Chapter Fourteen.Pixie Intercedes.“One more question, Pixie, and remember I place absolute reliance on what you say, for you have given proof that you are to be trusted. You heard Lottie’s insinuation that you might have had some share in the accident! Had you touched the scent-bottle at all that night?”“I had not, Miss Phipps!” The grey eyes looked into the face of the questioner with a steady light. “I never noticed it at all until the girls began talking about it, and then said I, ‘I must have a look at that bottle before I’m much older,’ and so I did that very same evening, but never a finger did I lay upon it. I put me hands behind me back and just doubled meself over the table—like this!—looking at it all I knew, but not daring as much as to breathe upon it, and from that hour I was never within yards of its presence.”“I understand! But why, dear, have you refused to give us this simple explanation all these weeks? It was surely only to your credit that you had thought of Mademoiselle’s comfort before your own, so there was no reason for being so secret about it. Did you not see that it would have helped your cause to have given this explanation?”“I—didn’t—like!” said Pixie, twisting her finger in and out in embarrassed fashion. “It was this way—that first night you were all so cross and so certain that it was me, because I had been in the room, that I was shy about telling. You see Mademoiselle would have been obliged to be pleased with me, and she wasn’t feeling disposed to be pleased just then, and it would seem as if I were trying to get off blame by boasting of what I’d done. I can’t explain my feelings, but I couldn’t tell! The next day it would have been different, but Lottie begged me not to say what I knew, and we never told tales of each other at home. The boys would have been cut in pieces before they had rounded on each other, so of course I had to give my word. It was very miserable, because no one loved me, and in my home we have very affectionate ways, the one with the other; but Lottie said it was only a little time to the holidays, and after that all would be forgotten. She did say she would ask me to visit her, and I wouldn’t hurt her feelings by saying No, so I just wrote and told Bridgie to say I couldn’t be spared, for I can’t go anywhere but my own home. And she said her father would be so angry with her if he knew, that never another happy moment would she have, and I knew my people wouldn’t mind!”“And did you tell your people how unhappy you were? Did you tell them what trouble you were in?” queried Miss Phipps softly, and at that Pixie shook her head with great emphasis.“I did not, Miss Phipps—I wouldn’t dare! They would be so terribly angry!”“But you said a moment ago that they ‘wouldn’t mind’! Then how could they be angry with you, dear?” asked Miss Phipps, smiling, and Pixie bent her head with a quick propitiatory bow.“’Deed, it was yourself they would be angry with,—not me! If the two Houses of Parliament were walking up to Knock Castle and telling them that Pixie had told a lie and stuck to it for a month on end, they would only be calling shame upon them, to have nothing better to do than take away a lady’s character, and the Major would say, ‘Twelve years have I known her, and never the day that she wasn’t up to her neck in mischief, but no child of mine ever looked in my face and gave me the lie, and Pixie’s not the one to begin.’ So never a word did I say, but just that the examinations were coming on, and we were not allowed to go out.”“Pixie, come here!” cried Miss Phipps; and when the girl approached she received her with outstretched arms and framed the thin little face with her hands. “Little Pixie,” she said softly, “never say again that no one loves you in this house. I have loved you from the first, and have felt it a real trouble to be obliged to doubt you, and now I love you a hundred times more for your loyalty and unselfish consideration for your friend. You would have been wiser to be more candid about your own doings, but I appreciate your scruples, and the school code of honour has so many good points that I cannot bring myself to say that it should have been broken. As for the conduct of a girl who would let another suffer as you have done rather than bear the consequences of her own misdoing, I have no words to express my horror and indignation, especially when she is a senior and you one of the youngest in the school. It shows a want of principle which makes me despair of her future. A sudden slip or disobedience I could pardon, but not deliberate deceit, and I am too fond of my girls, and too anxious about their welfare, to allow such an influence to remain in their midst.”Like the shiver of wind among the trees, the word “Expelled!” came from a dozen quivering lips, and Pixie O’Shaughnessy clasped her hands in horrified appeal.“Oh, ye wouldn’t—ye wouldn’t send her away! Ye wouldn’t give her over to her father, and him so stern and cruel with her! If she’s been bad now, she was good before. The girls were fond of her, and she was kind to meself, lending me her lace collar and all the fixings for the party. If it’s for making me miserable you are after punishing her, I’ll be more miserable than ever, and the girls will be miserable too—ask them if they won’t! Lots of them think there isn’t another to touch her in the school, and they couldn’t do that if she was all bad. Punish her some other way, but oh, don’t, don’t send her away! What’s the use of me taking all the trouble if it’s to be no good after all?”A smile came to Miss Phipps’s lips at the innocent directness of the question, but she grew grave enough the next moment, and her voice sounded both sad and troubled as she replied—“You certainly give us a lesson in the way to forgive our enemies, Pixie, and I should be sorry to do anything that would make you ‘miserable’; but I must think of Lottie’s good before our own preferences. Mr Vane is too good and just a man to treat her unkindly, and is only stern because he has realised the weakness of her character. He is too anxious about her welfare to make it right for me to conceal anything from him, especially so flagrant a breach of honour; but perhaps—I don’t know—if the feeling of the girls themselves is in her favour, I may consent to give her another chance. I am glad to hear that she has been kind—”“Lottie is very good-natured, Miss Phipps. She is a favourite with the girls. They would be sorry to lose her. I think it would be a punishment to her to feel that she had fallen so much in their opinion, and we would all like to give her another chance,” said Margaret timidly, and Miss Phipps nodded kindly in reply.“Ah, well, we can decide nothing to-night. It will need careful thinking over, and meanwhile we will banish the subject and make the most of the time that is left. I am very sorry for the interruption, although in one sense we are glad of it too, for it has brought Pixie back amongst us. She must go upstairs and dress quickly, and then we will have supper and put away unpleasant thoughts, and Mademoiselle must really dry her eyes, for I cannot have any more crying to-night.”“If Peexie will forgeeve me!” cried Mademoiselle, stretching out her arms and clasping Pixie in so tight an embrace that when her little snub nose came again in sight, it bore the pattern of a steel button plainly stamped upon it. “I won’t forgeeve myself that I was so ’arsh and cross. It was a poor thanks,chérie, for your kindness to me all these weeks when I have been so warm and comfortable. I am ashamed to remember what I have done.”“Small blame to you if you were mad when you believed I was telling a lie to your face! But ye weren’t half so nasty as ye think ye were,” said Pixie, beaming upon her in sweetest condescension. “Sometimes ye were quite agreeable. There was one day I was in with a cold, and ye came and cheered up me spirits until I hardly knew meself for the same creature.”Mademoiselle lifted her hands with an eloquent gesture, as a sudden remembrance darted into her mind.“Ah, yes! It is true. And now I have something else to tell you, you girls! It is Pixie whom you have to thank for this party, not me. It was she who begged me to supplicate Miss Phipps for you. She said, ‘She will say Yes if it is you who ask, but not to me, therefore you must not say my name at all; but if she will not give the party because I am to be punished, tell her to send me to bed and let the rest be ’appy.’ The dear child has thought of you when you were all so cross with her!”There was an outburst of cheering from all corners of the room, in the midst of which Evelyn fell back in her chair and tugged with both hands at her long dark locks.“And I called her a hardened little sinner! I abused her like a pickpocket, and called her an ungrateful serpent! Bring some sackcloth and ashes, somebody, quickly! I shall go in mourning for the rest of my life!”
“One more question, Pixie, and remember I place absolute reliance on what you say, for you have given proof that you are to be trusted. You heard Lottie’s insinuation that you might have had some share in the accident! Had you touched the scent-bottle at all that night?”
“I had not, Miss Phipps!” The grey eyes looked into the face of the questioner with a steady light. “I never noticed it at all until the girls began talking about it, and then said I, ‘I must have a look at that bottle before I’m much older,’ and so I did that very same evening, but never a finger did I lay upon it. I put me hands behind me back and just doubled meself over the table—like this!—looking at it all I knew, but not daring as much as to breathe upon it, and from that hour I was never within yards of its presence.”
“I understand! But why, dear, have you refused to give us this simple explanation all these weeks? It was surely only to your credit that you had thought of Mademoiselle’s comfort before your own, so there was no reason for being so secret about it. Did you not see that it would have helped your cause to have given this explanation?”
“I—didn’t—like!” said Pixie, twisting her finger in and out in embarrassed fashion. “It was this way—that first night you were all so cross and so certain that it was me, because I had been in the room, that I was shy about telling. You see Mademoiselle would have been obliged to be pleased with me, and she wasn’t feeling disposed to be pleased just then, and it would seem as if I were trying to get off blame by boasting of what I’d done. I can’t explain my feelings, but I couldn’t tell! The next day it would have been different, but Lottie begged me not to say what I knew, and we never told tales of each other at home. The boys would have been cut in pieces before they had rounded on each other, so of course I had to give my word. It was very miserable, because no one loved me, and in my home we have very affectionate ways, the one with the other; but Lottie said it was only a little time to the holidays, and after that all would be forgotten. She did say she would ask me to visit her, and I wouldn’t hurt her feelings by saying No, so I just wrote and told Bridgie to say I couldn’t be spared, for I can’t go anywhere but my own home. And she said her father would be so angry with her if he knew, that never another happy moment would she have, and I knew my people wouldn’t mind!”
“And did you tell your people how unhappy you were? Did you tell them what trouble you were in?” queried Miss Phipps softly, and at that Pixie shook her head with great emphasis.
“I did not, Miss Phipps—I wouldn’t dare! They would be so terribly angry!”
“But you said a moment ago that they ‘wouldn’t mind’! Then how could they be angry with you, dear?” asked Miss Phipps, smiling, and Pixie bent her head with a quick propitiatory bow.
“’Deed, it was yourself they would be angry with,—not me! If the two Houses of Parliament were walking up to Knock Castle and telling them that Pixie had told a lie and stuck to it for a month on end, they would only be calling shame upon them, to have nothing better to do than take away a lady’s character, and the Major would say, ‘Twelve years have I known her, and never the day that she wasn’t up to her neck in mischief, but no child of mine ever looked in my face and gave me the lie, and Pixie’s not the one to begin.’ So never a word did I say, but just that the examinations were coming on, and we were not allowed to go out.”
