Anxious Audrey

by William Henry Giles Kingston

  CHAPTER VII.

  Almost before her eyes were open the next morning, Audrey felt as thoughsome big black weight lay upon her, as though something very dreadful hadhappened. And then gradually sleep cleared from her brain, andrecollection came back.

  She had been petty, mean, and everyone knew it, everyone must despise her.She had hurt her own mother, she had hurt them all. She had shown themthat she was ashamed of them--and why? Not because they had done anythingwrong, or despicable, but because they were poor and were obliged to livein a shabby house, shabbily furnished!

  "Oh, I can never live it down," she thought miserably. "I can never makethem forget, and think well of me again!" She buried her face in herpillow and groaned aloud. She wished wildly for all sort of impossiblethings to happen, that she could put miles and miles, and oceans andcontinents between herself and everybody--or that she could wipe out allrecollection of her foolishness from everyone's mind, or never, never haveto meet the Vivians again.

  There is no way, though, of blotting out in a moment our wrongdoing,our foolishness, our mistakes. They cannot be wiped off, as a sum off aslate, nor the results, nor the memory of them. There is nothing to bedone but to face the consequences bravely, to live them down hour by hour;so, profiting by the lesson thus learnt, that in time those about us willfind it hard to believe that we ever were so foolish, or wicked.Through genuine repentance and sorrow only can we expiate our faults,and Audrey had sense enough to know this.

  "I have just got to live through it," she sighed miserably, "but oh, Iwish I hadn't hurt mother so."

  As she was passing her mother's bedroom door on her way downstairs, asudden impulse made her knock.

  "Come in," said the sweet kind voice; but as she turned the handleAudrey's courage nearly failed her. "Oh, it's nothing," she began, andwas turning away when fortunately the thought came to her--how glad shewould be after, if she were brave now, and did what she came in to do."It will be a beginning," she told herself feverishly, "I shall be muchhappier after," and allowing herself no more time for thought, she marchedbravely in and up to the bed.

  "Mother," she said, and the tears rushed to her eyes again. "I want youto try to forget--please, _please_. It was all a mistake. I was all--allwrong. I am so sorry."

  "My dear, I know, I understand." Her mother threw her arms round her, anddrew her gently down beside her. "I know how these things happen, if weare not always loyal in thought and in deed. I have failed often, Audreydear, so I understand. But we will both forget, darling." And thenAudrey broke down entirely. "Mother, I can never forget, I can neverforgive myself, but I will try never to be so mean again, never.I am going to begin to-day to do better. I really mean to."

  "We all will, we will begin by trying to understand each other, shall we?Try to be more patient, and to see how things seem to others. Don't youthink a good motto for us all would be 'others first.'"

  "I don't think Faith needs that motto, mother," said Audrey wistfully,which was a great admission for her, and the first step on the new roadshe meant to tread.

  "Oh yes, she does, dear. We all do, some more, some less."

  "Well, I am one who needs it very much more," and Audrey smiled ruefullyas she raised herself. "Now I am going down to see what I can do to help.I will begin by laying her breakfast-tray as nicely and temptingly as everI can," she thought, as she hurried away. She felt so lighthearted shewanted to do something for everyone, to make all feel as happy as she didherself. But alas, alas! when she got downstairs her happiness received acheck. Joan was ill.

  In the kitchen Audrey found Faith seated by the kitchen fire with Joanupon her lap. Joan drowsy and feverish, and fretful. Faith anxious andpale.

  "I believe she is ill," said Faith, looking up at her with eyes full ofalarm, "she has been so restless all night. I wonder what can be thematter. I have been so careful about her food, and I don't see how shecan have got a cold."

  Joan turned uneasily, and began to whimper, Mary came over and lookedanxiously at the flushed baby face. "She's feverish, Miss Faith, she'sgot a cold somehow. She is so hot, and it seems to hurt her to move."

  With a swift shock of fear Audrey remembered what had happened theprevious evening--the little thinly-clad body lying outside thebed-clothes, exposed to the draught from the open window. She colouredguiltily, but for a moment she hesitated to speak. It was so dreadful tohave to heap more blame upon herself--to have to make everyone think morehardly of her, just when she had begun to try to make them think better.But once again she conquered herself, and so took another step, and a longone, along the new but stony road she had set out to tread.

  Faith looked grave as she listened. She adored her baby sister, and shefound it hard not to blame Audrey. "I ought not to have gone away," shebegan irritably, but stopped, as it struck her what a self-righteous andconceited thing it was that she was saying. "I had better put her back tobed again, I expect," she concluded, more gently.

