Chapter 14 Light O' the Morning by L. T. Meade
BITS OF SLANG
Early the next morning Nora was awakened from a somewhat heavy sleep by someone pulling her violently by the arm.
“Wake up! wake up!” said a voice; and then Nora, who had been dreaming of her father, and also of Andy Neil, started up, crying as she did so, “Oh, don't, Andy! I know father will let you stay a little longer in the cot. Don't, don't, Andy!”
“Who, in the name of fortune, is Andy?” called the clear voice of Molly Hartrick. “Do wake up, Nora, and don't look so dazed. You really are a most exciting person to have staying in the house. Who is Andy, and what cot are you going to turn him out of? Is he a baby?”
Nora now began to laugh.
“I quite forgot that I was in England,” she said. “Am I really in England? Are you—are you——Oh, now I remember everything. You are Molly Hartrick. What is the hour? Is it late? Have I missed breakfast?”
“Bless you, child! lie down and keep quiet; it's not more than six o'clock. I wanted to see some more of you all by myself. I am out of punishment now; it ended at midnight, and I am as free as anybody else; but as it is extremely likely I shall be back in punishment by the evening, I thought we would have a little chat while I was able to have it. Just make way for me in your bed; I'll nestle up close to you, and we'll be ever so jolly.”
“Oh, do,” said Nora, in a hearty tone.
Molly scrambled in, taking the lion's share of the bed, Nora lay on the edge.
“I am glad you are facing the light, for I can examine your features well,” said Molly. “You certainly are very nice-looking. How prettily your eyebrows are arched, and what white teeth you have! And, although you have that wonderful black hair, you have a fair skin, and your cheeks have just enough color; not too much. I hate florid people; but you are just perfect.”
“I wish you would not flatter me, Molly,” said Nora; “nobody flatters me in Ireland.”
“They don't? But I thought they were a perfect nation of flatterers. I am sure it is always said of them.”
“Oh, if you mean the poor people,” said Nora; “they make pretty speeches, but nobody thinks anything about that. Everybody makes pretty speeches to everybody else, except when we are having a violent scold by way of a change.”
“How delicious!” said Molly. “And what sort of house have you? Like this?”
“No, not the least like this,” answered Nora.
“With what emphasis you speak. Do you know that father told me you lived in a beautiful place, a castle hanging over the sea, and that your mountains and your sea and your old castle were things to be proud of?”
“Did he? Did your father really say that?” asked Nora. She sat up on her elbow; her eyes were shining; they assumed a look which Nora's eyes often wore when she was, as she expressed it, “seeing things out of her head.” Far-off castles in the clouds would Nora look at then; rainbow-tinted were they, and their summits reached heaven. Molly gazed at her with deepening interest.
“Yes, Nora,” she said; “he did say it. He told me so before Terence came; but I—do forgive me—I don't care for Terence.”
“You must not talk against him to me,” said Nora, “because he happens to be my brother; but I'll just whisper one thing back to you, Molly—if he was not my brother he would not suit me.”
“How nice of you to say that! We shall get on splendidly. Of course, you must stick up for him, being your brother; he stuck up for you before you came. It is very nice and loyal of you, and I quite understand. But, dear me! I am not likely to see much of you while you are here.”
“Why not? Are you not going to stay here?”
“Oh, my dear, yes; I'll stay. School has just begun over again, you know, and I am always in hot water. I cannot help it; it is a sort of way of mine. This is the kind of way I live. Breakfast every morning; then a lecture from mother or from father. Off I go in low spirits, with a great, sore heart inside me; then comes the hateful discipline of school; and every day I get into disgrace. I have a lot of lessons returned, and am low down in my class, instead of high up, and am treated from first to last as a naughty child. By the middle of the day I am a very naughty child indeed.”
“But you are not a child at all, Molly; you are a woman. Why, you are older than I.”