“Pixie, come here!” cried Miss Phipps; and when the girl approached she received her with outstretched arms and framed the thin little face with her hands. “Little Pixie,” she said softly, “never say again that no one loves you in this house. I have loved you from the first, and have felt it a real trouble to be obliged to doubt you, and now I love you a hundred times more for your loyalty and unselfish consideration for your friend. You would have been wiser to be more candid about your own doings, but I appreciate your scruples, and the school code of honour has so many good points that I cannot bring myself to say that it should have been broken. As for the conduct of a girl who would let another suffer as you have done rather than bear the consequences of her own misdoing, I have no words to express my horror and indignation, especially when she is a senior and you one of the youngest in the school. It shows a want of principle which makes me despair of her future. A sudden slip or disobedience I could pardon, but not deliberate deceit, and I am too fond of my girls, and too anxious about their welfare, to allow such an influence to remain in their midst.”
Like the shiver of wind among the trees, the word “Expelled!” came from a dozen quivering lips, and Pixie O’Shaughnessy clasped her hands in horrified appeal.
“Oh, ye wouldn’t—ye wouldn’t send her away! Ye wouldn’t give her over to her father, and him so stern and cruel with her! If she’s been bad now, she was good before. The girls were fond of her, and she was kind to meself, lending me her lace collar and all the fixings for the party. If it’s for making me miserable you are after punishing her, I’ll be more miserable than ever, and the girls will be miserable too—ask them if they won’t! Lots of them think there isn’t another to touch her in the school, and they couldn’t do that if she was all bad. Punish her some other way, but oh, don’t, don’t send her away! What’s the use of me taking all the trouble if it’s to be no good after all?”
A smile came to Miss Phipps’s lips at the innocent directness of the question, but she grew grave enough the next moment, and her voice sounded both sad and troubled as she replied—
“You certainly give us a lesson in the way to forgive our enemies, Pixie, and I should be sorry to do anything that would make you ‘miserable’; but I must think of Lottie’s good before our own preferences. Mr Vane is too good and just a man to treat her unkindly, and is only stern because he has realised the weakness of her character. He is too anxious about her welfare to make it right for me to conceal anything from him, especially so flagrant a breach of honour; but perhaps—I don’t know—if the feeling of the girls themselves is in her favour, I may consent to give her another chance. I am glad to hear that she has been kind—”
“Lottie is very good-natured, Miss Phipps. She is a favourite with the girls. They would be sorry to lose her. I think it would be a punishment to her to feel that she had fallen so much in their opinion, and we would all like to give her another chance,” said Margaret timidly, and Miss Phipps nodded kindly in reply.
“Ah, well, we can decide nothing to-night. It will need careful thinking over, and meanwhile we will banish the subject and make the most of the time that is left. I am very sorry for the interruption, although in one sense we are glad of it too, for it has brought Pixie back amongst us. She must go upstairs and dress quickly, and then we will have supper and put away unpleasant thoughts, and Mademoiselle must really dry her eyes, for I cannot have any more crying to-night.”
“If Peexie will forgeeve me!” cried Mademoiselle, stretching out her arms and clasping Pixie in so tight an embrace that when her little snub nose came again in sight, it bore the pattern of a steel button plainly stamped upon it. “I won’t forgeeve myself that I was so ’arsh and cross. It was a poor thanks,chérie, for your kindness to me all these weeks when I have been so warm and comfortable. I am ashamed to remember what I have done.”
“Small blame to you if you were mad when you believed I was telling a lie to your face! But ye weren’t half so nasty as ye think ye were,” said Pixie, beaming upon her in sweetest condescension. “Sometimes ye were quite agreeable. There was one day I was in with a cold, and ye came and cheered up me spirits until I hardly knew meself for the same creature.”
Mademoiselle lifted her hands with an eloquent gesture, as a sudden remembrance darted into her mind.
“Ah, yes! It is true. And now I have something else to tell you, you girls! It is Pixie whom you have to thank for this party, not me. It was she who begged me to supplicate Miss Phipps for you. She said, ‘She will say Yes if it is you who ask, but not to me, therefore you must not say my name at all; but if she will not give the party because I am to be punished, tell her to send me to bed and let the rest be ’appy.’ The dear child has thought of you when you were all so cross with her!”
There was an outburst of cheering from all corners of the room, in the midst of which Evelyn fell back in her chair and tugged with both hands at her long dark locks.
“And I called her a hardened little sinner! I abused her like a pickpocket, and called her an ungrateful serpent! Bring some sackcloth and ashes, somebody, quickly! I shall go in mourning for the rest of my life!”
Chapter Fifteen.An Unexpected Invitation.“That child Pixie is more wonderful than ever. What do you think she asks me next?” said Mademoiselle to Miss Phipps early the next morning. “The dear Breedgie has told her to invite a friend to return ’ome with her for the holidays, and she gives me the letter to read, and asks that it shall be me! I have laughed, but it is no use; she is still in earnest. I have said, ‘I am not a schoolgirl, and too old for you, my dear.’ She stares in my face, and asks, ‘’Ow old are you then? Not more than forty, are you?’ Ah, dear! If someone else had said that, I had been furious, for one does not like to be made ten years too old, but one cannot be angry with that child. Then I said, ‘Your sister will expect a girl like yourself, and will be disappointed to see me, and that would be uncomfortable for both.’ But she would not listen to that either, but declared it would be still better for them, for they had wished for someone who had seen the world. Nothing that I can say will convince her, but you know it is impossible that I should go!”“Well, really, Thérèse, I wish you would!” returned Miss Phipps, laughing. “It has been a weight on my mind to think of your remaining here alone during the holidays; and I cannot stay with you, for I am bound to go to my old aunt. As for Pixie taking one of the girls home with her, that is out of the question at this hour of the day. If Miss O’Shaughnessy had sent an invitation even a fortnight ago, it might have been arranged, but now there is no time to write, and get permission, and make the necessary plans. It is only in a case like yours, when there is no one else to consult, that such a very Irish invitation could be accepted; so either you go with Pixie, or she returns alone. And that reminds me of another thing. It would be a comfort to me if you could look after the child on the journey, for I have had a letter from the brother to say that he cannot decide definitely on what day he will cross. How would it be if you accepted the invitation for one week, took the child safely home, and just left it to circumstances to decide what to do after that?”“You think I might venture—really?” asked Mademoiselle eagerly. Her eyes brightened, and a flush of colour came into her cheek. “If it would not be too absurd, I should like it ver’ much! We have heard so much of those dear sisters that we seem to know them already, and I should be glad of the change. If, for example, you would write and say you would be more comfortable if I accompanied the child, and that I would stay a few days—that would perhaps make it easier!”“Certainly, with pleasure; and I shall be so glad if it ends in a nice holiday for you, dear! The last part of the term has been so trying that we all need cheering up; and, from all we hear, I should think the household at Knock Castle must be a delightful study. Young Mr O’Shaughnessy has promised to call this afternoon, so you had better come down and talk to him yourself. I am sure you will find that he is as cordial as Pixie herself.”This, indeed, proved to be the case, and greatly charmed was Mademoiselle with the handsome youth, who beamed upon her with Pixie’s own smile, and who was so much warmer and more enthusiastic in his manner than his English brothers. Jack, indeed, was an apt disciple of the Blarney Stone, and could pay compliments with any man in Ireland. He gazed at Mademoiselle with an expression in his eyes which seemed to say that never, no, never, had he met so charming a woman; his voice gurgled with emotion as he seconded his sister’s invitation, and he bade her welcome to Knock Castle with the graciousness of a prince of the blood. So handsome he looked, too, that Pixie’s heart swelled with pride, as she beheld him seated on the sofa, in his frock coat and freshly creased trousers, looking, as she mentally expressed it, as if he never “gave a thought to money,” which in good truth was the case, though in another sense to that in which she meant it. The West End tailor would have a weary time to wait before Mr Jack troubled himself to pay for all his fine new clothes!Jack declared that it would be of all things the most helpful if Mademoiselle would escort Pixie home, for he himself would have to leave his journey until the very last moment before Christmas, when travelling would be both difficult and unpleasant. He offered to telegraph to his sisters, prophesied that Mademoiselle would receive an immediate response, so that before he left the house the matter was virtually settled, and the extraordinary news spread through the school that Mademoiselle was going home with Pixie O’Shaughnessy to pay a visit to her relatives. Surprise was the first feeling, envy the next, and the elder pupils were urgent in their demands for letters.“Write to us, Maddie, do! Promise you will! We are all dying to hear what they are like. Tell us if Esmeralda is really as beautiful as Pixie says, and what Bridgie is like, and the boys, and ‘the Major,’ and the Castle itself. And tell us all you do, and exactly what happens when you arrive. Write one really long, detaily letter, and we will send it the round of the class, so that we will all get the benefit. You will, Maddie, won’t you? We do want so badly to know about Pixie’s home!”Mademoiselle laughed merrily. It was astonishing how bright and young she looked in the prospect of the unexpected holiday. She was in such a good temper that it seemed really impossible for her to say No.“I will tell you what I can, but you know it is notcomme il fautto criticise the house in which you stay. I will write all the pleasant things, but for the jokes—thecontretemps, no! Pixie shall do that if she will, I must keep them to myself. If they are all as nice as the son whom I have seen, they must be charming. I have never met a more pleasant youth.”The girls wagged their heads in meaning fashion.“We saw him!” they said meaningly—“we saw him! Pixie said he was coming about four, so we kept a lookout, and were obliged to go to the window to read some small print, just as he happened to walk up the steps. Ethel heard the bell, and stopped practising five minutes before the time, and strolled casually downstairs to meet him. He stood aside to let her pass, and she says he smiles with his eyes, just like Pixie! Oh, of course, we don’t expect you to tell tales, but just to ease our curiosity. We do take such an extraordinary interest in that family!”“There is another family in which I take an even greater interest just now, and that’s the Vanes!” remarked Kate meaningly. “Miss Phipps wrote to Mr Vane, and I met poor Lottie just now with eyes all magenta with crying over a letter she had just received from him. She saw I was sorry for her, and I think she was thankful to have someone to talk to, for she asked me to read it.” She threw up her hands with a gesture of dismay. “Well, I don’t know what I should do if my father wrote me a letter like that!”“Ow–w–ow!” Ethel shivered dramatically. “How horrible! What did he say? Was it terribly furious?”