by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER IV
During all these long years I had grown to tolerate Aunt Penelope. Ifound that her bark was worse than her bite; I found, too, that if I lether alone, she let me alone. She was always changing Buttons, and thenew boy was invariably called Jonas, just as the last had been. Theparrot kept on living, and kept on shouting at intervals every day,"Stop knocking at the door!" but he never would learn any fresh words,although I tried hard to teach him. He did not like me, and snapped atme when I endeavoured to be kind to him. So I concluded that he was akind of "double" of Aunt Penelope, and left him alone.
The little house was kept scrupulously clean, but the food was of theplainest, and Aunt Penelope wore the oldest and shabbiest clothes, andshe dressed me very badly too. At that time in my career I did notgreatly mind about dress. What I did mind was that she never would letme talk about father. She always shut me up or turned the conversation.She had an awful book of musty old sermons, which she set me to readaloud to her the very instant I began to ask her questions about myfather, so that by degrees I kept my thoughts to myself. I wrote tofather from the very first, but I never got a reply. I used to post theletters myself, so I knew they must have reached him, but he neveranswered, and as the years went on I wrote less often, for you cannotkeep up a correspondence on one side only. I used to wonder at the timeif Aunt Penelope kept back his letters to me, but I did not like toaccuse her of such a monstrous crime.
At last, however, just after I had passed my eighteenth birthday, andwas a tall, shabbily-dressed girl, who had learnt all that could betaught at the High School--the only one to which Aunt Penelope couldafford to send me--she herself came to me in a state of greatexcitement, and said that father was returning home.
"He is coming to settle in England," she said. "I must be frank withyou, Heather, and tell you that it is not at all to your advantage thathe should do so."
"Aunt Penelope," I answered, "why do you say words of that sort?"
"I say them," she replied, "because I know the world and you don't. Yourfather is not the sort of man who would do any girl the slightest good."
"You had better not speak against him to me," I said.
"I have taken great pains with you," said Aunt Penelope, "and havebrought you up entirely out of my own very slender means. You are, foryour age, fairly well educated, you understand household duties. You canlight a fire as quickly and deftly as any girl I ever met, and youunderstand the proper method of dusting a room. You can also do plaincooking, and you can make your own clothes. I don't know anything aboutyour intellectual acquirements, but your teacher, Miss Mansel, at theHigh School, says that you are fairly proficient. Well, my dear, allthese things you owe to me. You came to me a very ignorant, veryself-opinionated, silly, delicate little girl. You are now a fine,strong young woman. Your father is returning--he will be hereto-morrow."
I clasped my hands tightly together. There was no use in saying to thiswithered old aunt of mine how I pined for him, how his kindly,good-humoured face, his blue eyes, his grizzled locks, had haunted andhaunted me for ten long years.
"I understand," said Aunt Penelope, "that your father, after runningthrough all his own money, and all of yours--for your mother had as muchto live on as I have--has suddenly come into a new fortune. In his lastletter to me he wrote that he wished to take you to London to introduceyou to the great world. Now, I earnestly hope, my dear Heather, that youwill be firm on this point and refuse to go with him. I am an old womannow, and I need your presence as a return for all the kindness I havedone for you, and the life with your father would be anything but goodfor you. I shall naturally not object to your seeing him again, but, tospeak frankly, I think, after all the years of toil and trouble I havespent on you, it is your bounden duty to stay with me and to refuse yourfather's invitation to go to London with him."
"Stop knocking at the door!" called the parrot at that moment.
When Aunt Penelope had finished her long speech I looked at her and thensaid quietly:
"I know you have been good to me, and I have been many times a naughtygirl to you, but, you see, father comes first, and if he wants me I amgoing to him."
"I thought you would say so. Your ingratitude is past bearing."
"Fathers always do come before aunts, don't they?" I asked.
