by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XIV.--CHANGE OF PLANS.
A whole month had gone by since Jasper had left Evelyn, and Evelyn aftera fashion had grown accustomed to her absence. Considerable changes hadtaken place in the little girl during that time. She was no longerdressed in an _outre_ style. She wore her hair as any other very younggirl of her age would. She had ceased to consider herself grown-up; andalthough she knew deep down in her heart that she was the heiress--thatby and by all the fine property would belong to her--and although shestill gloried in the fact, either fear, or perhaps the dawnings of abetter nature prevented her talking so much about it as she had doneduring the early days of her stay at Castle Wynford. The guests had alldeparted, and schoolroom life held sway over both the girls. MissSinclair was the very soul of order; she insisted on meals being servedin the schoolroom to the minute, and schoolroom work being pursued withregularity and method. There were so many hours for work and so manyhours for amusement. There were times when the girls might be presentwith the Squire and Lady Frances, and times when they only enjoyed thesociety of Miss Sinclair. There were masters for severalaccomplishments, and the girls had horses to ride, and a pony-carriagewas placed at their disposal, and the hours were so full of occupationthat they went by on wings. Evelyn looked fifty times better and happierthan she had done when she first arrived at Castle Wynford, and evenLady Frances was forced to own that the child was turning out betterthan she expected. How long this comparatively happy state of thingsmight have lasted it is hard to say, but it was brought to an abruptconclusion by an event which occurred just then. This was no less thanthe departure of kind Miss Sinclair. Her mother had died quite suddenly;her father needed her at home. She could not even stay for the customaryperiod after giving notice of her intention to leave. Lady Frances,under the circumstances, did not press her; and now the subject of howthe two girls were best to be educated was ceaselessly discussed. LadyFrances was a born educationist; she had the greatest love for subjectsdealing with the education of the young. She had her own theories withregard to this important matter, and when Miss Sinclair went away shewas for a time puzzled how to act. To get another governess was, ofcourse, the only thing to be done; but for a time she wavered much as tothe advisability of sending Evelyn to school.
"I really think she ought to go," said Lady Frances to the Squire. "Evennow she does not half know her place. She has improved, I grant you, butthe thorough discipline of school would do her good."
"You have never sent Audrey to school," was the Squire's answer.
"I have not, certainly; but Audrey is so different."
"I should not like anything to be done in Evelyn's case which has notbeen done in Audrey's," was the Squire's reply.
"But surely you cannot compare the girls!"
"I do not intend to compare them. They are absolutely different. Audreyis all that the heart of the proudest father could desire, and Evelyn isstill----"
"A little savage at heart," interrupted Lady Frances.
"Yes; but she is taming, and I think she has some fine points inher--indeed, I am sure of it. She is, for instance, very affectionate."
Lady Frances looked somewhat indignant.
"I am tired of hearing of Evelyn's good qualities. When I perceive themfor myself I shall be the first to acknowledge them. But now, my dearEdward, the point to be considered is this: What are we to do at once?It is nearly the middle of the term. To give those two girls holidayswould be ruinous. There is an excellent school of a very superior sortkept by the Misses Henderson in that large house just outside thevillage. What do you say to their both going there until we can lookround us and find a suitable governess to take Miss Sinclair's place?"
"If they both go it does not so much matter," said the Squire. "You canarrange it in that way if you like, my dear Frances."
Lady Frances gave a sigh of relief. She was much interested in theMisses Henderson; she herself had helped them to start their school.Accordingly, that very afternoon she ordered the carriage and drove toChepstow House. The Misses Henderson were expecting her, and receivedher in state in their drawing-room.
"You know what I have come about?" she said. "Now, the thing is this--canyou do it?"
"I am quite certain of one thing," said the elder Miss Henderson--"thatthere will be no stone left unturned on our parts to make the experimentsatisfactory."
"Poor, dear Miss Sinclair--it is too terrible her having to leave!" saidLady Frances. "We shall never get her like again. To find exactly thegoverness for girls like my daughter and niece is no easy matter."
"As to your dear daughter, she certainly will not be hard to manage,"said the younger Miss Henderson.
"You are right, Miss Lucy," said Lady Frances, turning to her andspeaking with decision. "I have always endeavored to train Audrey inthose nice observances, those moral principles, and that high tone whichbefits a girl who is a lady and who in the future will occupy a highposition."
"But your niece--your niece; she is the real problem," said the elderMiss Henderson.