“It wasn’t furious at all, not even angry; but oh, so sad and solemn that it made you turn cold to read it! ‘It had tears in it,’ as Fraulein said of Margaret’s singing, and you could tell he was so bitterly, bitterly disappointed! Lottie felt that more than if he had been cross, for she does so love to be loved and fussed over; and if ever there was a poor thing scared out of her wits at the thought of to-morrow, it is herself at this moment. He comes to take her away, you know, and instead of the holidays being a relief, as she expected, she is longing for them to be over. She says now that she would rather not come back here, but go to some fresh school where no one knows about this trouble; but her father thinks it would be good for her to suffer the humiliation of losing her position among us, and says if Miss Phipps will have her, she must try to regain our esteem. Ah, well, I was as disgusted with her as anyone could be, and felt inclined never to speak to her again when I thought how she had treated the Pixie; but I am dreadfully sorry for her now, when I compare her home-going with my own. I do have such a time! The family is one beam of delight when I arrive; the children quarrel who shall sit by me at table, and I have all my favourite puddings. My room looks so sweet with flowers on the dressing-table, and I sit up till ten o’clock, and mother comes to see me in bed and gives me a lovely hug. Fifty-two more hours! I’m so happy I couldn’t be angry with my deadliest enemy!”“I saw Mr Vane once, and he looks a regular grey man,” said Ethel in reply. “Clothes, and hair, and eyes, and skin—all the same washed-out grey. I don’t wonder Lottie is in awe of him, and I’m thankful I am not mixed up in the business, so that he can’t ask to interview me. I believe he will want to see Pixie, though. It would seem only natural. I wouldn’t say so to her for the world, but don’t you think Miss Phipps will send for her when he comes?”Some of the girls thought no, others thought yes, and events proved that the latter were in the right; for the next afternoon Pixie was summoned to the drawing-room in the middle of her packing, and entered to find Miss Phipps in earnest conversation with a tall, grave-looking man, while Lottie stood miserably by the window. She looked tall and womanly in her travelling-cloak, and the pained glance which Mr Vane turned from her to the new-comer showed that he felt all an Englishman’s horror at the idea of cruelty to the weak.“Is this—this surely can’t bePixie?” he asked anxiously. “I did not expect to see anyone so—small. She is surely very young!”He was really speaking to Miss Phipps, but as he held Pixie’s hand in his, she felt it her duty to answer for herself.“No—I’m really quite old, but I’m stunted. I’m twelve!” she said, smiling up at him, with the confiding look which was her best introduction to a stranger. She was about to enlighten him still further as to the respective heights of the different members of her family, but a curious quiver passed over the grey face, and scared her into silence.“Twelve, are you, and Lottie is sixteen! I sent for you, Pixie, to tell you how bitterly grieved Mrs Vane and I are to think of all you have suffered through our daughter’s cowardice. I wish it were in our power to do something for you in return, but I hope at least that Lottie has expressed her regret before leaving, and begged your forgiveness!”“No, she didn’t beg anything. She just cried, and hugged me, and I cried, and hugged her back. I knew she was sorry from the beginning; and it was worse for her, because she knew all the time that she was wrong, and I was quite comfortable inside. And she was very kind to me before that. I liked her very much. She gave me an elegant little brooch that she didn’t want any longer.”Mr Vane turned aside, and looked into Miss Phipps’s face, and Miss Phipps looked back at him with a glance half smiling, half tearful, and withal wholly proud, as though justified in something about which she had previously been inclined to boast.“Pixie finds no difficulty in forgiving, Mr Vane, and I think the best thanks you could give her would be an opportunity of befriending Lottie still further, and helping her to regain her position in the school. I think it is an encouraging omen for the future that it is the girls themselves who have persuaded me to take her back.”“They are very good! You are all very good,” he said sadly. “I need hardly say how much I appreciate your kindness. Good-bye, then, little Pixie O’Shaughnessy, and I hope we may meet again under happier circumstances. May you have happy holidays!”“I’m going home,” said Pixie eloquently. Her radiant face made such a striking contrast to that other bleached, frightened-looking visage that the father’s heart softened as he looked from one to the other. He took Lottie’s hand and drew it tenderly through his arm.“And so is Lottie, and if her parents seem stern with her, it is only because they are anxious for her good. She perhaps hardly realises the bitter pain it gives them to see her unhappy.”“Father!” cried Lottie eagerly, and now for the first time she clung to him instead of shrinking out of sight, and seemed to find comfort in the touch of his hand. The fifth-form girls, peeping cautiously out of the window a few minutes later, were amazed to see her descend the steps holding tightly to his arm, but they were too much engrossed with their own exciting preparations to have time to ponder over the phenomenon. Only Miss Phipps and Pixie knew that the “grey man” had a tender heart despite his sternness, and that Lottie had fallen into wise and loving care.The next morning all was excitement and bustle, cabs and omnibuses driving up to the door of Holly House to convey parties of pupils to the station, gushing farewells and promises to write taking place on the staircase, mysterious bundles, “not to be opened until Christmas morning,” slipped into trunks at the last moment, and such racings up and down stairs in search of things forgotten as can be better imagined than described when thirty girls half-mad with excitement are on the point of starting for home.Mademoiselle and Pixie were among the first to leave, and, despite the very early hour of their departure, came in for such a magnificent “send off” that they felt quite like royal personages as they drove away from the door. Meals would be supplied on train and boat, but they were laden with other comforts for the long journey in the shape of sweets, scent, books to read, and, alas! specifics against sea-sickness. Mademoiselle looked pensive whenever she thought of the hours on board the boat, but for the rest she was as gay as one of the girls themselves, and much interested in the country through which they flew. One great town after another appeared, and was left behind as they roared through the stations, seeing nothing but a blur of white faces and undecipherable letters upon a board. Hour after hour and never a stop, morning changing into afternoon, and still no slackening of that wonderful onward rush. Two o’clock, and then, just as Pixie was beginning to nod after her lunch, a sudden cry of admiration came from Mademoiselle by her side, and there, close at hand, so near that but a step would have taken them upon the beach, lay the beautiful, mysterious sea, its waters shining in the winter sunshine, the breakers making a ridge of white along the yellow shore. The bathing vans were drawn up on the shingle, and there were no active little figures running to and fro digging castles on the sands, no nigger minstrels and gingerbread stalls and swarms of donkey-boys. All was still and bare and lifeless, and as the short day closed in there was an eeriness about the scene which made the travellers glad to draw the curtains over the windows, and which gave an added cheeriness to the prospect of tea. When Holyhead was reached, Mademoiselle lifted her bag and walked on board the steamer with the air of a martyr marching to the stake, and, to Pixie’s dismay, laid herself down at once with an utter disregard of the tables spread out in the saloon. She waited in what patience she could command until they were well on their way and the preparations for the evening meal grew more advanced, and then it was impossible to remain silent any longer.“Would ye not be taking something to warm ye, Mademoiselle?” she inquired anxiously. “There’s a lovely smell of cooking—two smells. One of them is cabbage, and the other smells like gravy spilt in the oven. Doesn’t it make you hungry, that nice greasy smell?”But Mademoiselle only groaned and bade her eat a biscuit and be silent; so for mere occupation’s sake the wisest thing seemed to be to go to sleep, which she proceeded to do with extraordinary quickness. Such an amount of groanings and clanking of chains mingled with her dreams that they naturally took the shape of confinement within prison walls, where she suffered many and wonderful adventures, and from which she was on the point of escaping under the most romantic circumstances when she was seized in the grasp of the jailer, as she at first supposed, but it turned out to be Mademoiselle herself—such a haggard, dishevelled Mademoiselle!—who bade her get up and put on her hat, for the sea was crossed at last, and they were anchored at the quay at Dublin. Pixie felt as if roused in the middle of the night, and altogether it was a most dejected-looking couple who went shivering across the gangway in the pouring rain and made their way to the train for the third and last stage of the journey. Neither spoke, but just lay prone against the cushions of the railway carriage, so much asleep as to be uncomfortably aware that they were awake, so much awake as to long hopelessly for sleep. Mademoiselle determined drearily to send for her aged father, and spend the rest of her life in enforced exile on this grey, rain-swept island, since never, never again could she summon up courage to cross that dreadful sea, and the night seemed half over when Bally William was reached at last.The station clock was pointing to eleven, and a broken-down fly was waiting to convey the travellers to their destination. In the dim light the surroundings looked both poor and squalid, but porter and flyman vied with one another in a welcome so warm that it went far to dissipate the cheerlessness of the scene.Pixie discoursed with them in animated fashion the while the trunks were being hoisted to their places.“Has anyone been here from the Castle to-day, Dennis? They are all quite well, I suppose?”“They are so, Miss Pixie, and Miss Joan down upon us this morning, hinting of what would happen if Jock was forgetting the fly. You mind the night the lady was arriving, and having to find her way in the dark while he was snoring in his bed? It’s a fine flow of language Miss Joan has of her own. It’s as good as a sermon to listen to her when she’s roused, and Jock was getting the benefit of it this day!”“There’s a fine tale he’s spinning!” exclaimed the defaulting Jock, grinning in unabashed complacency. “Don’t you be after believing a word of it, Miss Pixie dear. It would be a cold bed that would keep Jock Magee from driving ye home this night. And the size of ye too. You’ve grown out of knowledge! It’s a fine strapping lass you will be one of these days.” And Jock gazed with simulated amazement at the elf-like figure as it stepped forward into the lamplight. “My Molly was biddin’ me give you her duty, and say her eyes are longing for the sight of you again.”“I’ll come to-morrow, as soon as I can get away. Give Molly my love, Jock, and say I was often thinking of her. He is a decent fellow, Jock Magee!” she explained to her companion, as the ramshackle vehicle trundled away in the darkness. “A decent fellow, but he has been terrible unlucky with his wives. They fall ill on him as soon as they’re married, and cost him pounds in doctors and funerals. This one has asthma, and he expects she will die too before very long. He says it doesn’t give a man a chance; but he’s the wonderful knack for keeping up his spirits!”He had indeed. Mademoiselle found it difficult to think of the jovial, round-faced Jehu as the victim of domestic afflictions, and for the hundredth time she reflected that this Ireland to which she had come was a most extraordinary place. Nothing could be seen from the windows of the fly save an occasional tree against the sky, but ever up and up they climbed, while the wind blew round them in furious blasts. Then suddenly came a bend in the road, and a vision of twinkling windows, row upon row, stretching from one wing to the other of a fine old building, and each window glowing with its own cheery welcome.“It’s illumined!” cried Pixie wildly, pinching Mademoiselle’s arm in her excitement. “It’s illumined! Oh, Bridgie, Bridgie, did I ever see! Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, did ye ever have a castle illumined for you before? Did they ever give you such a welcome in your own country?”“Never, never!” cried Mademoiselle. She was almost as excited as Pixie herself, craning forward to peer out of the windows, counting breathlessly the long line of lights, and reflecting that she had not sufficiently realised the grandeur of the household to which she was coming. Another moment and a still brighter light shone through an opened doorway, and a chorus of voices sang out welcome. Then the fly stopped, someone helped her to alight, a hand clasped hers affectionately, and a rich, soft voice spoke in her ears.“Are you destroyed? The journey you’ve been having, poor creatures, in the wind and the rain! Are you destroyed altogether?”This was Castle Knock indeed, and Bridgie O’Shaughnessy’s fair face beamed a welcome upon her.
