think there has been a burglary at Middlemoor within the memory of man—but my heart did beat rather faster than usual and I listened, straining my ears and scarcely daring to breathe.
Then at last the steps stopped at my door, and some one began to turn the handle. Ialmostscreamed. But—in one instant came the dear voice—
'Is my darling awake?' so gently, it was scarcely above a whisper.
'Oh, granny, dear, dear granny, is it you?' I said, and every bit of me, heart and ears and everything, seemed to give one throb of delight. I shall never forget it. It was like the day I ran into her arms down the steep garden-path.
'Did I startle you?' she went on. 'Generally you sleep so soundly that I hoped I would not awake you.'
'I was awake, dear grandmamma,' I said, 'and oh, I am so glad you have come home.'
I clung to her as if I would never let her go, and then she told me the news from Moor Court. The London doctor had spoken gravely, but still hopefully. With great care, the greatest care, he trusted Mr. Nestor would quite recover.
'So I came home to my little girl,' said grandmamma, 'though I have promised poor Mrs. Nestor to go to her again to-morrow.'
'I don't mind anything if you are here at night,' I said, with a sigh of comfort.
And then she kissed me again and I turned round and was asleep in five minutes, and when I woke the next time itwasmorning; the sunshine was streaming in at the window.
There were some weeks after that of a good deal of anxiety about Mr. Nestor, though he went on pretty well. Grandmamma went over every two or three days, just to cheer Mrs. Nestor a little—not that there was really anything to do, for they had trained nurses, and everything money could get.The girls went on with their lessons as usual, which was of course much better for them. But in those few weeks Sharley almost seemed to grow into a woman.
I felt rather 'left behind' by her, for I was only eleven, and as soon as the first great anxiety about Mr. Nestor was over I did not think very much more about it. Nor did Nan and Vallie. We were quite satisfied that he would soon be well again, and that everything would go on as usual. Only Sharley looked grave.
At last the blow fell. It was a very bad blow to me, and in one way—which, however, I did not understand till some time later—even worse to grandmamma, though she said nothing to hint at such a thing in the least.
And it was a blow to the Nestor children, for they loved their home and their life dearly, and had no wish for any change.
This was it. They were all to go abroad almost immediately, for the whole winter at any rate. The doctors were perfectly certain that it was necessary for Mr. Nestor, and he would not hear of going alone, and Mrs. Nestor could not bear the idea of a separation from her children. Besides—they were veryrich, there were no difficulties in the way of their travelling most comfortably, and having everything they could want wherever they went to.
To me it was the greatest trouble I had ever known—and I really do think the little girls—Sharley too—minded it more on my account than on any other.
But it had to be.
Almost before we had quite taken in that it was really going to be, they were off—everything packed up, a courier engaged—rooms secured at the best hotel in the place they were going to—for all these things can be done in no time when people have lots of money, grandmamma said—and they were gone! Moor Court shut up and deserted, except for the few servants left in charge, to keep it clean and in good order.
I only went there once all that winter, and I never went again. I could not bear it. For in among the trees where we played I came upon the traces of our last paper-chase, and passing the side of the house it was even worse. For the schoolrooms and play-room were in that wing, and above them the nurseries, where Vallie used to rub her little nose against the panes when she was shut up withone of her bad colds. Some cleaning was going on, for it was like Longfellow's poem exactly—
'I saw the nursery windowsWide open to the air,But the faces of the children,They were no longer there.'
I just squeezed grandmamma's hand without speaking, and we turned away.
Itistrue that troubles do not often come alone. That winter was one of the very severe ones I have spoken of, that come now and then in that part of Middleshire.
For the Nestors' sake it made us all the more glad that they were safely away from weather which, in his delicate state, would very probably have killed their father. I think this was our very first thought when the snow began to fall, only two or three weeks after they left, and went on falling till the roads were almost impassable, and remained lying for I am afraid to say how long, so intense was the frost that set in.
I thought it rather good fun just at the beginning, and wished I could learn to skate. Grandmamma did not seem to care about my doing so, which I was rather surprised at, as she had often told me storiesof how fond she was of skating when she was young, and how clever papa and Uncle Guy were at it.
