_ CHAPTER XII. MOLLIE GOES TO DEEP-WATER CHINE
'Well I know what they feel.
They gaze, and the evening wind
Plays on their faces; they gaze--
Airs from the Eden of youth
Awake and stir in their soul.'
MATTHEW ARNOLD.
Mollie arrived very punctually the next afternoon. Audrey, who was watching for her, hardly recognised the girl as she came slowly along the terrace. She wore a pretty gray stuff frock and a straw hat, trimmed very tastefully with the simplest materials; and her usually unkempt locks were neatly arranged in a broad glossy plait that reached to her waist.
Audrey felt quite proud of her appearance, and took her into the drawing-room to see her mother and sister; for Geraldine had just dropped in on her way down the town. Mrs. Ross received her very nicely; but Geraldine took very little notice of her. Mollie was rather shy and awkward, and answered all Mrs. Ross's questions in monosyllables. She seemed so hot and confused that Mrs. Ross's motherly heart took compassion on her.
'Do not let us keep you, my dear,' she said, addressing Audrey. 'I am sure Geraldine will excuse you; and it is far too fine to stay indoors.'
'In that case, we will go, Mollie,' returned Audrey in a relieved tone. 'Good-bye, Gage; I daresay I shall see you to-morrow. And, mother, let me know when tea is ready;' and then she beckoned Mollie to follow her.
Mollie was no longer silent when she found herself alone with her friend.
'Oh dear, Miss Ross, what a grand house you live in, and what a lovely garden! Ours must seem such a poor, poky little place after this, and yet we were all so pleased with it. I do like Mrs. Ross so; she is such a dear old lady'--Audrey had never heard her mother called a 'dear old lady' before--'and what a grand-looking person your sister is! I never saw anyone so handsome.'
But Mollie's tone was a trifle dubious.
'I hope you mean to like her too, Mollie.'
'I don't seem to know her yet,' replied Mollie evasively; 'but I liked looking at her. Somehow I could not talk before her. Where are we going, Miss Ross? There is no pond that I can see.'
'No lake,' corrected Audrey, with much dignity. 'No, Mollie; I am going to introduce you to the greenhouses and poultry-yard first; then there are the pigs, and the boys' play-ground--oh, a host of sights!--before we make our way down to the lake.'
'Ah, now you mean to be funny, because Cyril always calls it the pond--and Kester too. You must be very rich, Miss Ross, to live here and have all these fine things. Mamma was saying so to Cyril when he was telling us about it.'
'This is my favourite little bantam, Mollie,' interposed Audrey; and then Mollie gave herself up to enjoyment, there were so many things to see. Mollie wondered and exclaimed and admired, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, until Audrey told herself the child was positively pretty.
At last they found themselves by the tiny lake, with their hands full of bread for Snowflake and Eiderdown, while a little troop of rare foreign ducks hung somewhat timidly in the rear. Presently, to Mollie's intense delight, they got into the canoe, and Audrey, with much gravity, commenced their voyage.
'For you may laugh, Mollie,' she said severely, 'but you have no idea of the extent of the place. This island is called "The Swans' Nest." We need not land, because we can see it perfectly from the canoe; but you may perhaps notice a small wooden building somewhere in the recesses of the island.'
'Oh yes, I see it perfectly,' returned Mollie, with the utmost candour. 'I could almost cover the island with my pocket-handkerchief; but, of course, it is very pretty.'
Audrey gave her a withering glance.
'We will go on a little farther. You have a capital view of Woodcote now; the house is in fine perspective. There is Michael's Bench, so called after my cousin, Captain Burnett; and this, Mollie'--pointing to a pretty little thicket of trees and shrubs reaching down to the water--'is Deep-water Chine. With your permission, we will rest here a moment.'
'Have we got to the end of our voyage?' laughed Mollie. 'Oh dear, Miss Ross, how droll you are this afternoon! But it is pretty--sweetly pretty; and how lovely those swans are! How happy you must be to live in such a dear place!'
