Produced by Al Haines.
*[Frontispiece: "THE YOUNG CLERGYMAN CLIMBED CAREFULLY BUT QUICKLY DOWN TO THEM" (missing from book)]*
MONICA'S CHOICE
BY
FLORA E. BERRY
AUTHOR OF "NETA LYALL," "IN SMALL CORNERS," ETC.
_WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS_
London S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO. 8 & 9, PATERNOSTER ROW 1904
*CONTENTS*
CHAP.
I. "I WISH CONRAD HAD NEVER LEFT HER WITH ME" II. "SUCH A *DEAR* LITTLE MONKEY!" III. "I'M MOVED UP!" IV. "I WISH YOU'D BE FRIENDS WITH ME" V. "I WANT YOU A MINUTE" VI. "HE WEREN'T CALLED 'SEIZE-'ER,' FOR NOTHIN'" VII. "THIS IS MONICA BEAUCHAMP, MOTHER" VIII. "MIND YOU ARE NOT LATE!" IX. "HAVE A RIDE, MONICA?" X. "I LIKE FUSSIN' OVER PEOPLE" XI. "A NICE ENOUGH LITTLE DOG, AS DOGS GO" XII. "A HUNGRY FEELING IN MY BRAIN" XIII. "A NICE SCRAPE SHE'LL GET INTO!" XIV. "SUNDAY AGAIN ALREADY!" XV. "OH, MONICA, DON'T!" XVI. "DO BE CAREFUL, GIRLS" XVII. "DON'T PERSUADE ME NOT TO, ANY MORE" XVIII. "I EXPECT IT WILL BE RATHER SLOW AND--POKEY!" XIX. "YOU TELL THEM, LOIS; I COULDN'T" XX. "KEEP IT UP, IT ANSWERS VERY WELL" XXI. "I GUESS I'LL JUST WATCH *YOU* A BIT" XXII. "I CANNOT SPARE YOU, MONICA!" XXIII. "IT'S ALL SURPRISES, NOWADAYS" XXIV. "I THINK MY MONICA DESERVES THE V.C." XXV. "THE CHILD HAS CHOSEN WELL"
*LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS*
"THE YOUNG CLERGYMAN CLIMBED CAREFULLY BUT QUICKLY DOWN TO THEM"(missing from book) . . . _Frontispiece_
"'YOU HIT HER EXPRESSION TO A T!'"
"'AH, YOU MAY LAUGH; MEBBE 'TIS NOTHIN' BUT SPORT TO YOUNG LEDDIES LIKEYOU'"
"'OH, MISS FRANKLYN, I AM SO AWFULLY SORRY!'"
"'OH, ROGER! HOW IS SHE?' WHISPERED OLIVE"
"MONICA GAZED IN UTTER ASTONISHMENT"
*MONICA'S CHOICE.*
*CHAPTER I.*
*"I WISH CONRAD HAD NEVER LEFT HER WITH ME!"*
"Tell Miss Monica I wish her to come to me _at once_, Barnes."
The door closed silently after the retreating maid, and Mrs. Beauchampsighed wearily. How often, lately, she had been obliged to send somesuch message to her wilful young granddaughter, and, how many more timeswould she have the same thing to do? Her aristocratic features wore aperturbed expression, as her slender fingers toyed mechanically with themany rings on her left hand; so great a responsibility was her onlygrandchild.
"I am sure I wish Conrad had never left her with me," she mused; "andyet there seemed no other solution of the difficulty when the regimentwas ordered out to Simla. It was impossible, of course, to take herwith him, and poor Helen was so opposed to boarding-schools. But it hascertainly been a mistake having her here. Such an unruly, passionatenature as Monica's needs very careful handling, and not one of thesegovernesses has had the tact to manage her. I'm sure I don't know whatto do about her."
Mrs. Beauchamp's ruminations were cut short by the abrupt entrance of agirl of fifteen, tall, and with a haughty mien, but possessing a facewhich denoted much character, albeit it wore an unpleasant scowl at thepresent moment. Pushing the door to behind her with no gentle hand, sothat it slammed violently, causing a jingling among the prettyknick-knacks with which the handsome drawing-room was lavishlyornamented, Monica Beauchamp stood before her grandmother, like a younglioness at bay.
"Barnes told me that you had sent for me, grand-mamma."
