Chapter 14 A Bunch of Cherries by L. T. Meade
AT THE PARK
The news that the lucky three were to spend a whole day at Cherry Court Park caused great excitement amongst the other girls of the school.
"It's nothing short of delightful," said Alice Cunningham to her sister; "I only wish I had such a chance."
"Well, you have not, so there's no use in fretting about it," replied Mabel. "They certainly are having a good time, but who will win? I vote for Florence."
"And I for Kitty," said Alice; "who has a chance beside Kitty? She is the most brilliant of the three girls, and such a favorite with Sir John."
"But for that very reason she may have less chance of winning, because Sir John is a wonderfully just man. Did you ever see anyone so terribly in earnest as Florence? Her eyes have quite a strained look at times, and she does not eat half as much as she did; then she gets such long, long letters from that wonderful aunt of hers. She did not get those letters at all last term, and her dress is so smart, and she has such heaps of pocket-money; there is a great change in Florence. Sometimes I feel that I want her to win, but at other times all my sympathies are for Kitty."
"No one seems to think of poor Mary Bateman," said Edith King, in a thoughtful voice, "and yet in reality she is one of the nicest girls in the school, and if she wins the Scholarship, for she has been telling me all about it, she is to go to Girton."
"Where in the name of wonder is Girton?" asked Alice Cunningham.
"Oh, it is a College for Women which has been opened near Cambridge."
"Then if I thought I had to go to a College for Women I should be rather sorry to win the Scholarship," said Mabel Cunningham; "but there, don't let us talk of it any more. We are to have something of a half-holiday to-day, for Mrs. Clavering is to take the three lucky ones to Cherry Court Park."
Florence dressed herself with great care for this expedition. Kitty had shown her Sir John's letter, and she had felt a queer tingling pain at her heart as she read it; but then a sort of defiance, which was growing more and more in her character day by day, arose to her aid, and she determined that she would not give Sir John one loophole to find out anything amiss in her conduct.
"We are going to be spied upon, and it is perfectly horrid," she said, under her breath, "but never mind, I am determined to stand the test."
The day happened to be a lovely one, and Florence looked carefully through her wardrobe. She finally decided to put on the light summer silk which Mrs. Aylmer had provided for her. She looked very nice in that silk, almost pretty, and as all its accompaniments were perfect, the lace ruffles round the neck, the lace hanging over her hands, the trimmings of every sort just as they ought to be, the hat which she was to wear with the dress, specially chosen by the London dressmaker for the purpose, no one could look more elegant than Florence did as she stood in the hall of Cherry Court School just before she started for Cherry Court Park.
Kitty, on the other hand, had thought very little about her dress; she had no fine clothes to wear, so she just put on a clean white muslin dress, tied a colored sash round her waist, put her sailor hat on her head, and ran downstairs, a light in her eyes and a pleased smile round her lips.
"I cannot be anything great," she whispered to her heart, as she glanced for a moment at Florence, who looked something like a fashion plate as she stood in the hall, "but at least I'll be myself. I'll try—yes, I'll try very hard to forget all about the Scholarship to-day. I want to make dear Sir John happy, and I hope, I do hope he'll tell me something about father and the time they spent together outside Sebastopol."
Mary Bateman was the downright sort of girl who never under any circumstances could trouble herself about dress. She wore her best Sunday frock, that was all, and her best hat, and her gloves were a little darned at the tips, but she looked like a lady and was not the least self-conscious.
Sir John's own carriage was to arrive to fetch the ladies to the Park. Cherry Court Park was between two and three miles away from Cherry Court School, and Mrs. Clavering and her three pupils greatly enjoyed their drive to the splendid old place. Kitty had been there twice before, once with her father and once without him, but neither Florence nor Mary had ever seen the interior of the Park. Mary's exclamations of rapture as they drove under the overhanging trees and down the long winding avenue were frequent and enthusiastic. Florence, however, scarcely spoke; she was not a girl to be much impressed by external beauty; she was thinking all the time how she could keep the best and most amiable part of her character to the fore. What did Sir John mean to do? What sort of test was he going to apply to her? She felt that she must be armed on every point.
"My dear girls," said Mrs. Clavering, just as they were approaching the house, "I see you are all a little nervous, thinking that a somewhat strange test will be applied to you to-day, but I assure you, my dears, that nothing of the kind is intended, and I beg of you, as you wish to impress your kind host favorably, to be at any cost natural and true to yourselves. Florence dear, I would specially beg of you to remember my words. Don't set your heart too much on any earthly good thing, my child, for often those who lose gain more than those who win."