'I am very fond of it,' returned Audrey dreamily. 'Listen to those birds; father is so fond of them. You cannot admire the place more than I do, Mollie. To me Woodcote is the finest place in the world; it would be dreadful to leave it.'
'Why should you ever leave it, Miss Ross?'
'Why, indeed?' with an amused curl of her lip. 'I don't suppose I ever shall leave it, Mollie.'
'Not unless you married,' replied Mollie, in a serious voice. 'People are obliged to go away when they are married, are they not? But perhaps you will have as grand a place of your own.'
'I have half made up my mind that I will be an old maid,' returned Audrey lazily. 'Old maids lead such nice, useful, unselfish lives.' And then, as Mollie opened her eyes rather widely at this, she went on: 'What a pretty frock that is!--and that smocking is exquisitely done. I really must ask your mother to give me lessons--for it will be useful if I ever should have any nephews and nieces,' thought Audrey, who was practical in her own way.
'Mamma will be delighted to teach you; she is so fond of you, Miss Ross. She was talking about you half the evening. Do you know, she did not go to bed until past one o'clock; she was finishing my blue cambric. Cyril begged her to put it down half a dozen times, but she said no, she had made up her mind to finish it--and the hat, too. He had to go off to bed and leave her at last, and it was not really done until past one.'
Audrey made no comment. She was asking herself how far she ought to encourage Mollie's childish loquacity--she was very original and amusing.
'But if I do not check her,' thought Audrey, 'there is no knowing what she may say next. All the Blakes are so very outspoken.'
But Mollie was disposed to enlarge on a topic that interested her so closely. She had arrived at an age when a girl begins to feel some anxiety to make the best of herself. Her nice new frock was an important ingredient in the day's pleasure; she felt a different Mollie from the Mollie of yesterday. It was as though Cinderella, dusty and begrimed with her ashes, had suddenly donned her princess's robe.
'I am so glad you think my frock pretty,' she went on. 'I shall be able to go to chapel with Cyril next Sunday. This is my Sunday frock; my blue cambric is for every afternoon. It was very fortunate mamma was in her working mood yesterday, for she would never have allowed me to come in my old brown frock. She is so busy to-day; she made me bring her down a pile of Kester's shirts that want mending--"For the poor boy is in rags," she said. Stop! I think it was Cyril who said that. I thought it was funny for mamma to notice about Kester. Yes, it was Cyril.'
'Mollie, do you know your mother calls you a sad chatterbox?' observed Audrey at this point.
Mollie coloured up and looked perturbed.
'Oh, Miss Ross, did mamma tell you that really? Perhaps that was why she wanted to get rid of me yesterday, because I talk so much. Do you know'--dropping her voice and looking rather melancholy--'I never do seem to please mamma, however much I try; and I do try--oh! so hard. I never mind Cyril laughing at me, because he does it so good-naturedly; but when mamma speaks in that reproachful voice, and says that at my age I might help her more, I do feel so unhappy. I often cry about it when I go to bed, and then the next day I am sure to be more stupid, and forget things and make mistakes, and then mamma gets more displeased with me than ever.'
'My dear little Mollie, I am sure you work hard enough.'
'Yes, but there is so much to do,' returned Mollie, with a heavy sigh. 'Biddy is so old, she cannot make the beds and sweep and clean and cook the dinner without any help. Kester is always saying that if we had a younger and stronger servant we should do so much better. But mamma is so angry when she hears him say that; she declares nothing will induce her to part with Biddy--Biddy used to be mamma's nurse, you know. Sometimes I get so tired of doing the same things day after day, and I long to go out and play tennis, like other girls. But that is not the worst'--and here poor Mollie looked ready to cry; 'do you mind if I tell you, Miss Ross? I seem talking so much about myself, and I am so afraid of wearying you.'
'No, dear; you may tell me anything you like--about yourself, I mean,' corrected Audrey hastily.
