Three Margarets

by Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards

  CHAPTER VI.

  THE FAMILY CHEST.

  Little was said on the homeward walk. Rita walked between her twocousins, holding fast a hand of each. She seemed hardly conscious oftheir presence, however; she sobbed occasionally, dry, tearless sobs,and murmured Spanish words to herself. Margaret caught the word_"Madre!"_ repeated over and over, and pressed her cousin's hand, andspoke soothing words; but Rita did not heed her. Peggy walked quickly,head in air, cheeks glowing, and eyes shining. All the awkwardness, thehanging head and furtive air, was gone, and Margaret looked at her inwonder and admiration. But both girls were a piteous sight as regardedtheir clothes. From head to foot they dripped with black mud, thick andslimy. Peggy's dress gave no hint of the original colour in the entirefront, and Rita's was little better. Their very faces were bedabbledwith black, and they left a black trail behind them on the grass. Inthis guise they met the astonished gaze of John Strong as he passedthrough the garden on his way to the seed-house. He came hurrying towardthem with anxious looks.

  "My dear children," he cried, "what has happened?" Then, in a differenttone, "I beg your pardon, young ladies! I was startled at seeingyou,--there has been some accident?"

  But Rita was herself again now in an instant. Her eyes blazed with angrypride.

  "Keep your place, John Strong!" she said haughtily. "When we addressyou, it will be time for you to speak to us." She swept past him intothe house, her superb bearing presenting a singular contrast to herattire; and Peggy followed her, already beginning to giggle and lookfoolish again. But Margaret lingered, distressed and mortified.

  "Oh, John," she said, "there _has_ been an accident! You willunderstand,--Miss Rita got into that terrible bog, and might have beendrowned there before my eyes, if Miss Peggy had not come by, and drawnher out so cleverly." And she told him the whole story, dwelling warmlyupon Peggy's courage and presence of mind, and blaming herself for nothaving perceived the danger in time.

  "It is I who am to blame, Miss Margaret!" said John Strong. "Very, verymuch to blame. Every one about here knows that peat-bog, and avoids it;I had warned Miss Peggy, but did not think of your going so far in thatdirection. I am very much to blame."

  He seemed so much disturbed that Margaret tried to speak more lightly,though she was still pale and trembling; but the gardener kindly beggedher to go in and rest, and she was glad enough to go.

  John Strong stood looking after her a moment.

  "I ought to be shot!" he said to himself. "And that is the lassie forme! Good stuff in both the others, as I supposed, but this is the onefor me." And shaking his head, he went slowly on his way.

  Margaret went straight to Peggy's room, but found it empty, and passingby Rita's found the door shut, and heard voices within. She paused amoment, wondering. Should she go in? No; she remembered Mrs. Cheriton'swords, "It may be that you are not to do it, after all," and she wentinto her own room and shut the door.

  It might have been half an hour after that she heard a whispering in thehall outside, and then a knock at her door. She ran to open it, andstood amazed. There was Peggy, blushing and smiling, looking as pleasedas a little child, arrayed in the rose-coloured tea-gown whose existenceshe had endangered on the night of her arrival; and there beside her,holding her hand, was Rita, in pale blue and swansdown,--Rita, alsosmiling, but with the mockery for once gone from eyes and mouth, andwith traces of tears on her beautiful face. She now led Peggy forward,and presented her formally to Margaret, with a sweeping courtesy.

  "Miss Montfort," she began, "this is my sister. I desire for her thehonour and privilege of your distinguished acquaintance. She kisses yourhands and feet, as do I myself."

  Then suddenly she threw herself upon Margaret's neck, still holdingPeggy's hand, so that all three were wrapped in one embrace.

  "Marguerite," she cried, "behold this child! I have been a brute to her,you know it well--" and Margaret certainly did. "A brute, a devil-fish,what you will! and she--she has saved my life! You saw it, you heard it;another moment, and I should have gone--" she shuddered. "I cannot speakof it. But now, Marguerite, hear me swear!"

  "Oh my!" ejaculated Peggy, in some alarm.

