by L. T. Meade
to Fanchon--she walked deliberately out of the summerhouse. Withsteady steps this young lady, who was very wise for her years,approached her father's study. The Reverend Josiah was supposed to bebusy with his sermon. At such times, it was considered exceedinglyill-advised to molest him. Brenda would never do it. She said that allmuses ought to be respected--the sacred muse most of all. But there wasno respect in Fanchon's heart just then. She opened the door withviolence and--alas!--it must be owned--aroused Josiah out of a profoundsleep. His head had been bent down on the historic pages of oldJosephus, and sweet slumber had there visited him.
He started up angrily when detected in his nap by his eldest daughter.He would have forgiven Brenda, but Fanchon had not at all charming ways.
"My dear," he said, "you know when I am busy with my sermon that I willnot be disturbed."
"Yes, papa--of course, papa," said Fanchon. "I just wanted to ask you aquestion, and I will go away again. How much money do you give Brendaevery year to spend on clothes for us?"
"What a funny question to ask me, my dear. I have no stated sum; I givejust what I can afford."
"And are you satisfied with the way your daughters are clothed, papa?"said Fanchon, kicking out a long leg as she spoke and showing anuntidily shod and very large foot.
"Oh, my dear--my dear! I know nothing about ladies' dress. I can'tafford silk--I wish I could; I should love to see you in silk; but in mypresent state, and with my poor stipend, it has to be cotton. I tolddear Brenda so, and she agreed with me. Cotton in summer, and a sort ofthick stuff--I think they call it linsey-woolsey, but I am not sure--forthe cold days. I cannot do better, Fanchon--there is no use in yourscolding me."
"I am not scolding you, papa. You gave Brenda three pounds for each ofus--didn't you--the other day, to get our things for the seaside?"
"Yes, of course I did: that was the very least she said she couldpossibly have. I gave it to her with her own quarter's salary, whichthe dear girl required a fortnight in advance; there was nothing inthat. Her quarter's salary was seven pounds ten, and the money for youthree--nine pounds. Brenda said it was very little, but it reallyseemed a great lot to me, and I regret it when I think of my poorparishioners. But there's nothing cheaper than cotton--at least, I havenever heard of it; of course, if there were, it would be my duty toclothe you in it."
"Did you ever hear of art muslin, papa?" asked Fanchon. "That ischeaper, but I won't disturb you any more." She went up to him and gavehim a kiss. Then she left the room.
Having obtained her information, Fanchon went deliberately into thefilbert walk. There she paced about for some time, her eyes fixed onthe ground, her hands locked tightly together in front of her. She wasnot exactly depressed, but she was troubled. She was old enough to seethe advantage of the revelation being arrived at which little Nina hadso cleverly accomplished, and she was determined to make it in every wayavailable for her own purposes. But to do this, she must put hersisters off the scent. At dinner time, she ate a very scanty meal. Shehardly spoke to them, but, after dinner, she had a long conference withthem both.
"Now, look here, Nina," she said.
"Yes," said Nina.
"I want you to make me a promise."
"Oh, I do hate promises," said Nina.
"I don't," said Josephine, "they're rather interesting; nothing cheerfulever comes in our way, and even to make a promise seems better thannothing."
"Well, the promise I want you two to make to me is this: that you won'tbreathe a word of what I have said to you, either to father or Brenda--that you will keep it entirely to yourselves and allow _me_ to manageMiss Brenda. I think I can promise that if you do this you will bothhave rather pretty frocks at the seaside, and that Nina shall have herflounces. Go on finishing the pink muslins, girls, for they'll be ahelp, and certainly better than nothing, and let me approach Brendato-morrow morning."
"Oh dear!" said Nina, "how clever you are! I am sure I, for my part,will be only too delighted. But how dare you?" she added. "Does itmean that you would go--and--put her in prison?"
"_I_ put her in prison--you little goose! What _do_ you mean? No, no!But she'll buy our clothes for us out of father's own money or--there!don't let's talk any more about it."
