CHAPTER II
MY COUSINS
"There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend."
I came to England with the swallows, and I think I felt as much a birdof passage as they; more so, indeed, for all the young swallows had beenreared under northern skies and were but returning home, while I was asyet a stranger in a new land. My uncle met me at Liverpool, where I hada terrible parting from Madame Montpellier, who had been very good to meon the voyage, and who seemed my last link with the past; and we set outat once upon the long journey to London. I liked my uncle, he remindedme much of my father; there was a merry twinkle in his eye, and akindliness in his voice which seemed to call for some response, so Imade a desperate effort to check my flowing tears and take an interestin the various things he pointed out to me from the window of therailway-carriage. The green fields and hedgerows, the picturesquevillages and churches, the smooth rivers and the quiet pastoral sceneryas we steamed through the midlands were all new to my wondering eyes,but to watch them from the fast express, as they appeared to whizzrapidly by, made my head ache, and I had curled myself up in a cornerand subsided comfortably to sleep long before London was reached.
I am afraid my arrival must have been a bitter disappointment to mylittle cousins, of whom the elder ones were waiting in the hall towelcome me when our cab drove up. I was so utterly weary with myjourney, and I felt so forlornly shy at the sight of so many strangefaces around me, that, forgetting both my manners and my goodintentions, I burst into a flood of tears, and refused all comfort.
"Better put her to bed," said my aunt briskly; "she's tired out, andit's no use worrying her. After a thorough night's rest she'll be moreready to make friends with us."
I was so miserable that I did not much care what happened to me, so Isubmitted with a good grace to be undressed, and to swallow the hot milkwhich they brought me; then with my father's photograph clasped tightlyin my hand, I cried myself to sleep on that my first night in my newhome. Somehow with the morning sunshine life seemed to wear a differentaspect, and instead of telling Aunt Agatha that I could never be happyin England, and begging her to send me straight back to San Carlos bythe very next ship, as I had quite made up my mind to do the nightbefore, I went downstairs to breakfast full of curiosity to make theacquaintance of my cousins. I had heard them for some time, as duringthe last hour the whole upper story of the house had seemed to bepervaded with the noise of small shrill voices, the stamping of feet,the slamming of doors, and finally the melancholy sound of the minorscales on the piano, the performer appearing to get into complicationswith the sharps and flats, and occasionally to relapse altogether intothe major key.
Aunt Agatha came bustling into my bedroom as I fastened the last buttonof my dress (the voyage had taught me to dispense with Juanita's help),and she stood and surveyed me with a critical eye. Her first impressionof me had been hardly a fair one, so I trust that this morning Ipresented a more favourable appearance.
"Yes," she said slowly, "you have your father's eyes, but otherwiseyou're the image of your mother: the same slight build, and the samelight hair and colour which I remember so well in my poor sister-in-law.Dear me! how little I thought when I said good-bye to her that I shouldnever see her again! You must try to make yourself at home, my dear,among us all. It's hard, I dare say, to settle down into new ways, butif you'll try your best, we will do our part, and I hope you'll soonlike England as well as the country you've left behind. Now come withme, and say good-morning to your cousins."
There were so many of them, and of such various ages, that when Ientered the nursery I might have supposed myself for the moment in aninfant school. From Lucy, the eldest, who was six months older than I,to the baby in long clothes, they descended in a series of eight littlesteps, all blue-eyed and auburn-haired, all sturdy of limb and lusty ofvoice, and all dressed in stout brown holland pinafores, warranted toresist the hardest of wear and tear.
"I'm sure you'll soon become friends," said Aunt Agatha, after Lucy,Mary, Edgar, Donald, Frank, Cuthbert, Dorothy, and the baby had all beenduly presented. "You're to have lessons in the school-room from MissMasterman. I've spoken to her about your work. I believe your fathermentioned that you hadn't yet begun either French or music. And, Blair,I should like you to go over her clothes after breakfast. I mustarrange for Miss Jenkins to come at once for a few days' sewing. Be sureshe drinks plenty of milk with her porridge, and be careful she doesn'tget into draughts just at first, as she's accustomed to a warmerclimate."
Blair was a power in the household. She managed her nursery with thetactics of a general, reducing small rebels to a state of submissionwith admirable skill, and keeping order among her noisy little crew witha firm though just hand. She might not always be exactly pleasant, buton the whole her moral atmosphere was like an east wind, bracing, thougha little trying at times. She accepted an addition to her numerouscharges with grim philosophy.
"You'll soon shake down among the others," she said to me, not unkindly."It seems queer to you, I dare say, after living in a foreign country,with black servants and outlandish cookery, but there's everything inhabit, and with plenty of lessons to keep you busy, you'll have no timeto fret."
Just at first I certainly found the shaking-down process rather a roughone. It was all so utterly different from my old life. Accustomed tospend most of my time with my father, I thought it hard to berestricted to the nursery and school-room, and instead of being thecentre of my little world, to be only one of a flock who were notfavoured with many indulgences.
