Chapter 18 A Bunch of Cherries by L. T. Meade
THE GUESTS ARRIVE
It wanted three days to the Scholarship competition. The girls who were called in the school the lucky three now scarcely spoke on the subject—the other girls watched them anxiously. All lessons, except those in connection with the Scholarship, were suspended so far as Mary Bateman, Kitty Sharston, and Florence Aylmer were concerned.
The trial essays, the essays which were to be the supreme test of merit, were all written, and in sealed envelopes were handed in to Mrs. Clavering. Meanwhile exercises on history, French, German, arithmetic, were the order of the hour. The girls were busy all day long. The three faces were somewhat pale, and lines which ought not to have appeared round the young eyes and lips were beginning to make themselves manifest.
"I shall be truly thankful when the thing is over," said Mrs. Clavering to Sir John; "this is bad for them, very bad. In particular I do not like Florence Aylmer's expression. The girl thinks too much about this matter. If she fails she will have an illness."
"And if she succeeds Kitty will fail or have an illness," said Sir John, restlessly.
"Kitty will feel it, but she will not have an illness," said Mrs. Clavering; "you have but to see the expression on the two faces to know that. Kitty is anxious also and resolved, but there is a firm, steady, fine sort of expression about her, quite the reverse of poor Florence's."
"Yes, I confess I do not understand that girl," said Sir John; "and yet," he added, "I cannot help liking her; she has a good deal in her."
"I pity her, poor child," said Mrs. Clavering; "she is placed in a very false position. I once met her aunt, Mrs. Aylmer, of Aylmer's Court; that was on the occasion when Florence was brought to my school, and I confess I did not take to her."
Sir John shrugged his shoulders.
"It is invidious to speak of a lady who is soon to be one's guest," he said, "but I also have met Mrs. Aylmer."
On the morning of the same day Florence had received a letter from her mother. Bertha Keys had gone away on the previous evening to visit a sick cousin, and in consequence had not the charge of the postbag. She was very unwilling to leave at this critical moment, but the cousin was ill, required her services. Mrs. Clavering was willing to spare her for one night, there was no help for it; she must go. "I must only trust that no letter will come from Dawlish," she said to herself; "but after all, even if it does, it cannot really matter. Florence must sooner or later feel that she is in my power; perhaps the sooner the better."
Florence found the letter from her mother on the breakfast-table. She stretched out her hand, caught it with a firm grip, thrust it into her pocket, and then applied herself to her breakfast.
"Why don't you read your letter? You know you are allowed to do so," said Edith King, who was seated next to her.
"Oh, it will do after breakfast," said Florence.
"You don't look well, Flo; what is the matter with you?"
"I am a little anxious, if you must know," said Florence, turning round and glancing at her companion; "I have not heard from my mother for two or three weeks; but there, of course, it is all right. She has not even told me whether she has accepted Sir John Wallis's invitation. Sir John told me he had written, but I cannot tell whether she is coming or not."
"It will be delightful for you if she does come, will it not?" said Edith King.
"Oh, yes, delightful," answered Florence. She did not speak any more, but finished her breakfast somewhat hastily. At the first moment she could find herself alone Florence rushed into the cherry orchard and tore open her letter. It contained the following words:
"MY DARLING CHILD:
"Such a wonderful, extraordinary, delightful thing has happened. It is so unexpected that it quite puts out of my head a great deal which has made me anxious up to the present. I have received a letter from no less a person than Sir John Wallis, the distinguished owner of that magnificent place, Cherry Court Park, and he has invited me, my darling, to be present at the moment of your great triumph. He says, which I regret very much, that your Aunt Susan will also be there, but I am asked as your guest, my child. It is all most wonderful, unexpected, and truly fascinating. The effect on the neighbors is already so surprising that I have literally not been obliged to provide myself with a single meal since the news came. The Pratts have invited me each morning to breakfast, and Ann Pratt has assiduously catechized me, so much so that I have found an ancient book on the 'baronial halls of England, and have worked up some information for her benefit from this volume. I never saw anyone so eager as the creature is to find out Sir John's income and all about him. It is extraordinary, but still quite human nature.
