Читать книгу Three Bright Girls - Annie E. Armstrong - Страница 5

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The next morning breaks dismally enough outside. The streets are thickly carpeted with snow, which has fallen plenteously and almost without cessation during the previous night. There is a deadened, muffled sound of occasional traffic only in the usually busy streets, and even this is soon drowned in the scrape, scrape of shovels with which armies of small boys parade the quieter streets and terraces, wherein are the houses of the rich and prosperous men of the large, smoke-begrimed manufacturing town, whilst the fortunate occupants of these large fashionable mansions, who are still curled up comfortably under warm eider-down quilts, are unpleasantly roused to a consciousness of what awaits them by the loud persistent cries of "Sweep yer doorway, ma'am,—doorway ma'am?"

Indoors things look somewhat more cheerful, especially at the Merivales, who are an early-rising family. It still wants a few minutes to eight, but Doris and Honor, true to habit, are already kneeling on the rug before the bright fire, spreading their hands as near as they dare over the glowing coals, and carrying on a spirited talk, which proves that the few hours' sleep of which they have been deprived has not done them much harm. The door opens, and enter Molly—yawning hopelessly, and it must be confessed looking haggard and pale, with dark rings round her large blue eyes.

"Hallo, Moll! late hours don't evidently suit you, my dear. You do look an object of pity, upon my word. Here, come to the fire and stop chattering your teeth, for goodness' sake!"

Molly accepts the invitation and joins her sisters, and after a few minutes Mr. Merivale comes in rubbing his hands briskly.

"Now, girls, let the old man see a bit of the fire! Ah! just eight," taking out his watch and comparing it with the clock on the mantel-piece. "Good girls, to be punctual after your late hours. Ring the bell, Honor; it's no use waiting for your mother this morning. She has one of her bad headaches, and I shouldn't wonder if she does not come down at all. She said she would send word by Lane after prayers, so we need not wait now."

By this time the servants have filed into the room and taken their places; and the old nurse having also appeared with her two particular charges, Daisy and Bobby, Mr. Merivale takes his place at a side-table, and morning prayers are commenced. Before leaving the room again nurse places the two children in their usual places at the breakfast-table, and at the same moment Lane steps forward from the row of servants, and going up to Honor says, "If you please, Miss Honor, your ma says will you make breakfast this morning, for her head is that bad she can't raise it from her pillow?"

"Honor, of course!" and with a pout and a flounce Doris takes her usual seat at the table, while Honor moves to the end opposite her father, who is busily occupied in sorting the letters.

Breakfast is generally a quiet meal at No. 4 Lancaster Terrace, for Mr. Merivale leaves the house at half-past nine punctually every morning in order to be at the bank before it is opened to the public.

There is little or no conversation therefore this morning, the mother being absent, and the six girls and boys take their breakfast in almost complete silence, speaking, if at all, in low subdued voices which will not disturb their father over his newspapers and letters.

Presently he puts these aside, however, and as he passes his cup up to be refilled by Honor says, "Didn't I hear mother say Miss Denison was to return to-day?"

"Yes, father," answers Doris. "Mother heard from her yesterday, and she is to arrive by the 12.45 train."

"O, I wonder if mother will let us meet her," says Honor, looking up.

"Well, why not ask her?" says Mr. Merivale, rising from the table. "I don't suppose she will be going out herself this morning, so you might take the carriage in that case."

"O, that would be jolly!" cries Doris, jumping up and clapping her hands; "and I tell you what, Honor, we'll try and get mother to let us have it all the morning, then we shall get through no end of business. Father will ask her—won't you, dear?"

"Not I, indeed; go and ask her yourself. Besides, it is time I was off—there will be no one to open the safe, and then what will they do, eh?" and so saying Mr. Merivale bustles into the hall, where William is standing waiting to help his master into his overcoat, and snatching the Times from Honor's hand, who, with Doris and Molly in her wake, has pursued him out on to the steps, he makes his escape into the brougham which is waiting at the door.

Doris and Honor hold a consultation on their way back to the dining-room as to the pros and cons of their getting permission to use the carriage, and on Doris promising to be spokeswoman, they both run up to their mother's room.

"Mother, we want the carriage, Honor and I, to do our shopping, you know. And father says if we are out we may as well take it on to the station and meet Miss Denny; so we can, can't we, mother?" And Doris takes up one of the slender white hands lying upon the coverlet, and softly pats and strokes it between her own.

Mrs. Merivale shrinkingly turns her head away from her anxious young daughter's appealing gaze, and closing her eyes says, "My dear Doris, you might have a little more consideration for my nerves, I think. Here I am, completely prostrated, and you rush into the room like an earthquake, thinking of nothing but yourself. Do pray leave me alone, and, oh yes! you can have both the carriages if you like, only leave me in peace; and Honor, give me the Cologne, and then find Lane and send her to me. And do, all of you, try to walk a little less like elephants than you generally do. Oh! pray shut the door quietly."

The girls are quenched, and leave the room much more quietly than they entered it.

"I hope to goodness I shall never have any nerves," says Doris pouting, as she links her arm in Honor's. "Mother is fussy and cross this morning. I believe she would like us all to sit perfectly mute through the livelong day whenever she has one of her headaches. Now don't look shocked, Honor, my girl! You know in your own heart of hearts you think so too, only you are too good to say it, even to yourself. I often wonder what mother would do if father were a poor man, and she had to make her own dresses, and do her own hair, and we had the washing done at home. Ah! that would just suit mother, wouldn't it? Fancy how delicious—a perpetual smell of washing!"