"Oh, please don't become childish again, Heather. Go out and get thetea. I am tired of the want of proper feeling of the present day. Do youknow that this morning Jonas broke that valuable Dresden cup and saucerthat I have always set such store by? It has spoiled my set."
"What a shame," I answered. And I went into the kitchen to prepare thetea.
The Jonas of that day was a small boy of thirteen. He wore the veryantiquated suit of Buttons which the first Jonas had appeared in tenyears ago. He had very fat, red cheeks, and small, puffy eyes, and alittle button of a mouth, and he was always asleep except when AuntPenelope was about, when he ran and raced and pretended to do a lot, andbroke more things than can be imagined. He awoke now when I entered thekitchen.
"Jonas, you are a bad boy," I said; "the kettle isn't boiling, and thefire is nearly out."
"I'll pour some paraffin on the fire and it will blaze up in a minute,"said Jonas.
"You won't do anything of the kind; it is most dangerous--and Jonas,what a shame that you should have broken that Dresden cup and saucer!"
"Lor', miss, it was very old," said Jonas. "We wears out ourselves, sodoes the chaney."
"Now don't talk nonsense," said I, half laughing. "Cut some bread andI'll toast it. Jonas, I am a very happy girl to-day; my dear father iscoming back to-morrow."
"Lor'," said Jonas, "I wouldn't be glad if my gov'nor wor coming back.He's sarvin' his time, miss, but don't let on that you know."
"Serving his time?" I answered. "What is that?"
"Lor', miss, he's kept by the Government. They has all the expense ofhim, and a powerful eater he ever do be!"
I did not inquire any further, but went on preparing the tea. When itwas ready I brought it to Aunt Penelope.
"Do you know," I said, as I poured her out a cup, "that Jonas says hisfather is 'serving his time'? What does that mean?"
Aunt Penelope turned red and then white. Then she said, in a curious,restrained sort of voice:
"I wouldn't use that expression if I were you, Heather. It applies topeople who are detained in prison."
"Oh!" I answered. Then I said, in a low tone, "I am very sorry forJonas."
The next day father came back. Ten years is a very long time to havedone without seeing your only living parent, and if father had been redand grizzled when last I beheld him, his hair was white now.Notwithstanding this fact, his eyes were as blue as ever, and he had thesame jovial manner. He hugged and hugged me, and pushed me away from himand looked at me again, and then he hugged me once more, and said toAunt Penelope:
"She does you credit, Penelope. She does, really and truly. When we havesmartened her up a bit, and--oh! you know all about it, Penelope--she'llbe as fine a girl as I ever saw."
"I have taught Heather to regard her clothes in the light in which thesacred Isaac Watts spoke of them," replied Aunt Penelope:
"Why should our garments, made to hide Our parents' shame, provoke our pride? Let me be dressed fine as I will, Flies, flowers, and moths, exceed me still."
"That's a very ugly verse, if you will permit me to say so, Penelope,"remarked my father, and then he dragged me down to sit on his knee.
He was wonderfully like his old self, and yet there was an extraordinarychange in him. He used to be--at least the dream-father I had thought ofall these years used to be--a very calm, self-contained man, never putout nor wanting in self-possession. But now he started at intervals andhad an anxious, almost nervous manner. Aunt Penelope would not allow meto sit long on my father's knee.
"You forget, Heather, that you are not a child," she said. "Jump up andattend to the Major's comforts. I do not forget, Major, how particularyou used to be about your toa
st. You were an awful fidget when you werea young man."
"Ha! ha!" said my father. "Ha! ha! And I am an awful fidget still, Pen,an awful fidget. But Heather makes good toast; she's a fine girl--thatis, she will be, when I have togged her up a bit."
Here he winked at me, and Aunt Penelope turned aside as though she couldscarcely bear the sight. After tea, to my infinite disgust, I wasrequested to leave the room. I went up to my tiny room, and, to judgefrom the rise and fall of two voices, an animated discussion was goingon downstairs. At the end of half an hour Aunt Penelope called to me tocome down. As I entered the room the parrot said, "Stop knocking at thedoor!" and my father remarked:
"I wonder, Penelope, you don't choke that bird!" Aunt Penelope turned tome with tears in her eyes.