'Yes, I know what you mean, and it will make me so comfortable to talk it all out--and I have only Kester, you know. I am so afraid, and Kester is afraid, too, that with all this rough work I shall never be as ladylike as mamma. She has such beautiful manners, and, then, have you noticed her hands, Miss Ross? they are so white and pretty; and look at mine!' and Mollie thrust out a brown, roughened little hand for inspection.
'You have a pretty hand, too, Mollie, though it is not quite soft at present; but if I were you, I should be proud to think that it was hard with good honest work for others.'
'Yes, if only Cyril would not notice it; he told me one day that no young lady ought to have hands like a kitchenmaid. Mamma heard him say it, and she begged me to use glycerine and sleep in gloves, but I could not do such things. I am afraid you think me very complaining, Miss Ross, but I have not got to the worst trouble of all, and that is--that I have so little time for my lessons.'
'Oh, I was going to ask you about that.'
'I fret about it dreadfully sometimes, and then Kester is so sorry for me. He does all he can for me, poor boy! but sometimes on a hot afternoon I am too sleepy and stupid to do my sums and Latin. I don't like sums, Miss Ross, or Latin either: I would so much rather read French and history with mamma--she reads so beautifully and teaches so well--but somehow she is so often too busy or too tired to attend to me.'
'And who teaches you music?'
'No one,' and here Mollie's face wore a look of the deepest dejection; 'we have no piano, and mamma does not play. When we lived at Richmond the lady in the drawing-room taught me my notes, and I used to practise scales and exercises in her room. She was such a funny old dear, with queer little pinned-up curls. Her name was Miss Foster--she had been a governess--and she used to be so kind to Kester and me. She would ask us into her room, and give us cake and nice things; but I don't think she liked mamma--she was always pitying us and calling us "poor children;" but I am sure we were very happy.'
'And she gave you music-lessons?'
'Yes, and I got on quite nicely. I am so fond of music, Miss Ross, and so is Cyril; he sings beautifully, and can play his own accompaniments. He talks of hiring a piano, and then perhaps I can practise my scales and exercises.'
Audrey made no answer for a moment--she was deep in thought--and then she said suddenly:
'Are you busy all the morning, Mollie? I mean, if you had a piano, when would you practise?'
This question seemed to puzzle Mollie.
'I hardly know, Miss Ross--in the morning, I think, when I had done helping Biddy. Kester generally wants me for an hour in the afternoon, and there is the chance, too, that mamma might call me to read history with her. I daresay I could get half an hour or so before dinner--luncheon, I mean.'
'Would you like to come to me twice a week for a lesson? Oh, Mollie dear, take care!' for the girl was starting up in her excitement; 'the water is very deep here, and if you upset us----'
'No, no, I will sit quite still; but I did so want to kiss you--it is such a lovely idea!'
'I am so glad you approve of it. I tell you what, Mollie, I will call one afternoon and settle it with your mother. The morning will suit me best; I generally go out after luncheon, unless we have a tennis-party at home; but with a little management I think I could contrive to spare you an hour twice a week--perhaps an hour and a half,' finished Audrey, whose busy brain had already suggested that a French exercise or half an hour's French reading might be thrown in after the music-lesson.
Audrey was a good linguist, and played very nicely; it made her quite happy to think that she could turn her accomplishments to account. And really the child was so disgracefully neglected--Audrey did not scruple a bit to use the word 'disgracefully.' It was strange how all her sympathy was enlisted on Mollie's behalf, and yet she could not like Mrs. Blake one whit the less for her mismanagement of the girl. On the contrary, Audrey only felt her interest quicken with every fresh side-light and detail; she longed to take the Blake household under her especial protection, to manipulate the existing arrangements, and put things on a different footing. Biddy should go--that should be the first innovation; a strong, sturdy Rutherford girl like Rhoda Atkinson should come in her place. Poor little Mollie should be set free from all but the lightest household duties--a little dusting or pastry-making; she should have regular hours for practising, for reading French, even for drawing. Geraldine was very good-natured, she drew beautifully--Audrey was quite sure that after a time she might be pressed into the service. Between herself, Gage, and Kester, Mollie might turn out an accomplished woman. Dreams, mere dreams, if Mrs. Blake could not be induced to part with Biddy; and here the thought of the little work-roughened hands gave Audrey a positive pang.