With a visible shudder at the noise made by the slamming door, Mrs.Beauchamp sat erect, and spoke with much annoyance, as she gave thedelinquent an aggrieved look over her gold-rimmed pince-nez.
"Really, Monica----" she began, in severe tones, but she wasinterrupted.
"Sorry," exclaimed her granddaughter, nonchalantly. "I didn't mean tohurt your feelings, but doors always seem to slip out of my fingers.What did you want me for, grandmamma? Would you mind being quick,because I'm in a great hurry?"
Even insubordinate Monica quailed before the expressions which flittedacross the old lady's features--amazement, anger, and finally scorn.
"I am simply _astounded_ at your rudeness, Monica," she said, sternly."How you can possibly allow yourself to speak to me in such a manner, Icannot imagine. It is very evident that you are no Beauchamp."
The scorn expressed in her grandmother's tones acted in the same way asa touch of the whip about the ears of a thoroughbred mare. She started,and tears of wounded pride welled up in her flashing hazel eyes, butthey were quickly forced back.
"I _am_ a Beauchamp!" she cried, her lips quivering with anger, and herhead thrown back. "Every one says I am my father over again."
"So you may be, in looks, Monica, but he would never have dreamed ofaddressing me in the manner you did just now."
"Well, perhaps he wasn't aggravated like I am. Miss Thompson is enoughto provoke a saint," she added, _sotto voce_, with a furtive glance atthe old lady's face.
But Mrs. Beauchamp took no notice of it; indeed, it is doubtful if sheheard the remark, so engrossed was she in deciding how best to deliverthe lecture she had undertaken to give Monica. A startled exclamationfrom her grandchild, who had been moodily staring out of one of theFrench windows, which overlooked a large sweep of the carriage drive,effectually roused her.
"Oh! now he's gone; I do call it too bad!"
"What do you mean, Monica?" queried the old lady, rising from her chairand following the direction of Monica's glance.
"Who has gone?"
"Why, Tom. The stable-boy, you know, grand-mamma," she added, as Mrs.Beauchamp looked incredulous. "I was in the yard when you sent for me,and he was telling me about the jolliest little wire-haired terrier hisfather wants to sell, and I----"
"Monica, how many times have I told you I will not allow you to frequentthe stable-yard? I am sure it is there that you pick up all the vulgarexpressions you are so continually using. I begin to think Miss Thompsonis right in saying you are no lady."
"Bother Miss Thompson!" cried Monica, now thoroughly angry, and losingall control of her words; "she's a sly old cat, that's what she is,spying round after me all day long. It's the only bit of fun I get,when I----"
"Be quiet, Monica, and listen to me," said her grandmother, who wasscarcely less angry, but who held herself in admirable check. "It isquite time that some one controlled you, and I have sent for you thisafternoon to tell you that I am going to----"
"Send me away to boarding school?" interrupted Monica, her angertemporarily subsiding, for, of all things, she desired to go away toschool, but it had always been tabooed. "Oh! grandmamma, _do_! I wouldreally behave well there." And she seized one of the old lady's whitehands impulsively in her warm, and decidedly dirty young fingers, whilethe girlish face quivered with excitement, until she looked a totallydifferent being. But she was doomed to disappointment.
"Nothing of the kind, Monica," replied Mrs. Beauchamp coldly, andwithdrawing her hand. She never responded to her granddaughter'sadvances, which probably accounted for the difficulty she had in dealingwith her; for Monica had a warm heart hidden away somewhere, which noone but her father had ever reached. "I was going to say, when you sorudely interrupted me again, that as you have had four governesseswithin very little more than a year, who, one and all, have declaredthat you are unmanageable, and that it is an utter impossibility toteach you, I shall be obliged to seek some other mode of education foryou."
Monica's face, which
had fallen considerably at the beginning of hergrandmother's speech, now brightened visibly.
"There is nothing else but boarding-school left," she said, withsatisfaction. It was to this end that she had made the lives of herlong-suffering instructresses unendurable by her tricks and generalunruliness.
"You know perfectly well, Monica, that you will never go to aboarding-school," replied Mrs. Beauchamp.
"That was only a fad of mother's," said Monica, disdainfully. "Dadwould never have forbidden it. He thought no end of Harrow, and I'm surehe would let me go to school if you told him what a bother the oldgovernesses are."
