Book II Chapter 3 The Little School-Mothers by L. T. Meade
A Surprise
Late that night, Mr Starling returned home. He was a heavily built, rather dull looking man. He was a gentleman living on his private means, and as these means were small, and he was far too lazy to add to them, the young Starlings had to do without the good things of life.
His house was decidedly ramshackle; his grounds neglected; his stables in shocking disorder, and his one groom and factotum, Jim, sadly overworked.
Nevertheless, Edward Starling managed on the whole to enjoy life. He was fond of golf, and spent nearly all his time over this fascinating and absorbing amusement. Had Robina been willing to take up golf, he would scarcely have induced himself to send her to school; but as it was, he did so for the sake of peace of mind.
Robina was troublesome at home. She was too large and strong and determined for the invalid mother, and she was always rubbing the excellent, indefatigable aunt the wrong way. Mr Starling was, however, fond of Robina. He liked her bold, free, frank manners. He enjoyed her little tiffs with Aunt Felicia, and rather encouraged them than otherwise, and the very first thing he asked now when he entered the house was if his daughter had returned.
“Yes;” said Miss Jennings, who made it an invariable rule to sit up for her brother-in-law, however late he returned home. “Yes,” she said, yawning, “Oh, dear me, Edward! Don’t leave that muddy mark in the hall; I have such trouble getting those flags kept in order: and oh—don’t put your pipe down there! I can’t endure the smell of smoke. I am very sorry that I am so sensitive, but neither I nor my dear sister can abide tobacco.”
Mr Starling slipped the pipe back into his pocket. “There!” said his sister-in-law, springing up. “It isn’t properly out, and will burn a hole, and then I shall have the trouble of mending it. You won’t consider things, Edward. You are so thoughtless. Oh, I am the very last person to complain, but what was I saying?”
“Talking about Robina. Is she home?”
“Home?” said Miss Jennings. “Yes; thank goodness, hours ago, and in bed and asleep.”
“I can’t take a peep at her, I suppose? How is the young monkey looking?”
“Whatever you do, Edward—don’t disturb her! She is such a queer, excitable creature.”
“She is well, I suppose?”
“Yes; that is—her body is; I am by no means sure about her mind.”
“Her mind?” said Starling. “Has anything gone wrong with that?”
“You will find out for yourself when you talk to her. She certainly has the most frightful cock-and-bull stories to tell us. What an extraordinary school it must be! Robina is full of an invitation she has received from some impostor who has taken the name of the great Mr Durrant, and she also speaks of a pony arriving here to-morrow. Of course the child is dreaming, but if her lies are proved to be lies, I shall punish her severely. I am, however, just, before all things, and wait before I administer the rod. On the whole, Edward, I do not congratulate you on Robina’s return: we shall have a sorry time with her during these holidays, and so far, school has the reverse of improved her.”
“You always were doleful, Felicia,” said her brother-in-law: “but as it is close on one o’clock, I will go to my room, and consider Robina’s iniquities in the morning—that is, if you have no objection.”
“Objection?” cried Miss Jennings—“when I am just dying for my bed! You men have no heart and no consideration. Here have I been sitting up waiting for you all this long, weary time, with my eyes weighted as though there was lead on the lids, and my back bowed with aching. But much you care.”
“I wish to goodness you would go to bed, and leave me alone,” said the irate man.
“Not I;” she replied, “to have the house burgled in your absence, or set on fire when you return, with the careless way you manage that pipe of yours.”
“Well: I’m off to bed now, Felicia. If you do choose to sit up, it isn’t my fault.” And the master of the house ran upstairs three steps at a time. Even his sister-in-law’s “Don’t make so much noise” failed to impress him in any way.
He reached his bedroom, got rapidly into bed, and fell asleep chuckling over “that monkey Robina,” as he called her.
By the first post the next morning, there arrived two letters, both of immense interest to Robina. She had got up early and was, if the truth must be known, eagerly watching for the post. She saw the letters when they arrived, and had a sort of intuition that they contained news which would be of vital interest to her. But as they were addressed to her father, she could do nothing towards gratifying her curiosity until he appeared.