Mollie, on the contrary, sat and beamed at her young benefactress. She was that; she was everything perfect in Mollie's eyes. Mollie's cup of happiness was full to overflowing! to see her dear Miss Ross twice a week, to be taught by her, to study her beloved music; Mollie's heart sang for joy: the sunshine seemed to intoxicate her. She was in a new world--a world with swans and birds and bees in it--full of leafy shadows and rippling, tiny waves. The kind face opposite her broke into a smile.
'Well, Mollie, are you tired of sitting here? Shall we go back to the landing-place?'
'Miss Ross, there is Cyril looking for us!' exclaimed Mollie, almost beside herself with excitement. 'Yes, do please let us go back; he is waving to us.' And Audrey paddled across the pond.
Cyril lifted his straw hat rather gravely; but there was restrained eagerness in his manner as he helped them to alight.
'Mrs. Ross sent me to fetch you,' he said quietly. 'Tea is ready, and Miss Cardell and her brother are in the drawing-room. Mrs. Ross begged me to come back with you. Why, Mollie'--with a pleased look--'I should hardly have known you. She looks almost grown up, does she not, Miss Ross?'
His manner had changed in a moment. He looked bright and animated; his slight gravity vanished. It was Audrey who became suddenly embarrassed; the eager look with which the young man had greeted her had not been unnoticed by her. Cyril's dark eyes were very expressive. More than once during the last day or two Audrey had innocently intercepted those strange, searching glances, and they vaguely disturbed her.
'It is very good of you to take all this trouble with Mollie,' continued Cyril, as he walked beside her towards the house. 'I need not ask if she has been happy--eh, Mollie?'
'I have had a lovely time!' exclaimed Mollie, almost treading on Cyril's heels in her excitement. 'Oh, Cyril, do ask Miss Ross to take you in the canoe to Deep-water Chine! It is such a delicious place! The trees dip into the water, and the birds come down to drink and bathe; and we saw a water-rat and a water-wagtail, and there was the cuckoo; and we could hear the cooing of the wood-pigeons whenever we were silent; and, oh! it was paradise!'
'I can believe it,' returned Cyril, in a low voice.
'Mr. Blake,' asked Audrey hastily, 'why is it that you are not on the cricket-field with the boys?'
'Conybeare has taken my place. A lot of the boys were kept in, which means I was a prisoner too. I have only just opened the gaol-door to the poor wretches. If you want to see a heart-breaking sight, Miss Ross--one sad enough to touch the stoniest heart--go into the schoolroom on a half-holiday on a summer's afternoon when half a dozen boys are kept in for lessons returned. The utter misery depicted on those boys' faces is not to be described.'
'I should just shut up their books and tell them to be off.'
'I daresay you would,' with an amused look at her. 'I can well imagine that that would be Miss Ross's
role. We masters have to harden our hearts; "discipline must be maintained," as that delightful old fellow in
Bleak House used to say; bad work brings its own punishment.'
'You are as stern as Captain Burnett. By the bye, where is Michael?'
'He has gone out with Dr. Ross. That is why Mrs. Ross wants me to make myself useful'--and Cyril did make himself useful.
Some more visitors dropped in, Geraldine amongst them. She had finished her business in the town, had paid a couple of calls, and now looked in on her way home. Somehow, Woodcote was always on the way home; but, then, as everyone said, there were few daughters so devoted to their mother as young Mrs. Harcourt.
