Chapter 26 Red Rose and Tiger Lily by L. T. Meade
PLOT THICKENS
"Mother," said Antonia, two days after the events mentioned in the last chapter, "I think we have been quite long enough at the Grange."
Mrs. Bernard Temple was taking a walk by herself round one of the lawns when Antonia swept up to her and made this remark.
"I thought you would be saying something erratic of this sort," replied her parent, a good deal of annoyance in her tone. "We have not been at the Grange a week yet and, as it is to be the future home of both of us, it does not seem at all inconsistent to spend a fortnight here now, particularly when we are enjoying ourselves so much."
"Pray speak for yourself with regard to the enjoyment, mother," responded Miss Bernard Temple. "I must say that dreariness is no word for this place as far as I am concerned. These trim parterres, those undulating velvet lawns are abhorrence to me; but I am not thinking of myself at all when I say that I think it would be well for us to return to our rooms in town. I wish to do so for quite another motive. In the first place, I have got to take care of you, mother; you must not make yourself too cheap."
"Oh, my dear Antonia, what a horrid expression! I hope I understand what is due to my own dignity."
"Frankly, mother, you don't—not on all occasions; but now to revert to the more important business. I am anxious to be back in town because I want this matter with regard to the Towers to be carried into effect as soon as possible. By the way, have you spoken to Sir John Thornton on the subject?"
"Yes, oh, yes! for goodness sake don't you interfere, my dear."
"Of course I won't if you have done your duty. What did you say?"
"Oh, just what I thought necessary! I think I made up quite a moving story. Sir John listened attentively. Said he had the greatest possible respect for Squire Lorrimer; that it gave him considerable pain to feel that parvenus, like the Drummonds should reside at the Towers; but he said, further, that he could not quite tell how he was to interfere."
"Oh, I dare say!" answered Antonia. "I know enough of him to be certain that every step of the path to the rescue must be made clear by others. Did he give you to understand, mother, that he would be willing to help Squire Lorrimer if the occasion arose?"
"Well, my dear, I gathered that he would not be averse to doing so; but, really, the matter is one of extreme delicacy, and one which it is quite impossible for me to say much about."
"But I have not the least objection to talking about it," said Antonia. "It is one of my failings not to feel delicacy except with regard to art. I can talk to him if you like. I should recommend extreme bluntness. These obtuse people never see things unless they are put right up in front of their eyes."
"Really, Antonia, in addition to being eccentric, you are now becoming positively vulgar. What have I done to be afflicted with a daughter like you? I beg and beseech of you not to say a word to Sir John on the subject."
"All right, mother, I won't, if you will promise without fail to return to London to-morrow."
"Oh, dear, dear, it will be most inconvenient."
"But you'll come?"
"I—really——"
"I see Sir John in the distance; he is smoking a cigarette, which will soothe him while I talk. If I talk to him, you needn't go to London so soon. Which shall it be?"
"Oh, London, London—anything better than that you should worry poor Sir John. Was there ever a woman so worried? You had better send Pinkerton to me."
"That's a good mother," said Antonia, bestowing one of her rare and wonderfully sweet smiles upon her parent. She rushed away to the house in her headlong style; met Hester in one of the corridors; stopped her to exclaim, "Cheer up, Hetty, the incubus is leaving by the first train in the morning," and then finding Pinkerton, despatched her for orders to Mrs. Bernard Temple.
A few moments later, Antonia had forced her way into Susy's presence.
"Mother and I leave to-morrow," she said. "I don't know if you feel inclined to stay here much longer?"
"I? No, I'm sure I don't," answered Susy. "I am sick of the place; they are all such a lot of slow coaches."
"County people, you know," said Antonia with a slight sneer, "are always a little slow to us parvenus; we're so wonderfully fresh, you know; not worn out like the poor county folk."
"You can call yourself a parvenu if you like," said Susy in a rage, "but I decline to allow the name to be applied to me; however, I think I'll go back to father to-morrow, and I may as well take advantage of your escort."
"That's what I thought. Get your maid to pack your things, for we shall be off by the first train, remember. By the way, did you hear from your father with regard to your letter?"
"Yes, I heard this morning."
"Well, what did he say?"
"He says he is sorry I don't like the Towers, but he doesn't see how he is to get out of the purchase now. He is to take possession in a little over a month."
"What a horrible future for you," said Antonia. "That musty old place—the ghost in the tower—the family feud——"
"What do you mean by the family feud?"
"Oh, a little arrangement lately entered into by the younger Lorrimers for your benefit. I'm not bound to repeat it, but I can truly say I shouldn't like the little formula they have made up to be chanted nightly about me. Frankly, Susy, I pity you. You must hate the idea of going to the Towers."
"Yes, I loathe it," said Susy.
