Part II Chapter 4 Polly: A New-Fashioned Girl by L. T. Meade
A YOUNG AUSTRALIAN
David was quite right when he said his sister was not like other girls. There was a certain element of wildness in her; she had sweet manners, a gracious bearing, an attractive face; but in some particulars she was untamed. Never had that terrible strong temper of hers been curbed. More than one of the servants in the old home at Ballarat had learnt to dread it. When Flower stormed, her father invariably left home, and David shut himself up in his own room. Her mother, an affectionate but not particularly strong-minded woman, alone possessed sufficient courage to approach the storm-tossed little fury. Mrs. Dalrymple had a certain power of soothing the little girl, but even she never attempted to teach the child the smallest lessons of self-control.
This unchecked, unbridled temper grew and strengthened with Flower’s growth. When under its influence she was a transformed being, and David had good reason to be afraid of her.
In addition to an ungovernable temper, Flower was proud; she possessed the greatest pride of all, that of absolute ignorance. She believed firmly in caste; had she lived in olden days in America, she would have been a very cruel mistress of slaves. Yet with it all Flower had an affectionate heart; she was generous, loyal, but she was so thoroughly a spoiled and untrained creature that her good qualities were nearly lost under the stronger sway of her bad ones.
After her mother’s death Flower had fretted so much that she had grown shadowy and ill. It was then her father conceived the idea of sending her and David to an English family to train and educate. He could not manage Flower, he could not educate David. The Maybrights were heard of through a mutual friend, and Flower was reconciled to the thought of leaving the land and home of her birth because she was told she was going to another mother. She dried her eyes at this thought, and was tolerably cheerful during the voyage over. On reaching England the news of Mrs. Maybright’s death was broken to her. Again Flower stormed and raged; she gave poor little David a dreadful night, but in the morning her tears were dried, her smile had returned, and she went down to Sleepy Hollow with the Doctor in fairly good spirits.
The young Maybrights were all on their best behavior—Flower was on hers, and until the day of the picnic all went well.
It did not take a great deal to rouse first the obstinate pride of this young Australian, and then her unbridled passions. Associate with a servant? No, that she would never, never do. Show Polly that she approved of her conduct? Not while her own name was Flower Dalrymple. She let all the other happy children go down to the banqueting-hall without her, and strode away, miserable at heart, choking with rage and fury.
The Dalrymples were very wealthy people, and Flower’s home in Ballarat was furnished with every luxury. Notwithstanding this, the little girl had never been in a truly refined dwelling-house until she took up her abode in old-fashioned Sleepy Hollow. Flower had taken a great fancy to Helen, and she already warmly loved Dr. Maybright. She was wandering over the moor now, a miserable, storm-tossed little personage, when she saw his old-fashioned gig and white pony “Rowney” approaching. That old gig and the person who sat in it—for Dr. Maybright drove himself—began to act on the heart of the child with a curious magnetic force. Step by step they caused her to turn, until she reached Troublous Times Castle almost as soon as the Doctor. She did not know why she was coming back, for she had not the remotest idea of yielding her will to Polly’s. Still she had a kind of instinct that the Doctor would set things right. By this she meant that he would give her her own way and banish Maggie from the scene of festivity.
The banqueting-hall at the old castle could be reached by two ways: you might approach it quite easily over the green sward, or you might enter a higher part of the castle, and come to it down broken steps.
The Doctor chose one way of approaching the scene of the feast, Flower another. She was about to descend when she heard voices: Polly was eagerly asking permission for Maggie to dine with them; the Doctor, in his easy, genial tones, was giving it to her. That was enough. If Flower had never known before what absolute hatred was like, she knew it now. She hated Polly; ungovernable passion mounted to her brain, filled her eyes, lent wings to her feet; she turned and fled.