  "Hear me swear!" repeated Rita passionately; "from this moment Peggy ismy sister. You are not jealous, no? You are also my own soul, but youare sufficient to yourself; what do you need, piece of Northernperfection that you are? Peggy needs me; I take her, I care for her, Iform her! so shall it be!" And once more she embraced both cousinswarmly.

  Margaret's eyes filled with happy tears.

  "Dear Peggy! Dear Rita!" was all she could say at first, as she returnedtheir embraces. Then she made them come in and sit down, and looked fromone to the other. "It is so good!" she cried. "Oh, so good! You can'timagine, girls, how I have longed for this! It did seem so dreadful thatyou should not have the pleasure of each other--but we will not speakof that any more! No! and we will bless the black bog for bringing youtogether."

  But Rita shuddered again, and begged that she might never hear of thebog again.

  "Do you observe Peggy's hair?" she asked. "What do you think of it?"

  The fair hair was brought smoothly up over the well-shaped head, andwound in a pretty, fluffy Psyche knot. The effect was charming in oneway, but--

  "It makes her look too grown-up," Margaret protested. "It is verypretty, but I want her to be a little girl as long as she can. You don'twant to be a young lady yet, do you, Peggy?"

  "Oh, no!" cried Peggy. "Indeed I don't! But Rita thought--"

  "Rita thought!" cried that young lady, nodding her head sagely. "Ritathought wrong, as usual, and Margaret thought right. It is too old; butwhat of that? We will try another style. Ten, twenty ways of dressinghair I know. Often and often Conchita and I have spent a whole daydressing each other's hair, trying this effect, that effect. Ah, thesuperb hair that Conchita has; it sweeps the floor,--and soft--ah, as abat's wool!"

  A few hours ago, Peggy would have sniffed scornfully at all this; butnow she listened with interest, and something of awe, as her beautifulcousin discoursed of braids and puffs, and told of the extraordinaryeffect that might sometimes be produced by a single small curl set atthe proper curve of the neck. It sounded pretty frivolous, to be sure,but then, Rita looked so earnest and so lovely, and it was so new anddelightful to be addressed by her as an equal,--and a beloved equal atthat; Peggy's little head was in evident danger of being turned by thenew position of affairs.

  Margaret, feeling that there were limits, even to the subject ofhairdressing, presently proposed a visit to Aunt Faith, and for onceneither cousin made any objection. Peggy was mortally afraid of thewhite old lady, and Rita said frankly that she did not like old people,and saw no reason why she should put herself out, simply because heruncle, whom she had never seen, had chosen to saddle himself with theburden of a centenarian. But to-day, Rita was shaken and softened outof all her waywardness, and she readily admitted the propriety oftelling Mrs. Cheriton what had happened.

  Aunt Faith listened with deep interest, and was as shocked anddistressed as heart could desire. The peat-bog, she told them, did notbelong to their uncle; he had in vain tried to buy the land, in orderthat he might drain or fence it, but the proprietor refused to sell it.There was a terrible story, she said, of a man's being lost there, manyyears ago; it was a dreadful place.

  Then, seeing Rita shudder again, she changed the subject, and spoke ofthe charming contrast of the pale blue and rose-colour, in the twogirls' dresses. "The pink suits you well, little Peggy," she said. "Ihave not seen you in a delicate colour before."

  "This isn't mine," said honest Peggy; "it is Rita's--" but Rita laid herhand over her mouth.

  "It _is_ hers!" she said; "a nothing! a tea-gown of last year! One isashamed to offer such a thing, not fit to scour floors in--"

  "Certainly not!" said Mrs. Cheriton, laughing. "Ah, Rita! you have theSpanish ways, I see. I have heard nothing of that sort since I was inSpain sixty years ago."

  "What, you have been in Spain!" cr
ied Rita, with animation. "Ah, I didnot know! Please tell us about it."

  "Another time. You would like to hear, I think, about the winter I spentin Granada, close by the Alhambra. But now I have something else to say.Your pretty dresses remind me that there is a chest of old gowns herethat it might interest you to look over. Some of them are quite old, twohundred years or more."