But Florence shook off the gentle hand; she could scarcely stand Mrs. Clavering's words just then, and avoided meeting her eyes.
Sir John stood on the steps of his magnificent old house to welcome his guests. As the carriage drew up beside the porch he came down and extended his hand to each.
"Welcome, welcome," he said, "thrice welcome! What a lovely day we have! Mrs. Clavering, I hope to have the privilege of taking you round my gardens, which are just in their autumn prime, and as to you three girls, will you amuse yourselves exactly as you please until luncheon-time?"
"Thank you so much," said Mary, in her blunt voice. She could never act a part to save her life. "That is just what I should like best to do," she added, smiling and dimpling. She had a jolly little face, somewhat tanned with the sun, two round good-humored brown eyes, and a wide mouth. Her teeth were white, however, and her smile pleasant.
"Kitty, my dear," said Sir John, turning to Kitty Sharston, "you have been here before and I depute to you the task of doing the honors. Take the girls wherever you please. If, for instance," added Sir John, "you three would like to have a row on the lake there is the boat all moored and ready. Kitty, you know how to handle an oar?"
"Rather," said Kitty; "I have rowed more or less since I could walk."
"Well, then, that is all right; but if you require any assistance you have but to call one of the gardeners, there are sure to be plenty about. Now off you go, all three; forget the old man, and enjoy yourselves as happy girls should."
As Sir John spoke he gave his arm with old-fashioned courtesy to Mrs. Clavering, and the two turned away.
"Now, is not this just like dear Sir John?" said Kitty, beginning to dance about. "Come, girls, I'll have greatest pleasure in taking you about."
"I am surprised to hear that you know all about Cherry Court Park," said Florence, in a somewhat cross voice, but then she remembered herself and made an effort to smile.
"I have been here twice before," said Kitty. "What do you say to having a row? Mary, what do you wish?"
"If you will allow me to do exactly what I like," said Mary, "I don't want anyone to guide me; I want to wander here, there, and everywhere just at my own sweet will. I have brought my little sketch-book with me, and mean to sketch some of these splendid old trees. Mother is so fond of outdoor sketches, and I could seldom indulge her with anything so fine as I could get in an old place like this. Just go off where you please, girls, and don't bother about me."
Off ran Mary on her sturdy legs, and Florence looked after her with a laugh.
"Poor Mary," she said, in a contemptuous tone.
"Why poor?" asked Kitty; "I think Mary is such a downright, jolly, sensible sort of girl."
"Oh, very downright and sensible," said Florence. "Kitty, do you really want to go in the boat?"
"Not if you don't want to go," said Kitty, looking somewhat anxiously at her companion.
"But I see you do; I notice the expression in your eyes."
"Well, it's very sweet in the boat, it does soothe one so; the last time I was there it was with father; but never mind, I won't go if you would rather not. Shall we sit under this tree and talk?"
"Yes, let us," said Florence. "I feel very cross to-day; I don't exactly know what is the matter."
"I wish you would tell me some of your troubles, Flo."
"How can I; you are my enemy."
"Nonsense, nonsense! how can you regard me in that light? You make me quite miserable when you talk as you do."
"And I meant to be amiable to-day," said poor Florence, "but somehow everything grates. It is Aunt Susan. Kitty, you cannot understand my position. I have to be civil and pleasant to one whom I—but there, don't talk of it."
"I don't quite understand; I wonder if you feel for your Aunt Susan as I feel for Helen Dartmoor."
"The lady you are to live with if you lose the Scholarship?"
"Yes," replied Kitty, sadly.
"You had better make up your mind to like her then, Kitty, for you will have to live with her."
"Why do you say that?"
"Only that I mean to get the Scholarship, and I think my will is stronger than yours."
"It is not a case of will," said Kitty, trembling a little as she spoke.
"Isn't it? I rather fancy it is. But there, we are to be amiable to-day, are we not? Look at Mary sitting under that tree and sketching as if her life depended on it. I wonder if she is really doing it hoping to please Sir John."
"Not a bit of it; that would not be Mary's way. All the same," added Kitty, in a thoughtful voice, "he will be delighted. Mary's sketches are very spirited, and Sir John loves people to appreciate his place. He will ask you what you think about it at lunch, Florry; you had really better let me show you round a bit."
