Читать книгу The Abbey Girls Again - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 6

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Biddy Devine went flying home from college next day. It was all important that she should get in before Mary. Mary was unobservant and wrapped up in her own thoughts, but she woke up now and then, and if this happened to be a wide-awake day she might think of asking why Biddy’s left arm carried a pile of books and her right hand an apparently empty case.

There were things in the case which Mary must not see on any account. Biddy sighed in relief when she found the door still locked; and entering, shut herself into her own little room, and proceeded to unpack the mysterious case and put its contents out of sight.

With a wistful sigh of delight and anticipation, she shook out a soft pink dress, and hung it in her cupboard, though it was not crushed. There were other things in the case, too; she put them guiltily into a drawer, knowing only too well what Mary would feel if she knew.

She had been very strongly tempted, and she had yielded. It was only for once, she told herself; and it was a very great occasion. To-night she was to go to Doris’s birthday party, and Doris was seventeen, and so grown-up that Biddy, who was only just fifteen, though big for her age, felt uncomfortably childish beside her. They would all be very grown-up to-night, and Doris had said teasingly that Biddy would be the baby of the party.

“Baby, indeed! I’ll show them!” Biddy had said to herself, and had resolved to be as grown-up as any of them; it would be difficult, but she would manage it somehow.

She was not practised in double-dealing, however, and felt very uncomfortable as she went, at the sound of Mary’s key, to help to prepare tea. She had not been in the habit of deceiving her sister; it had not been necessary. Hitherto she had gone her own way, and Mary, after more or less opposition, had given in. There had been occasional ‘rows,’ but all had been fair and above board. Biddy was not as happy in the prospect of her party as she had expected to be, and almost wished she had been strong-minded and kept to her first idea of wearing last summer’s frock. “Poor old Mary never dreams I’m going to do anything else!” she thought restlessly. “But I don’t know how she can! The thing’s fearfully faded, and hideously short. I’d look a perfect freak. And they’ll all be dressed up!”

She was awkward and unlike herself at tea, however; guiltily expecting at any moment some question she would not be able to answer.

“The violet girl didn’t come for her programmes,” Mary remarked. “Perhaps she’ll come round to fetch them to-night. You won’t be late, Biddy? They’ve promised to see you home, you said? I don’t like you going out like this without me, even if it is to Doris’s. I’d rather you didn’t do it again.”

“Perhaps I won’t, Mary,” Biddy’s voice was subdued. “But it’s her birthday and she’s always been nice to me. I couldn’t possibly say no. I won’t be later than I can help.”

She hurried away to dress, and Mary sat dreaming and thinking. Biddy had seemed strange and unlike herself to-night; was she just excited over the party? Mary felt vaguely troubled; she did not like Doris, or the circle into which she had led Biddy, but had not found it possible to stop the friendship. “If I had been more of a companion to Biddy, would this have happened?” Mary asked herself sombrely. “She’s had to find her friends outside, because there was nothing for her at home. But how could I be a companion to her? Would it have been the same if Mother had been here?—I will try harder! She said perhaps she wouldn’t go again. If I could make her want something better than Doris’s crowd, and cinemas every night, that would stop her more quickly than scolding her and forbidding her to go. I wonder if I could help her to get ready? She’ll be coming for me to hook her frock. I’ll go and offer instead.”

She went across to Biddy’s door. To her amazement it was locked. “Biddy!” she called, startled. “Is anything the matter? I came to help you dress. Why have you locked the door?”

For one wild moment Biddy hesitated. But on the whole she was glad. Now Mary would have to know, and there would be no uncomfortable secret between them. It meant a scene; but Biddy always came off best in scenes. She would rather defy Mary than deceive her any day.

She threw open the door. “Nice of you to offer, but you’re too late. I’m nearly ready; how do you like the general effect? I simply couldn’t go looking like a kid, you know, Mary!”

For one long moment Mary stared at her. Biddy, but a grown-up Biddy, and prettier than Mary had ever dreamed she would be. Biddy in the pink frock, which hung in soft folds nearly to her ankles; with her pretty brown hair done up in the very newest style; how had she learned to do that? Mary could not have done it for her to save her life. Biddy in last summer’s white shoes and stockings, with a string of imitation pearls on her bare neck, and a powder-puff in her hand.

With a nervous little laugh she turned to the mirror again, but made no attempt to hide those tell-tale things lying before it. “You may as well know the worst, old thing. Get it over! Say something; swear at me! You’ll die, if you don’t.”

“You’ve been putting on paint.” Mary came forward slowly, feeling sick. “You know how I hate it. No wonder you’d locked the door!”