She said I had no one to teach me, and when I told her that I was sure Tom Linden, a nephew of the vicar's who was staying with his uncle and aunt just then, would help me, she found some other objection. Tom was a very stupid, very good-natured boy. I had got to know him a little at the Nestors. He was slow and heavy and rather fat. I tried to make granny laugh by saying he would be a good buffer to fall upon. I saw she was looking grave, and I felt a little cross at her not wanting me to skate, and I persisted about it.
'Do let me, grandmamma,' I said. 'I can order a pair of skates at Barridge's. They don't keep the best kind in stock, but I know they can get them.'
'No, my dear,' said grandmamma at last, very decidedly. 'I am not at all sure that it would be nice for you—it would have been different if the Nestors had been here. And besides, there are several things you need to have bought for you much more than skates. You must have extra warm clothing this winter.'
She did not say right out that she did not know where the money was to come from for my wants—asfor her own, when did the darling ever think ofthem?—but she gave a little sigh, and the thought did come into my head for a moment—was grandmamma troubled about money? But it did not stay there. We had been so comfortable the last few years that I had really thought less about being poor than when I was quite little.
And other things made me forget about it. For a very few days after that, most unfortunately, I got ill.
It was only a bad cold. Except for having to stay in the house, I would not have minded it very much, for after the first few days, when I was feverish and miserable, I did not feel very bad. And like a child, I thought every day that I should be all right the next.
I daresay I should have got over it much quicker if the weather had not been so severe. But it was really awfully cold. Even my own sense told me it would be mad to think of going out. So I got fidgety and discontented, and made myself look worse than I really was.
And for the very first time in my life there seemed to come a little cloud, a little coldness, between dear grandmamma and me. Speaking about it since then,shesays it was not all my fault, butIthink it was. I was selfish and thoughtless. She was dull andlow-spirited, and I had never seen her like that before. And I did not know all the reasons there were for her being so, and I felt a kind of irritation at it. Even when she tried, as she often and often did, to throw it off and cheer me up in some little way by telling me stories, or proposing some new game, or new fancy-work, I would not meet her half-way, but would answer pettishly that I was tired of all those things. And I was vexed at several little changes in our way of living. All that winter we sat in the dining-room, and never had a fire in the drawing-room, and our food was plainer than I ever remembered it. Granny used to have special things for me—beef-tea and beaten-up eggs and port-wine—but I hated having them all alone and seeing her eating scarcely anything.
'I don't want these messy things as if I was really ill,' I said. 'Why don't we have nice little dinners and teas as we used?'
Grandmamma never answered these questions plainly; she would make some little excuse about not feeling hungry in frosty weather, or that the tradespeople did not like sending often. But once or twice I caught her looking at me when she did not know I saw her, and then there was somethingin her eyes which made me think I was a horridly selfish child. And yet I did notmeanto be. I really did not understand, and it was rather trying to be cooped up for so long, in a room scarcely bigger than a cupboard, after my free open life of the last three years or so.
Dr. Cobbe came once or twice at the beginning of my cold and looked rather grave. Then he did not come again for two or three weeks—I think he had told grandmamma to let him know if I got worse.
And one day when I had really made myself feverish by my fidgety grumbling, and then being sorry and crying, which brought on a fit of coughing, grandmamma got so unhappy that she tucked me up on the sofa by the fire, and went off herself, though it was late in the afternoon, to fetch him herself. She would not let Kezia go because she wanted to speak to him alone; I did not know it at the time, but I remember waking up and hearing voices near me, and there were the doctor and grandmamma. She was in her indoors dress just as usual, for me not to guess she had been out.
I sat up, feeling much the better for my sleep. Dr. Cobbe laughed and joked—that was his way—he listened to my breathing and pommelled me andtold me I was a little humbug. Then he went off into Kezia's kitchen, where therehadto be a tiny fire, with grandmamma, and a few minutes later I heard him saying good-bye.
Grandmamma came back to me looking happier than for some time past. The doctor, she has told me since, really did assure her that there was nothing serious the matter with me, that I was a growing child and must be well fed and kept cheerful, as I was inclined to be nervous and was not exactly robust.