"If that is the case, certainly," said Florence. She got up, and she and Kitty began to wander through the different grounds. They had nearly completed their peregrinations, having wandered over many acres of cultivated and lovely land, when the luncheon bell summoned them back to the house.
"Oh, I am so hungry," said Kitty, "and Sir John has the most splendid luncheons. I wonder where Mary is."
The girls looked to right and left, but could not see a sign of Mary Bateman anywhere. They approached the house. A great big colley came up, wagging his tail slowly, and thrust his nose into Kitty's hand.
"Dear old Watch, how sweet you are!" said the girl.
She bent down, flinging her arms round the colley's neck, and pressed a kiss on a white star on his forehead.
Just then Sir John's voice was heard calling them. "Hey, little women," he said, "I hope you had a pleasant time and enjoyed yourselves as much as I meant you to."
"Yes, I have enjoyed myself immensely," said Kitty. "Haven't you, too, Florry!"
"Yes," replied Florence, "I like the place and the gardens."
In spite of herself she spoke in a stiff, constrained voice; she felt that Sir John's eye was upon her. She wondered how Kitty could forget all that hung upon this visit.
Kitty's face was quite careless and happy, there was a wild-rose bloom on her cheeks which did not visit them very often, and her large pathetic grey eyes looked more beautiful than ever.
Mrs. Clavering now came forward.
"Come upstairs, dears," she said, "and wash your hands before lunch."
The girls followed their mistress up the great central hall and ascended the low oak stairs. They entered a bedroom magnificently furnished.
"What a great delightful place this is!" said Florence; "fancy any one person owning it!" She heaved a quick sigh as she spoke.
"It is a great responsibility having a place like this and so much money," answered Mrs. Clavering. "Florence dear, I don't want to preach—in fact, there is nothing I hate more, but I should like to say one thing. Happiness in the world is far more evenly divided than anyone has the least idea of. Riches are eagerly coveted by those who are poor, but the rich have immense responsibilities. Remember, my child, that we all have to give an account with regard to our individual talents some day."
Florence stirred restlessly and approached the window.
"I wonder where Mary is," she said, and just as she uttered the words the silver gong in the hall sounded, and the three ladies hurried down to luncheon.
Still no sign of Mary, but just as they were all wondering with regard to her absence, the door was opened, and a girl, with a smudge on her face and her hat pushed crooked on her head, entered the room. She held her little sketch-book and came eagerly forward.
"Oh, I am sorry I am late," she said; "I hope I kept no one waiting. I forgot all about it—it was that wonderful old oak-tree."
"What, the grenadier?" said Sir John, with a smile. "Have you been sketching it, Miss Bateman?"
"I have been trying to, but it is awfully difficult."
"You must let me see your attempt."
He went up to Mary, took her sketch-book, opened it, and a smile of pleasure flitted across his face as he saw the very clever and spirited sketch which the girl had made.
"Ah!" he said, "I am delighted you like this sort of thing. Would you like to take many views from my grounds?"
"Certainly—better than anything in the world almost," said Mary.
"Well, let me offer you my arm now into lunch. Ladies, will you follow us, please?"
Florence's brow contracted with a frown. Mrs. Clavering took Kitty's hand, motioned to Florence to follow, and they went into the dining-room.
During the rest of the meal Sir John devoted himself to Mary; her frank, commonplace face, her downright manners, her total absence of all self-consciousness pleased him. He found her a truly intelligent girl, and discovered in talking over her father that they knew some mutual friends.
To Kitty he hardly spoke, although he glanced at her once or twice. Florence seemed not to receive the most remote share of his attention.
"And yet," thought Florence to herself, "I am the only girl present properly dressed for the occasion. Surely Sir John, a thorough gentleman as he is, must notice that fact. I wonder what it can mean. Why does he devote himself to Mary? Am I wrong from first to last? Do girls who are real ladies think little or nothing about their dress? Would Sir John have been more inclined to be pleasant to me if Aunt Susan had never interfered?"
As these thoughts came to the restless and unhappy girl's mind she only played with her food, became distrait and inattentive, and had to be spoken to once or twice by Mrs. Clavering in order to recall her wandering attention.
Just as the meal came to an end Sir John turned to Kitty, then glanced at Florence, laid his hand emphatically on the table, touched Mary on her sleeve in order to ensure her attention, and spoke.
"Now," he said, "I am just going to say a word before we go for our afternoon expedition."