“That child Pixie is more wonderful than ever. What do you think she asks me next?” said Mademoiselle to Miss Phipps early the next morning. “The dear Breedgie has told her to invite a friend to return ’ome with her for the holidays, and she gives me the letter to read, and asks that it shall be me! I have laughed, but it is no use; she is still in earnest. I have said, ‘I am not a schoolgirl, and too old for you, my dear.’ She stares in my face, and asks, ‘’Ow old are you then? Not more than forty, are you?’ Ah, dear! If someone else had said that, I had been furious, for one does not like to be made ten years too old, but one cannot be angry with that child. Then I said, ‘Your sister will expect a girl like yourself, and will be disappointed to see me, and that would be uncomfortable for both.’ But she would not listen to that either, but declared it would be still better for them, for they had wished for someone who had seen the world. Nothing that I can say will convince her, but you know it is impossible that I should go!”
“Well, really, Thérèse, I wish you would!” returned Miss Phipps, laughing. “It has been a weight on my mind to think of your remaining here alone during the holidays; and I cannot stay with you, for I am bound to go to my old aunt. As for Pixie taking one of the girls home with her, that is out of the question at this hour of the day. If Miss O’Shaughnessy had sent an invitation even a fortnight ago, it might have been arranged, but now there is no time to write, and get permission, and make the necessary plans. It is only in a case like yours, when there is no one else to consult, that such a very Irish invitation could be accepted; so either you go with Pixie, or she returns alone. And that reminds me of another thing. It would be a comfort to me if you could look after the child on the journey, for I have had a letter from the brother to say that he cannot decide definitely on what day he will cross. How would it be if you accepted the invitation for one week, took the child safely home, and just left it to circumstances to decide what to do after that?”
“You think I might venture—really?” asked Mademoiselle eagerly. Her eyes brightened, and a flush of colour came into her cheek. “If it would not be too absurd, I should like it ver’ much! We have heard so much of those dear sisters that we seem to know them already, and I should be glad of the change. If, for example, you would write and say you would be more comfortable if I accompanied the child, and that I would stay a few days—that would perhaps make it easier!”
“Certainly, with pleasure; and I shall be so glad if it ends in a nice holiday for you, dear! The last part of the term has been so trying that we all need cheering up; and, from all we hear, I should think the household at Knock Castle must be a delightful study. Young Mr O’Shaughnessy has promised to call this afternoon, so you had better come down and talk to him yourself. I am sure you will find that he is as cordial as Pixie herself.”
This, indeed, proved to be the case, and greatly charmed was Mademoiselle with the handsome youth, who beamed upon her with Pixie’s own smile, and who was so much warmer and more enthusiastic in his manner than his English brothers. Jack, indeed, was an apt disciple of the Blarney Stone, and could pay compliments with any man in Ireland. He gazed at Mademoiselle with an expression in his eyes which seemed to say that never, no, never, had he met so charming a woman; his voice gurgled with emotion as he seconded his sister’s invitation, and he bade her welcome to Knock Castle with the graciousness of a prince of the blood. So handsome he looked, too, that Pixie’s heart swelled with pride, as she beheld him seated on the sofa, in his frock coat and freshly creased trousers, looking, as she mentally expressed it, as if he never “gave a thought to money,” which in good truth was the case, though in another sense to that in which she meant it. The West End tailor would have a weary time to wait before Mr Jack troubled himself to pay for all his fine new clothes!
Jack declared that it would be of all things the most helpful if Mademoiselle would escort Pixie home, for he himself would have to leave his journey until the very last moment before Christmas, when travelling would be both difficult and unpleasant. He offered to telegraph to his sisters, prophesied that Mademoiselle would receive an immediate response, so that before he left the house the matter was virtually settled, and the extraordinary news spread through the school that Mademoiselle was going home with Pixie O’Shaughnessy to pay a visit to her relatives. Surprise was the first feeling, envy the next, and the elder pupils were urgent in their demands for letters.
“Write to us, Maddie, do! Promise you will! We are all dying to hear what they are like. Tell us if Esmeralda is really as beautiful as Pixie says, and what Bridgie is like, and the boys, and ‘the Major,’ and the Castle itself. And tell us all you do, and exactly what happens when you arrive. Write one really long, detaily letter, and we will send it the round of the class, so that we will all get the benefit. You will, Maddie, won’t you? We do want so badly to know about Pixie’s home!”
Mademoiselle laughed merrily. It was astonishing how bright and young she looked in the prospect of the unexpected holiday. She was in such a good temper that it seemed really impossible for her to say No.
“I will tell you what I can, but you know it is notcomme il fautto criticise the house in which you stay. I will write all the pleasant things, but for the jokes—thecontretemps, no! Pixie shall do that if she will, I must keep them to myself. If they are all as nice as the son whom I have seen, they must be charming. I have never met a more pleasant youth.”
The girls wagged their heads in meaning fashion.
“We saw him!” they said meaningly—“we saw him! Pixie said he was coming about four, so we kept a lookout, and were obliged to go to the window to read some small print, just as he happened to walk up the steps. Ethel heard the bell, and stopped practising five minutes before the time, and strolled casually downstairs to meet him. He stood aside to let her pass, and she says he smiles with his eyes, just like Pixie! Oh, of course, we don’t expect you to tell tales, but just to ease our curiosity. We do take such an extraordinary interest in that family!”
“There is another family in which I take an even greater interest just now, and that’s the Vanes!” remarked Kate meaningly. “Miss Phipps wrote to Mr Vane, and I met poor Lottie just now with eyes all magenta with crying over a letter she had just received from him. She saw I was sorry for her, and I think she was thankful to have someone to talk to, for she asked me to read it.” She threw up her hands with a gesture of dismay. “Well, I don’t know what I should do if my father wrote me a letter like that!”
“Ow–w–ow!” Ethel shivered dramatically. “How horrible! What did he say? Was it terribly furious?”
“It wasn’t furious at all, not even angry; but oh, so sad and solemn that it made you turn cold to read it! ‘It had tears in it,’ as Fraulein said of Margaret’s singing, and you could tell he was so bitterly, bitterly disappointed! Lottie felt that more than if he had been cross, for she does so love to be loved and fussed over; and if ever there was a poor thing scared out of her wits at the thought of to-morrow, it is herself at this moment. He comes to take her away, you know, and instead of the holidays being a relief, as she expected, she is longing for them to be over. She says now that she would rather not come back here, but go to some fresh school where no one knows about this trouble; but her father thinks it would be good for her to suffer the humiliation of losing her position among us, and says if Miss Phipps will have her, she must try to regain our esteem. Ah, well, I was as disgusted with her as anyone could be, and felt inclined never to speak to her again when I thought how she had treated the Pixie; but I am dreadfully sorry for her now, when I compare her home-going with my own. I do have such a time! The family is one beam of delight when I arrive; the children quarrel who shall sit by me at table, and I have all my favourite puddings. My room looks so sweet with flowers on the dressing-table, and I sit up till ten o’clock, and mother comes to see me in bed and gives me a lovely hug. Fifty-two more hours! I’m so happy I couldn’t be angry with my deadliest enemy!”
“I saw Mr Vane once, and he looks a regular grey man,” said Ethel in reply. “Clothes, and hair, and eyes, and skin—all the same washed-out grey. I don’t wonder Lottie is in awe of him, and I’m thankful I am not mixed up in the business, so that he can’t ask to interview me. I believe he will want to see Pixie, though. It would seem only natural. I wouldn’t say so to her for the world, but don’t you think Miss Phipps will send for her when he comes?”
Some of the girls thought no, others thought yes, and events proved that the latter were in the right; for the next afternoon Pixie was summoned to the drawing-room in the middle of her packing, and entered to find Miss Phipps in earnest conversation with a tall, grave-looking man, while Lottie stood miserably by the window. She looked tall and womanly in her travelling-cloak, and the pained glance which Mr Vane turned from her to the new-comer showed that he felt all an Englishman’s horror at the idea of cruelty to the weak.
“Is this—this surely can’t bePixie?” he asked anxiously. “I did not expect to see anyone so—small. She is surely very young!”
He was really speaking to Miss Phipps, but as he held Pixie’s hand in his, she felt it her duty to answer for herself.
“No—I’m really quite old, but I’m stunted. I’m twelve!” she said, smiling up at him, with the confiding look which was her best introduction to a stranger. She was about to enlighten him still further as to the respective heights of the different members of her family, but a curious quiver passed over the grey face, and scared her into silence.
“Twelve, are you, and Lottie is sixteen! I sent for you, Pixie, to tell you how bitterly grieved Mrs Vane and I are to think of all you have suffered through our daughter’s cowardice. I wish it were in our power to do something for you in return, but I hope at least that Lottie has expressed her regret before leaving, and begged your forgiveness!”
“No, she didn’t beg anything. She just cried, and hugged me, and I cried, and hugged her back. I knew she was sorry from the beginning; and it was worse for her, because she knew all the time that she was wrong, and I was quite comfortable inside. And she was very kind to me before that. I liked her very much. She gave me an elegant little brooch that she didn’t want any longer.”
Mr Vane turned aside, and looked into Miss Phipps’s face, and Miss Phipps looked back at him with a glance half smiling, half tearful, and withal wholly proud, as though justified in something about which she had previously been inclined to boast.
“Pixie finds no difficulty in forgiving, Mr Vane, and I think the best thanks you could give her would be an opportunity of befriending Lottie still further, and helping her to regain her position in the school. I think it is an encouraging omen for the future that it is the girls themselves who have persuaded me to take her back.”