"The best thing you can do is to see your father, and have a very serious talk. Its settled that you come back with us to-morrow. That's right. Ta-ta for the present."
Antonia left the room.
She stood for a moment by herself in one of the passages.
"Who would have thought," she murmured to herself, "that I, Antonia Bernard Temple, would devote myself to anything except the services of high Art. Here am I absolutely wearing myself out and devising the most horrible plots and stratagems, all for the sake of an ugly duckling. Shall I succeed? Yes, I think so. Matters move in the right direction. Susy hates going to the Towers; the Lorrimers hate leaving the Towers. Sir John Thornton has more money than he knows what to do with. Surely some scheme can be suggested to keep the old family in the old place. When we are in town, we can soon get to know Squire Lorrimer. Hurrah! I have an idea. Annie Forest and Nora shall both come up to town with us to-morrow. Annie is a capital kind of girl, although she did behave with want of fidelity as regards that ring. I must get it back for her somehow before we leave. Annie we must have, for she's a perfect jewel of tact, and so sweetly pretty, just like a red rose, while I'm a fierce—very fierce—tiger lily. Nora must come, too, because, of course, Squire Lorrimer will visit us for the sake of seeing his child. Mother shall propose to Sir John Thornton, and he will further suggest to Mrs. Lorrimer, that Nora would be the better for the best surgical advice. Hey presto! the thing is delightfully managed. Antonia, my dear, you begin to see daylight, don't you?"
Antonia skipped away in high good humour, and, wonderful to relate, her different little schemes for collecting a party to accompany her mother and herself to town were all carried out without hitch or difficulty. Annie, of course, was only too delighted to spend her last few days of holiday in London, and Nora, who had never been there, quite forgave Mrs. Bernard Temple for becoming Hester's stepmother when she heard that she was going to take her to the "Heart of the World," as she termed the great metropolis.
On the evening of that same day Antonia, having concluded, as she considered, an arduous campaign, stood for a moment in earnest contemplation. "There's only the ring," she said to herself. "I must get the ring for poor Annie before I go. Now, who will lend me thirty shillings? I'll try Pinkerton first."
She swept into the room where the tired maid was completing her somewhat laborious packing, for Mrs. Bernard Temple invariably carried nearly a houseful of dresses about with her.
"Well, Miss Antonia, what now?" said the maid. "I wish you'd take off that evening dress, miss, and let me lay it just over the others here in in this box."
"I can stuff it into my Gladstone bag," said Antonia; "don't trouble about it. Pinkerton, when were you paid your wages last?"
"Oh, wages, indeed!" said Pinkerton, with a sniff. "Don't talk of em, Miss Antonia. It's months and months I'm owed, but I suppose it will be all right when your ma is married to this rich gentleman."
"You haven't got about thirty-two shillings you could spare me?" said Antonia.
"I couldn't oblige you with thirty-two pence, miss."
Antonia drummed with her fingers on a chest of drawers near which she was leaning. "And it's such a paltry sum," she muttered—"not worth a fuss. You ought to have your wages, Pinkerton—it's a shame! I must speak to mother about them when my mind is a little less burdened. I have a good deal to think of just now, so good-night!"
"What about that dress, miss?"
"I can't give it to you at present. I'll stow it away somewhere. Good-night!"
Antonia closed the door behind her and ran downstairs. She must get the thirty-two shillings from somewhere. To whom could she apply? She suddenly found herself face to face with Sir John Thornton. An inspiration seized her. She rushed up to him and took one of his hands. He shuddered, but had the strength of mind to remain perfectly still.
"Can you lend me thirty-two shillings?" said Antonia. "You're as rich as Crœsus, so you won't mind. I'll pay it back to you a shilling a week out of my dress allowance. Will you lend it? Say yes or no in a hurry, please."
"Yes," said Sir John, "... with pleasure." He moved back a step or two. "Here are two sovereigns," he said. "Pray don't mind the change. The change doesn't matter, I assure you. Oh, any time, of course, as regards repayment. I am happy to oblige you." He dropped the sovereigns into Antonia's large palm and prepared to fly.
"You are happy to oblige me?" she said with a sort of gasp. "Oh, do stay just a single moment. You have made me very happy. Thirty-two shillings must go for a special purpose, but eight blessed shillings remain. Don't you really want the change? May I really borrow the change?"
"Most certainly. I am rather in a hurry."
"I'd kiss you, but you wouldn't like it," said Antonia. "These eight shillings mean—do you know what they mean?"
"If they make you happy, my dear young lady, that is enough for me."
"They do, they do! Cobalt ... Indian red ... rose madder ... burnt sienna ... canvasses ... a new flat brush for the skies ... some drawing pins—Oh, he's gone! Dear old man. What an affliction I was to him; but how triumphant I feel!"