“Oh, but you’re positively Early Victorian!” Biddy protested. “Everybody does it, Mary dear. Everybody but you! You must know that, whether you’ll admit it or not.”

“Where did you get that frock?” Mary was slowly growing less numb and awakening to the full seriousness of the situation. “You didn’t save that off dinners and bus fares!”

Biddy laughed, but with a touch of nervousness. “No, old dear, I didn’t! It’s Vivien Turner’s. It’s perfectly new; she only wore it once or twice, and then her father died and she didn’t go to any more parties. You like Vivien; you know you liked her when she came here to tea. You said she was quite the best of our crowd! She’s an awfully jolly girl, really, Mary. I thought it was so sporting of her to offer to lend me her frock. She saw I was worried when Doris asked me, so I told her I hadn’t a dress and I couldn’t possibly go in last summer’s faded old rag; it would be horribly short for me now, too. I’ve grown a couple of inches since I had it. It wouldn’t have been decent. I wondered you never thought of it.”

“I didn’t know it was such a big party,” Mary said dully. “You never explained. I thought, of course, you would go in your blue Sunday frock. It’s pretty, and still quite good.”

“Oh, you dear old fossil!” Biddy said lightly. “You’re only half awake! My dear, Doris has been talking about her new frock for weeks! I’ve been awfully relieved to know I had Vivien’s to fall back on. I’d have been utterly miserable but for good old Vi.”

“I don’t know how you can have thought I would let you go out like this, in borrowed clothes, and all painted up!” Mary pulled herself together and spoke resolutely. “Biddy, I simply won’t have it! Besides, you look ridiculous! You’re only fifteen!”

Biddy glanced at herself in the glass. “I don’t look only fifteen!” she said triumphantly. “Oh, don’t be silly, Mary! Don’t start to make a fuss now! I’m glad you came in; I’ve been wanting to tell you how decent Vi had been, but I wasn’t sure how you would take it. But I did want to show you the frock. Isn’t it simply sweet?”

“You’re not going out in another girl’s dress,” Mary said decisively, but with a quiver of fear in her voice. “You may go if you’ll wash your face and take your hair down and put on your own frock.”

“Mary, you’re simply an idiot! As if I would! Besides, it would be hideously unkind to Vi! She’d be awfully disappointed. Oh, don’t talk silly rot! Are you going to kiss me good-bye and wish me a jolly time?”

“You’re not going in that frock.” Mary moved towards the door.

With one leap, Biddy caught up hat and big coat and handbag, and reached the door at the same moment. “Don’t be mad, Mary! You know you can’t stop me. Of course I’m going. Are you going to have a stand-up fight over it?”

Mary’s blood was up. “I won’t have it, Biddy, it’s hateful of you,” and she clung to the handle.

But she was small and slight, and Biddy was big and vigorous and at least as determined as she. It was hardly a scuffle; Biddy wrenched the handle round and sprang out into the passage, and stood triumphantly on the stairs to finish dressing.

“Sorry, old thing! But you can’t stop me that way. You gave me leave to go; it’s no use going back on it now. Don’t worry, Mary; I won’t be late if I can help it. And I’ll be awfully good for weeks and weeks! If you think about it, you’ll see I couldn’t possibly back out now. I hope you won’t be dull. Remember, I’m going to stay in and darn my stockings all to-morrow evening; I’ll do yours, too, if you like. Good-bye for the present! Don’t be too mad with me, old thing!” and she ran off down the long staircase.

Cold, and trembling with indignation, Mary turned brokenly back into the bedroom. For some minutes she moved about, mechanically tidying up the confusion, making the room ready so that Biddy could roll into bed when she came home very tired.

When there was no more to be done, she went back to the sitting-room, and stood helplessly before the fire. It was no time to escape into dreams; that would be no comfort to-night. For once she was stirred to the depths by the discovery she had made—the discovery of the lengths to which Biddy would go, and of her own helplessness.

“There’s nothing I can do! I can’t control her, and she’s only fifteen! She can do anything she likes; and she knows it. And she doesn’t care that it breaks my heart. That’s the only way I could have had any hold over her. If she cared about me she wouldn’t do these things. I haven’t even made her care. I’ve failed in every single way. I’ve been blind while she was growing up, and now she’s got beyond me. I don’t see what I’m here for at all! Why am I such a failure? ... Could I be any different? I suppose it’s too late. Biddy will never care about me now. I’ve missed my chance with her somehow, and it won’t come back. Where have I gone wrong? How have I failed?” Her head dropped on the mantelpiece beside the daffodils from Yorkshire, and she stood shaken with sobbing.