Читать книгу Frederica and her Guardians; Or, The Perils of Orphanhood - Margaret M. Robertson - Страница 5

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Easter fell late this year. The grass on the sheltered lawn was already green, and there were many budding things in the borders; and with the sunshine falling on them so warm and bright, it almost seemed to the children like a summer day. Tessie could not resist the temptation to run down the steps again, to peep through the wires and over the low cedar hedge at the crocuses and snowdrops beyond:

“We shall have cold days enough yet,” she said as she came back; “but I need not spoil to-day thinking about them. It is just like summer to-day.”

“We shall make a summer day in the house to mama and Selina, that is—and to the children—and to Madame Marie Pauline Precoe Ascot, too, if she will let us; to the rest, whether she will or not.”

The coming in of the two children brightened their mother’s dim room like sunshine, and the more this time that they were not expected. It was early yet, and their mother was not dressed; but their sister sprang to meet them with a glad cry, and in a minute they were all rejoicing round their mother’s couch.

“A week of holidays, mama! Think of it, Lina! a whole week. I don’t in the least know how it happened. Somebody is going away or somebody is coming. It doesn’t matter; here we are. Isn’t it nice?”

And so they chattered on for a time, while their mother listened.

“Lina,” said Frederica, in a little, “stand up, and let me see how tall you are.”

Seeing her there in her mother’s room, you would never have supposed that Selina Vane was blind. Her eyes were a clear and lovely blue, well opened and bright. She walked about the room, not rapidly, but still lightly; not at all like one afraid. While going about the house and garden, she bent slightly forward, and walked with one hand held a little out before her; but here, in her mother’s dressing-room, she had no look of blindness. Her face was as bright and happy as her sister’s, and she rose at Frederica’s bidding, laughing and wondering a little. Her sister placed herself beside her, and measured the difference in their height with her hand. She shook her head gravely.

“There is a dreadful difference. I am a shockingly little creature; am I not, mama?”

She put on such a face of ludicrous dismay, that her mother could not but laugh.

“Mama, I am nearly fifteen. I ought to be a woman by this time, and really I am nothing but a child.”

She stood before a large dressing-glass, and surveyed herself discontentedly.

“These curls have something to do with it, and this short dress. That can be remedied, however.”

In a moment she had obtained a dressing-gown of her mother’s, and, drawing the silken cord tightly round her waist, she walked up and down, looking over her shoulder to see herself in the glass. The whole thing was done in a manner so childish, and so amusing, that her mother laughed merrily; and her little brother who had come in with Tessie, clapped their hands. Frederica laughed too.

“I am afraid it is not the dress, mama; I am only a child.”

“My darling! a happy child is a very good thing to be. I hope it will be a long time before you are anything but a happy child. The longer the better,” added she, with a sigh.

“That is what Cousin Cyprien said, mama,” said Frederica, gravely.

“Yes; it was Mr St. Cyr that put all that nonsense in her head about being a woman and grown up,” said Tessie, severely; “and she told him she had a deal of sense, though she was so little. For my part, I am very well content to be a child.”

“But you have a child, you know, dear; only thirteen, or is it twelve, mama? A precocious child certainly, but still a child,” said Frederica, with an air.

“Mama, look at her. She must be forty, at least,” exclaimed Tessie. “She must be considerably older than Mrs Ascot—ever so much older than Lina.”

“What is it all about?” asked Selina, gently.

“Never mind. Don’t ask her, Lina. She is so dreadfully wise and clever that she is quite too much for me sometimes. I should not wonder if Mrs Glencairn would wish to engage her to supply Miss Robina’s place when she is married.”

“Tessie, that is a secret. You promised not to tell—about Miss Robina, I mean.”

“How prudent, too?” said Tessie. “Mama, we are not crazy; only we are so glad to get home.”

“And indeed, mama, I am very willing to be a child for a long time yet,” said Frederica, and seizing her little brother Hubert, she danced with him round the room to music of her own making. Catching Charlie’s hands, Tessie followed, while Selina, laughing, joined in the music, though not in the dance.

“Mama,” said she, softly, “is it the same house do you think?”

The boys might have grown too noisy, but Frederica brought their play to an end presently.

“Mama,” said she, “it is the loveliest of spring days. You think it cold, I daresay, as you have a fire, but it is just like summer, and I am going to drive you and Selina; and afterwards I will drive the boys, if they are very good. We will go very slowly; not in the streets, but away in the country. Mama, you are not afraid of my driving?” Mrs Vane shook her head. “No, love; I am not afraid. I am sure you can drive the ponies; but it is a long time since I was out. Selina will like to go, however.”

“And you too, mama—just a little way. Are you not so well, mama? You are tired. Something has tired you. Ah! these papers. I see. She could not have gone to church, and said her prayers quite happily, unless she had left you something to vex yourself with while she was away. Where are they? Why, mama, these are the very same I saw at Christmas—some of them at least,” added she, after turning over a bundle of papers that lay on the dressing-table. “I see butcher’s bill—baker’s bill—grocer’s bill. What quantities you and Selina must eat, mama! I don’t understand them in the least. Were not all these things paid before, mama?”

“Some of them must have been,” replied Mrs Vane, wearily; “but I do not understand them.”

“And why should you be vexed? Is not Mrs Ascot here for no other reason than to save you all this trouble? And surely papa—”

Mrs Vane made a sudden impatient gesture. “Papa can do nothing. There is nothing to be done but pay the bills, and he cannot pay them.”

