Chapter 12 A Bevy of Girls by L. T. Meade
The New Leaf
As soon as ever the three Aldworth girls entered the house, they were met by their father. This in itself was quite unlooked-for. As a rule, he never returned home until time for late dinner in the evening. He was a very busy professional man, and was looked up to by his fellow townspeople. He now stood gravely in the hall, not going forward when he saw the girls, but waiting for them to come up to him.
“Well, Molly,” he said, “how do you do? How do you do, Ethel?”
He just touched Nesta’s forehead with his lips.
“I want you three in my study,” he said.
“Good gracious,” said Molly in a whisper, “it’s even more awful than we expected.”
But Ethel and Nesta felt subdued, they scarcely knew why. They all went into the study, and Mr Aldworth shut the door.
“Now, girls,” he said, “you have come back. You are, let me tell you, exceedingly lucky. That which happened a month ago might have brought sorrow into your young lives which you could never have got over. That kind of silent sorrow which lasts through the years, and visits one when one is dying. That sorrow might have come to you, but for your sister Marcia.”
“Father,” began Molly.
“Hush, Molly, I don’t wish for excuses. You were, Horace tells me and so does Marcia, intensely sorry and remorseful that night, and I trust God in his heaven heard your prayers for forgiveness, and that you have come back now, intending to turn over a new leaf.”
“Yes, father, of course. We won’t any of us neglect dear, dear mother again,” said Ethel. “We are most anxious to see her.”
“I have taken steps,” continued Mr Aldworth, “to see that you do not neglect her. For the present she will have Nurse Davenant—”
“Who is she?” asked Ethel.
“The nurse I was obliged to call in to help Marcia. For the present Nurse Davenant will be with her day and night, and your province will be to sit with her and amuse her under Nurse Davenant’s directions. But the doctor wants a complete and radical change, which your sister Marcia will explain to you. Any possible fluctuation on your parts, any shirking of the duties which you are expected to perform, will be immediately followed by your absence from home.”
Ethel looked up almost brightly.
“There is your Aunt Elizabeth in the country. I have written to her and she will take one, two, or all three of you. She told me that you could go to her for three or four months. I do not think you will have much fun, or much liberty there. If you don’t choose to behave yourselves at home, you go to your Aunt Elizabeth. I have come back specially to say so. And now, welcome home, my dears, and let us have no more nonsense.”
The father who had never in the least won his children’s affection, left the room, leaving the three girls gazing at each other.
“A pretty state of things,” began Nesta, pouting.
“Oh, don’t,” said Ethel.
“Don’t!” said Molly, who was nearer crying than either of them. “To think of Aunt Elizabeth—to have to go to her. Of course, it’s all Marcia.”
“Of course it’s all Marcia,” said a voice at the door, and the three girls had the grace to blush hotly as they turned and looked at their sister. She wore that immaculate white which was her invariable custom; her dark hair was becomingly arranged; her face was placid.
“My dear children, welcome home,” she said affectionately, “and try not to blame your poor old Marcia too much. It is nice to see you. I have tea ready for you in the little summer parlour. You must be thirsty after your long walk; I thought Jim Carter was going to bring you back in the dogcart.”
“He couldn’t,” began Nesta.
“He couldn’t,” interrupted Ethel; “he had to go to school for a special field day.”
“He would if he could,” burst in Molly.
“Well, anyhow, you are here, and I suppose the luggage is to follow.”
“Oh, yes; not that it matters,” said Molly.
“But it does matter, dear. Now come and have your tea.”
Marcia took Molly’s damp, hot little hand in her own cool one, and led the way into the summer parlour. It had been a very ugly and neglected room, but it was so no longer. Marcia, by a very simple arrangement of art muslin had contrived to transform it into a pale green bower of beauty. The tea equipage was on the table, and very pretty did the cups and saucers look. There was fruit, the fruit that happened to be in season; there were flowers; there were hot cakes; there was fragrant tea; there were even new-laid eggs.
“Oh, I declare,” said Nesta, cheering up, for she was fond of her meals; “this does look good.”
“Shall I pour out tea?” said Molly.
“You may in future, Molly. I hope you will, but wouldn’t you like me to do so to-day?”