“Oh, what have years to do with it?” interrupted Molly. “I shall be a child all my days, I tell you. I shall never be really old. I like mischief and insubordination, and—and—let me whisper it to you, little Nora—vulgarity. Yes, I do love to be vulgar. I like shocking mother; I like shocking father. Since Terence came I have had rare fun shocking him. I have learned a lot of slang, and whenever I see Terence I shout it at him. He has got quite nervous lately, and avoids me. He likes Linda awfully, but he avoids me. But, to go on with my day. I am back from school to early dinner, generally in disgrace. I am not allowed to speak at dinner. Back again I go to school, and I am home, or supposed to be home, at half-past four; but not a bit of it, my dear; I don't get home till about six, because I am kept in to learn my lessons. It is disgraceful, of course; but it is a fact. Then back I come, and mother has a talk with me. However busy mother may be, and she is a very busy woman, Nora—you will soon find that out—she always has time to find out if I have done anything naughty; and, as fibs are not any of my accomplishments, I always tell her the truth; and then what do you think happens? An evening quite to myself in my bedroom; my dinner sent up to me there, and I eating it in solitary state. They are all accustomed to it. They open their eyes and almost glare at me when by a mere chance I do come down to dinner. They are quite uncomfortable, because, you see, I am waiting my opportunity to fire slang at one of them. I always do, and always will. I never could fit into the dull life of the English.”
“You must be Irish, really,” said Nora.
“You don't say so! But I am afraid I am not. I would give all the world to be, but am quite certain I am not. There, now, of course I'd be awfully scolded if it was found out that I had awakened you at this hour, and had confided my little history to you. I am over sixteen. I shall be seventeen in ten months' time. And that is my history, insubordination from first to last. I don't suppose anybody really likes me, unless it is poor Annie Jefferson at school.”
“Who is Annie Jefferson, Molly?”
“A very shabby sort of girl, who is always in hot water too. I have taken to her, and she just adores me. There is no one else who loves me; and she, poor child, would not be admitted inside these walls; she is not aristocratic enough. Dear me, Nora! it is wrong of me to give you all this information so soon; and don't look anxious about me, little goose, for I have taken an enormous fancy to you.”
“I will tell you one thing,” said Nora after a pause, “if you will never tell again.”
“Oh, a secret!” said Molly. “Tell it out, Nora. I love secrets. I'll never betray; I have no friends to betray them to. You may tell me with all the heart in the world.”
“Well, it is this,” said Nora; “we are not at all rich at home. We are poor, and have no luxuries and the dear old house is very bare; and, oh! but, Molly, there is no place like it—no place like it. It's worth all the world to me; and when I came here last night, and saw your great, rich, beautiful house, I—I quite hated it, and I almost hated Linda too; and even my uncle, who has been so kind, I could not get up one charitable thought for him, nor for your mother, who is such a beautiful, gracious lady; and even Terence—oh! Terry seemed quite English. Oh, I was miserable! But when I saw you, Molly, I said to myself, 'There is one person who will fit me'; and—oh, don't Molly! What is it?”
“Only, if you say another word I shall squeeze you to death in the hug I am giving you,” said Molly. Her arms were flung tightly round Nora's neck. She kissed her passionately three or four times.
“We'll be friends. I'll stick up for you through thick and thin,” said Molly. “And now I'm off; for if Linda caught me woe betide me.”
“One word before you go, Molly,” called out Nora.
“Yes,” said Molly, standing at the door.
“Try to keep straight to-day, for my sake, for I shall want to say a great deal to you to-night.”
“Oh, yes, so I will,” answered Molly. “Now then, off I go.”
The door was banged behind her. It awoke Mrs. Hartrick, who turned slowly on her pillow, and said to herself, “I am quite certain that wicked girl Molly has been disturbing our poor little traveler.” But she fell asleep, and Nora lay thinking of Molly. How queer she was! And yet—and yet she was the only person in the English home who had yet managed to touch Nora's warm Irish heart.