"He knows what a trouble _you_ are," said her grandmother sententiously,and her glance fell on a foreign letter lying on her escritoire near by,which Monica now noticed for the first time.
"Oh! have you heard from dad, grandmamma? Is there a letter for me?" shecried eagerly.
"Yes. I have heard from your father, and there is a letter for you,"Mrs. Beauchamp repeated, slowly, but she did not reach out her hand forit.
Impetuous Monica was about to snatch it up, but her grandmother stayedher hand.
"Wait, Monica, until I have finished, and then you may take your letterto the schoolroom to read. For months I did not tell your father a wordabout your troublesome ways, but lately you have been so incorrigiblethat I was compelled to let him know. And now this letter has come inreply to mine, and your father is grieved beyond expression. No doubthe will tell you the same in your letter; and he wishes me to consultMr. Bertram, the lawyer, as to which school it will be best to send youto, immediately. But ... it will be a day-school. Now you may go."
Monica snatched up the letter handed to her without a word, and wasgone. Mrs. Beauchamp breathed a sigh of relief, and rang the bell fortea; the letter and consequent interview with her unruly grandchild hadtired her out.
Meanwhile Monica had fled to her own room, a perfect little paradise,containing all the things most dear to a young girl's heart. Everythingin it, from the dainty bed to the little rocking-chair beside the openwindow, was blue; carpet, curtains, walls, all took the prevailing tint,and most girls of Monica's age would have revelled in such surroundings,and have taken a pride in having everything kept in spick-and-spanorder, in so charming a domain. But not so Monica; one of her worstfailings was untidiness. The shoes which she had worn out of doors thatmorning, and which had been carelessly tossed in a corner, were makingdirty little puddles on the blue and white linoleum: for she had beencaught in a heavy April shower. Her hat and jacket had been tossedpromiscuously on to the most convenient chair; one glove was lying onthe bed, the other--well, as a matter of fact she had dropped thathalf-way home, but had not missed it yet; that would mean a fruitlesshunt through drawers, all more or less in confusion, next time she wentout. The comb and brush she had hastily used, to make herselfsufficiently tidy to pass muster with her grandmother at the luncheontable, were still lying on the dainty little duchesse table, while thedrawer which should have contained them was half open, disclosing amedley of all kinds.
These are only samples of "Miss Monica's muddles," as the long-sufferingunder-housemaid (whose duty it was to keep the young lady's room inorder) called them. "I can't seem to keep things tidy nohow," she wouldconfide to the kitchenmaid; "as soon as ever I get it straightened up ofa morning, in she bounces, and begins a-topsy-turvying up ofeverything."
But Monica noticed none of these things; if the room had been inabsolute chaos she would have been oblivious of it, while she held athin sheet of foreign paper, covered with her father's writing, in herhand.
Pausing only to slip a tiny brass bolt into its place, in order tosecure privacy, she flung herself into the little blue rocker, and toreopen the envelope with eager fingers.
As she read her letter, a smile of pleasure hovered about her lips, forher father gave in his own racy style a description of a Hindu _mela_ atwhich he had been present the day before; but soon her expressionchanged, for his next topic was very different. It was evident that hewas deeply concerned about her behaviour to her grandmother andgovernesses, and the thought of her fast growing up into a headstrong,self-willed young woman grieved him terribly. He spoke of the lovinglittle girl to whom he had bid farewell only eighteen months before, andcould scarcely imagine that in so short a time she should have become sochanged; what would she be like when he returned to England, if she wereallowed to follow her own way?
Monica's tears were slowly falling as she reached the last page. Shebegan to realise, for the first time, that she was disappointing herfather's hopes for his only and much-loved child, and although theknowledge was painful, it was very salutary. With eyes blinded withtears, so that the writing seemed blurred and indistinct, she read on tothe end, and then as she saw the well-known signature, she bowed herproud young head on the broad window-ledge, and sobbed as if her heartwould break.
"Oh! dad, my darling dad, if only you needn't have left me, I would havetried to be just what you wanted; but it's all so stiff and dull here,and I am so lonely without any friend." For several minutes she wept onunrestrainedly, and then a few lines in the letter recurred to her, andshe looked at it once again. They ran thus--
"You see, my child, we must always remember that we are all 'underauthority.' Although I am a colonel, I must obey orders just asunquestioningly as the youngest recruit, and if my Monica would be atrue soldier's daughter, she must learn first of all to be obedient. Itis a hard, a very hard lesson to learn, and neither you nor I can hopeto master it, unless we ask His help who was obedient even unto death.