"Yes," answered Lady Frances, with a sigh. "When she came to me she waslittle less than a savage. She has improved. I do not like her--I do notpretend for a moment that I do--but I wish to give the poor child everypossible advantage, and I am anxious, if possible, that my prejudiceshall not weigh with me in any sense in my dealings with her; but sherequires very firm treatment."
"She shall have it," said the elder Miss Henderson; and a look ofdistinct pleasure crossed her face. "I have had refractory girls beforenow," she said, "and I may add with confidence, Lady Frances, that Ihave always broken them in. I do not expect to fail in the case of MissWynford."
"Firm discipline is essential," replied Lady Frances. "I told MissSinclair so, and she agreed with me. I do not exactly know what hermethod was, nor how she managed, but the child seemed happy, she learnther lessons correctly, and, in short, she has improved. I trust theimprovement will continue under your management."
Here the good lady, after adding a few more words with regard to hours,etc., took her leave. The girls were to go to Chepstow House asday-pupils, and the work of their education at that distinguished schoolwas to begin on the following morning.
Evelyn was rather pleased than otherwise when she heard that she was tobe sent to school. She had cried and flung her arms round MissSinclair's neck when that lady was taking leave of her. Audrey, on thecontrary, had scarcely spoken; her face looked a little whiter thanusual, and her eyes a little darker. She took the governess's hand andwrung it, and as she bent forward to kiss her again on the cheek, MissSinclair kissed her and whispered something to her. But it was poorEvelyn who cried. The carriage took the governess away, and the girlslooked at each other.
"I did not know you could be so stony-hearted," said Evelyn. She tookout her handkerchief as she spoke and mopped her eyes. "Oh dear!" sheadded, "I am quite broken-hearted without her. I am _such_ anaffectionate girl."
"We had better prepare for school," said Audrey. "We are to go thereto-morrow morning, remember."
"Yes," answered Evelyn, her eyes brightening; "and do you know, althoughI am terribly sorry to part with dear Miss Sinclair, I am glad aboutschool. Mothery always wished me to go; she said that talents like minecould never find a proper vent except in school-life. I wonder what sortof girls there are at Chepstow House?"
"I don't know anything about it," said Audrey.
"Are you sorry to go, Audrey?"
"Yes--rather. I have never been to school."
"How funny it will be to see you looking shy and awkward! Will you beshy and awkward?"
"I don't think so. I hope not."
"It would be fun to see it, all the same," said Evelyn. "But there, I amgoing for a race; my legs are quite stiff for want of running. I used torun such a lot in Tasmania on the ranch! Often and often I ran a wholemile without stopping. Good-by for the present. I suppose I may do whatI like to-day."
Evelyn rushed off into the grounds. She was running at full speedthrough the shrubber
y on her way to a big field, which was known as theten-acre field, on the other side of the turnstile, when she came fulltilt against her uncle. He stopped, took her hand, and looked kindly ather.
"Do you know, Uncle Edward," she said, "that I am going to schoolto-morrow?"
"So I hear, my dear little girl; and I hope you will be happy there."
Evelyn made no reply. Her eyes sparkled. After a time she said slowly:
"I am glad; mother wished me to go."
"You love your mother's memory very much, do you not, Eve?"
"Yes," she said; and tears came into her big, strange-looking eyes. "Ilove her just as much as if she were alive," she continued--"better, Ithink. Whenever I am sad she seems near to me."
"You would do anything to please her, would you not, Eve?"
"Yes," answered the child.
"Well, I wish to say something to you. You had a great fight when youcame here, but I think to a certain extent you have conquered. Our wayswere not your ways--everything was strange--and at first, my dear littlegirl, you rebelled, and were not very happy."
"I was miserable--miserable!"
"But you have done, on the whole, well; and if your mother could comeback again she would be pleased. I thought I should like to tell you."
"But, please, Uncle Edward, why would mothery be pleased? She often toldme that I was not to submit; that I was to hold my own; that----"
"My dear, she told you those things when she was on earth; but now, inthe presence of God, she has learnt many new lessons, and I am sure,could she now speak to you, she would tell you that you did right tosubmit, and were doing well when you tried to please me, for instance."
"Why you, Uncle Edward?"
"Because I am your father's brother, and because I loved your fatherbetter than any one on earth."
"Better than Aunt Frances?" said Evelyn, with a sparkle of pleasure inher eyes.