Although the month was October, it was still very hot in the middle of the day on the open moor. Flower, however, was accustomed to great heat in her native home, and the full rays of the sun did not impede her flight. She was so tall and slight and willowy that she was a splendid runner, but the moor was broken and rough, interspersed here and there with deep bracken, here and there with heather, here and there again with rank clumps of undergrowth. The young girl, half blinded with rage and passion, did not see the sharp points of the rocks or the brambles in her path. Once or twice she fell. After her second fall she was so much bruised and hurt, that she was absolutely forced to sit still in the midst of the yellow-and-brown bracken. It was in a bristling, withered state, but it still stood thick and high, and formed a kind of screen all round Flower as she sat in it. She took off her cap, and idly fanned her hot face with it; her yellow head could scarcely be distinguished from the orange-and-gold tints of the bracken which surrounded her.
In this way the Doctor, who was now anxiously looking for Flower, missed her, for he drove slowly by, not a hundred yards from her hiding-place.
As Flower sat and tried to cool herself, she began to reflect. Her passion was not in the least over; on the contrary, its most dangerous stage had now begun. As she thought, there grew up stronger and stronger in her heart a great hatred for Polly. From the first, Flower had not taken so warmly to Polly as she had done to Helen. The fact was, these girls were in many ways too much alike. Had it been Polly’s fate to be born and brought up in Ballarat, she might have been Flower over again. She might have been even worse than Flower, for she was cleverer; on the other hand, had Flower been trained by Polly’s wise and loving mother, she might have been a better girl than Polly.
As it was, however, these two must inevitably clash. They were like two queen bees in the same hive; they each wanted the same place. It only needed a trifle to bring Flower’s uneasy, latent feeling against Polly to perfection. The occasion arose, the match had fired the easily ignited fuel, and Flower sat now and wondered how she could best revenge herself on Polly.
After a time, stiff and limping, for she had hurt her ankle, she recommenced her walk across the moor. She had not the least idea where her steps were leading her. She was tired, her feet ached, and her great rage had sufficiently cooled to make her remember distinctly that she had eaten no dinner; still, she plodded on. From the time she had left Troublous Times Castle she had not encountered an individual, but now, as she stepped forward, a man suddenly arose from his lair in the grass and confronted her. He was a black-eyed, unkempt, uncouth-looking person, and any other girl would have been very much afraid of him. He put his arms akimbo, a disagreeable smile crossed his face, and he instantly placed himself in such a position as completely to bar the girl’s path.
An English girl would have turned pale at such an apparition in so lonely a place, but Flower had seen bushmen in her day, and did not perceive anything barbarous or outlandish in the man’s appearance.
“I’m glad I’ve met you,” she said, in her clear dulcet voice, “for you can tell me where I am. I want to get to Sleepy Hollow, Dr. Maybright’s place—am I far away?”
“Two miles, as the crow flies,” responded the man.
“But I can’t go as the crow flies. What is the best way to walk? Can’t you show me?”
“No-a. I be sleepy. Have you got a coin about you, Miss?”
“Money? No. I left my purse at home. I have not got a watch either, nor a chain, but I have got a little ring. It is very thin, but it is pure gold, and I am fond of it. I will give it to you if you will take me the very nearest way to Sleepy Hollow.”
The man grinned again. “You be a girl!” he said, in a tone of admiration. “Yes, I’ll take you; come.”
He turned on his heel, shambled on in front, and Flower followed.
In this manner the two walked for some time. Suddenly they mounted a ridge, and then the man pointed to where the Doctor’s house stood, snug in its own inclosure.
“Thank you,” said Flower.
She took a little twist of gold off her smallest finger, dropped it into the man’s dirty, open palm, and began quickly to descend the ridge in the direction of the Hollow. It was nearly three o’clock when she entered the cool, wide entrance-hall. The house felt still and restful. Flower acknowledged to herself that she was both tired and hungry, but her main idea to revenge herself on Polly was stronger than either fatigue or hunger. She walked into the dining-room, cut a thick slice from a home-made loaf of bread, broke off a small piece to eat at once, and put the rest into her pocket. A dish of apples stood near; she helped herself to two, stowed them away with the bread in the capacious pocket of her green cloth dress, and then looked around her. She had got to Polly’s home, but how was she to accomplish her revenge? How strike Polly through her most vulnerable point?