My aunt, I am sure, did her very best for me according to her lights,and perhaps she thought that I should settle all the sooner if I wereleft judiciously alone, but, looking back now upon her upbringing, Ithink she might have shown me more tenderness. She was a tall, handsomewoman, with a capable manner, and what she called "sensible" views oflife. If she had ever cherished any illusions, they had long ago worndown to the level of strict commonplace. Though she loved her children,in her practical, unsentimental way, they were to her always "thechildren", to be ruled and reared, clothed and educated, but never inany respect her companions; and a friendship between two people ofwidely differing ages, such as existed between my father and myself, wasa thing she could scarcely understand. There were certain well-arrangedregulations for our daily life and conduct, and that any allowanceshould be made for individual temperament was to her mind neithersuitable nor desirable. She treated me as one of her own, and that itwas possible for me to need more did not enter into her calculations.But I did need more. I was a child of extremely warm affections, andthough I could not have expressed the feeling, my heart felt starvedupon the very small amount of love and attention which fell to my share.I tried my best to be brave and not to fret, but sometimes myhome-sickness would gain the upper hand, and I have often wet my pillowwith bitter tears, longing with a yearning that was almost agony for onekiss from my father before I went to sleep.
With my cousins I was soon a favourite.
"Tell us again about San Carlos, and the forest, and the tree-witches,and the gri-gri man," said Edgar and Mary, who listened spell-bound tomy reminiscences of Tasso's marvellous stories; and I would sit in thedusk by the nursery fire, with an audience of eager little faces aroundme, putting such horrible realism into my narratives that Donald broughtBlair from her supper by screaming that the gri-gri man was under hisbed, while poor Mary never dared in future to pass the lumber-room door,for fear of seeing a grinning goblin pop his head suddenly out of thedarkness.
Though we afterwards became the best of friends, Lucy treated me atfirst with little airs of superiority and patronage. I am afraid webegan our acquaintance with a wordy war.
"You must feel quite glad to be in a proper English house, after livingin that queer foreign place," she remarked, by way of opening theconversation.
"No, I'm not," I retorted. "Our house at San Carlos is ever so muchnicer than this. It has marble floors, and a terrace, and a perg
ola."
"I don't know what a pergola is," replied Lucy. "But we have a balcony,and that's quite as good. Your clothes are so funnily made, Blair saysshe hardly likes to take you out. Mother has sent for Miss Jenkins tomake you some new ones. You're going to do lessons with us every day. Iwonder if you'll be able to learn with me. Can you speak French?"
"No, but I can speak Spanish."
"Oh, that's no use! Who wants to talk Spanish? Mother said you hadlearnt it from the servants, and the sooner you forgot it the better."
"I won't forget it. I shall speak it when I go back."
"You're not going back."
"Yes, I am, soon. Father will send for me," I ventured desperately.
"No, not till you're quite grown up. I heard Mother tell Miss Mastermanso just now. She said your ways were as queer as your clothes, and youwould take a great deal of training before you were fit to be sent toschool."
"I _will_ go back! I _will_ speak Spanish!" I declared in greatindignation. "Juanita and Tasso can't speak anything else."
"I wonder you care to talk to negroes," said Lucy, tossing back herhair. "I like white people myself, and I'm sure you needn't boast ofhaving been carried about by an old black man!"
The slight to my dear friends stung me even more than the insult to myclothes and my manners, and I ended in a storm of miserable crying. Nextto my father I very truly missed those kind companions of my childhood,and ever to forget them seemed to me the basest ingratitude.
My new English clothes were of sober colours and serviceable materials;they seemed to match my new life, and perhaps my manners changed withthem, for I soon settled down into the little daily round which wasappointed for me. At first I found the regular lessons somewhat of atrial, as I had never been accustomed either to learn systematically,or really to apply myself. But Miss Masterman, our daily governess, wasboth a kind and clever teacher, and after a while I grew so interestedin my work that I easily caught up Lucy, and even began to outstripher--a little, I fancy, to her chagrin.
I wrote regularly to my father. I have one of these childish letters byme now, for he treasured them carefully, and to read it brings back sokeenly the remembrance of those early days that I shall give it a placein these pages. Here it is, exactly as I wrote it, in my most carefulround hand.
CHESTNUT AVENUE, June 12th.
"My dearest Father,
"I think of you every day of my life. I have put your photo on my dressing-table, and I kiss it good-night and good-morning as if it were really you. I am trying very hard to be happy, but my two troubles are porridge and scales. Porridge is something like the food Tasso used to mix up for the ducks, only you eat it hot. Blair says it will make me grow strong, and I must take what is given me and not find fault, so I gulp it down, though it nearly chokes me. Scales are detestable. Miss Masterman puts pennies on the backs of my hands, but I cannot help jerking my arm when I turn my thumb under, so they always fall on to the floor, and then she is cross.