"Afternoon expedition! Are we going to have anything very jolly this afternoon?" said Kitty, her eyes sparkling.
"I hope so, my little girl; I have ordered horses for us all. I understand that you can all ride, and I thought we could ride to Culner's Heath, where we may enjoy a gipsy tea."
Even Florence almost forgot herself at this announcement. Could she ride in her silk dress? Had Sir John thought of habits? It seemed that Sir John had thought of everything.
"You will find habits in your bedroom, ladies," he said, "and you can choose your horses when they come up to the door—but one word first."
Mrs. Clavering, who had half risen from the table, now paused, arrested by an expression on her host's face.
"Yes," she said.
Sir John glanced at her and then smiled.
"I am about to speak to the girls," he said, "on the matter which we discussed this morning, my dear madam."
Mrs. Clavering smiled, and bowed her head.
"You know, my dear girls," continued Sir John, turning and addressing the three, "that the Scholarship competition will take place in a little over a month from now. Now, I mean that occasion to be a very grand occasion, I mean it to be strongly impressed upon the mind of every girl in Cherry Court School, and no pleasure which I can devise shall be omitted on the auspicious day. The happy winner of the Scholarship shall be truly crowned with laurels, bonfires are to be lighted in her honor, and the whole country-side is to be invited to attend the great function, which I propose to take place, not at the school, but in this house. I intend to invite the entire school to be my guests on the great day. They shall all come early in the morning and stay at this house until the following day. I am already making preparations for the delightful time. And now, there is one thing I want to ask. You three girls who are called by your companions the lucky three have it in your power to invite each one guest to witness your triumph. You are to name the guest to me, and I myself will send the invitation in proper style. I know who Kitty would like to have with her, but, failing that person, Kitty, is there anyone else whom you may think it perhaps not your pleasure, but your duty, to ask to be present?"
"There is only Helen Dartmoor," said Kitty, in a low voice, the crimson flush rising to her face, "and though it will be very unpleasant to have Helen here, if you think it right, Sir John, I—don't mind."
"That is very valiantly answered, Kitty, and I wish I might say at once that you need not have anyone present whom you do not wish to have present, but I rather think it would please your father if Miss Dartmoor received a proper invitation. I will ask her therefore, my dear child, if there is no one else you would rather have?"
"There is no one else that I can have, and I don't suppose I need see a great deal of Helen."
"Certainly not; she will only arrive at the Park the day before the Scholarship competition takes place."
"Then I suppose she must come," said Kitty.
"It would be a kindness," said Sir John, slowly. "I happen to know Miss Dartmoor; she has few pleasures."
Kitty nodded. Sir John turned to Mary.
"Now, then, Miss Bateman, whom am I to ask on your account?"
"Oh, father, father! How delightful! how he will enjoy it!" said Mary, her eyes sparkling, her face beaming. "He will so thoroughly appreciate it all, and it will be so splendid of you, Sir John."
"How very free and easy Mary Bateman is," thought Florry to herself.
Sir John smiled, took down Mr. Bateman's address, and promised that the invitation should reach him in good time.
"I wonder if he will come. How he would love it!" thought Mary.
Sir John glanced at her pleased face with marked approval.
"And now, Miss Aylmer," he said, turning to Florence, "who will you have present—the one you love best: your mother, for instance?"
Now, Florence had sent one wild throbbing thought to the little Mummy the moment Sir John had spoken of his plan. How the Mummy would enjoy it, how she would revel in the good food and the lovely house! What a red-letter day it would be to her all her life, for all the rest of her years! How Sukey and Ann Pratt and the neighbors down at Dawlish would respect her for evermore! And doubtless the Mummy's dress might be managed, and—but what about Aunt Susan? Would Aunt Susan ever forgive her? She dared not run the risk of her displeasure; too much depended on keeping her in a good humor.
"I should like my aunt to come," she said, in a steady voice; "she is very kind to me and specially interested in the result of the Scholarship."
"I know; I have heard from Mrs. Aylmer," said Sir John, in a pleasant tone; "if you would really prefer her to have the invitation to your mother, it shall be as you wish, Miss Aylmer."
"I think it would be right," said Florence. Her heart gave a heavy throb, then seemed to stand still.
Sir John gave her one keen glance, and took down Mrs. Aylmer's address in his pocket-book.
"I happen to know your aunt, Miss Aylmer, and shall be pleased to extend hospitality to her on the auspicious event."