"Sukey is wonderfully affected since the news came, and in fact right and left your poor Mummy is quite an honored individual.
"I feel like a heroine, my darling, and walk about Dawlish with my head well up. I am also quite extravagant, and am wearing that dress which I described to you as being turned for the fifth time. It is reckless of me, but I cannot help it. For what do you think, dear?—Sir John has sent me a check for my expenses. He says that he could not possibly ask me to be present if I were put to any expense in the matter, and he has absolutely sent me twenty pounds; so I shall be able to buy a suitable costume to be present in when I see my darling crowned with glory.
"Oh, what a supreme moment it will be! I have already got the black silk, and Miss Macgregor, in the Parade—you know what a fashionable dressmaker she is—is making it up. I shall, of course, wear my widow's bonnet, as it looks so distingué, and Mrs. Sweat, the milliner in the High Street, is making up a new one, most stylish.
"I can add no more now. My heart goes pit-a-pat. When you receive this I shall be packing for my journey. It will be splendid to see Susan in the moment of your triumph. Altogether, dear, I never felt more elated in my life. This great and unexpected excitement has perfectly restored my health. I say to myself—you know, Flo, I always was a reckless little woman—I say to myself, 'Never mind, enjoy the present, Mabel Aylmer, even if afterwards comes the deluge.' Good-bye, my dearest; we shall soon meet and embrace.
"Your most affectionate
"MOTHER."
Florence read the letter over once or twice. She then put it in her pocket and paced thoughtfully up and down the cherry orchard. The cherry trees were rapidly dropping their leaves now, and some of them fell over Florence. She shook them off impatiently.
"It was queer of mother never to mention those postoffice orders which I sent her," thought the girl; "she has not even thanked me for them; but there, I suppose it is all right, and she is very happy. It was good of Sir John to send her that twenty pounds, and yet—and yet it chokes me to think of it. He would not dare to send the money to Kitty's cousin, Helen Dartmoor, nor would he dare to send it to Mary Bateman's father. Oh, if I can only win this Scholarship I shall hold my head high and exercise that pride, which, after all, no woman ought to be without."
Florence went back to the house, and soon afterwards Bertha Keys entered the oak parlor. In the course of the morning she sat next to Florence, who bent towards her and said, "I have had a long letter from my mother."
"Oh, indeed," said Bertha, changing color in spite of herself; "and what did she say?"
"She is coming to Cherry Court Park. Bertha, it is rather queer she has said nothing at all about the postoffice orders. I wonder if she got them safely."
"Is it likely she didn't?" replied Bertha, in a calm voice; "of course she did. She was too excited to think of them; to have an invitation of that sort would absorb her very much."
"It does absorb her very much indeed," replied Florence. "Doubtless she forgot. Well, I shall soon see her and be able to ask her all about the matter."
Sir John Wallis had arranged that the three girls who were to compete for the Scholarship were to arrive at Cherry Court Park early on the morning of the great day. They were to sleep there that night, and return to the school the following day. The rest of the school were to arrive in the evening, but the Scholarship girls were to have the run of the Hall, and were to be entertained as the honored guests during the whole of the important day.
No girls could possibly be more excited than these three when at last the morning broke. Florence, who had scarcely slept at all the previous night, felt that she would be almost glad, even if the worst befell her, to have the terrible ordeal over.
"By this time to-morrow I shall be the happiest girl in the world or the most truly miserable," she thought to herself. But the greatness of the ordeal now had a certain composing effect, and Kitty, Mary and Florence started off in Sir John's carriage in apparently high spirits.
"What do you think?" said Kitty, bending forward and touching Mary on the sleeve; "Sir John has promised if I succeed to send a cable to father. Isn't it perfectly splendid of him? He has not said anything to father about the cable. What a surprise and delight it will be if he gets it."