"Heather, your father wishes you to join him in London at once. He hasarranged, however, that you shall spend a certain portion of each yearwith me."
"Yes," remarked my father, "the dull time in the autumn. You shallalways have her back then--that is, until she marries a duke or someoneworthy of her."
"Am I really to go with you, Daddy?" I asked. "Really and truly?"
"Not to come with me to-night, pretty pet," he answered, pinching mycheek as he spoke. "I must find a habitation worthy of my little girl.But early next week your aunt--your kind aunt--will see you into thetrain and I will meet you at the terminus, and then, heigho! for a newlife!"
I could not help laughing with glee, and then I was sorry, for AuntPenelope had been as kind as kind could be after her fashion, and I didwrong not to feel some regret at leaving her. But when a girl has onlyher father, and that father has been away for ten long years, surely sheis to be excused for wishing to be with him again.
Aunt Penelope hardly spoke at all after my father left. What herthoughts were I could not define; I am afraid, too, I did not try toguess them. But early next morning she began to make preparations for mydeparture. The little trunks which had accompanied me to Hill View wereplaced in the centre of my room, and Aunt Penelope put my very modestwardrobe into them. She laid between my nice, clean, fresh linen somebunches of home-grown lavender.
"You will think of me when you smell this fragrant perfume, Heather,"she said; and I thought I saw something of a suspicion of tears in hereyes. I sprang to her then, and flung my arms round her neck, and said:
"Oh, I do want to go, and yet I also want to stay. Can't you understand,Aunt Penelope?"
"No, I cannot," she replied, pulling my hands away almost roughly; "and,what is more, I dislike silly, nonsensical speeches. No one can wish todo two things directly opposite at the same time. Now, count out yourhandkerchiefs. I bought you six new ones for your last birthday, and youhad before then, how many?"
I am afraid I forgot. I am afraid I tried Aunt Penelope very much; but,after all, her time of suffering was to be short, for that very eveningthere came a telegram from father, desiring Aunt Penelope to send me upto London by the twelve o'clock train the following day.
"I will meet Heather at Victoria," he said.
So the next day I left Hill View, and kissed Aunt Penelope when I went,and very nearly kissed the parrot, and shook hands quite warmly with thereigning Jonas, and Aunt Penelope saw me off at the station, and I wasas glad to go as I had been sorry to come. Thus I shut away the oldlife, and turned to face the new.
I had not been half an hour in the carriage before, looking up, I sawthe kind eyes of a very beautiful lady fixed on mine. I had been soabsorbed with different things that I had not noticed her until thatmoment. She bent towards me, and said:
"I think I cannot be mistaken, surely your name is Heather Grayson?"
"Yes," I answered.
"And you are going to meet your father, Major Grayson?"
"How do you know?" I said.
"Well, it so happens that I am going up to town to meet both him and myhusband. It is long years since I have seen you; but you are not greatlyaltered. Do you remember the day when you went to the railway station atCherton, and asked for a person called Anastasia, and my husband and Ispoke to you?"
"Oh, are you indeed Lady Carrington?" I asked.
"Yes, I am; and I am going to town to meet your father and Sir John. Youwere a very little girl when I had the pleasure of last speaking to you;now you are a young woman."
"Yes," I replied. Then I added, looking her full in the face, "I supposeI am quite grown-up; I am eighteen."
"Do you mind telling me, Miss Grayson, if you are going to live withyour father?"
"I think so," I replied.
She looked very thoughtful. After a minute she said:
"You can confide in me or not, Miss Grayson. I ask for no confidences onyour part that you are not willing to give, and if you would rather nottell me, I will not press you."
"What do you want to say?" I asked.
"Have you any idea why you have been separated from your father for tenlong years?"
