by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER IV
IN THE GIRLS' BEDROOMS.
Marjorie and Eileen, in soiled and much bedraggled school-party frocks,went down to dinner. Letitia, in pale-blue silk with lace ruffles,looked neat, pretty, and suitably attired; but the other two girlspresented an appearance which caused poor Mrs. Chetwynd to shudder. Withtheir really handsome faces, their wide-open intelligent eyes, theirexquisitely-formed lips, and pearly rows of teeth, they were nothing butawkward, gauche, and unpresentable. Letitia was as pretty, trim, andagreeable to the eye as a young girl could be; but Eileen and Marjorie!What was to be done? Mrs. Chetwynd felt her heart sinking like lead inher breast; for there was a stubborn build about Marjorie's chin andabout the slight, very slight frown which now and then visited Eileen'sintelligent forehead. Mrs. Chetwynd perceived at a glance that if shewas to mold these two girls to her ways of thinking, she would have atroublesome task before her. She was rich, and was also good-hearted,good-natured, and pleasant. It was in no way her fault if the girls tookafter their father, who had been not only a brave soldier, but also thatstrange combination, a scholar, as well, and who had died before thegirls' education was complete. He was a man of extraordinary characterand determination, and had all his life been the victim of fads. Mrs.Chetwynd felt quite certain that their father was to blame forMarjorie's and Eileen's peculiar appearance. She was thankful that shehad not asked any friends to meet the girls on their first evening homefrom school. She determined to make herself as pleasant as possible, andnot to allude to the untidy wardrobes, the gauche appearance, and thecropped heads until the following morning.
Dinner passed quickly, for all three girls were hungry; and when theyretired to the drawing-room Mrs. Chetwynd suggested a little music.
"Eileen, my darling, you sing, don't you?" she said, turning to theyounger of the twins.
"Oh, dear me, no, mother; I have not the ghost of a voice," repliedEileen.
"But I thought that your teacher, Miss Fox, spoke highly of your musicaltalents?"
"She said I should play well if I practiced hard; but I did not think myvery moderate gift worth cultivating," replied Eileen, yawning slightlyas she spoke. "You see, unless one has genius, there is not the leastuse in the present day in being musical. Only genius is tolerated; andthen I don't ever mean to be ornamental. My vogue in life is the useful.The music of the ordinary school-girl, after years of toil, is merelyregarded as an accomplishment, and generally as an unpleasant one;therefore I have let my music drop."
"Dear, dear! How extraordinary of Miss Fox not to let me know," saidMrs. Chetwynd. "Well, Marjorie, you at least play?" said her mother.
"Yes, mother," in a somewhat solemn style. "I can give you one of Bach'sfugues, if you like."
"Do so, my dear. I have spent a great deal of money on your music, andshould like to hear the result."
Marjorie rose, went to the piano, sat down, and began to thunder loudly.She had scarcely any taste for music, and she played several wrongnotes. Mrs. Chetwynd had a carefully trained ear, and she quiteshuddered when Marjorie crashed out some of her terrible discords.
Having finished the fugue, which took a considerable time, the younggirl rose from the piano amid a profound silence. Eileen had turned awayand was engrossed in a book on cookery which she had picked up from aside-table. She was muttering to herself half-aloud:
"Take of flour one ounce, butter, cream, three eggs, and----"
"What are you doing, Eileen?" said the mother.
Eileen made no reply.
Marjorie seated herself on a chair near her mother.
"I hope you liked that fugue?" she said. "I took tremendous painslearning it. I got up every morning an hour earlier than the othersduring the whole of last term, simply because I intended to play thatfugue of Bach's to you."
"It was a great pity, dear," began Mrs. Chetwynd; then she sighed andstopped.
"A pity, mother? What in the world do you mean?"
"Nothing, love; we will talk of all those things to-morrow."
"What a terrible day to-morrow promises to be," said Marjorie, glancingtowards Eileen. "I can see that mother is going to let the vials of herwrath loose. Oh yes, you dear old mammy, you are--you cannot deny it. Butwe are not such dreadful girls after all. All we want to do is this: wewant to go our own way."
"Your own way, Eileen--your own way?"
"Yes, mammy, our own way; and you can go yours. Then we shall get ontogether like a house on fire. Now, what are you winking at me for,Letitia?"
"I was not winking at you," said Letitia. "I was wondering if Aunt Helenwould like to hear me sing."
"Certainly, my dear; but I never knew before that you had a voice."
"I have only a little voice; but I have made the most of myopportunities. I won't sing if you would rather not."
"On the contrary, dear; I should like to hear you."
"A ballad, I suppose?" said Letitia.
"Yes; I am fond of ballads. What do you know?"
"All the usual ones, I think," replied Letitia. "I will sing 'RobinAdair' if that will suit you."
"I am fond of 'Robin Adair,'" said the widow; "but few people can renderthose beautiful words to satisfaction."
Letitia volunteered to try. She sat down to the piano; her accompanimentwas fresh and rippling, her voice clear, not particularly strong, butwonderfully true. It had a note of sympathy in it too, which rangthrough the old room.
Mrs. Chetwynd put down her knitting with a sigh of pleasure. The twogirls sat with their hands lying idly in their laps, and gazed at theircousin.
When the old ballad came to an end, Mrs. Chetwynd felt tears not farfrom her eyes.
Oh, if only Eileen and Marjorie were like Letitia!
Marjorie suddenly jumped to her feet.