"I wish you would not tell me," said Mary; "when I look into your eyes and see all that this means to you I feel a perfect brute, and yet nevertheless I mean to play my very best to-night, and to sing with all my heart in my voice, and to answer each question as carefully as I can, for my dear, dear old father will be present. Oh, how happy, how delighted I shall be to meet him again!"
"Yes, it will be splendid for you; and you, Florence, how glad you will be to see your mother," said Kitty. "But, oh, dear! oh, dear! I wish it hadn't been necessary to ask Helen Dartmoor to be present on the great occasion."
The girls went to the Hall in neat morning dresses, but the white dresses they were to wear in the evening, which were by Sir John's orders to be pure white, had already been sent on to the Hall.
The day was a glorious one, and as they drove through the beautiful scenery in Sir John's immense park a golden mist lay over everything. At last they drew up before the great front entrance. A group of ladies were standing in the hall. Sir John came down the steps. The next moment a little figure was seen running briskly forward, and Florence was clasped in the arms of the little Mummy.
"My darling! my darling!" said little Mrs. Aylmer. Florence kissed her with a quick passion, held her then at arm's length, looked into her face, and crushed some moisture out of her own eyes.
Meanwhile a very trim, staid-looking woman, with faded hair, pale blue eyes, and a correct, old-maid sort of demeanor, had given Kitty a light kiss on her forehead. "How do you do?" she said, in an accent which was truly Scotch. "It was very kind of Sir John to invite me to the Hall. I hope, for your own sake, you will win the Scholarship."
Kitty answered as brightly as she could.
"If not, of course, you are fully aware that you will be my guest for the next two or three years. It is scarcely likely you will win the Scholarship, and I have already been making all the arrangements I could with regard to your instruction," said Miss Dartmoor. "Will you come round the place now with me; I should like to have some conversation with you. I have not seen you for some little time."
Kitty gave a wild glance round. Would not Sir John help her? Helen Dartmoor was the only person in the world that she truly disliked. She felt a restless sensation rising up in her heart, but there was no escape. Sir John had gone off with Mary Bateman and Mary's father. Florence and her mother had already vanished inside the house. Kitty had to submit to her fate.
Helen Dartmoor walked with prim, small steps. She had a little three-cornered shawl on her shoulders, and an old-fashioned bonnet was tied under her chin. Her perfectly cold, serene face glanced now and then at Kitty.
"You are not improved, Catherine," she said.
"Why do you say that?" replied Kitty.
"You look anxious and excitable. I dislike a woman showing any emotion. Of course, you are only a child yet, but I trust if I have the care of you, which I fully expect to have—for it is scarcely likely you will for a single moment win this ridiculous Scholarship—I trust that I shall send you out to your father a well-mannered and decorous woman. I have the greatest dislike to the manners of the present day, and the new sort of girl who is growing up so rapidly in our midst is thoroughly abhorrent to me."
"Well, Helen," said Kitty, glancing full at her, "I know you won't mind if I am frank. I certainly wish to win the Scholarship; I am struggling with all my might and main to win it. It is of the utmost importance to me, for I want to be as well educated as possible when I go to dear father in India; but if I fail—yes, Helen, I will try my very best to please you while I am under your roof."
"Hoots, lass, you cannot do more, but do not speak in such exaggerated phrases. Now let us walk down this avenue. What a beautiful view! How soothing is nature in all her aspects!"
Kitty could not help shuddering. "Oh, dear! oh, dear!" she whispered, under her breath, "how am I to live if I lose the Scholarship!"
Meanwhile little Mrs. Aylmer, clasping a firm hold of Florence's arm, had carried her off right through the house and into one of the gardens at the back. "Your Aunt Susan is not down yet," she said; "it is the most merciful Providence, for I judge from her manner of last night that she means to absorb you. Now, then, darling, tell me what are your chances?"