Josephine hesitated for a moment, then she flew to her sister's side,flung her arms round her neck, and kissed her heartily.
"I think we ought to be awfully pleased with Nina," was Fanchon'sresponse, "for she's quite a little brick, and I tell you what it is,girls--we'll go and pick some fruit for tea and I shall send Molly fortwo-pennyworth of cream to eat with it; we may as well enjoy ourselves.Brenda has left a few pence with me in case of necessities. She warnedme to be awfully careful, but I think she won't scold us much about thecream when I have said a few things to her I mean to say."
"Mightn't we have some currant buns?" said Nina. "I was so hungry atlunch--there didn't seem to be a scrap of meat on that bone."
"Yes--we'll have currant buns, too. She left me eleven-pence. You canrun to the village, Nina, if you like, and get the buns. Mrs Simpsonmust have them out of the oven by now."
Off scampered Nina. Josephine and Fanchon had a little furtherconversation, and, by the time Nina returned, the whole matter withregard to Brenda and her shortcoming: was left in the elder sister'shands.
CHAPTER TEN.
A COSY LITTLE SUPPER.
Mr Amberley was one of the most unsuspicious of men, but he, too, hadhis own slightly cunning ways. He allowed Brenda so much money eachweek for housekeeping, and it must be said that she kept the family onshort commons. There were even times when the Reverend Josiah wasslightly hungry. This being the case, and as he, in reality, held thepurse-strings, he was wont to provide himself with bread, butter, andcheese and some bottles of ale which he kept in a private cupboard inhis study. By the aid of these, he managed to quell his rising appetiteand to sleep soundly at nights.
But Brenda knew nothing of the delicate cheese supply by this reverendgentleman, of the butter which he himself brought home from the nearestdairy, nor of the dainty bread which he slipped into his pocket on hisway home from his parochial rounds. Now, however, his intention was togive the pretty little governess a charming surprise when she returnedthat evening. She should have that rarest of all dainties--in hisopinion--Welsh rabbit, made from a receipt handed down to him by hisgrandmother. Accordingly, by his own clever hands, as the hourapproached midnight, he put everything into preparation--the littlestove on which the dainty was to be prepared (he regretted much thatthey must eat it on bread, not on toast), a bottle of the very best alethat could be purchased: in short, a charming little meal for two.
He had missed Brenda sorely during the day. In her presence the girlswere quite delightful, but without her they were tiresome, plain, ratherdisagreeable girls. It was too late to take the pony to the station,but he himself would walk there in order that Brenda should come homeunder his safe convoy. This plan of his Brenda had not counted on. Hetook the precaution, indeed, not to appear on the platform, but met herjust as she was emerging out of the shade of a thick wood just beyondthe village. He thought how charming she looked in her white sergecoat--how different from his own unruly girls. But Brenda herself wassnappish and by no means inclined to respond to his kind attentions.
"I wish you had not come out, Mr Amberley. It really is ridiculous tosuppose that a woman of my age,"--(Brenda was very fond of makingherself appear old when she spoke to Josiah)--"a woman of my age," shecontinued, "cannot walk the short distance from the station to yourhouse."
"But at midnight--my dear girl," protested Josiah, "I really could nothear of it. I hope I know what is due to any girl whom I respect, andit is only a pleasure to serve you--you know that."
"Dreadful old goose!" thought Brenda to herself.
But she saw that she must humour him. She had had, on the whole, a goodday and, although she had not excited the admiration she had expected,she was the richer by a very valuable gold
bangle. So she chatted aslightly and airily as she could and, when they entered the house, sheeven assisted to cat a tiny portion of the Welsh rabbit and to sip alittle of the sparkling beer. She asked no questions, too, with regardto the manner in which Josiah got these dainties into the house. Butalthough she said nothing, she thought a good deal and resolved to feedthe good clergyman slightly better in future and not to save quite somuch of the housekeeping money for her own purposes.
When she had finished supper, she yawned profoundly, protested that shecould not keep her eyes open a minute longer, and, giving Josiah a scant"good-night," ran off to bed.
When she left him, he sat
