Chapter 9 The School Queens by L. T. Meade
THE NEWS
Mr. Cardew arrived at Meredith Manor very late that evening. The long and happy day had come to an end. The Tristram girls and Maggie Howland had returned to the rectory. Cicely and Merry were having a long, confidential chat together. They were in Merry’s bedroom. They had dismissed their maid. They were talking of the pleasures of the day, and in particular were discussing the delightful fact that their beautiful cousin Aneta had wired to say she would be with them in two days’ time.
They had not seen Aneta for some years, but they both remembered her vividly. Her memory shone out before them both as something specially dazzling and specially beautiful. Maggie Howland, too, had spoken of Aneta’s beauty. Maggie had been told that Aneta was coming, and Maggie had expressed pleasure. Whatever Maggie’s private feelings may have been, she was very careful now to express delight at Aneta’s appearance at Meredith Manor.
“What a darling she is!” said Merry. “I doubt very much – I suppose it’s rank heresy to say so, Cicely, but I really greatly doubt whether I shall ever prefer Aneta to Maggie. What are mere looks, after all, when one possesses such charm as Maggie has? That seems to me a much greater gift.”
“We need not compare them, need we?” said Cicely.
“Oh, certainly not,” said Merry; “but, Cicely darling, doesn’t it seem funny that such a lot of girls who are all to meet in September at Aylmer House should be practically staying with us at the present moment?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Cicely. “I feel almost as though I belonged to it, which of course is quite ridiculous, for we shall never by any chance go there.”
“Of course not,” said Merry, and she sighed.
After a time Cicely said, “I wonder what father went to town for to-day.”
“Well, we don’t know, so where’s the use of troubling?” said Merry.
“I asked mother,” said Cicely, “why he went to town, and she said she couldn’t tell me; but she got rather red as she spoke.”
“Cicely,” said Merry after a long pause, “when these glorious holidays come to an end, and the Aylmer House girls have gone to Aylmer House, what shall you and I do?”
“Do,” said Cicely – “do? I suppose what we’ve always done. A fresh governess will be found, and another music-master, and we’ll work at our lessons and do the best we can.”
Merry gave a deep sigh.
“We’ll never talk French like Belle Tristram,” she said, “and we’ll never play so that any one will care to listen to us. We’ll never, never know the world the way the others know it. There seems very little use in being rich when one can’t get education.”
It was just at that moment that there came a light tap at the girls’ door. Before they could reply, it was opened and Mrs. Cardew came in. She looked as though she had been crying; nevertheless, there was a joyful sort of triumph on her face. She said quickly, “I thought, somehow, you two naughty children would not be in bed, and I told father that I’d come up on the chance of finding you. Father has come back from London, and has something important to tell you. Will you come down with me at once?”
“Oh mother! mother! what is it?” said Merry in a tone of excitement which was slightly mingled with awe.
“Your father will tell you, my darling,” said Mrs. Cardew.
She put her arm round Merry’s slight waist and held Cicely’s hand, and they came down to the great drawing-room where Mr. Cardew was waiting for them.
He was pacing slowly up and down the room, his hands folded behind his back. His face was slightly tired, and yet he too wore that odd expression of mingled triumph and pain which Mrs. Cardew’s eyes expressed.
When the mother and the girls entered the room he at once shut the door. Mr. Cardew looked first of all at Merry. He held out his hand to her. “Come to me, little girl,” he said.
She flew to him and put her arms round his neck. She kissed him several times. “Oh dad! dad!” she said, “I know I was downright horrid and unkind and perfectly dreadful yesterday, and I don’t – no, I don’t– want to leave you and mother. If I was discontented then, I am not now.”
Merry believed her own words at that moment, for the look on her father’s face had struck to her very heart.
He disengaged her pretty arms very gently, and, still holding her hand, went up to Cicely, who was clinging to her mother. “I have just got some news for you both,” he said. “You know, of course, that Miss Beverley cannot teach you any longer?”
“Poor old Beverley,” said Cicely; “we are so sorry. But you’ll find another good governess for us, won’t you, dad?”
“I am afraid I can’t,” said Mr. Cardew, “So I sent for you to-night to tell you that I have broken the resolve which I always meant to keep.”
“You have what?” said Merry.
“I have turned my back on a determination which I made when you were both very little girls, and to-day I went up to town and saw Mrs. Ward.”
“Oh!” said Merry. She turned white and dropped her father’s hand, and, clasping her own two hands tightly together, gazed at him as though she would devour his face.
“Well, it’s all settled, children,” said Mr. Cardew, “and: when September comes you will go with your friends Molly and Belle to Aylmer House.”
This announcement was received at first in total silence. Then Merry flew to her father and kissed him a great many times, and Cicely kissed her mother.
Then Merry said, “We can’t talk of it to-night; we can’t quite realize it to-night; but – but – we are glad!”
Then she took Cicely’s hand, and they went out of the room. Mr. and Mrs. Cardew watched them as the little figures approached the door. Merry opened it, and they both passed out.
“I wonder,” said Mr. Cardew, looking at his wife, “if they are going out of our lives.”
“Indeed, no,” said Mrs. Cardew; “from what you have told me of Mrs. Ward, she must be a good woman – one of the best.”
“She is one of the very, very best, Sylvia; and I think the very happiest thing for us both would be to run up to town to-morrow, and for you to see her for yourself.”
“Very well, darling; we will do so,” said Mrs. Cardew.