Читать книгу Joan and Peter - H. G. Wells - Страница 31

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Aunts Phyllis and Phœbe found themselves two of the four guardians appointed under Arthur’s will.

It had been one of Arthur’s occasional lapses into deceit that he destroyed the will which made Oswald the sole guardian of Joan—so far as he could dispose of Joan—and Peter, without saying a word about it to Dolly. He had vacillated between various substitutes for Oswald up to the very moment when he named the four upon whom he decided finally, to his solicitor. Some streak of jealousy or pride, combined with a doubt whether Oswald would now consent to act, had first prompted the alteration. Instead he had decided to shift the responsibility to his sisters. Then a twinge of compunction had made him replace Oswald. Then feeling that Oswald might still be out talked or out voted by his sisters, he had stuck in the name of Dolly’s wealthy and important cousin, Lady Charlotte Sydenham. He had only seen her twice, but she had seemed a lady of considerable importance and strength of character. Anyhow it made things fairer to the Sydenham side.

But Phyllis and Phœbe at once assumed, not without secret gladness, that the burthen of this responsibility would fall upon them. Oswald Sydenham was away in the heart of Africa; Lady Charlotte Sydenham was also abroad. She had telegraphed, “Unwell impossible to return to England six weeks continue children’s life as hitherto.” That seemed to promise a second sleeping partner in the business.

The sisters decided to continue The Ingle-Nook as the children’s home, and made the necessary arrangements with Mr. Sycamore, the family solicitor, to that end.

They discussed their charges very carefully and fully. Phyllis was for a meticulous observance of Arthur’s known or assumed “wishes,” but Phœbe took a broader view. Mary too pointed out the dangers of too literal an adhesion to precedent.

“We want everything to go on exactly as it did when they were alive,” said Phyllis to Mary.

“Things ’ave got to be different,” said Mary.

“Not if we can help it,” said Aunt Phyllis.

“They’ll grow,” said Mary after reflection.

Phœbe became eloquent in the evening.

“We are to have the advantages of maternity, Phyllis, without—without the degradation. It is a solemn trust. Blessed are we among women, Phyllis. I feel a Madonna. We are Madonnas, Phyllis. Modern Madonnas. Just Touched by the Wings of the Dove.... These little souls dropped from heaven upon our knees.... Poor Arthur! It is our task to guide his offspring to that high destiny he might have attained. Look, Phyllis!”

With her flat hand she indicated the long garden path that Dolly had planned.

Phyllis peered forward without intelligence. “What is it?” she asked.

Phyllis perceived that Phœbe was flushed with poetical excitement. And Phœbe’s voice dropped mystically to a deep whisper. “Don’t you see? White lilies! A coincidence, of course. But—Beautiful.”

“For a child with a high destiny, I doubt if Peter is careful enough with his clothes,” said Phyllis, trying to sound a less Pre-Raphaelite note. “He was a perfect little Disgrace this afternoon.”

“The darling! But I understand.... Joan too has much before her, Phyllis. As yet their minds are blank, tabula rasa; of either of them there is still to be made—anything. Peter—upon this Rock I set—a New Age. When women shall come to their own. Joan again. Joan of Arc. Coincidences no doubt. But leave me my fancies. Fancies—if you will. For me they are no fancies. Before the worlds, Phyllis, we were made for this.”

She rested her chin on her hand, and stared out into the blue twilight, a brooding prophetess.

“Only a woman can understand a woman,” she said presently. “Not a Word of this, Phyllis, to Others.”

“I wish we had bought some cigarettes this afternoon,” said Phyllis.

“The little red glow,” reflected Phœbe indulgently. “It helps. But I don’t want to smoke tonight. It would spoil it. Smoke! Let the Flame burn clear awhile.... We will get in cigarettes tomorrow.”