"In a different, quite a different way. Ay, I loved him well, and Iwould do my utmost to promote the happiness of his child."
"I love you," said the little girl. "I am glad--I am _glad_ that you aremy uncle."
She raised his hand, pressed it to her lips, and the next moment waslost to view.
"Queer, erratic little soul!" thought Squire Wynford to himself. "Ifonly we can train her aright! I often feel that Frank is watching me,and wondering how I am dealing with the child. It seems almost cruelthat Frances should dislike her, but I trust in the end all will bewell."
Meanwhile Evelyn, having tired herself racing round the ten-acre field,suddenly conceived a daring idea. She had known long ere this that herbeloved Jasper was not in reality out of reach. More than once the maidand the little girl had met. These meetings were by no means conduciveto Evelyn's best interests, but they added a great spice of excitementto her life; and the thought of seeing her now, and telling her of thechange which was about to take place with regard to her education, wastoo great a temptation to be resisted. Evelyn accordingly, skirting thehigh-roads and making many detours through fields and lanes, presentlyarrived close to The Priory. She had never ventured yet into The Priory;she had as a rule sent a message to Jasper, and Jasper had waited forher outside. She knew now that she must be quick or she would be latefor lunch. She did not want on this day of all days to seriouslydisplease Lady Frances. She went, therefore, boldly up to the gate,pushed it open, and entered. Here she was immediately confronted byPilot. Pilot walked down the path, uttered one or two deep bays, growledaudibly, and showed his strong white teeth. Whatever Evelyn's faultswere, she was no coward. An angry dog standing in her path was not goingto deter her. But she was afraid of something else. Jasper had told herhow insecure her tenure at The Priory was--how it all absolutely dependedon Mr. Leeson never finding out that she was there. Evelyn therefore didnot want to bring Mr. Leeson to her rescue. Were there no means by whichshe could induce Pilot to let her pass? She went boldly up to the dog.The dog growled more fiercely, and put himself in an attitude which thelittle girl knew well meant that he was going to spring. She did notwant him to bound upon her; she knew he was much stronger than herself.
"Good, good dog--good, good," she said.
But Pilot, exasperated beyond measure, began to bark savagely.
Who was this small girl who dared to defy him? His custom was to standas he stood to-day and terrify every one off the premises. But thissmall person did not mean to go. He therefore really lost his temper,and became decidedly dangerous.
Mr. Leeson, in his study, was busily engaged over some of that abstrusework which occupied all his time. He was annoyed at Pilot's barking, andwent to the window to ascertain the cause. He saw a stumpy,stout-looking little girl standing on the path, and Pilot barring herway. He opened the window and called out:
"Go away, child; go away. We don't have visitors here. Go awayimmediately, and shut the gate firmly after you."
"But, if you please," said Evelyn, "I cannot go away. I want to seeSylvia."
"You cannot see her. Go away."
"No, I won't," said Evelyn, her courage coming now boldly to her aid. "Ihave come here on business, and I must see Sylvia. You dare not let yourhorrid dog spring on me; and I am going to stand just where I am tillSylvia comes."
These very independent words astonished Mr. Leeson so much that heabsolutely went out of the house and came down the avenue to meetEvelyn.
"Who are you, child?" he said, as the bold light eyes were fixed on hisface.
"I am Evelyn Wynford, the heiress of Wynford Castle."
A twinkle of mirth came into Mr. Leeson's eyes.
"And so you want Sylvia, heiress of Wynford Castle?"
"Yes; I want to speak to her."
"She is not in at present. She is never in at this hour. Sylvia likes anopen-air life, and I am glad to encourage her in her taste. May I showyou to the gate?"
"Thank you," replied Evelyn, who felt considerably crestfallen.
Mr. Leeson, with his very best manners, accompanied the little girl tothe high iron gates. These he opened, bowed to her as she passed throughthem, and then shut them in her face, drawing a big bar inside as he didso.
"Good Pilot--excellent, brave, admirable dog!" Evelyn heard him say; andshe ground her small white teeth in anger.
A moment or two later, to her infinite delight, she saw Jasper coming upthe road to meet her. In an instant the child and maid were in eachother's arms. Evelyn was petting Jasper, and kissing her over and overagain on her dark cheek.