The rest of the day passed somewhat soberly. Molly and Linda both started for school immediately after an early breakfast. Terence went to town with his uncle, and Nora and her aunt were left alone. She had earnestly hoped that she might have had one of her first important talks with Mr. Hartrick before he left that morning; but he evidently had no idea of giving her an opportunity. He spoke to her kindly, but seemed to regard her already as quite one of the family, and certainly was not disposed to alter his plans or put out his business arrangements on her account. She resolved, with a slightly impatient sigh, to abide her time, and followed her aunt into the morning-room, where the good lady produced some fancywork, and asked Nora if she would like to help her to arrange little squares for a large patchwork quilt which was to be raffled for at a bazar shortly to be held in the place.
Nora gravely took the little bits of colored silk, and, under her aunt's supervision, began to arrange them in patterns. She was not a neat worker, and the task was by no means to her taste.
“What time ought I to write in order to catch the post?” she said, breaking the stillness, and raising her lovely eyes to Mrs. Hartrick's face.
“The post goes out many times in the day, Nora; but if you want to catch the Irish mail, you must have your letter in the box in the hall by half-past three. There is plenty of time, my dear, and you will find notepaper and everything you require in the escritoire in the study. You can always go there if you wish to write your letters.”
“Thank you,” answered Nora.
“When you are tired of work, you can go out and walk about the grounds. I will take you for a drive this afternoon. I am sorry that you have arrived just when the girls have gone back to school; but you and Linda can have a good deal of fun in the evenings, you know.”
“But why not Molly too?” asked Nora. She felt rather alarmed at mentioning her elder cousin's name.
Mrs. Hartrick did not speak at all for a moment; then she gave a sigh.
“I am sorry to have to tell you, Nora, that Molly is by no means a good girl. She is extremely rebellious and troublesome; and if this state of things goes on much longer her father and I will be obliged to send her to a very strict school as a boarder. We do not wish to do that, as my husband does not approve of boarding-schools for girls. At present she is spending a good deal of her time in punishment.”
“I hope she won't be in punishment to-night,” said Nora. “I like her so much.”
“Do you, my dear? I hope she won't influence you to become insubordinate.”
Nora felt restless, and some of the bits of colored silk fluttered to the floor.
“Be careful, my dear Nora,” said her aunt in a somewhat sharp voice; “don't let those bits of silk get about on the carpet. I am most particular that everything in the house should be kept neat and in order. I will get you a little work-basket to keep your things in when next I go upstairs.”
“Thank you, Aunt Grace,” answered Nora.
“And now, as we are alone,” continued the good lady, “you might tell me something of your life. Your uncle is very anxious that your mother should come and pay us a visit. He is very much attached to his sister, and it seems to me strange that they should not have met for so many years. You have a beautiful place at home, Nora—have you not?”
“Yes,” said Nora; “the place is”—she paused, and her voice took an added emphasis—“beautiful.”
“How emphatically you say it, dear! You have a pretty mode of speech, although very, very Irish.”
“I am Irish, you see, Aunt Grace,” answered Nora.
“Yes, dear, you need scarcely tell me that; your brogue betrays you.”
“But mother was always particular that I should speak correctly,” continued the girl. “Does my accent offend you, Aunt Grace?”
“No, dear; your uncle and I both think it quite charming. But tell me some more. Of course you are very busy just now with your studies, Nora. A girl of your age—how old did you say you were—sixteen?—a girl of your age has not a moment to lose in acquiring those things which are essential to the education of an accomplished woman of the present day.”
“I am afraid I shall shock you very much indeed, Aunt Grace, when I tell you that my education is supposed to be finished.”
“Finished!” said Mrs. Hartrick. She paused for a moment and stared full at Nora. “I was astonished,” she continued, “when your uncle suggested that you should pay us a visit now. I said, as September had begun, you would be going back to school; but you accepted the invitation, or rather your mother did for you, without any allusion to your school. You must have got on very well, Nora, to be finished by now. How many languages do you know?”