"Oh, I don't know, mother; I suppose they are pretty good, and I have tried my best—I can't do any more."
"Really, Florence, you look quite splendid; I would not know you for the same girl. How your figure has changed; you have attained quite an elegant shape, my love—small waist, rounded form, a little pale, paler than I should wish, but your eyes have greatly improved; they have got a sort of pathetic expression in them which is very becoming, very becoming indeed." Mrs. Aylmer danced in front of Florence, examining each feature critically, her own small eyes twinkling, and her round face flushing in her excitement.
"Oh, isn't it a magnificent place?" she said, "and such a dinner as they had last night—course after course, if you'll believe me. I should think there must have been fifteen courses if there was one. I kept counting them, and then my poor head got so confused, for I was seated not far from Sir John, and he talked to me in such a kind, marked sort of way, and your Aunt Susan kept glittering her pale blue eyes at me as if she was eaten up with jealousy. I tell you, my darling, I did enjoy myself; I gave myself away, and talked in a frank, pleasant, easy sort of style. I made several of the guests laugh, I did really. Florence, my dear, my dress is beautiful; it quite stands out with richness. I assure you, my love, you will have no cause to be ashamed of your little Mummy to-night. I got Miss Macgregor to put a yard and a half of train into the back—a yard and a half, Flo, and it quite adds to my height. I have not had such a lovely dress since your poor dear father's time—that I haven't. I thought I would like to thank Sir John in private, and to tell him that I have made the money for my expenses go so far that I was able to purchase the dress."
"Oh, mother, please, please, mother, don't!" said Florence, in a tone of agony.
"Why not, my sweet child? If Sir John knows that I am thoroughly poor he may give me another little douceur—there's no saying."
"Oh, mother, mother, you don't know what agony this gives me!"
"My poor child, but are not you glad that your little Mummy has got some money? Dear me, Flo, I have been ill since you saw me last. I was almost at death's door, and Dr. Hunt was so kind, coming in two or three times a day. But there, I have not paid his bill yet; it is fearful to think of it! Now, I should really like to take Sir John into my confidence. I would not ask him for the money, but I should just tell him exactly how I am placed, with so much a year—very, very little; a scrimped, tightened widow: that's the only way in which I can express my condition, scrimped and tightened, nothing else. A generous cheque from him would set all right."
"Mother, you must promise me here and now that you will say nothing on the subject to Sir John. And, Mummy dear, that reminds me, you never acknowledged my postoffice orders. I know I hadn't much to send you, but what I did have I sent, and I promised that you should have ten shillings a week, my pocket-money, until you had paid the doctor's bill. I could do no more. Mummy dear, what is the matter? Why do you look at me like that, Mummy?"
"I may well ask you what is the matter?" said Mrs. Aylmer, now standing stock still in front of her daughter and raising a round, agitated face to Florence. "Postoffice orders, and from you, Flo! Oh, my dear, darling, precious child, I have been wondering at never hearing from you. I wrote to tell you all about my illness—not until it was over, Flo; as I said to myself, 'No, the child shall not be disturbed; that Scholarship she must win. I will not tell her that her mother is ill until her mother is out of danger.' But when the danger was past I told you—oh, my darling, I have not had any postoffice orders from you nor any letters whatsoever—none whatsoever, Flo, and I have been so astonished. I have tried not to feel hurt. I am very sensible about most things. I was sure that you did not write because you were too busy to write, but still, in the dead of night, I did shed one or two tears—I did really, my own pet."
"But, mother, this is too extraordinary for anything. I sent you two postoffice orders, the first was for two pounds, the second for one. Do you mean to say that you never got them?"
"Never, my darling; I have been robbed. Who could have done it? Oh, Flo, this is fearful; three pounds sent to me by my own darling, and I never to receive the money! What can it mean, Florence—what can it mean?"
"Say no more, mother; I will see about this."