She was dressed that morning in one of her neat school frocks, and looked very bonny, and strong, and self-reliant. The two little sisters were eagerly clamouring round her.
“Take my hand, Wobbin. Wobbin, let’s wun acwoss garden!” cried little Rose.
“Oh, Robin! I don’t talk as badly as that,” said the more important Violet.
Robina sat down on the window-sill, and played to her heart’s content with the two. In this attitude Miss Jennings found them.
“Now, Robina—I forbid you to spoil those children. Violet don’t attempt to cry, or you shall leave the room. Rose, put on your pinafore at once, miss. Now come to the table, all three of you, and let us begin breakfast.”
Miss Jennings seated herself by the tea-tray. She littered a short grace, and then porridge was dispensed. Little Rose could not bear porridge, and at once began to whimper.
“Don’t cry!” said Miss Jennings. “If you do, you leave the room.”
“Eat up just a little bit, darling,” whispered Robina. “I have such jolly things to tell you afterwards. Has father come home?” continued Robina, fixing her eyes on her aunt’s face.
“Of course he has come home, my dear: why shouldn’t he come home? Don’t, I beg of you, Robina, ask silly questions. Your father has no other house to sleep in, therefore when he is sleepy, he comes home. He is in bed at the present moment, and goodness only knows when he will come down to breakfast.”
“Oh, I hope he will come down soon!” said Robina, “for I want him to open his letters.”
“Very impertinent and forward of you! Your father’s letters are not your concern.”
“Not always,” replied Robina, calmly, and helping herself to strawberry jam: “but those two happen to be.”
“Have you been trying to read them through the envelopes?”
“No: but I looked at the postmarks.”
Miss Jennings was silent for an awful moment. Then she said, impressively:
“Little girls; listen to me.”
The two children looked up expectantly.
“Never at any time copy the ways of your elder sister unless you wish to be whipped.”
Violet smiled rather vaguely. Rose’s little pale face grew paler. She nestled close to Robina.
“I ’uv oo, Wobbin,” she said then, in a low, tremulous whisper.
“Bravely spoken, darling,” whispered Robina back to her; and at that moment, to the relief of every one, Mr Starling entered the room.
His big presence and bright personality made a pleasing diversion.
“Hullo, monkey!” he said, the minute he saw Robina. “So you are back once more—the proverbial bad penny, eh?”
He pinched her cheek. “’Pon my word, you are looking fine! And how do you like school, monkey? and how is every bit of you? Glad to have you back: expect we’ll have some fun now.”
“Sit down, Edward, and don’t keep Robina standing any longer,” said Miss Jennings.
Mr Starling winked solemnly at his daughter, and took his seat.
“Hallo! What are these?” he said, as he saw his letters.
“They are for you, father,” said Robina, eagerly: “but I think they are about me.”
“About you, monkey! How can you know?”
“Don’t encourage her. Edward, don’t read those letters at present,” said Miss Jennings.
“Oh, please do, father,” said Robina.
“Peese, farzer, peese!” said little Rose. And “Please, father!” came in a more pronounced voice from Violet.
To the relief of everyone at that moment Miss Jennings received a hasty summons to run upstairs to her invalid sister. The moment she left the room, Mr Starling seized the first letter.
“Here goes!” he said. “When the cat’s away—now then, monkey, and you two, listen to me.”
He tore open Mr Durrant’s letter, glanced through the contents, uttered a hasty exclamation, and then proceeded to read it aloud.