"It is difficult for me to explain what I mean, for I am naturally veryreserved over religious things; but I am confident of this, my child,that if you took Jesus Christ as your Example, you would grow day by daymore like Him, and you would soon learn to shun all the faults andfailings which now threaten to spoil your character."
"I wish I could, daddy dear," sighed Monica, as she re-read the lines,"but there is no one here to help me. I don't believe grandmamma is abit religious, for any little excuse is enough to keep her away fromchurch on Sunday mornings, and she never goes out at night. And all thetime I have been here she has never said a word about it, except to askme once or twice if I remember to say my prayers. Neither did any ofthe governesses, except Miss Romaine, and grand-mamma was glad when shewent, because she said she had such 'peculiar views.' Well, perhapssome one at the new school will show me how to be 'good.'" And Monicatossed her letter into one of the table drawers, and began withcommendable zeal to make herself more tidy than she had been for a longtime. She knew that that was one step in the right direction.
The next day the family lawyer was closeted with Mrs. Beauchamp for overan hour. She told him of her son's desire that Monica should go dailyto school, and asked his advice as to a suitable one.
"There is not much choice in the neighbourhood of Mydenham," said Mr.Bertram as he tapped his gold-rimmed spectacles meditatively on hisknee. "We are just beyond the suburban limits here, you see, andconsequently suffer in various ways. Let me see, there is Miss Beach'son the Osmington Road; she receives a few day-scholars, I believe,although hers is primarily a boarding school."
"That will not do," replied the old lady decisively. "The late Mrs.Conrad had a very strong objection to a boarding-school life forMonica."
"Certainly, certainly," agreed the obsequious man of law, although he byno means agreed with the late Mrs. Beauchamp's views; "then I do not seethat there is any other resource than the High school at Osmington."
"Oh! that is two miles away, and I have never thought very much of HighSchools; there is no restriction as to the social position of thescholars. Really, I don't think I----" And Mrs. Beauchamp pausedhelplessly.
"If the distance were not an insuperable objection, I think, under thecircumstances, no school could better be calculated to meet with ColonelBeauchamp's wishes," said the lawyer, with decision. "You say heexpressly desires his daughter to mix with companions of her own age
,and have the opportunity of plenty of open-air exercise, and yet beunder firm, but well-regulated control. As regards its educationalsystem, I venture to say that in very few respects can the High Schoolmethods be improved upon. Of course, the girls are drawn from variedranks, but in a day school it is unnecessary, indeed, it is impossible,for them to have much opportunity of mixing with more than a few of thepupils, and naturally your granddaughter would make companions of thosewho were in a similar social position to her own."
"Well, I'm sure I don't know," replied Mrs. Beauchamp, while her facestill wore its perturbed look; "Monica is so rash, she would be just aslikely to choose a butcher's or grocer's daughter as any one else."
"I doubt if there are many there," said Mr. Bertram, smiling. "I havealways heard that the Osmington school is one of the best, and Mr. Druryand Canon Monroe have daughters there, as well as many other leadingfamilies."
"If the Osmington clergy think the school is good enough, I suppose itis all right," agreed his client, not without some misgivings, still."The distance is the difficulty; but Barnes must accompany Monica, andthe regular walks will, no doubt, be good for her."
"The majority of the pupils who live at a distance bicycle there,"observed the lawyer.
"Most unwomanly!" was Mrs. Beauchamp's horrified reply. "I cannotimagine what the mothers of the present day are dreaming of. We mightas well have no girls at all; they seem to become boys as soon as theycan toddle. No, Monica shall not have a bicycle. If she must go to theschool, she must; but she will walk when fine, and Richards will have todrive her in the brougham when it is wet. I suppose--oh, dear me! I dowish she had been reasonable and got on with her governesses."
With an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders, Mr. Bertram badehis client good-day, having undertaken to make all necessaryarrangements. He was a childless man himself, but he felt sure that hadhe possessed a high-spirited daughter like Monica, he could haveimproved upon Mrs. Beauchamp's method of up-bringing.
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