And the relief to grandmamma was great. That evening she was more like her old self than she had been for long, even though I daresay she was awake half the night thinking over the doctor's advice, and wondering what more shecoulddo to get enough money to give me all I needed.
For some of her money-matters had gone wrong. That I did not know till long afterwards. It was just about the time of Mr. Nestor's illness, and it was not till the Moor Court family had left that she found out the worst of it—that for two or three yearsat leastwe should be thirty or forty pounds a year poorer than we had been.
Itwashard on her—coming at the very sametime as the extra money for the lessons left off! And the severe winter and my cold all added to it. It even made it more difficult for her to hear of other pupils, or to get any orders for her beautiful fancy-work. No visitors would come to Middlemoorthiswinter, though when it was mild they sometimes did.
Still, from the day of Dr. Cobbe's visit things improved a little—for the time at least. And in the end it was a good thing that grandmamma was not tempted to try her eyes with any embroidery again, as she really might have made herself blind. It had been such a blessing that she did not need to do it during the years she gave lessons to Sharley and her sisters.
I went on getting better pretty steadily, especially once I was allowed to go out a little, though, as it was a very cold spring, it was only for some timeverylittle, just an hour or so in the best part of the day. And grandmamma followed Dr. Cobbe's advice, though I never shall understand how she managed to do so. She was so determined to be cheerful that when I look back upon it now it almost makes me cry. I had all the nourishing things to eat that it was possible to get, and how thoughtless and ungrateful I was! My appetite was not very good,and I remember actually grumbling at having to take beef-tea, and beaten-up eggs, and things like that at odd times. I scarcely like to say it, but in my heart I do not believe grandmamma had enough to eat that winter.
About Easter—or rather at the time for the big school Easter holidays, which does not always match real Easter—we had a pleasant surprise. At least it was a pleasant surprise for grandmamma—I don't know that I cared about it particularly, and I certainly little thought what would come of it!
One afternoon Gerard Nestor walked in.
Granny's face quite lighted up, and for a moment or two I felt very excited.
'Have you all come home?' I exclaimed. 'I haven't had a letter from Sharley for ever so long—perhaps—perhaps she meant to surprise me,' I had been going to say, but something in Jerry's face stopped me. He looked rather grave; not that he was ever anything but quiet.
'No,' he said, 'I only wish theywereall back, or likely to come. I'm afraid there's no chance of it. The doctors out there won't hear of it this year at all. Just when father was hoping to arrange for coming back soon, they found out something orother unsatisfactory about him, and now it is settled that he must stay out of England another whole year at least. They are speaking of Algeria or Egypt for next winter.'
My face fell. I was on the point of crying. Gerard looked very sympathising.
'I did not myself mind it so much till I came down here,' he said. 'But it is so lonely and dull at Moor Court. I hope you will let me come here a great deal, Mrs. Wingfield. I mean to work hard at my foreign languages these holidays—it will give me something to do. You see it wasn't worth while my going out to Hyères for only three weeks, and I hoped even they might be coming back. So I asked to come down here. I didn't think it could be so dull.'
'You are all alone at home?' said grandmamma. 'Yes, it must be very lonely. I shall be delighted to read with you as much as you like. I am not very busy.'
'Thank you,' said Gerard. 'Well, I only hope you won't have too much of me. May I stay to tea to-day?'
'Certainly,' said grandmamma. But I noticed—I don't think Gerard did—that her face had grownrather anxious-looking as he spoke. 'If you like,' she went on, 'we can glance over your books, some of them are still here, and settle on a little work at once.'
'All right,' said he. But then he added, rather abruptly, 'You are not looking well, Mrs. Wingfield? I think you have got thinner. And Helena looks rather white, though she has not grown much.'
I felt vexed at his saying I had not grown much.
'It's no wonder I am white,' I said in a surly tone. 'I have been mewed up in the house almost ever since Sharley and all of them went away.'
And then grandmamma explained about my having been ill.
'I'm very sorry,' said Jerry, 'but you look worse than Helena, Mrs. Wingfield.'
I felt crosser and crosser. I fancied he meant to reproach me with grandmamma's looking ill, even though it made me uneasy too. I glanced at her—a faint pink flush had come over her face at his words.