"I like drawing the best of all my lessons. I have bought a new paint-box with the money you sent me, and I will try and make pictures for you of everything I see. There are no orange-trees or coffee-plantations here. We go walks down long streets with tall houses on both sides, or sometimes into the Park, which I like better, though it is not so nice as the garden at San Carlos, for you may not pick the flowers, and there are sparrows instead of humming-birds. I hope Juanita does not forget to feed the terrapin and the green lizard. Give my love to her, and to Tasso and Pedro and everybody. Aunt Agatha is writing to you herself, and she will put this letter inside hers.
"From your loving little daughter, "PHILIPPA SEATON."
If I found my life in London rather hard to bear at times, I am afraidmy attempts to relieve the monotony of my existence were not always asuccess at head-quarters. I had a lively imagination, and my inventivefaculty was continually leading me into planning games which my cousinsthought only too delightful, but which were set down as either mess ormischief by those in authority. When Aunt Agatha found us tobogganingdown the back staircase in a clothes-basket, she knew at once theinstigator of the sport, and she easily guessed who had taken the chairsfrom the best bedroom to form a menagerie in the nursery. It was I whoconceived the brilliant idea of making a sea-side resort for the dollswith the aid of the tea-tray full of water and the sand out of thecanary's cage, a most interesting and fascinating pastime for us, butlooked at in a very different light by Blair, when she returned to findthe younger children with sopping pinafores, and my miniature oceanslowly wending its way in trickles over the nursery floor.
"You get into mischief the moment my back is turned. I'm sure thechildren never thought of doing such things before you came!" she saidseverely.
MAKING A SEA-SIDE RESORT FOR THE DOLLS]
I do not suppose they had, for though they loved a romp, they were notnaturally imaginative; but they immensely enjoyed my ideas, and werealways ready to fall in with my schemes, from soap slides on theattic-landing to the fairy palace which I constructed in the lumber-roomout of old lace curtains hung over towel-rails, or the ogre's den in thehousemaid's cupboard under the stairs.
I remember well how, one afternoon, when Blair for a wonder was absent,I seized the golden opportunity to organize a grand game of carnival.The children's pocket-handkerchiefs and silk neckties were collectedfrom the various drawers and hung up as flags on a string fastened fromthe gas-bracket to the window. All my little cousins were eager to bemasquers, and I racked my brains to devise costumes for them out of thevery limited materials at my command.
Lucy, in her night-dress, with two sheets of copy-book paper fastened onto her shoulders as wings, made quite a creditable angel. Edgar was anIndian, his face painted in stripes of red and yellow, some feathersplucked from the dusting-broom stuck in his curly locks, and thehearth-brush for a tomahawk. Mary, with my best sash draped artisticallyover her right shoulder, represented Venus, with Cuthbert for a Cupid;Donald, in Aunt Agatha's furs, stolen shamelessly from her bedroom,rollicked about as a savage; and, as I really had no clothes left forDorothy, I blacked her face with a piece of coal, and transformed herinto a little negro child. I myself was Father Neptune, with atoasting-fork for a trident, and as we paraded round the nursery,pelting each other with pieces of torn-up paper for confetti, I think werivalled in noise the wildest carnival I had ever witnessed at SanCarlos.
We were in the very height of our excitement, and were scramblingeagerly for pretended bon-bons, which Lucy was flinging from animaginary balcony, when the door was suddenly opened, and Aunt Agathaentered, ushering in a visitor.
"This is my little flock, Mrs. Winstanley--" she began, then stoppedshort in utter dismay at the scene of confusion before her.
My aunt's sense of humour was not keen; her orderly nursery and tidyfamily were her pride, and the sight of the tumbled heads and crumpledpinafores, the clothes strewn hither and thither, and the painted andblackened faces of her ordinarily well-behaved darlings was enough tojustify her look of extreme annoyance. She turned at once upon the trueoffender.
"Philippa, what have you been doing with the children?" she askedsharply.
No culprit caught red-handed could have felt more guilty or discomfitedthan I. I gasped out something incoherent about "carnival", and burstinto tears.
But here the visitor saved the situation.
"It is very kind of the little ones to be _en fete_ to welcome us, Mrs.Seaton," she said gently. "My own children often dress up when they wishto give me a treat. I have not seen a carnival since I was last at Nice,and I don't think any of the masquers were so natural as these. So thisis little Philippa!" she continued as she sat down, and drew me quietlyto her side. "I hope you will learn to love me some day, for your motherwas my dearest friend, and I could not pass through London to-daywithout taking the opportunity of coming to see her only child."
She kissed me with a wa
rmth I had missed since I bade that last good-byeto my father; there were tears in her eyes, and, strangely moved, Iclung to her, crying a little, but more comforted than I could havefound words to tell.
It was thus that I first made acquaintance with one of the truestfriends of my life.
The Fortunes of Philippa: A School Story Page 3