“They are very good! You are all very good,” he said sadly. “I need hardly say how much I appreciate your kindness. Good-bye, then, little Pixie O’Shaughnessy, and I hope we may meet again under happier circumstances. May you have happy holidays!”
“I’m going home,” said Pixie eloquently. Her radiant face made such a striking contrast to that other bleached, frightened-looking visage that the father’s heart softened as he looked from one to the other. He took Lottie’s hand and drew it tenderly through his arm.
“And so is Lottie, and if her parents seem stern with her, it is only because they are anxious for her good. She perhaps hardly realises the bitter pain it gives them to see her unhappy.”
“Father!” cried Lottie eagerly, and now for the first time she clung to him instead of shrinking out of sight, and seemed to find comfort in the touch of his hand. The fifth-form girls, peeping cautiously out of the window a few minutes later, were amazed to see her descend the steps holding tightly to his arm, but they were too much engrossed with their own exciting preparations to have time to ponder over the phenomenon. Only Miss Phipps and Pixie knew that the “grey man” had a tender heart despite his sternness, and that Lottie had fallen into wise and loving care.
The next morning all was excitement and bustle, cabs and omnibuses driving up to the door of Holly House to convey parties of pupils to the station, gushing farewells and promises to write taking place on the staircase, mysterious bundles, “not to be opened until Christmas morning,” slipped into trunks at the last moment, and such racings up and down stairs in search of things forgotten as can be better imagined than described when thirty girls half-mad with excitement are on the point of starting for home.
Mademoiselle and Pixie were among the first to leave, and, despite the very early hour of their departure, came in for such a magnificent “send off” that they felt quite like royal personages as they drove away from the door. Meals would be supplied on train and boat, but they were laden with other comforts for the long journey in the shape of sweets, scent, books to read, and, alas! specifics against sea-sickness. Mademoiselle looked pensive whenever she thought of the hours on board the boat, but for the rest she was as gay as one of the girls themselves, and much interested in the country through which they flew. One great town after another appeared, and was left behind as they roared through the stations, seeing nothing but a blur of white faces and undecipherable letters upon a board. Hour after hour and never a stop, morning changing into afternoon, and still no slackening of that wonderful onward rush. Two o’clock, and then, just as Pixie was beginning to nod after her lunch, a sudden cry of admiration came from Mademoiselle by her side, and there, close at hand, so near that but a step would have taken them upon the beach, lay the beautiful, mysterious sea, its waters shining in the winter sunshine, the breakers making a ridge of white along the yellow shore. The bathing vans were drawn up on the shingle, and there were no active little figures running to and fro digging castles on the sands, no nigger minstrels and gingerbread stalls and swarms of donkey-boys. All was still and bare and lifeless, and as the short day closed in there was an eeriness about the scene which made the travellers glad to draw the curtains over the windows, and which gave an added cheeriness to the prospect of tea. When Holyhead was reached, Mademoiselle lifted her bag and walked on board the steamer with the air of a martyr marching to the stake, and, to Pixie’s dismay, laid herself down at once with an utter disregard of the tables spread out in the saloon. She waited in what patience she could command until they were well on their way and the preparations for the evening meal grew more advanced, and then it was impossible to remain silent any longer.
“Would ye not be taking something to warm ye, Mademoiselle?” she inquired anxiously. “There’s a lovely smell of cooking—two smells. One of them is cabbage, and the other smells like gravy spilt in the oven. Doesn’t it make you hungry, that nice greasy smell?”
But Mademoiselle only groaned and bade her eat a biscuit and be silent; so for mere occupation’s sake the wisest thing seemed to be to go to sleep, which she proceeded to do with extraordinary quickness. Such an amount of groanings and clanking of chains mingled with her dreams that they naturally took the shape of confinement within prison walls, where she suffered many and wonderful adventures, and from which she was on the point of escaping under the most romantic circumstances when she was seized in the grasp of the jailer, as she at first supposed, but it turned out to be Mademoiselle herself—such a haggard, dishevelled Mademoiselle!—who bade her get up and put on her hat, for the sea was crossed at last, and they were anchored at the quay at Dublin. Pixie felt as if roused in the middle of the night, and altogether it was a most dejected-looking couple who went shivering across the gangway in the pouring rain and made their way to the train for the third and last stage of the journey. Neither spoke, but just lay prone against the cushions of the railway carriage, so much asleep as to be uncomfortably aware that they were awake, so much awake as to long hopelessly for sleep. Mademoiselle determined drearily to send for her aged father, and spend the rest of her life in enforced exile on this grey, rain-swept island, since never, never again could she summon up courage to cross that dreadful sea, and the night seemed half over when Bally William was reached at last.
The station clock was pointing to eleven, and a broken-down fly was waiting to convey the travellers to their destination. In the dim light the surroundings looked both poor and squalid, but porter and flyman vied with one another in a welcome so warm that it went far to dissipate the cheerlessness of the scene.
Pixie discoursed with them in animated fashion the while the trunks were being hoisted to their places.
“Has anyone been here from the Castle to-day, Dennis? They are all quite well, I suppose?”
“They are so, Miss Pixie, and Miss Joan down upon us this morning, hinting of what would happen if Jock was forgetting the fly. You mind the night the lady was arriving, and having to find her way in the dark while he was snoring in his bed? It’s a fine flow of language Miss Joan has of her own. It’s as good as a sermon to listen to her when she’s roused, and Jock was getting the benefit of it this day!”
“There’s a fine tale he’s spinning!” exclaimed the defaulting Jock, grinning in unabashed complacency. “Don’t you be after believing a word of it, Miss Pixie dear. It would be a cold bed that would keep Jock Magee from driving ye home this night. And the size of ye too. You’ve grown out of knowledge! It’s a fine strapping lass you will be one of these days.” And Jock gazed with simulated amazement at the elf-like figure as it stepped forward into the lamplight. “My Molly was biddin’ me give you her duty, and say her eyes are longing for the sight of you again.”
“I’ll come to-morrow, as soon as I can get away. Give Molly my love, Jock, and say I was often thinking of her. He is a decent fellow, Jock Magee!” she explained to her companion, as the ramshackle vehicle trundled away in the darkness. “A decent fellow, but he has been terrible unlucky with his wives. They fall ill on him as soon as they’re married, and cost him pounds in doctors and funerals. This one has asthma, and he expects she will die too before very long. He says it doesn’t give a man a chance; but he’s the wonderful knack for keeping up his spirits!”
He had indeed. Mademoiselle found it difficult to think of the jovial, round-faced Jehu as the victim of domestic afflictions, and for the hundredth time she reflected that this Ireland to which she had come was a most extraordinary place. Nothing could be seen from the windows of the fly save an occasional tree against the sky, but ever up and up they climbed, while the wind blew round them in furious blasts. Then suddenly came a bend in the road, and a vision of twinkling windows, row upon row, stretching from one wing to the other of a fine old building, and each window glowing with its own cheery welcome.
“It’s illumined!” cried Pixie wildly, pinching Mademoiselle’s arm in her excitement. “It’s illumined! Oh, Bridgie, Bridgie, did I ever see! Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, did ye ever have a castle illumined for you before? Did they ever give you such a welcome in your own country?”
“Never, never!” cried Mademoiselle. She was almost as excited as Pixie herself, craning forward to peer out of the windows, counting breathlessly the long line of lights, and reflecting that she had not sufficiently realised the grandeur of the household to which she was coming. Another moment and a still brighter light shone through an opened doorway, and a chorus of voices sang out welcome. Then the fly stopped, someone helped her to alight, a hand clasped hers affectionately, and a rich, soft voice spoke in her ears.
“Are you destroyed? The journey you’ve been having, poor creatures, in the wind and the rain! Are you destroyed altogether?”
This was Castle Knock indeed, and Bridgie O’Shaughnessy’s fair face beamed a welcome upon her.