  Then, while the girls uttered cries of delight, she called Janet andbade her open the cedar chest in the next room.

  "This way, my dears!" and she led the way into a bedroom, as white andfresh and dainty as the sitting-room. Janet was already on her kneesbefore a deep chest, quaintly carved, and clamped with brass. Now, ather mistress's request, she began to lift out the contents.

  "Oh! oh! oh!" cried the three girls, positively squeaking with raptureand wonderment. The old lady looked from them to the dresses with apleased smile. "They are handsome!" she said.

  And they were! They must have been stately dames indeed, the Montfortladies who wore these splendid clothes! Here was a crimson damask, soheavily embroidered in silver that it stood alone when Janet set it upon the floor; here, again, a velvet, somewhat rubbed by long lying inthe chest, but of so rich and glowing a purple that only a queen couldhave found it becoming. Here were satins that gleamed like fallingwater; one, of the faint, moonlight tint that we call aqua-marine,another with a rosy glow like a reflected sunset. And the peach-colouredsilk! and the blue and silver brocade! and the amber velvet!

  Before the bottom of the chest was reached, the girls were silent,having exhausted their stock of words.

  At last Margaret cried, "Who were these people, Aunt Faith? Were theyprincesses, or runaway Indian begums, or what? They certainly cannothave been simple gentlewomen!"

  Mrs. Cheriton laughed her soft, rustling laugh.

  "It is a curious old Montfort custom," she said; "it has come downthrough many generations, I believe. The women have had the habit ofkeeping the handsomest gown they had, or one connected with some specialgreat event, and laying it in this old chest. Some of them arewedding-gowns,--those two satins, for example, and that white brocadewith the tiny rosebuds,--that was your Grandmother Montfort'swedding-gown, my dears, and she looked like a rose in it; I wasbridesmaid at her wedding. But others,--ah! hand me the blue and silverbrocade, Janet! Yes, here is an inscription that will, I think, amuseyou, my children. This was my own mother's contribution to the familychest."

  She beckoned the girls to look, and they bent eagerly forward. Under therich lace in the neck of the splendid brocade, a piece of paper wasneatly stitched, and on the paper was written: "This Gown was worne atMadam Washington's Ball. I danced with Gen. Washington, the CourtMinuet, and he praised my dancing. Afterwards the Gen. spilled Wineuppon the Front Peece, but I put French Chalks to it, and now the Spottemay hardly be Seen."

  "Oh," sighed Margaret, "how enchanting! how perfectly delightful! Arethey all marked, Aunt Faith?"

  "Not all, but a good many of them. See! Here is something on thissea-green cloak; notice the sleeves, Rita: they are something in theSpanish style, as it was in my youth. Let us see what is written here,for I forget."

  They bent over the yellow writing; in this case it was pinned on thehanging sleeve, and read as follows: "This Cloak, with the floweredsatin Gown, was worn by me, Henrietta Montfort, the last time I went toa worldly Assemblage. I lay them away, having entered upon a Life ofRetirement and Meditation since the Death of my deere Husband. Mem. TheCloake was lined with Sabels, which I have removed, lest Moth and Rustdo corrupt, and have made them into Muffs for the Poor."

  "I believe she became a great saint," said Mrs. Cheriton, "and a verysevere one. I have heard that in the coldest winter weather she wouldnot let her servants build fires on Sunday because she did not considerit a necessary work. There is a story that one bitter cold Sunday someone came to call, and found the whole family in bed, servants and all,trying to keep warm. I know they never had any warm victuals on thatday."

  "How pleasant to live now," said Margaret, "instead of then! Aren't youglad, girls?"

  "My faith!" said Rita, "I would have made a fire with the house, andburned her in it; then I should have been warm. But what is this, AuntFaith? If I am truly to call you so, yes? What horror is this? Look atthe beautiful satin, all destroyed! Cut!--it is cut with knives,Marguerite! Look!"

  Janet held up a white satin gown, of quaint and graceful fashion. Sureenough, it was cut and slashed in every direction, the sleeves hangingin ribbons, the skirt slit and gashed down its entire length. Mrs.Cheriton shook her head in answer to the girls' looks of amazement andinquiry.