'Idon't think granny looks ill at all,' I said.
'No, indeed, I am very well,' she said, with a smile.
Gerard said no more, but I know he thought me a selfish spoilt child. And from that moment he sethimself to watch grandmamma and to find out if anything was really the matter.
Hedidfind out, and that pretty quickly, I fancy, that we were much poorer. But it was very difficult for him to do anything to help grandmamma. She was so dignified, and in some ways reserved. She got a letter from Mrs. Nestor a few days later, thanking her for reading with Jerry again, and saying that of course the lessons must be arranged about as before. And it vexed her a very little. (She has told me about it since.) Perhaps she was feeling unusually sensitive and depressed just then. But however that may have been, she wrote a letter to Mrs. Nestor, which made her reallyafraidof offering to pay. It was not as if there was time for a good many lessons, granny wrote—would not Mrs. Nestor let her render this very small service as a friend?
And Jerry did not know what hecoulddo. It was not the season for game, except rabbits—and he did send rabbits two or three times—and I know now that he scarcely dared to stay to tea, ornotto stay, for if he refused granny seemed hurt.
On the whole, nice as he was, it was almost a relief when he went away back to school.
Still things were not so bad as in winter. I wasreally all right again, and a little money come in to grandmamma about May or June that she had not dared to hope for. We got on pretty well that summer.
None of the Nestors came to Moor Court at all. Gerard joined them for the long holidays in Switzerland. Mrs. Nestor wrote now and then to granny, and Sharley to me, but of course there was not the least hint of what Gerard had told them. I think they believed and hoped he had exaggerated it—he was the sort of boy to fancy things worse than they were if he cared about people, I think.
And so it got on to be the early autumn again. I think it was about the middle of September when the first beginning of the great change in our lives came.
It was cold already, and the weather prophets were talking of another severe winter. Grandmamma watched the signs of it anxiously. She kept comparing it with the same time last year till I got quite tired of the subject.
'Really, grandmamma,' I said one morning, 'what does it matter? If it is very cold we must have big fires and keep ourselves warm. And one thing I know—I am not going to be shut up againlike last winter. I am going to get skates and have some fun as soon as ever the frost comes.'
I said it half jokingly, but still I was ready to be cross too. I had not improved in some ways since I was ill. I was less thoughtful for grandmamma and quite annoyed if she did not do exactly what I wanted, or if she seemed interested in anything but me. In short, I was very spoilt.
She did not answer me about the skates, for at that moment Kezia brought in the letters. It was not by any means every morning that we got any, and it was always rather an excitement when we saw the postman turning up our path.
That morning there were two letters. One was for me from Sharley. I knew at once it was from her by the foreign stamp and the thin paper envelope, even before I looked at the writing. I was so pleased that I rushed off with it to my favourite window-seat, without noticing grandmamma, who had quietly taken her own letter from the little tray Kezia handed it to her on and was examining it in a half-puzzled way. I remembered afterwards catching a glimpse of the expression on her face, but at the moment I gave no thought to it.
There was nothingveryparticular in Sharley'sletter. It was very affectionate—full of longings to be coming home again, even though she allowed that their present life was very bright and interesting. I was just laughing at a description of Pert and Quick going to market on their own account, and how they bargained with the old peasant women, when a slight sound—wasit a sound or only a sort of feeling in the air?—made me look up from the open sheet before me, and glance over at grandmamma.
For a moment I felt quite frightened. She was leaning back in her chair, looking very white, and I could almost have thought she was fainting, except that her lips were moving as if she were speaking softly to herself.
I flew across the room to her.
'Granny,' I said, 'deargranny, what is it? Are you ill—is anything the matter?'
Just at first, I think, I forgot about the letter lying on her lap—but before she spoke she touched it with her fingers.
'I am only a little startled, dear child,' she said, 'startled and——' I could not catch the other word she said, she spoke it so softly, but I think it was 'thankful.' 'No, there is nothing wrong, but you will understand my feeling rather upset when I tellyou that this letter is from Cosmo—you know whom I mean, Helena, Cosmo Vandeleur, my nephew, who has not written to me all these years.'