Chapter Sixteen.Knock Castle Once More.Mademoiselle was so exhausted that she begged to retire at once, and was forthwith escorted to a huge cavern of a room, which boasted tapestried walls, an oaken ceiling, and a four-poster bed large enough to have accommodated the whole fifth-form at a pinch. It looked cheery enough, however, in the light of a great peat fire, and the visitor was feeling so unwell after her stormy crossing that her one overpowering desire was to lay her head upon the pillows, and revel in the consciousness that her journeyings were at an end. Her tact suggested also that this affectionate family would be glad to have their baby to themselves for the first meeting; but when she woke up refreshed and vigorous the following morning, she was full of eagerness to get downstairs, and make the acquaintance of the O’Shaughnessys in their own home. The night before she had been so faint and dazed that she had gone automatically through the various introductions, and as the lights inside the rooms were by no means as bright as those at the windows, even the very faces seemed seen through a mist. But Bridget had mentioned eight o’clock as the breakfast-hour, so Mademoiselle leaped out of bed, and, wondering a little why no one appeared to bring tea, hot water, or a bath, made the best work of her toilet which was possible under the circumstances.Truth to tell, the room did not appear so attractive in the light of a dark December morning, aided by one flickering candle upon the dressing-table. The tapestry was worn into holes, the carpet was threadbare, and the silk curtains had faded to a dull grey hue. The general aspect was so grim and dull, both within the room and outside in the wind-swept park, that the sun-loving Mademoiselle made all speed she could to get downstairs to the cheering influences of breakfast and fire. The sound of voices guided her when she reached the ground floor, and she entered a room on the right of the hall, hoping to see the family already assembled to meet her.What a disappointment! Not one welcoming face did she see, not a sign of breakfast upon the table, and but a flicker of light on the huge grate, before which knelt one untidy maid, while another stopped short in her dusting operations to stare at the new-comer with unconcealed amazement.“Was this perhaps not the room where breakfast was held?” Mademoiselle inquired politely, but it appeared that this was the room. And she had understood Miss O’Shaughnessy to say that the hour was eight o’clock. Had she been mistaken in her impression?Molly laughed, and shook her duster in the air, so that the atoms which she had swept together were instantly dispersed afresh.“’Deed, you were right enough. The hour is eight, but you’ll be in fine time if you’re down by nine,” she replied encouragingly; and poor Mademoiselle felt her heart sink at the thought of the weary hour which stretched between her and the longed-for meal. Nothing solid to eat since one o’clock yesterday, and now to have to sit shivering and watching the provisions slowly taking their place on the table, deterred by politeness from helping herself to as much as a slice of bread. She felt intensely sorry for herself, but, after all, the prospect was the worst part of the business, for the kindness of the Irish heart came to her rescue, and while Molly blew at the fire with a pair of huge leather bellows, her companion scuttled upstairs into the room where Bridgie lay sweetly sleeping, to bring her out of bed with a bound with the information that the “foreign lady was in her clothes, and after inquiring for her breakfast.”In an incredibly short space of time Bridgie appeared downstairs, and as she broke into vehement apologies, Mademoiselle had an opportunity of studying her face, and came to the conclusion that the little sister had, if anything, understated its charms. Surely never did sweeter grey eyes shelter behind curling black lashes, and look out of a broader, fairer brow. The waving hair was of purest flaxen, and the careless coiffure was as becoming as if arranged by the most skilful of hairdressers. What if the mouth were large, and the nose of no classical outline, no one who looked into Bridget O’Shaughnessy’s eyes had either time or inclination to look further.“I’m ashamed to think of you sitting here all by yourself!” she cried, holding both Mademoiselle’s hands in hers, and smiling into her face with a beguiling sweetness. “We always call the breakfast-hour eight; because, if we said nine, it would be ten, and ye must be punctual in arranging for a family. But it’s all for the best, for I’ve told Molly to bring something in at once, and you and I will have a cosy meal before the rest appear. And you are looking quite fresh and bright this morning—that’s good! My heart was broken for you last night, when you came in all perished with cold. And it was so good of you to take the long journey to give us this pleasure. You don’t know the excitement there was in this house when Jack’s telegram arrived! If we were pleased to think of having a child for the holidays, imagine our delight when it was a girl like ourselves—a companion for Esmeralda and me!”“A girl like ourselves!” Oh, Bridgie, Bridgie, you must have had a taste of the Blarney Stone too, to have ignored so completely the ten years which separated you from your visitor; but, needless to say, Mademoiselle bore you no grudge for your short-sightedness, and was only too happy to be classed as a girl once more.They sat down to breakfast together, and presently one member after another of the family strolled in, and took their share in entertaining the stranger. The Major put on his most fascinating air, and revived recollections of an old visit to “Paree,” and Pat and Miles stared unblinkingly at every morsel she put between her lips. They were both handsome lads, but Pat in especial had such languishing eyes, such an air of pensive melancholy, that he seemed almost too good for this wicked world, and as far as possible removed from the ordinary mischievous schoolboy. Mademoiselle wondered what beautiful poetic fancies were passing through his brain as he lay back in his chair and pushed the curls from his forehead. Then his eyes met hers, and he smiled angelic questioning.“Do you have frogs for breakfast in your home in France, Mademoiselle?”“Pat, be quiet! That’s very rude.”“It is not, Bridgie; it’s thirst for information. Or snails, Mademoiselle? Have you often eaten snails?”“Never once, nor frogs neither. We have a breakfast much as you have here. Rolls of bread, and honey, and butter, and coffee—ver’ good coffee!” and there was a regretful tone in Mademoiselle’s voice, as she struggled womanfully to swallow the grounds of chicory which seemed to constitute the leading feature of coffee as served at Knock Castle. She did not intend to show her distaste, but the Major exclaimed in eager agreement with the unspoken criticism.“And this stuff is not fit to drink! If you will teach my girls to make coffee as you have it in France, Mademoiselle, you will be doing me a lifelong favour. I suppose you can cook by instinct, like most of your countrywomen?”“I think I can—pretty well, but I do not often get the chance. If Miss Breegie will let me teach her some of our favourite dishes, it will be a pleasure to me too! I used to be very happy cooking tempting things for my father to eat!”“Hark to that now, Bridgie! There’s no better ambition for a young girl than to wait upon her father and see to his comfort!” cried the Major solemnly; and a merry laugh rang out from the doorway as Esmeralda came forward, and standing behind his chair, clasped her arms round his neck, the while she sent her bright, inquiring glances round the table.“The whole duty of woman is to wait upon man! and a good long time she has to wait too, if the man is anything like yourself, me dear! We will make him an omelette for his lunch this very day, Mademoiselle, if he’ll promise to eat it when he returns an hour past the proper time! I hope you’re well, and had a good sleep after your travels.”Mademoiselle murmured something in reply, but what, she scarcely knew, so absorbed was she in studying the charming picture made by father and daughter, the Major with his hair scarcely touched with grey, his charming smile and stalwart figure, and above him Esmeralda, in all her wonderful, gipsy-like beauty. Her hair was as dark as Bridgie’s was fair, and stood out from her head in a mass of curls and waves, her features were perfect in their haughty, aquiline curves, and the bloom of youth was on her cheeks. With such hair and colouring it would have been natural to expect brown eyes, but what gave to her face its note of distinction was the fact that they were grey, and not brown—wonderful clear grey eyes, which gave the beholder a thrill of mingled surprise and admiration every time she lifted her curled black lashes and turned them upon him. Mademoiselle stared in speechless admiration, and Esmeralda’s brothers and sisters stared at her in their turn, well pleased at the effect produced; for what was the use of groaning beneath the whims and tyrannies of “the beautiful Miss O’Shaughnessy,” if one could not also enjoy a little honour and glory once in a while?
Mademoiselle was so exhausted that she begged to retire at once, and was forthwith escorted to a huge cavern of a room, which boasted tapestried walls, an oaken ceiling, and a four-poster bed large enough to have accommodated the whole fifth-form at a pinch. It looked cheery enough, however, in the light of a great peat fire, and the visitor was feeling so unwell after her stormy crossing that her one overpowering desire was to lay her head upon the pillows, and revel in the consciousness that her journeyings were at an end. Her tact suggested also that this affectionate family would be glad to have their baby to themselves for the first meeting; but when she woke up refreshed and vigorous the following morning, she was full of eagerness to get downstairs, and make the acquaintance of the O’Shaughnessys in their own home. The night before she had been so faint and dazed that she had gone automatically through the various introductions, and as the lights inside the rooms were by no means as bright as those at the windows, even the very faces seemed seen through a mist. But Bridget had mentioned eight o’clock as the breakfast-hour, so Mademoiselle leaped out of bed, and, wondering a little why no one appeared to bring tea, hot water, or a bath, made the best work of her toilet which was possible under the circumstances.
Truth to tell, the room did not appear so attractive in the light of a dark December morning, aided by one flickering candle upon the dressing-table. The tapestry was worn into holes, the carpet was threadbare, and the silk curtains had faded to a dull grey hue. The general aspect was so grim and dull, both within the room and outside in the wind-swept park, that the sun-loving Mademoiselle made all speed she could to get downstairs to the cheering influences of breakfast and fire. The sound of voices guided her when she reached the ground floor, and she entered a room on the right of the hall, hoping to see the family already assembled to meet her.
What a disappointment! Not one welcoming face did she see, not a sign of breakfast upon the table, and but a flicker of light on the huge grate, before which knelt one untidy maid, while another stopped short in her dusting operations to stare at the new-comer with unconcealed amazement.
“Was this perhaps not the room where breakfast was held?” Mademoiselle inquired politely, but it appeared that this was the room. And she had understood Miss O’Shaughnessy to say that the hour was eight o’clock. Had she been mistaken in her impression?
Molly laughed, and shook her duster in the air, so that the atoms which she had swept together were instantly dispersed afresh.
“’Deed, you were right enough. The hour is eight, but you’ll be in fine time if you’re down by nine,” she replied encouragingly; and poor Mademoiselle felt her heart sink at the thought of the weary hour which stretched between her and the longed-for meal. Nothing solid to eat since one o’clock yesterday, and now to have to sit shivering and watching the provisions slowly taking their place on the table, deterred by politeness from helping herself to as much as a slice of bread. She felt intensely sorry for herself, but, after all, the prospect was the worst part of the business, for the kindness of the Irish heart came to her rescue, and while Molly blew at the fire with a pair of huge leather bellows, her companion scuttled upstairs into the room where Bridgie lay sweetly sleeping, to bring her out of bed with a bound with the information that the “foreign lady was in her clothes, and after inquiring for her breakfast.”
In an incredibly short space of time Bridgie appeared downstairs, and as she broke into vehement apologies, Mademoiselle had an opportunity of studying her face, and came to the conclusion that the little sister had, if anything, understated its charms. Surely never did sweeter grey eyes shelter behind curling black lashes, and look out of a broader, fairer brow. The waving hair was of purest flaxen, and the careless coiffure was as becoming as if arranged by the most skilful of hairdressers. What if the mouth were large, and the nose of no classical outline, no one who looked into Bridget O’Shaughnessy’s eyes had either time or inclination to look further.
“I’m ashamed to think of you sitting here all by yourself!” she cried, holding both Mademoiselle’s hands in hers, and smiling into her face with a beguiling sweetness. “We always call the breakfast-hour eight; because, if we said nine, it would be ten, and ye must be punctual in arranging for a family. But it’s all for the best, for I’ve told Molly to bring something in at once, and you and I will have a cosy meal before the rest appear. And you are looking quite fresh and bright this morning—that’s good! My heart was broken for you last night, when you came in all perished with cold. And it was so good of you to take the long journey to give us this pleasure. You don’t know the excitement there was in this house when Jack’s telegram arrived! If we were pleased to think of having a child for the holidays, imagine our delight when it was a girl like ourselves—a companion for Esmeralda and me!”
“A girl like ourselves!” Oh, Bridgie, Bridgie, you must have had a taste of the Blarney Stone too, to have ignored so completely the ten years which separated you from your visitor; but, needless to say, Mademoiselle bore you no grudge for your short-sightedness, and was only too happy to be classed as a girl once more.
They sat down to breakfast together, and presently one member after another of the family strolled in, and took their share in entertaining the stranger. The Major put on his most fascinating air, and revived recollections of an old visit to “Paree,” and Pat and Miles stared unblinkingly at every morsel she put between her lips. They were both handsome lads, but Pat in especial had such languishing eyes, such an air of pensive melancholy, that he seemed almost too good for this wicked world, and as far as possible removed from the ordinary mischievous schoolboy. Mademoiselle wondered what beautiful poetic fancies were passing through his brain as he lay back in his chair and pushed the curls from his forehead. Then his eyes met hers, and he smiled angelic questioning.
“Do you have frogs for breakfast in your home in France, Mademoiselle?”
“Pat, be quiet! That’s very rude.”
“It is not, Bridgie; it’s thirst for information. Or snails, Mademoiselle? Have you often eaten snails?”