Audrey, who was presiding at the tea-table, saw her sister looking at Mr. Blake with reluctant admiration; she had never before noticed the quiet ease of his manners. He had lost his first shyness, and was now making himself exceedingly pleasant to Mrs. Ross's guests. Mr. Cardell, who was a stiff, solemn-faced young man, was placed at a decided disadvantage; clever and gentlemanly as he was, he looked positively awkward beside Mr. Blake. Mr. Blake seemed to see everything--to notice in a moment if a lady wanted her cup put down, if her tea were not to her taste; he carried sugar and cream to one, cake or bread and butter to another. He seemed to know by instinct when the teapot wanted replenishing, and was ready to lift the heavy kettle; but he never remained by Audrey's side a moment.
As Audrey busied herself among her teacups she was amused by overhearing a fragment of conversation behind her. Emily Cardell, a plain, good-natured sort of girl, had seated herself beside Geraldine.
'Mr. Blake seems a decided acquisition,' she observed, in a loud whisper that was distinctly audible. 'We ought all to be very much obliged to Dr. Ross. He is very young, but so distinguished-looking. Poor Oliver is quite cast in the shade.'
'I don't know about that, Emily.'
'I suppose you think comparisons are odious? But, all the same, I am sure you must admire Mr. Blake.'
'I think he is very gentlemanly and pleasant.'
'Dear me, Geraldine! that is very moderate praise. I never saw anyone with more finished manners.'
Here Audrey moved away, but her lip curled a little. Would Geraldine's tone have been so utterly devoid of enthusiasm if she had not known her sister was within earshot?
Just then Mollie touched Audrey on the arm.
'Miss Ross, Cyril says that I have been here long enough, and that he is going to take me away.'
'Are you sure that I worded it quite so ungraciously?' observed Cyril, who had followed her. 'All the same, I think you will endorse my opinion, Miss Ross. Mollie has been here all the afternoon.'
'It has been a very pleasant afternoon,' returned Audrey, with one of her kind looks at Mollie; 'and I hope we shall have many more. Mollie and I mean to see a good deal of each other.' And then she bade them good-bye and turned to the other guests, who were also making their adieux.
Geraldine remained behind to exchange a few confidential words with her mother, and Audrey stepped out on the terrace. As she did so, she was surprised to see Michael sitting just outside the drawing-room window. He had evidently been there some time.
As she sat down beside him she was struck by his air of dejection.
'Oh, Michael, how tired you look! have you had your tea?'
He shook his head.
'Then I will go and fetch you some. Do let me, Michael;' for he had stopped her.
Michael's hand was very thin and white, but when he cared to put out his strength it had a grasp like iron; and that firm, soft grip on Audrey's wrist kept her a prisoner.
'No, don't go; it is so late that I would rather wait for dinner. I heard the teacups, but I was too lazy to move, and to judge from the voices, the room must have been pretty full.'
'Yes; the Cardells and the Fortescues and Gage were there.'
'Mr. Blake, too, was he not?'
'Yes, mother asked him--she wanted him to help entertain the Cardells.'
'Yes, I see; and he seems disposed to be friendly--your father has asked him to dinner to-morrow night to meet the Pagets.'
'Indeed!' and Audrey tried to suppress the pleasure she felt at this intelligence. 'Have you any objection?' She asked the question in a joking manner; to her surprise her cousin answered her quite gravely:
'Well, I think it will be a pity to take too much notice of him--he is young enough to be spoilt. People are glad to have a good-looking fellow like Blake at their parties; and, then, I hear he has a magnificent voice. I expect half the young ladies of Rutherford will be in love with him--Miss Emily Cardell among them; eh, Audrey?'
'I am sure I don't know,' returned Audrey coldly; 'Mr. Blake's good looks are nothing to me.' She spoke with unusual petulance, as though something in her cousin's remarks had not pleased her. 'Well, if you will not have some tea, Michael, I must just go back to mother and Gage;' and as Michael said no word to detain her, she moved away so quickly that she did not hear the half-stifled sigh with which Michael took up his paper again. _