“My dear Sir:—I have a very great favour to ask of you. I want to know if you will spare your dear girl, Robina, to me for the greater part of these holidays. I have just secured a charming house at Eastbourne, quite above the town, and in a comparatively country place. I don’t know what its real name is, and what is more, I don’t care; but while Robina is with us, it is to be called Sunshine Lodge. I am expecting also a number of her young school-companions to visit me. Mine will be a bachelor’s establishment, but it will be enlivened by the presence of my little boy, who is Robina’s very great friend, and whom she has managed to be uncommonly kind to. She will doubtless herself tell you the story of her friendship for my little son. In consequence of that, I have the very great pleasure of awarding to her a prize which she has most justly won. It was open to the competition of all her form, and she out of the eight girls came first in the list. My little son, Ralph, himself decided the matter. This prize is a pony which I am forwarding to your residence, Heather House. I bought it at Tattersall’s yesterday, and believe that it is a thoroughly sound and well-trained animal, accustomed to carrying a lady in the saddle. It has no tricks, and is altogether safe, and also spirited. The animal is not too large, and at the same time, not too small, so that it can be made use of not only when your little girl is still a child, but by and by, when she reaches woman’s estate. A habit has been made for her, of the newest design, and safety pattern, and was forwarded yesterday from Poole’s, in London. It ought to reach her about the time when you receive this letter. A side-saddle, of the most comfortable make, accompanies the pony. I am sending the pony and saddle by a man of my own, whom I hope you will make arrangements to quarter either in your establishment or in rooms near. The man is part of the prize. He undertakes all the care of the pony, and is, of course, paid by me. His wages need not trouble you in any manner, for you, my dear sir, have nothing to do with them. I am well aware, that, delightful as ponies are, they may sometimes arrive at country houses where they are not welcome for reasons which need not be described. It would be a shabby present on my part, if I put you to any expense with regard to it. My man will provide the pony with all necessary provender, and will send me the bill monthly.
“All these things, my dear sir, your daughter has earned by her most admirable conduct; and believe me, I am very much her debtor, and shall always remain so, for she has done for the dearest being on earth to me, more than money can ever repay.
“Believe me, Dear Sir,—
“Yours faithfully,—
“Malcolm Durrant.”
“Oh!” said Robina, when the long letter had come to an end.
“Upon my word?” exclaimed her father.
He took up the other letter. It was merely an announcement that a horse of the name of “Bo-peep” was about to be forwarded by rail from Paddington that evening, and would arrive with his groom at the nearest station to Heather House at eleven o’clock the following morning.
“Why, the pony will be here in an hour!” said Mr Starling. “Dear! dear! dear! What a truly exciting, remarkable thing! Robina, monkey: what am I to make of you?”
Just then, Miss Jennings came into the room.
“Haven’t you done breakfast yet?” she said. “Oh, don’t make such confusion in the room, and don’t talk all of you at once.”
“We have something to talk about,” said her brother-in-law. “This child—this monkey of mine, has made her mark in the world already. She has got a pony of her own.”
“I have heard of it,” said Miss Jennings. “You do not intend to be such a fool as to keep it, Edward.”
“Keep it? I have nothing to do with it. The pony, Bo-peep by name, arrives with his own special groom, and the groom is found food and lodging and paid wages by Mr Durrant—Malcolm Durrant, the great traveller and explorer. I have no expense whatever with the pony. He belongs to Robina, and she has won him by doing some extraordinarily kind action—what, I cannot make out. For goodness’ sake, my dear Felicia, don’t get so excited. It is my turn to say ‘don’t’ to you now. Keep out of the way, if the news is not welcome to you. The pony is coming, and we can’t prevent its coming; it will be here in no time, and the children and Robina will, if I am not greatly mistaken, spend a small part of to-day trying his paces.”
“Then your two young children will be killed!” said Miss Felicia, folding her hands and standing stock-still for a minute and then preparing to leave the room.
A timid laugh from Violet, and a shriek of dismay from Rose greeted this utterance. But Robina clasped Rose in her arms.
“Oh, my pretty sweet!” she said. “Bo-peep won’t kill you. I will get into the side-saddle, and you shall sit in front of me, and I will put my arm round your waist, and you’ll be as steady and safe as old Time.”
“As Ole Time!” echoed Rose, the tears arrested in her eyes.
“There is another bit of news, and you may as well have it first as last,” said Miss Jennings’ brother-in-law. “Robina leaves us in less than a fortnight, to spend the rest of her holidays at a place called Sunshine Lodge.”
“And you permit this?” said Miss Felicia.
“Am I likely to refuse Malcolm Durrant?” was the response.
Miss Felicia felt vanquished; for even she respected Malcolm Durrant. She left the room.