"Oh Jasper," said the little girl, "I got such a fright! I came here tosee you, and I was met by that horrible dog; and then a dreadful-lookingold man came out and told me I was to go right away, and he petted thedog for trying to attack me. I was not frightened, of course--it is notlikely that mothery's little girl would be easily afraid--but, all thesame, it was not pleasant. Why do you live in such a horrid, horridplace, Jasper darling?"
"Why do I live there?" answered Jasper. "Now, look at me--look me full inthe face. I live in that house because Providence wills it,because--because---- Oh, I need not waste time telling you the reason. Ilive there because I am near to you, and for another reason; and I hopeto goodness that you have not gone and made mischief, for if thatdreadful old man, as you call him, finds out for a single moment that Iam there, good-by to poor Miss Sylvia's chance of life."
"You are quite silly about Sylvia," said Evelyn in a jealous tone.
"She is a very fine, brave young lady," was Jasper's answer.
"I wish you would not talk of her like that; you make me feel quitecross."
"You always were a jealous little piece," said Jasper, giving her formercharge a look of admiration; "but you need not be, Eve, for no one--noone shall come inside my little white Eve. But there, now; do tell me.You did not say anything about me to Mr. Leeson?"
"No, I did not," said Evelyn. "I only told him I had come to see Sylvia.Was it not good of me, Jasper? Was it not clever and smart?"
"It was like you, pet," said Jasper. "You always were the
canniestlittle thing--always, always."
Evelyn was delighted at these words of praise.
"But how did you get here, my pet? Does her ladyship know you are out?"
"No, her ladyship does not," replied Evelyn, with a laugh. "I should bevery sorry to let her know, either. I came here all by myself because Iwanted to see you, Jasper. I have got news for you."
"Indeed, pet; and what is that?"
"Cannot you guess?"
"Oh, how can I? Perhaps that you have got courage and are sleeping byyourself. You cannot stand that horrid old Read; you would rather bealone than have her near you."
"Read has not slept in my room for over three weeks," said Evelynproudly. "I am not at all nervous now. It was Miss Sinclair who told mehow silly I was to want any one to sleep close to me."
"But you would like your old Jasper again?"
"Yes--oh yes; you are different."
"Well, and what is the change, dear?"
"It is this: poor Miss Sinclair--dear, nice Miss Sinclair--has beenobliged to leave."
"Oh, well, I am not sorry for that," said Jasper. "I was getting a bitjealous of her. You seemed to be getting on so well with her."
"So I was. I quite loved her; she made my lessons so interesting. Butwhat do you think, Jasper? Although I am very sorry she has gone, I amglad about the other thing. Audrey and I are going to school, as dailyboarders, just outside the village; Chepstow House it is called. We aregoing to-morrow morning. Mothery would like that; she always did want meto go to school. I am glad. Are you not glad too, Jasper?"
"That depends," said Jasper in an oracular voice.
"What does it all depend on? Why do you speak in that funny way?"
"It depends on you, my dear. I have heard a great deal about schools.Some are nice and some are not. In some they give you a lot of freedom,and you are petted and fussed over; in others they discipline you. Whenyou are disciplined you don't like it. If I were you----"
"Yes--what?"
"I would stay there if I liked it, and if I did not I would not stay. Iwould not have my spirit broke. They often break your spirit at school.I would not put up with that if I were you."
"I am sure they won't break my spirit," said Evelyn in a tone of alarm."Why do you speak so dismally, Jasper? Do you know, I am almost sorry Itold you. I was so happy at the thought of going, and now you have mademe miserable. No, there is not the slightest fear that they will breakmy spirit."
"Then that is all right, dear. Don't forget that you are the heiress."
"I could let them know at school, could I not?"
"I would if I were you," said the injudicious woman. "I would tell thegirls if I were you."
"Oh yes; so I can. I wonder if they will be nice girls at ChepstowHouse?"
"You let them feel your power, and don't knock under to any of them,"said Jasper. "And now, my dear, I must really send you home. There, I'llwalk a bit of the way back with you. You are looking very bonny, mylittle white Eve; you have got quite a nice color in your cheeks. I amglad you are well; and I am glad, too, that the governess has gone, forI don't want her to get the better of me. Remember what I said aboutschool."
"That I will, Jasper; I'll be sure to remember."
"It would please her ladyship if you got on well there," continuedJasper.
"I don't want to please Aunt Frances."
"Of course you don't. Nasty, horrid thing! I shall never forgive her forturning me off. Now then, dear, you had best run home. I don't want herto see us talking together. Good-by, pet; good-by."