"Hush, dear!" says Honor gently, "you must not talk like that about mother; she is delicate, of course, and you know what Miss Denison says about the back being fitted to the burden."

"O, that's all very well! but you know there are burdens clapped on people's backs when they least expect it sometimes, at least so I've read in books, so I don't altogether believe in that statement."

In half an hour's time the two girls, radiant and comfortable, with rugs, foot-warmers, and muffs, are being whisked through the now slushy streets by a pair of fresh young horses. A very delightful morning of shopping follows, until Honor, looking at her watch, is startled to find that they have only just time to get to the station to meet the train by which their governess is travelling.

"Be quick, dear," she says to Doris, who is divided between the conflicting beauties of two delicate chintzes, one of which is destined to adorn the person of "Mary," of the perverse character, "or we shall not be there before the train comes in, and then poor Miss Denny will think there's no one there to meet her."

Honor's fears of being late are not without some foundation, they find, for as they step on to the platform the train is already gliding into the station. A hand is seen waving a recognition from one of the carriage windows, and as Doris and Honor rush up to the door, a tall pleasant-looking woman steps down, and is quickly being nearly stifled and smothered in the embraces of her impetuous pupils.

"And now, girls," straightening her bonnet and then giving a hand to each, "how are all at home?"

"O, all right!" replies Doris, promptly dismissing the subject; "and we have no end to talk to you about. The theatricals will be a tre-men-dous success. Honor and I have been shopping this morning; that's how it is we have got the carriage. Mother had one of her headaches, you know, so she couldn't come and meet you herself; and oh, isn't it splendid?—Colonel Danvers is really going to be the old woman!"

"My dear Doris, how you do run on!" says Miss Denison, smiling down at the bright face by her side. "A few moments ago you said all were well at home, and now you say your mother has a bad headache. Now do let Honor speak too, dear," she adds laughing, as Doris shows signs of starting off on a fresh subject.

All chatting pleasantly together the drive home seems to be accomplished in about half the usual time, and as soon as Miss Denison has been extricated from the carriage, which, in addition to the three occupants, is filled almost to overflowing with packages, she has to undergo a warm reception from Molly and Dick, who are dancing a sort of Highland fling of expectation on the door-step as the carriage drives up.

Then they all follow Miss Denison up to Mrs. Merivale's boudoir, where, now almost recovered, she is languidly looking over her letters of the morning.

"My dear Miss Denison," she says, holding out both hands as the governess approaches her, "you can have no conception what an unspeakable relief your return is to me. I thought I should have died sometimes with the terrible racket these children have made. Their father doesn't seem to mind it—indeed I really believe he likes it rather than otherwise; but oh, what my poor nerves have gone through!" and Mrs. Merivale shudders and looks round for her smelling-salts.

"What we shall do without you when you leave us for good I really don't know," she continues. "Honor and Molly will have to go to school, I think. Doris must stay at home, of course, if she is to come out next season. O, how I wish Honor was the eldest!—she is so quiet and sensible compared to that child there. It is all very well when I am quite well myself, but these headaches completely prostrate me, and when they are all at home together it is almost more than I can stand. Molly, do stop shuffling your feet!"

"I am sure, dear Mrs. Merivale, I would willingly have made my engagement a longer one still," says Miss Denison sitting down close to her, while Doris squeezes up to her side, Honor sits on a stool at their feet, and Molly and Dick take up their position behind the sofa; "but Frank declares he will wait no longer, saying—which is quite true, of course—that I have put him off twice already. I should like to have finished Honor as well as Doris, especially as I fear that young lady has not done me as much credit as she might have done. Now, Honor is more studiously inclined, and so I think is Molly."

"Now, I call it mean talking like that!" cries Doris pouting. "If I haven't a natural taste for study it isn't my fault, and it's twice and three times as easy for people to learn when they really like it, and not half so praiseworthy in my opinion. Never mind," she adds, tossing her head, "I shall marry a duke; and it won't matter then whether or not I can speak French, German, or Italian!"

"O my stars, hark to that, Miss Denison!" exclaims Dick. "Why, my good Doris, if you marry a duke you will have to go to court, you know; and supposing the queen invited you to dinner, and she took it into her head suddenly to have nothing but Chinese, or—or Fi-ji-an spoken all the time, where would you be then, my girl?"

"Don't be absurd!" retorts Doris loftily; "and do let Miss Denny go on with what she was saying."

But at this moment the gong sounds and there is a general move. A merry and noisy meal is the luncheon to-day; Mr. Merivale, who has come home unexpectedly, being himself one of the merriest of the party.

After much discussion and a few passages-at-arms between Doris, Molly, and Dick, which are promptly suppressed, however, by Miss Denison, a rehearsal is called for half-past six o'clock, after the school-room tea. A note, in a somewhat sprawling masculine hand, is written and despatched by Molly to command the presence of the five Horton boys at that hour; and as the carpenter has pronounced the school-room to be most suitable for the erection of a stage, the time before tea is devoted chiefly to the clearing of all superfluous articles (of which there are not a few) away into cupboards and ottomans, &c. Presently Hugh, Regy, Alick, Ted, and Joey Horton arrive, and hard, steady rehearsal is the order of the evening until bed-time.