“Yes, please, Marcia.”
Marcia sat down and helped her sisters, and while she did so she chatted. She was quite bright and cheerful.
“I have had your rooms altered a little too,” she said.
Molly looked up with a frown.
“Yes, I hope you will forgive me, but I think they look rather nice. And instead of that sort of lumber room where you always fling everything you don’t want to use at the moment, I have made a second little bedroom for Nesta.”
“For me?” said Nesta. “Golloptious! I did want a bedroom to myself.”
“I thought you were fearfully crowded, and I wanted besides—”
“What is the matter?” said Molly suddenly.
“To make things as different as possible from what they were during that night.”
“I do believe you are kind,” said Molly, and something hot came at the back of her eyes, which made them suspiciously bright for a moment.
“If you will only believe that, my darlings, I don’t care how hard I work,” said the elder sister.
The meal came to an end, the girls had eaten even as much as Nesta’s healthy appetite demanded, and accompanied by Marcia they went upstairs. Did they not know those stairs well—that darn in the carpet, that shabby blind at the lobby window, that narrow landing just above? And mother’s room at the far end of the passage—mother’s room with the green baize door, which was supposed to shut away sound, but did not. Oh, did they not remember it all, and how it looked on that awful night? And this was the way to their room. What had they not endured during that night in their own room? Molly almost staggered.
“Aren’t you well, dear?” said Marcia very tenderly.
“I—I don’t know. Oh, yes, I suppose so. I’m all right—I mean it’s just a little overcoming,” she said, after a minute’s pause. “Past memories, you know.”
“I quite understand. But see your room, it is quite altered.”
It was truly, and this was Marcia’s surprise to her sisters. With Horace’s help, who had come forward rather liberally with his purse, the room had been repapered; it had practically been refurnished. The commonplace beds were exchanged for brass ones, the commonplace furniture for new, artistic wash-handstands and chests of drawers and wardrobes. The shabby carpet was replaced by one of neat pale blue felt; there were a few good pictures on the walls; there were pale blue hangings to the windows, and Nesta’s room just beyond was a replica of her sisters’.
The girls turned; it was Ethel who made the first step forward.
“I wouldn’t have known it—why, you are a darling!”
“And to think we ever called you Miss Mule Selfish!” said Nesta.
“Miss—what!” said Marcia.
“I won’t repeat it—forget it.”
“But tell me—it did sound so funny. Miss what Selfish?”
“Miss Mule Selfish. Oh, I never will again—I declare I am a greater beast than ever.”
“Well, girls, what I want you to do for me is this— In return for the trouble—for I have taken trouble, and Horace has spent money on your rooms as well—I want you to learn self-repression. I want you to put on neat and pretty dresses, and shoes that won’t make any sound, and then you may, one by one, come in and see mother. She is longing for you, longing for her own children; for much as she cares for me, I cannot take your place, so you needn’t imagine it for one moment.”
As Marcia said the last words she left the room. The girls stood and stared at each other.
“She’s a brick!” said Molly. “I shouldn’t be one scrap ashamed of showing this room to Clay, and I never could bear the thought of her coming up to it in the old days.”
“I say, what a jolly bed,” said Ethel. “Shouldn’t I just like to tumble into it and sleep and sleep.”
“And my darling little room all alone, too. Don’t you envy me, you two? Won’t you be always afraid that I’m eavesdropping and listening to your precious secrets?” cried the irrepressible Nesta.
“Oh, it is good,” said Molly, “but I feel quite a big ache at my heart. It’s Marcia, and we’ve been so horrid to her, and she has been so good to us.”
“Well, let’s try hard to show her that we’re really pleased,” said Ethel.
The girls washed their hands and combed out their luxurious hair and made themselves as smart as possible, and then, an anxious trio, they went out and stood on the landing. Here it was Nesta who began to tremble.
“It’s that old patch in the carpet,” she said. “It upsets me more than anything. I remember how I tried to skip over it that night when I went to listen at mother’s door. Oh dear, and the carpet is split here too. Marcia might have got new carpets for the stairs instead of titivating our rooms.”