"My father was in India," I replied, "and Aunt Penelope says that Indiais not thought good for little girls. I liked it immensely when I wasthere, but Aunt Penelope says it injures them in some sort of fashion.Of course, I cannot tell how or why."
"And that is all you really know?"
"There is nothing else to know," I replied.
She was silent, leaning back against her cushions. Just as we werereaching Victoria she bent forward again, and said:
"Heather--for I must call you by that name--I have known your father foryears, and whatever the world may do, I, for one, will never forsakehim, nor will my dear husband. I have also known your mother, althoughshe died many years ago. For these reasons I want to be good to you,their only child. So, Heather, if you happen to be in trouble, will youcome to me? My address is 15A, Princes Gate. I am at home most mornings,and at all times a letter written to that address will find me. Ah!here we are, and I see your father and--and my husband." She abruptlytook my hand and squeezed it.
"Remember what I have said to you," was her next remark, "and keep theknowledge that I mean to be your friend to yourself."
The train drew up at the platform. Father clasped me in his arms. Heintroduced me to Sir John Carrington, who laughed and said: "Oh, what achanged Heather!" and then my father spoke to Lady Carrington, who beganto talk to him at once in a very earnest, low voice. I heard her say:
"Where are you taking her?" but I could not hear my father's reply.
Then the Carringtons drove off in their beautiful motor-car, and fatherand I stepped into a brougham, a private one, very nicely appointed, myluggage--such very simple luggage--was placed on the roof, and we wereaway together.
"Now I want Anastasia," I said.
"We'll find her if we can," said father. "You'd like her to be yourmaid, wouldn't you, Heather?"
"Oh, yes," I answered. "I did miss her so awfully." And I told fatherhow I had run to the railway station to meet the next train on thatterrible day long ago and how Aunt Penelope had followed me.
He laughed, and said I was a rare plucky one, and then we drew up beforea grand hotel and entered side by side. We were shown immediately into aprivate sitting-room, which had two bedrooms opening out of it, one forfather and one for me. Father said:
"Heather, I mean to show you life as it is, and to-night we are going tothe theatre. We shall meet a friend of mine there--a very charming lady,who, I know, will be interested in you, and I want you to be interestedin her too, as she is a great friend of mine."
"But I only want you to be great friends with me," I said.
Father laughed at this, got a little red, and turned the conversation.
"What dress have you for the theatre?" he asked.
"I don't think I have any," I said. "I don't possess any evening dress."
"But that won't do," he replied. "What is the hour? We really haven't aninstant to lose."
He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.
"We can manage it," he said. He spoke down a tube, and presently wastold that his carriage awaited him.
"Come, Heather, come," he said. "You must be togged up properly forto-night."
After my very quiet life at Hill View this complete change made me soexcited that I scarcely knew how to contain myself.
We got into the brougham and drove to a smart shop, where fortunately apretty dress of soft black was able to be procured. This was paid forand put into a box, and we returned to the hotel, but not before fatherhad bought me also some lilies of the valley to wear with the dress.
I went up to our sitting-room alone, for he was busy talking to a ladywho seemed to have the charge of a certain department downstairs, theresult of which was that after tea a very fashionable hairdresserarrived, who arranged my thick dark hair in the latest and most becomingfashion, and who even helped me to get into my black dress. When Ijoined father my eyes were shining and my cheeks were bright withcolour.
"Oh, what fun this is!" I said.
"Yes, isn't it?" he answered. "Where are your flowers?"
I had put them on, but he did not like the way I had arranged them, sohe settled them himself in a more becoming manner, and then he slipped asingle string of pearls round my white throat and showed me--lying on achair near by--a most lovely, dainty opera cloak, all made in pink andwhite, which suited me just perfectly.
"Now, we'll have some dinner, and then we'll be off," he said. "LadyHelen Dalrymple will admire you to-night, Heather, and I want her to."
Who was Lady Helen Dalrymple?