“Never once, nor frogs neither. We have a breakfast much as you have here. Rolls of bread, and honey, and butter, and coffee—ver’ good coffee!” and there was a regretful tone in Mademoiselle’s voice, as she struggled womanfully to swallow the grounds of chicory which seemed to constitute the leading feature of coffee as served at Knock Castle. She did not intend to show her distaste, but the Major exclaimed in eager agreement with the unspoken criticism.
“And this stuff is not fit to drink! If you will teach my girls to make coffee as you have it in France, Mademoiselle, you will be doing me a lifelong favour. I suppose you can cook by instinct, like most of your countrywomen?”
“I think I can—pretty well, but I do not often get the chance. If Miss Breegie will let me teach her some of our favourite dishes, it will be a pleasure to me too! I used to be very happy cooking tempting things for my father to eat!”
“Hark to that now, Bridgie! There’s no better ambition for a young girl than to wait upon her father and see to his comfort!” cried the Major solemnly; and a merry laugh rang out from the doorway as Esmeralda came forward, and standing behind his chair, clasped her arms round his neck, the while she sent her bright, inquiring glances round the table.
“The whole duty of woman is to wait upon man! and a good long time she has to wait too, if the man is anything like yourself, me dear! We will make him an omelette for his lunch this very day, Mademoiselle, if he’ll promise to eat it when he returns an hour past the proper time! I hope you’re well, and had a good sleep after your travels.”
Mademoiselle murmured something in reply, but what, she scarcely knew, so absorbed was she in studying the charming picture made by father and daughter, the Major with his hair scarcely touched with grey, his charming smile and stalwart figure, and above him Esmeralda, in all her wonderful, gipsy-like beauty. Her hair was as dark as Bridgie’s was fair, and stood out from her head in a mass of curls and waves, her features were perfect in their haughty, aquiline curves, and the bloom of youth was on her cheeks. With such hair and colouring it would have been natural to expect brown eyes, but what gave to her face its note of distinction was the fact that they were grey, and not brown—wonderful clear grey eyes, which gave the beholder a thrill of mingled surprise and admiration every time she lifted her curled black lashes and turned them upon him. Mademoiselle stared in speechless admiration, and Esmeralda’s brothers and sisters stared at her in their turn, well pleased at the effect produced; for what was the use of groaning beneath the whims and tyrannies of “the beautiful Miss O’Shaughnessy,” if one could not also enjoy a little honour and glory once in a while?
Chapter Seventeen.Esmeralda’s Wiles.It was easy to see that if Pixie were the pet, Esmeralda was the pride of her father’s heart, and exercised a unique influence over him. She seated herself by his side at the table, and they teased and joked together more like a couple of mischievous children than a staid, grown-up father and his daughter. The girl was quick and apt in her replies, and Mademoiselle was conscious that the Major kept turning surreptitious glances towards herself, to see if she were duly impressed by the exhibition. He evidently delighted in showing off Esmeralda’s beauty and cleverness, and that in a wider circle than home, for presently he said meaningly—“The hounds meet at Balligarry on Monday, Joan. It will be the best run we have had yet, and the whole county will be there. You’ll arrange to come with me, of course.”“I’d love to, but—” Esmeralda raised her brows, and looked across the table with a glance half appealing, half apologetic—“it’s Bridgie’s turn! I went with you the last time.”“And the time before that!” muttered Miles into his cup; but the Major waved aside the suggestion with his accustomed carelessness. “Oh, Bridgie would rather stay at home. She’ll be too much taken up with Mademoiselle to have any time to spare.”Mademoiselle looked, as she felt, decidedly uncomfortable, but the first glance at Bridgie’s face sufficed to restore her complacency, for the smile was without a shadow of offence, and the voice in which she replied was cheerfulness itself.“Indeed that’s true! We can get hunting for half of the year, but it’s not every day we have a visitor in the house. You go with father, Esmeralda, and don’t think of me! We will have a fine little spree on our own account, Mademoiselle and I! Maybe we’ll drive into Roskillie and have a look at the shops!”Mademoiselle remembered the Rue de la Paix, and smiled to herself at the thought of the shops in the Irish village, but she said honestly enough that she would enjoy the expedition; for would not Bridgie O’Shaughnessy be her companion, and did she not appear sweeter and more attractive with every moment that passed? Nearly an hour had elapsed since breakfast began, and still she sat behind the urn, smiling brilliantly at each fresh laggard, and looking as unruffled as if she had nothing to do but attend to his demands! It was the quaintest meal Mademoiselle had ever known, and seemed as if it would never come to an end, for just as she was expecting a general rise the Major would cry, “What about a fresh brew of tea? I could drink another cup if I were pressed,” and presto! it took on a new lease of life. Last of all Pixie made her appearance, to be invited to a seat on each knee, and embraced with a fervour which made Mademoiselle realise more fully than ever what the child must have suffered during those weeks of suspicion and coldness.“How’s my ferret?” she inquired, with her mouth full of toast, selected from her father’s plate; and Pat seized the occasion to deliver his outstanding account.“Grown out of knowledge! Eightpence halfpenny you owe me now. I had to put on another farthing a week because his appetite grew so big. I knew you would rather pay more than see him suffer. And the guinea-pig died. There’s twopence extra for funeral expenses. We put him in the orchard beside the dogs, and made a headstone out of your old slate. It’s a rattling good idea, because, don’t you see, you can write your own inscription!”“If it was my own slate, and I am to make up the inscription, I don’t see why I should pay!” reasoned Pixie, with a business sharpness which sent her father into fits of delighted laughter, though it left Pat obstinately firm.“Man’s time!” he said stolidly. “That’s what costs nowadays. You look at any bill, and you’ll find the labour comes to ten times as much as the material. You needn’t grudge the poor thing its last resting-place. He was a good guinea-pig to you.”“I don’t care how much I owe, for I have no money to pay with,” returned Pixie, unconsciously echoing her father’s financial principles. “Give Pat a shilling, please, Major, for taking care of my animals while I was away.” And that gentleman promptly threw a coin across the table.“I wish my animals were as cheap to keep! Well, who is coming out with me this morning? I have an appointment in Roskillie at 10:30, but I can’t be there now until 11, so there’s no use hurrying. Put on your cap, piccaninny, and come to the stables with me. The girls will look after you, Mademoiselle, and find some means of amusing you for the day.”“Oh yes, we’ll take care of her!” said Esmeralda lightly; then, as the boys withdrew after their father, she planted her elbows on the table and looked across under questioning eyebrows. “Please, have we to call you ‘Mademoiselle’ all the time? Haven’t you a nice, pretty French name that we could call you instead?”“Thérèse! Yes, please do! I should feel so much more happy!” cried Mademoiselle eagerly, and Bridgie nodded in approval.“Thérèse is charming, and it’s so much more friendly to use Christian names at Christmas-time. I shall begin at once. We want you to help us with the decoration of the rooms, Thérèse! We shall be just a family party, but Jack will be at home, and we will have games and charades to make it lively. We might rehearse something this morning, mightn’t we, Joan dear?”“Imightn’t!” replied “Joan dear” promptly, “because why?—I’ve got something better to do. There is plenty of time still, and you will agree with me later that my business is important. If you put on a cloak, Thérèse, I will come back for you in ten minutes, and take you to the stables to join father and Pixie. It will amuse you, I’m sure.”She left the room without waiting for a reply, and Bridgie heaved a sigh of disappointment.“She’s just mad after horses, that girl. Now she will be off with father, and not a sight of her shall we have until afternoon. It’s easy to say there is time to spare, but to-morrow we must decorate, and look after all the arrangements for Jack’s return, and I do hate a scramble. However, when Esmeralda says she won’t, she won’t, and there’s an end of it. You had better go with her, dear, while I interview the servants.”“I suppose I had,” said Mademoiselle slowly. She thought Esmeralda selfish and autocratic, but she was fascinated, despite herself, by her beauty and brightness, and anxious to know her better; so she obediently went up to her room to heap on the wraps, for the morning was cold, though by this time the sun was struggling from behind the clouds. On the way down she was joined by Esmeralda in riding costume—a most peculiar riding costume, and, extraordinary to relate, most unbecoming into the bargain. Mademoiselle’s critical glance roamed from head to foot, back again from foot to head, while Esmeralda stood watching her with tightened lips and curious twinkling eyes. Then Bridgie appeared upon the scene, and stopped short, uttering shrill cries of astonishment, as she looked at the slovenly tie, the twisted skirt, the general air of dishevelment and shabbiness.“Esmeralda, you’re anObject! Look at the dust on your skirt. You’ve not half brushed it, and everything is hanging the wrong way. It’s a perfect disgrace you look to ride out with any man!”“I’m delighted to hear it! That’s just my intention,” replied the young lady, tugging the disreputable skirt still further awry, and nodding her beautiful head, with an air of mysterious amusement. The blue serge had a smudge of white all down one side, which looked suspiciously as if the powder-box had been spilt over it. A seam gaped open and showed little fragments of thread still sticking to the cloth.If Esmeralda’s intention was to look disreputable, she had certainly accomplished her object; and when the stables were reached she took care to place herself conspicuously, so that her father’s eyes must of necessity rest upon her.“I’m going to ride to Roskillie with you, dad! It’s a fine morning, and I thought you would be the better of my company.”“That’s a good girl!” cried the Major cheerily; then his brow puckered, and he stared uneasily at the untidy figure. He was so unnoticing about clothes that it required a good deal to attract his attention, but surely there was something wrong about the girl’s get-up to-day? He kept throwing uneasy glances towards her while the horses were brought out, and Esmeralda strolled about in a patch of sunshine, and picked her steps gingerly over the muddles, like a model of fastidious care. She sprang to the saddle, light as thistledown, and curved her graceful throat with a complacent toss, as the groom smoothed her skirt, bringing the white stain into full prominence.“You want dusting!” said the Major curtly, and a brush was brought from the stable, and scrubbed vigorously up and down, with the result that the surface of the cloth was frayed and roughened, though there was no appreciable removal of the stain.“It doesn’t seem as if it would come out, does it? but there are plenty more further on,” said Esmeralda innocently. “Have a try at another, Dennis!”—but the Major motioned the man away with a hasty gesture.“Leave the rag alone—it’s past dusting! Is that the best habit you have to your back?” he cried testily, and the dark eyes looked into his with angelic resignation.“It was a very good habit—six years ago! That’s as good as twelve, for we’ve worn it in turns ever since. The bodice is the least thing in the world crinkly, for I’m broader than Bridgie, and stretch it out, and then it goes into creases on her figure. We might try washing the skirt to take out the stains, and then it would be clean, if the colourdidrun a bit! Ride round by the back roads, dear, and I’ll keep behind, and not disgrace you!”“Humph,” said the Major again, and led the way out of the yard without another word, Esmeralda following, looking over her shoulder at the little group of watchers with a smile of such triumphant enjoyment as took away Mademoiselle’s breath to behold. She looked inquiringly at Pixie, but Pixie and Dennis were in silent convulsions of enjoyment, and only waited until the riders were out of hearing before exploding into peals of laughter.“That bates all for the cleverness of her! Miss Bridgie has been fretting over that old habit for a couple of years, and trying to wheedle a new one out of the Major, but it’s Miss Joan that can twist him round her little finger when she takes the work in hand! That was a funny stain, that got the worse the more you brushed it! She never got that on the hunting-field. Go back to the house, Miss Pixie, dearie, and tell the mistress the new habit is as good as paid for. The Major’s not the man I take him for, if he passes the tailor’s door this morning without stepping inside!”