  "I am sorry you saw that, Rita!" she said. "It recalls a sad story,which might better be forgotten. However--well, that gown belonged to mypoor Aunt Penelope. She was a beautiful girl, but headstrong, and shemarried, against her parents' wishes, a handsome, good-for-nothing man,who made her desperately unhappy, and finally left her. She lost hermind, poor soul, from sorrow and suffering. When her father brought herhome to Fernley, she took this, her wedding-gown, and cut it up in thisstrange fashion that you see, and laid it so in the chest; as a warning,she told her mother. She died very soon after her return; poor AuntPenelope!"

  She signed to Janet to lay the tattered gown back; and it seemed to thegirls as if the poor lady herself were being laid back in her coffin torest after her troubled life.

  "Does--does she walk?" asked Peggy, in an awestruck voice.

  "Walk?" repeated Mrs. Cheriton. "I don't--oh, yes! her ghost, you mean,Peggy? No, my dear. I fancy she was too tired to think of anything butresting. There is only one Montfort ghost that I ever heard of, and thatone is not a woman's."

  "Oh, tell us! Tell us, please!" cried all three girls eagerly. "A realghost? How thrilling!"

  "I did not say it was a real ghost, you impetuous children. I do notbelieve in ghosts myself, and I never saw this one. But people used tothink that the spirit of Hugo Montfort haunted one of the rooms. He diedsuddenly, in great trouble about some family papers that had been lost,and the family tradition is that he comes back from time to time to huntonce more through desks and drawers, in hope of finding them. He hasnever done so, I believe; but then, he has never been here since I cameto Fernley. Your Uncle John is no ghost-lover, any more than I am, and Ifear poor Hugo may feel the lack of sympathy. And now," she added, "thisis positively enough of old-time gossip. I do not know when I havetalked so much, children; you make me young and frivolous once more."

  "Oh," cried Peggy, who had listened open-mouthed to the last tale; "butjust tell us what he looks like, when any one does see him. I havewanted all my life to be where there was a ghost. Is he--is he inwhite?"

  "Oh, dear, no! Hugo Montfort is no hobgoblin ghost in a white sheet,with a pumpkin head! He was a very elegant gentleman in his time, and Ibelieve his favorite wear is black velvet. By the way, his portrait isin the long gallery upstairs. Have you been there, my dears? There aresome curious old portraits. And there is the garret; you have surelyvisited the garret?"

  But the girls had not, they confessed. There had been so much to do, thedays had gone so rapidly. Margaret alone realised, and she perhaps forthe first time, how little they had really seen of the house itself.There was so much to see out of doors, and when indoors she was alwaysdrawn irresistibly to the library and its entrancing folios and quartos.Peggy had, one rainy day, proposed to "see if there wasn't a garret orsome place where they could have some fun." But Margaret, as she nowremembered with a pang, had just discovered the "Hakluyt Chronicles,"and was conscious of nothing in the world save the volume before her,and the longing wish for her father to enjoy it with her.

  "We will go this very afternoon!" she cried, with animation. "Is itunlocked? May we roam about wherever we like, Aunt Faith? It soundslike Bluebeard! Are there no doors that we may not open?"

  "None among those that you will see there," said Mrs. Cheriton. AndMargaret fancied that she looked grave for a moment. "You will find moretrunks there," she added quickly, "fu
ll of old trumpery, less valuablethan these dresses, and which you may like to amuse yourselves with.Here are the keys of some of them--the wig trunk, the military trunk;yes, I think you may be sure of an afternoon's amusement if you are asfond of dressing up as I was at your age. Now we must say good-bye, mydear children; Janet is shaking her head at me, and it is true that Imust not talk too long."

  She kissed them all affectionately, and they sped away, Margaret onlylingering to look back with one parting glance at the beautiful oldfigure in its white chair.

  "The garret! the garret!" cried Rita. "Hurrah!" shouted Peggy. And theyflew up the stairs like swallows.