“I can chatter in Irish after a fashion,” said Nora; “and I am supposed, after a fashion also, to know my own tongue.”
“Irish!” said Mrs. Hartrick in a tone of quivering scorn. “I don't mean anything of that sort. I allude to your acquaintance with French, German, and Italian.”
“I do know a very little French,” said Nora; “that is, I can read one or two books in French. Mother taught me what I know; but I do not know any German or any Italian. I don't see that it matters,” she continued, a flush coming into her cheeks. “I should never talk German or Italian in Ireland. I wouldn't be understood if I did.”
“That has nothing to do with it, Nora; and your tone, my dear, without meaning it, of course, was just a shade pert just now. It is essential in the present day that all well-educated women should be able to speak at least in three languages.”
“Then I am sorry, Aunt Grace, for I am afraid you will despise me. I shall never be well educated in that sense of the word.”
Mrs. Hartrick was silent.
“I will speak to your uncle,” she said after a pause. “While you are here you can have lessons. It would be possible to arrange that you went to school with Linda and Molly, and had French and German lessons while there.”
“But I don't expect to be very long in England,” said Nora, a note of alarm in her voice.
“Oh, my dear child, now that we have got you, we shall not allow you to go in a hurry. It is such a nice change for you, too; this is your first visit to England, is it not?”
“Yes, Aunt Grace.”
“We won't let you go for some time, little Nora. Your brother is a dear fellow; your uncle and I admire him immensely, and he is quite well educated and so adaptable; and I am sure you would be the same, my dear, when you have had the many chances which will be offered to you here. You must look upon me as your real aunt, dear, and tell me anything that you wish. Don't be shy of me, my love; I can quite understand that a young girl, when she first leaves her mother, is rather shy.”
“I never felt shy at home,” answered Nora; “but then, you know, I was more with father than with mother.”
“More with your father! Does he stay at home all day, then?”
“He is always about the place; he has nothing else to do.”
“Of course he has large estates.”
“They are not so very large, Aunt Grace.”
“Well, dear, that is a relative term, of course; but from your uncle's description, and to judge from your mother's letters, it must be a very large place. By the way, how does she manage her servants? She must have a large staff at Castle O'Shanaghgan.”
“I don't think we manage our servants particularly well,” said Nora. “It is true they all stay with us; but then we don't keep many.”
“How many, dear?”
“There's Pegeen—she is the parlor-maid—and there's the cook—we do change our cook sometimes, for mother is rather particular; then there is the woman who attends to the fowls, and the woman who does the washing, and—I think that is about all. Oh, there's the post-boy; perhaps you would consider him a servant, but I scarcely think he ought to be called one. We give him twopence a week for fetching the letters. He is a very good little boy. He stands on his head whenever he sees me; he is very fond of me, and that is the way he shows his affection. It would make you laugh, Aunt Grace, if you saw Michael standing on his head.”
“It would make me shudder, you mean,” said Mrs. Hartrick. “Really, Nora, your account of your mother's home is rather disparaging; two or three very rough servants, and no more. But I understood you lived in castle.”
“Oh, a castle may mean anything; but it is not fair for you and Uncle George to think we are rich, for we are very poor. And,” continued Nora, “for my part, I love to be poor.” She stood up abruptly. In her excitement all her bits of silk tumbled to the floor. “May I go out and have a run, Aunt Grace?” she said. “I feel quite stiff. I am not accustomed to being indoors for so long at a time.”
“You can go out, Nora, if you like,” said her aunt in a displeased tone; “but, first, have the goodness to pick up all those bits you have dropped.”
Nora, with flushed cheeks, stooped and picked up the bits of silk. She wrapped them in a piece of paper and put them on the table.
“You can stay out for an hour, my dear; but you are surely not going without a hat.”
“I never wear a hat at home,” said Nora.
“You must run upstairs and fetch your hat,” said Mrs. Hartrick.
Poor Nora never felt more tried in the whole course of her life.
“I shall get as bad as Molly if this goes on,” she thought to herself.