It was easy to see that if Pixie were the pet, Esmeralda was the pride of her father’s heart, and exercised a unique influence over him. She seated herself by his side at the table, and they teased and joked together more like a couple of mischievous children than a staid, grown-up father and his daughter. The girl was quick and apt in her replies, and Mademoiselle was conscious that the Major kept turning surreptitious glances towards herself, to see if she were duly impressed by the exhibition. He evidently delighted in showing off Esmeralda’s beauty and cleverness, and that in a wider circle than home, for presently he said meaningly—
“The hounds meet at Balligarry on Monday, Joan. It will be the best run we have had yet, and the whole county will be there. You’ll arrange to come with me, of course.”
“I’d love to, but—” Esmeralda raised her brows, and looked across the table with a glance half appealing, half apologetic—“it’s Bridgie’s turn! I went with you the last time.”
“And the time before that!” muttered Miles into his cup; but the Major waved aside the suggestion with his accustomed carelessness. “Oh, Bridgie would rather stay at home. She’ll be too much taken up with Mademoiselle to have any time to spare.”
Mademoiselle looked, as she felt, decidedly uncomfortable, but the first glance at Bridgie’s face sufficed to restore her complacency, for the smile was without a shadow of offence, and the voice in which she replied was cheerfulness itself.
“Indeed that’s true! We can get hunting for half of the year, but it’s not every day we have a visitor in the house. You go with father, Esmeralda, and don’t think of me! We will have a fine little spree on our own account, Mademoiselle and I! Maybe we’ll drive into Roskillie and have a look at the shops!”
Mademoiselle remembered the Rue de la Paix, and smiled to herself at the thought of the shops in the Irish village, but she said honestly enough that she would enjoy the expedition; for would not Bridgie O’Shaughnessy be her companion, and did she not appear sweeter and more attractive with every moment that passed? Nearly an hour had elapsed since breakfast began, and still she sat behind the urn, smiling brilliantly at each fresh laggard, and looking as unruffled as if she had nothing to do but attend to his demands! It was the quaintest meal Mademoiselle had ever known, and seemed as if it would never come to an end, for just as she was expecting a general rise the Major would cry, “What about a fresh brew of tea? I could drink another cup if I were pressed,” and presto! it took on a new lease of life. Last of all Pixie made her appearance, to be invited to a seat on each knee, and embraced with a fervour which made Mademoiselle realise more fully than ever what the child must have suffered during those weeks of suspicion and coldness.
“How’s my ferret?” she inquired, with her mouth full of toast, selected from her father’s plate; and Pat seized the occasion to deliver his outstanding account.
“Grown out of knowledge! Eightpence halfpenny you owe me now. I had to put on another farthing a week because his appetite grew so big. I knew you would rather pay more than see him suffer. And the guinea-pig died. There’s twopence extra for funeral expenses. We put him in the orchard beside the dogs, and made a headstone out of your old slate. It’s a rattling good idea, because, don’t you see, you can write your own inscription!”
“If it was my own slate, and I am to make up the inscription, I don’t see why I should pay!” reasoned Pixie, with a business sharpness which sent her father into fits of delighted laughter, though it left Pat obstinately firm.
“Man’s time!” he said stolidly. “That’s what costs nowadays. You look at any bill, and you’ll find the labour comes to ten times as much as the material. You needn’t grudge the poor thing its last resting-place. He was a good guinea-pig to you.”
“I don’t care how much I owe, for I have no money to pay with,” returned Pixie, unconsciously echoing her father’s financial principles. “Give Pat a shilling, please, Major, for taking care of my animals while I was away.” And that gentleman promptly threw a coin across the table.
“I wish my animals were as cheap to keep! Well, who is coming out with me this morning? I have an appointment in Roskillie at 10:30, but I can’t be there now until 11, so there’s no use hurrying. Put on your cap, piccaninny, and come to the stables with me. The girls will look after you, Mademoiselle, and find some means of amusing you for the day.”
“Oh yes, we’ll take care of her!” said Esmeralda lightly; then, as the boys withdrew after their father, she planted her elbows on the table and looked across under questioning eyebrows. “Please, have we to call you ‘Mademoiselle’ all the time? Haven’t you a nice, pretty French name that we could call you instead?”
“Thérèse! Yes, please do! I should feel so much more happy!” cried Mademoiselle eagerly, and Bridgie nodded in approval.
“Thérèse is charming, and it’s so much more friendly to use Christian names at Christmas-time. I shall begin at once. We want you to help us with the decoration of the rooms, Thérèse! We shall be just a family party, but Jack will be at home, and we will have games and charades to make it lively. We might rehearse something this morning, mightn’t we, Joan dear?”
“Imightn’t!” replied “Joan dear” promptly, “because why?—I’ve got something better to do. There is plenty of time still, and you will agree with me later that my business is important. If you put on a cloak, Thérèse, I will come back for you in ten minutes, and take you to the stables to join father and Pixie. It will amuse you, I’m sure.”
She left the room without waiting for a reply, and Bridgie heaved a sigh of disappointment.
“She’s just mad after horses, that girl. Now she will be off with father, and not a sight of her shall we have until afternoon. It’s easy to say there is time to spare, but to-morrow we must decorate, and look after all the arrangements for Jack’s return, and I do hate a scramble. However, when Esmeralda says she won’t, she won’t, and there’s an end of it. You had better go with her, dear, while I interview the servants.”
“I suppose I had,” said Mademoiselle slowly. She thought Esmeralda selfish and autocratic, but she was fascinated, despite herself, by her beauty and brightness, and anxious to know her better; so she obediently went up to her room to heap on the wraps, for the morning was cold, though by this time the sun was struggling from behind the clouds. On the way down she was joined by Esmeralda in riding costume—a most peculiar riding costume, and, extraordinary to relate, most unbecoming into the bargain. Mademoiselle’s critical glance roamed from head to foot, back again from foot to head, while Esmeralda stood watching her with tightened lips and curious twinkling eyes. Then Bridgie appeared upon the scene, and stopped short, uttering shrill cries of astonishment, as she looked at the slovenly tie, the twisted skirt, the general air of dishevelment and shabbiness.
“Esmeralda, you’re anObject! Look at the dust on your skirt. You’ve not half brushed it, and everything is hanging the wrong way. It’s a perfect disgrace you look to ride out with any man!”
“I’m delighted to hear it! That’s just my intention,” replied the young lady, tugging the disreputable skirt still further awry, and nodding her beautiful head, with an air of mysterious amusement. The blue serge had a smudge of white all down one side, which looked suspiciously as if the powder-box had been spilt over it. A seam gaped open and showed little fragments of thread still sticking to the cloth.
If Esmeralda’s intention was to look disreputable, she had certainly accomplished her object; and when the stables were reached she took care to place herself conspicuously, so that her father’s eyes must of necessity rest upon her.
“I’m going to ride to Roskillie with you, dad! It’s a fine morning, and I thought you would be the better of my company.”
“That’s a good girl!” cried the Major cheerily; then his brow puckered, and he stared uneasily at the untidy figure. He was so unnoticing about clothes that it required a good deal to attract his attention, but surely there was something wrong about the girl’s get-up to-day? He kept throwing uneasy glances towards her while the horses were brought out, and Esmeralda strolled about in a patch of sunshine, and picked her steps gingerly over the muddles, like a model of fastidious care. She sprang to the saddle, light as thistledown, and curved her graceful throat with a complacent toss, as the groom smoothed her skirt, bringing the white stain into full prominence.
“You want dusting!” said the Major curtly, and a brush was brought from the stable, and scrubbed vigorously up and down, with the result that the surface of the cloth was frayed and roughened, though there was no appreciable removal of the stain.
“It doesn’t seem as if it would come out, does it? but there are plenty more further on,” said Esmeralda innocently. “Have a try at another, Dennis!”—but the Major motioned the man away with a hasty gesture.
“Leave the rag alone—it’s past dusting! Is that the best habit you have to your back?” he cried testily, and the dark eyes looked into his with angelic resignation.
“It was a very good habit—six years ago! That’s as good as twelve, for we’ve worn it in turns ever since. The bodice is the least thing in the world crinkly, for I’m broader than Bridgie, and stretch it out, and then it goes into creases on her figure. We might try washing the skirt to take out the stains, and then it would be clean, if the colourdidrun a bit! Ride round by the back roads, dear, and I’ll keep behind, and not disgrace you!”
“Humph,” said the Major again, and led the way out of the yard without another word, Esmeralda following, looking over her shoulder at the little group of watchers with a smile of such triumphant enjoyment as took away Mademoiselle’s breath to behold. She looked inquiringly at Pixie, but Pixie and Dennis were in silent convulsions of enjoyment, and only waited until the riders were out of hearing before exploding into peals of laughter.
“That bates all for the cleverness of her! Miss Bridgie has been fretting over that old habit for a couple of years, and trying to wheedle a new one out of the Major, but it’s Miss Joan that can twist him round her little finger when she takes the work in hand! That was a funny stain, that got the worse the more you brushed it! She never got that on the hunting-field. Go back to the house, Miss Pixie, dearie, and tell the mistress the new habit is as good as paid for. The Major’s not the man I take him for, if he passes the tailor’s door this morning without stepping inside!”