Читать книгу The Girls of the Hamlet Club - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 5

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Cicely sat in the corner, listening while her father and Mrs Ramage talked over old times. Mrs Ramage was not old, as she had at first assumed, but only middle-aged, though sorrow and loneliness had left lines on her face. Her husband had died shortly after their marriage, leaving her the cottage and sufficient to live upon; but she had had no children, and her life in Whiteleaf had been very quiet and monotonous. Her only interest had been in occasional visits to Broadway End, to chat with her friends among the servants and hear the latest news of her old master and mistress. Beyond this, she sometimes took boarders, but otherwise found time hang heavily on her hands; and Cicely wondered why any one should wish to board in Whiteleaf, until she heard some reference to golf, and supposed that might be the explanation. But there were no boarders at present, and Mrs Ramage’s face lit up in delight at the prospect of having Cicely to stay with her. Cicely looked dubious, and her father explained that the matter could not be arranged for a few days.

Mrs Ramage was of middle height, but so slight that she looked tall. She was very neat, her black hair drawn smoothly back from her face and rolled tidily behind. Her dark eyes were kindly to any one, but had fairly shone in her welcome to Cicely, in whom she found many traces of her mother.

‘She’s Miss Cicely over again, Mr Hobart, sure enough. Eh, if the mistress had had her at Broadway End long ago, these many years need never ha’ been so lonely. It’s fretting has broken her down, Mr Hobart; that’s it! She’s that lonely and desolate. There’s never a young thing about that great empty house, and it’s told on both the mistress and the master.’

Cicely shivered in her chimney-corner. ‘It sounds awfully dreary. Suppose I do stay here, and they send for me, it won’t be very cheerful living there with two old people. Oh, I shall go back to Mrs Gaynor! it’s so jolly there. I really can’t stay here;’ and then she caught sight of Mrs Ramage’s wistful face, and felt uncomfortable.

The cottage had taken her fancy from the outside, with its late yellow roses, banks of daisies, overhanging thatch, and old, uneven roof. The bedroom to which Mrs Ramage led them by candle-light had a lattice window under a tiny pointed gable, and only just gave room for one to turn round comfortably. Cicely, being an untidy person, looked round in dismay. Where could she possibly keep all her things? She liked the white-washed walls and ceiling, the old black beams and the ancient furniture. Everything was quaint and very clean, but very tiny, and the thought of living there was rather appalling. But the window, even at that evening hour, stood wide, for Phœbe, coming from the spacious atmosphere of Broadway End, had felt cramped in the cottage at first too, and had never lost her liking for open windows—and no geraniums to block up the sills! Her neighbours said her house was cold; but she preferred it airy, and had never found any of her boarders object to her methods.

Still, the rooms were very tiny, and Mr Hobart, laughing at Cicely’s dismay, declared them to be like cabins on board ship. ‘You’ll have to be tidy, that’s all, Cis. Then you’ll get along all right.’

Cicely made a grimace. ‘I wasn’t born tidy,’ she said.

They delighted Mrs Ramage by taking supper with her, though the little room seemed packed to overflowing with the three of them, and there would have been difficulty in finding space for another chair. Cicely wondered what happened when boarders came, but supposed they had to come one at a time. Certainly there was only one bedroom, and she—if she stayed—would occupy that. So presumably there would be no boarders while she was there.

As they crossed the road to the inn she hung on to her father’s arm in sudden insistence. ‘Daddy, I don’t think I can! That poky little cottage! She’s very nice, of course, and I dare say it would be all right, but I’d so much rather go home. And even if I went to Broadway End, that sounds awfully lonely and dull. Will you mind very much if I say I really can’t stand it?’

‘I won’t take an answer for a day or two, Cis. I want you to think of it all round, and see what will make you most really happy. You know, dear, if we refuse your grandfather’s suggestion, the chance may not offer again. The proposal came from him this time, and he is not likely to repeat it. I would like to be friendly with them again and feel they had forgiven me, and this seems an opportunity to please and help them. But I will not leave you here unless it is to be for your happiness. I could not bear to be so far from you unless I knew you were content.’

Cicely sighed. ‘I’ve been very happy with the Gaynors. This is such a big change, and I’d rather not have any change at all. I’ll think about it, daddy, but so far I don’t like it. You won’t mind very much, will you?’

She drove to Risborough to see him off next morning, and stood by the carriage door in very low spirits, waiting for the train to start. Just as the whistle sounded a flying figure passed her, and she recognised the fair-haired schoolgirl they had seen the day before. Her books were slung over her shoulder, her long braid of fair hair flying as she ran up the train. She swung herself in as it began to move, dropped her strap of books on the seat, let down the window with a bang, and leaned out; for she had recognised Cicely, and was vastly astonished to see her left alone. She looked her surprise at the parting, and then Cicely saw something curious.

She had already noticed two schoolgirls in the station, who had taken a carriage near the one the fair-haired girl had entered. One, an older girl, looked out of her window also, and Cicely, taking it for granted they were schoolmates, looked to see some greeting exchanged between them. The fair-haired girl promptly nodded, and called ‘Good-morning!’ then withdrew into her carriage. But at sight of her the other had turned her head away sharply, without a sign of recognition, and disappeared also.

‘Queer!’ Cicely murmured. ‘They do go to school together, and yet she cut my nice girl dead. I wonder what’s up. Perhaps they’ve quarrelled, or something has gone wrong. And I wonder why my “maiden fair” spoke to her. She must have known. It was very queer!’ and she set out thoughtfully on her walk back to Whiteleaf, making up stories as she went of what might have been the cause of the incident.

Mrs Ramage welcomed her with beaming face, and insisted on giving her a glass of milk and some home-made cake after her walk. ‘I’ve just heard I’m to have a boarder for the week-end, Miss Cicely. He’ll be here to-night. ’Twill be company for you. I’m real glad.’

‘A boarder!’ Cicely looked up apprehensively. ‘A gentleman? But where will you put him? There isn’t room!’

Mrs Ramage smiled. ‘Room enough. He doesn’t want much. He’ll be here by tea-time.’

‘Horrid man! I wish he wasn’t coming,’ Cicely said wrathfully, as she wandered out to sit on the turf above the Cross and think over the problem before her.

She asked many questions concerning the boarder at dinner-time; but Mrs Ramage only smiled mysteriously, and would give no definite information concerning the gentleman. He was not coming to play golf; he preferred the cottage to the inn. Oh yes, he had been there several times before. No, he did not go out much, only for a stroll in the garden now and then; he took up very little room, and was quiet and easily pleased. Cicely would not find him in her way at all.

‘Horrid, stodgy creature! Fancy not going for walks in a place like this!’ and Cicely threw on her cap, caught up a walking-stick, and set out for a tramp through the woods, very scornful of the new boarder, but curious concerning him, nevertheless.