“Has anything happened since we were at home?” asked Frederica anxiously. “Have we grown poor?”

“No, no. Everything is as usual. Indeed, Mr St. Cyr gave me more money than usual. Rents have risen, he says. He was here not a month since, but the money has all gone—‘to pay servants’ wages and old debts,’ Mrs Ascot says. I do not understand how it can be.”

“But, mama, there must be some mistake. I wish I knew about bills and things. Papa ought to examine these. He would understand them. Why should you be vexed about them?”

“My love, there is nothing to understand, he says, but that the bills must be paid; and he says I must ask Mr St. Cyr for more money—that we have not enough to live upon. I cannot do it. It is not in his power to increase it. He gave me more once, but I think, it was his own. It was for Mrs Glencairn. I could not bear that she who is so good to you should be without her money. But I could not ask him again.”

“But, mama,” said Frederica, hesitating, “has papa no money? He goes to the office, and all that—and has he no salary, like other gentlemen?”

“There is many a family kept on less than his income, Mr St. Cyr told me; but the keeping up of the place is expensive; and I cannot ask him. And oh, darling, to think that I should have spoiled your holiday with all this!”

“Mama, don’t you remember how you put these bills away at Christmas, not to vex yourself and us? And here they are again. It is right that I should be vexed with what vexes you, although I am a child.”

“Yes, if you could help me, dear.”

The children had gone out to the garden by this time. Selina sat holding her mother’s hand, listening with a grave face to all that passed.

“Mama,” said she, “Frederica ought to know. She is a child, but she has sense; and, with her to help us, we might be able to understand. Have you the papers, Frederica? Mama read them all at Christmas after you went away, and she gave Madame Ascot money to pay some of them at least, and it cannot be right that they all should come back. There must be some mistake.”

Frederica opened a great many papers and read patiently through long household accounts, and in a little while became utterly bewildered. Nothing but the grave looks of her mother and Selina prevented her from bursting into childish laughter, so comical did the going over and over the same thing seem to her. The grocer’s bill was the most amusing. “Tea, sugar, coffee, soap, candles, salt,” and so on, over again.

“Dear me, mama, how many things people need?”

Then there were other bills, the butcher’s, the baker’s, and then a wine merchant’s bill. There was one which had “paid M. Leroy” at the end of it, and Frederica said—

“Madame Ascot did not intend you should have this, mama. However, we may as well put it with the rest.”

Selina listened earnestly, but said nothing. Indeed, when they had all wearied themselves, they were no wiser, and no nearer the end of their trouble.

“Mama, ought people to have bills?” said Frederica; “ought not people to pay when they buy things? It would save a great deal of trouble.”

“I think they ought; but Mrs Ascot seems to have fallen into this way. It was not done when I was well. Oh, if I were only able to attend to these things myself! It is quite wrong that things should have fallen into such a state. I do not believe there is any need that it should be so. Everything is wrong, and I can do nothing. I do not trust Madame Ascot: and your father,—there is no use speaking to him.”

She was getting excited, and would be ill soon, her daughters knew, unless this could be put out of her mind.

“I will tell you what we must do, mama. We will take all these papers to Mr St. Cyr—not to ask more money. But he will understand them, and he will help us. Mama, he was quite nice to-day, not at all cross, though we nearly knocked him down; and he said I was to come to him when I was in trouble, and I am sure this is dreadful trouble. Selina, don’t you think we might go to Mr St. Cyr?”

Selina waited for her mother to speak.

“I don’t think Mrs Ascot would like it, nor papa. He says Mr St. Cyr must advance the money to pay the bills, that is all.”

“Oh! as for papa, he won’t trouble himself; and I think I should rather like to vex madame. She need not be vexed if she has made no mistakes, and if she is quite to be trusted,” said Frederica, with some hesitation.

“There is no good in struggling against Mrs Ascot,” said Mrs Vane hopelessly; “I have tried often, and there is no use. I have not the strength nor the courage.”

The papers fell to the floor, as Frederica started up suddenly.

“Mama, I have strength and courage to tear Madame Ascot into fifty thousand little pieces, if she dares to trouble you,” cried she; and then, as she saw her mother’s face, she hung her head, adding, “I beg your pardon, mama: that was very foolish and wicked.”

“My darling, there is no use in doing anything that Mrs Ascot will not like. I have tried to bring things right often.”

“Because you are not strong. Papa ought to do it,” said Frederica.

“And, mama, this cannot go on always. There must come an end some time, and I think Frederica is right, and these papers should be sent to Mr St. Cyr.” Selina spoke very quietly.

“And why should Madame Ascot care?” said Frederica. “I hope she will care. I should like to see her face when she knows Mr St. Cyr has got those disagreeable papers. I have a fancy that their only use is to make you uncomfortable, you and Selina. Now I shall put them away, and you must promise not to think of them again, till Cousin Cyprien shall make them all right. And I will order the ponies, and drive you first, mama, and Lina, and afterwards Tessie and the boys, if they are very good.”

“Mama,” said Selina, “I think this is quite the best way—about the papers, I mean. You know you have thought about giving them to him before. And he will be quite willing to take the trouble, and he will know what to do; he is wise. Say that this is right, mama.”

“Indeed, love, I do not know what is right; but we will send them: I can do nothing else.”

“And it will all be made easy, mama. I only wonder we have not sent them long ago. And you are really not to think about them—promise, dear mama.”

And so the disagreeable subject was put away for that time.