She walked slowly upstairs, meditating as she went. Her own little bower-like room stood open; she entered it. Polly’s hands had been mainly instrumental in giving choice touches to this room; Polly’s favorite blue vase stood filled with flowers on the dressing-table, and a lovely photograph of the Sistine Madonna which belonged to Polly hung over the mantelpiece. Flower did not look at any of these things. She unlocked a small drawer in a dainty inlaid cabinet, which she had brought with her from Ballarat, took out two magnificent diamond rings, a little watch set with jewels, and a small purse, very dainty in itself, but which only held a few shillings. She put all these treasures into a small black velvet bag, fastened the bag round her neck by a narrow gold chain, and then leaving her room, stood once more in a contemplative attitude on the landing.
She was ready now for flight herself, for when she had revenged herself on Polly, she must certainly fly. But how should she accomplish her revenge? what should she do? She thought hard. She knew she had but little time, for the Doctor and the children might return at any moment.
In the distance she heard the merry laugh of Polly’s little sister, Pearl. Flower suddenly colored, her eyes brightened, and she said to herself:
“That is a good idea; I will go and have a talk with Nurse. I can find out somehow from Nurse what Polly likes best.”
She ran at once to the nurseries.
“My dear Miss Flower,” exclaimed Nurse. “Why, wherever have you been, Miss? I thought you was with the others. Well! you do look tired and fagged.”
“I have walked home,” said Flower, carelessly. “I didn’t care to be out so long; picnics are nothing to me; I’m accustomed to that sort of thing on a big scale at Ballarat, you know. I walked home, and then I thought I’d have a chat with you, if you didn’t mind.”
“For sure, dear. Sit you down in that easy chair, Miss Flower; and would you like to hold baby for a bit? Isn’t she sweet to-day? I must say I never saw a more knowing child for her age.”
“She is very pretty,” said Flower, carelessly. “But I don’t think I’ll hold her, Nurse. I’m not accustomed to babies, and I’m afraid she might break or something. Do you know I never had a baby in my arms in my life? I don’t remember David when he was tiny. No, I never saw anything so young and soft and tiny as this little Pearl; she is very pretty.”
“Eh, dear lamb,” said Nurse, squeezing the baby to her heart, “she’s the very sweetest of the sweet. Now you surprise me, Miss Flower, for I’d have said you’d be took up tremendous with babies, you has them winsome ways. Why, look at the little dear, she’s laughing even now to see you. She quite takes to you, Miss—the same as she does to Miss Polly.”
“She takes to Polly, does she?” said Flower.
“Take to her? I should say so, Miss; and as to Miss Polly, she just worships baby. Two or three times a day she comes into the nursery, and many and many a time she coaxes me to let her bathe her. The fact is, Miss Flower, we was all in a dreadful taking about Miss Polly when her mamma died. She was quite in a stunned sort of state, and it was baby here brought her round. Ever since then our little Miss Pearl has been first of all with Miss Polly.”
“Give her to me,” said Flower, in a queer, changed voice. “I’ve altered my mind—I’d like to hold her. See, is she not friendly? Yes, baby, kiss me, baby, with your pretty mouth. Does she not coo—isn’t she perfect? You are quite right, Nurse. I do like to hold her, very much indeed.”
“I said she’d take to you, Miss,” said Nurse, in a gratified voice.
“So she does, and I take to her. Nurse, I wonder if you’d do something for me?”
“Of course I will, my dear.”
“I am so awfully hungry. Would you go down’ to the kitchen and choose a nice little dinner for me?”
“I’ll ring the bell, Miss Dalrymple. Alice shall bring it to you on a tray here, if you’ve a mind to eat it in the nursery.”
“But I do want you to choose something; do go yourself, and find something dainty. Do, Nursie, please Nursie. I want to be spoiled a little bit; no one ever spoils me now that my mamma is dead.”
“Bless the child!” said good-natured and unsuspicious Nurse. “Of course I’ll go, if you put it that way, Missy. Well, take care of baby, Miss Flower. Don’t attempt to carry her; hold her steady with your arm firm round her back. I’ll bring you your dinner in ten minutes at latest, Miss.”