"Are you crying, mother?" she said, going up to her mother. "Oh, it'sjust like that wicked Lettie. To hear her sing you would suppose thatshe was the most sentimental creature in the world: but don't youbelieve a word of it, mammy. She has not one scrap of sentiment in hercomposition; she is the most worldly-wise little soul that I have evercome across.--Now, Lettie, don't be a humbug; sing something in whichyour real feelings appear--a modern love-song, for instance, or somethingabout fine dress, or nothing to wear, or anything else in your realstyle. It's positively wrong of you to deceive mother in the way you aredoing."
Letitia looked gently reproachful. She said she did not know any songabout nothing to wear, nor any song either about dress; but she wouldsing "Shadowland" if Mrs. Chetwynd wished it.
This song again brought the widow to the verge of tears. Lettie thenrose and shut the piano.
"You at least, my dear, have derived benefit from your education," shesaid. "How I wish your dear father and my dear husband were alive tohear you."
"Father could always see through humbugs," said Eileen to Marjorie.
"Yes," replied Marjorie; "but don't you see whatever mother is she isnot a humbug?"
"Only we don't want Lettie to twist her round her little finger, do we?"said Eileen.
"No; not that it greatly matters. Poor mother. I expect Lettie will dovery much what we do; but I'm not sure. We must only wait and see."
The girls retired to bed; but Mrs. Chetwynd sat up late, wishing muchthat she had Mrs. Acheson to consult with.
What was to be done if Marjorie and Eileen went on in this peculiarmanner which they had done that evening? Really, when everything wasconsidered, they were very little better than Belle, and Belle happenedto be Mrs. Chetwynd's bete noire.
"If only pretty, graceful, accomplished Letitia were my own daughter!She is a dear child, and yet I cannot quite cordially take to her,"thought the widow. "I don't know what is the matter with her. I have nofault whatever to find. I suppose it is because she is not my own. NowMarjorie and Eileen rub me the wrong way every time they open theirlips, and yet I love them with all my heart and soul. How handsome theyare too! Anything could be done with them if only they would submit tothe ordinary regulations of polite
society. What terrible times thesemodern days are! Mothers have little or no influence over their ownchildren. The children take the upper hand and--keep it. But I just vowthat Marjorie and Eileen shall submit to me in my own house. Poordarlings, they are as loving as possible; but they have been under somedreadful pernicious influence. I could never guess that a school sohighly recommended as Miss Marchland's was would send back girls in thecondition Marjorie and Eileen are in. No manners, disgraceful inappearance, and no accomplishments. What agony I went through whileMarjorie was playing that fugue! She must never attempt to play inpublic. Eileen, who really had a taste for music, will not cultivate it,because, forsooth, she is not a genius. The two girls mean to be merelyuseful--merely useful, with eyes like those, and lips and teeth. My dear,dear, ridiculous children, society will soon knock all that nonsense outof your heads. Yes, I must present them both as soon as possible. Ishall order their court dresses to-morrow. But that terrible croppedhair--straight too, not a scrap of curl in it. Oh dear, what is to bedone; and they are both on such a large scale? They would make handsomeboys. What a pity they are not boys. Dear me, I am an unhappy woman. IfLetitia were my daughter, it would be plain sailing, but as it is I amat my wits' end."
By and by Mrs. Chetwynd went upstairs. She hesitated on the secondlanding, where her own room was. On the next floor were the girls'rooms, luxuriously and beautifully furnished. It occurred to her to goup and look at her darlings asleep. She did so, opening the door ofMarjorie's room first. Marjorie was in bed, curled up as her fashionwas, with the bedclothes tucked tightly round her. Her cheeks wereslightly flushed, and the long black lashes looked particularly handsomeas they lay against her rosy cheeks. But what a condition the room wasin! What was the good of a maid when girls went to bed in such a stateof untidiness? Clothes tossed helter-skelter everywhere; one little shoenear the fireplace, one near the wardrobe; petticoats flopped on thenearest chair; the shabby serge dress, which Mrs. Chetwynd consideredonly to be fit for the next bag sent from the Kilburn Society, hangingon the brass knob of the bed.
Marjorie sighed in her sleep, and Mrs. Chetwynd bent over her.
"Dear, lovely child, I surely shall be able to mold her to my wishes,"she thought; never considering that Marjorie's chin, with its cleft inthe middle, was full of obstinacy, and that her lips were as firm asthey were beautiful.
Mrs. Chetwynd went on to the next room. Eileen was also sound asleep,and her room was also untidy. The girl looked lovely, with her classicalfeatures and the long straight lashes lying upon the soft roundedcheeks. Yes, they were both singularly handsome girls, and very like oneanother. Of course they would do splendidly yet. Perhaps the world wouldappreciate them all the more for their little eccentricities. They mustappear as debutantes at the very first drawing-room. Yes, to-morrow atan early hour, Madame Coray should put their presentation dresses inhand.
Mrs. Chetwynd hesitated a moment before she went into Letitia's room. Itwould not be very interesting to look at Letitia asleep; but still, whatshe did for her own girls she invariably did for her husband's niece.
Letitia's room was in exquisite and perfect order, everything put neatlyaway, and Letitia herself lying in her little white bed with her armsfolded across her chest and her hair swept back from her pretty brow.Mrs. Chetwynd could not help feeling drawn to her. She bent and kissedher on her forehead. She had not dared to do this to her own girls,fearing to awaken them.
She then went back to her room, to sleep as best she could.