“Marcia only thinks of what will please others,” said Ethel.
“For goodness’ sake, don’t praise her too much,” said Molly, “or I shall turn round. I always do when people are overpraised.”
A door was opened. It led into their mother’s room. Marcia stood outside.
“Molly, darling,” she said, “you come first.”
She took Molly’s hand; she led her round the screen and brought her up to her mother. Just for a moment the girl shut her eyes. There flashed before her mental vision the remembrance of that mother as she had lain pale and panting and struggling for life when she had left her, pretending that she was only sleeping. But now Mrs Aldworth was sitting bolt upright on her sofa, and the room was sweet and fresh and in perfect order, and a nice-looking young woman in nurse’s uniform stood up when the girls entered the room.
“I will leave you, Mrs Aldworth, and go and get my tea,” she said. “You will be glad to welcome your young ladies. But remember not too much talking, please.”
Mrs Aldworth raised her faded eyes; she looked full at Molly.
“My little girl!”
“Mothery; oh, mothery!”
The girl dropped on her knees.
“Gently, Molly. Sit down there. Tell mother what a right good time you have had while you have been away,” said Marcia.
“I am ever so much better,” said Mrs Aldworth, in a cheerful tone. “I am very glad you were with the Carters. You like them so much.”
“Yes, mother,” said Molly, and then she added, and there was real truth and real sincerity in her tone—“I like best of all to be at home; I like best of all to be with you.”
The words were spoken with an effort, but they were true. Molly did feel just like that at the moment.
Mrs Aldworth smiled, and a very pretty colour came into her cheeks.
“I have been quite ill,” she said. “I have been ill and weak for an extraordinarily long time. At least so Marcia says; and Nurse Davenant is quite a tyrant in her way, and Dr Anstruther too; but to tell the truth, darling, I have never had an ache or pain, and I can’t imagine why people make such a fuss. But there, darling, I am glad to see you and to have you back again. You’ll come and sit with your old mother sometimes, won’t you, and you won’t think it a dreadful trial?”
“Never again,” said Molly.
“Go, Molly dear, for the present,” said Marcia, “and send Ethel in.”
Molly went almost on tiptoe across the room. She got behind the screen and opened the door.
“Go in,” she said in a whisper; “she’s looking wonderful.”
“Don’t whisper, girls,” said Marcia. “Come right in, Ethel.”
Ethel came in and also kissed her mother, and told her that she looked wonderfully well, and that she too was glad to be back, but she was more self-restrained than her sister, and more self-assured, putting a curb upon herself.
It was Nesta, after all, the youngest, the darling, who made her mother perfectly comfortable, for whatever her faults Nesta could not for a single moment be anything but natural. She came in soberly enough; but when she saw her parent she forgot everything, but just that this was Mothery, and once she had been a terrible beast to that same mother, and she made a little run across the room and dropped on her knees and took her mother’s hand and kissed it, and kissed it, and kissed it.
“Oh, you darling, you darling! You sweet! You sweet! There never was any one like you, mothery, never, never, never! Do let me press my cheek against yours. Oh, you sweet! You pet!”
Mrs Aldworth gave one glance of loving triumph at Marcia. Was she not right? Did not her children adore her? Marcia must see it now for herself.
Marcia sat down on a chair and breathed a sigh of relief. Little Nesta was right enough. Little Nesta was better in her conduct than either of her sisters.
“You will come in, of course, and say good-night to me, darling,” said Mrs Aldworth when Nurse Davenant made her appearance with the invalid’s tea most temptingly prepared.
“Oh yes, if we may.”
“You may all come in and out as much as you please, and as often as mother wants you,” said Marcia.
“There is no restraint; no limit of time. You do just as you like.”
“Then I expect my own dear sweet pet mothery will be getting a little tired of me,” was Nesta’s response, “for I’ll be wanting to be always and always with her, see if I don’t!” and Nesta kissed her mother’s hand again rapturously.
“Oh, what tempting toast,” she said, “and how nice that tea looks.”
Mrs Aldworth smiled.
“They are dear girls,” she said to Marcia when the door closed on Nesta. “I am glad they’re home, and how terribly the sweet pets have missed me.”