  "I suppose so," agreed Audrey doubtfully. She did not in the least knowwhat to do in a case of illness. Mary came to the rescue. Mary had lotsof brothers and sisters at home, and had had a good deal of experience.

  "I shouldn't, miss," she said, "in this summer weather it is so hard tokeep them covered up, and restless as Miss Joan is, she wouldn't have thebedclothes over her more'n a minute at a time. I'd give her a nice deephot bath here by the fire, and then wrap her up in a big shawl, and keepher by the fire. It'll be hot for anybody that's holding her, but Ibelieve it'll drive the chill out of her quicker than anything."

  "I'll do anything to get her well again," said Faith eagerly. So a bathwas made ready--all the water that was needed for breakfast was used forit, but that was a trifling matter, and Mary's advice was followed to theletter.

  "Now I'll get her some hot milk," said Mary, as she arranged the last wraparound the little patient, and put the cookery book under Faith's feet fora footstool.

  "Oh!" gasped Faith, "don't make up too big a fire, Mary, or I shall reallyexplode!"

  Audrey, ashamed and sorry, moved about unobtrusively trying to do what shecould; but it was mortifying to her to find how little she could do.At last it occurred to her to go upstairs and see if Tom and Debby wantedany help in the fastening of strings and buttons, and the brushing ofhair.

  "Oh dear," she sighed, "you have only one button left on your frock,Debby, and the string of your apron is broken. Can't you put on another?"

  "They've all only got one string, you will find a safety pin somewhere,I have it pinned gen'rally."

  "Oh! well, I will mend them for you when I've got time."

  "Faith said she would when she'd got time, but when she'd got time shehadn't got any tape, and when we remembered to buy some tape we couldn'tfind a bodkin. Where does one buy bodkins, Audrey?"

  "I don't know, but I have two in my work-box. I will put in the tapes foryou. Now run down while I turn out the beds. Oh no, come here," as thepair went dashing away, "come and fold up your nightgowns, you shouldnever leave them lying on the floor like that. Who do you think is goingto fold them for you? I believe you never think of the trouble you give."

  Tom and Debby went back patiently, and picking up their offendinggarments, struggled with them valiantly. But, however careful they were,it seemed as though one sleeve would hang out, or the folds would gocrooked, simply for the purpose of aggravating two impatient littlepeople.

  "I wish we didn't have sleeves," sighed Deborah.

  "Let's cut them off," cried Tom, and in a spirit of mischief, picked up apair of scissors and pretended to cut the sleeve.

  He was only pretending, but Audrey misunderstood, and, with a sharp slapon the hands, sent the scissors skimming across the floor.

  The unexpectedness of the blow, the pain, and the indignity, roused Tom toreal anger, and for a few moments there was an ugly scene. Debby cried,Tom raged, and Audrey scolded. "You can fold the old thing yourself,"cried Tom, flinging out of the room. Audrey
dragged him back.

  "I shall not, you shall do it yourself if you have to stay here all day.I shall speak to father about your behaviour, and I do think you mighthave tried to behave decently and not have made such a noise when Joan isill, and we want her to sleep. You think of no one but yourselves--youtwo."

  "Joan ill! You might have told us before. How were we to know? and--andyou were making more noise than anybody, and--and it was all your fault inthe beginning," cried Tom. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself Audrey,you are the eldest, and--and you knew Joan was ill."

  Debby was less angry, and more concerned. "Where is Joan?" she askedanxiously. "Is she in bed?"

  "She is in the kitchen by the fire, so don't go there making a noise too.You had better play in the garden, and do be as quiet as you can."

  "I am going to see mother first," retorted Debby, "we always do when weare dressed. Mummy likes us to. And we don't make a noise if we _know_we mustn't. If you had only told us Joan was ill----"

  But Audrey was already half-way down the stairs, on her way to thekitchen. "Children are such worries," she sighed. "Now I will getmother's breakfast."

  In the kitchen she found Faith sitting patiently by the fire, she wasscarlet with the heat, and very weary, but there was a look of relief inher eyes. "She is sleeping so comfortably," she whispered. "That showsthat she is in less pain, doesn't it?"

  "I should think so. You look awfully hot."

  "Hot! I am roasting, I feel quite faint every now and then, but I don'tmind anything if it is doing Joan good."

  "Can't you put her down? Make her up a bed on a chair or something, can'tyou?"

  "No. She rouses at once if I try to put her out of my arms. I wouldrather hold her. It doesn't matter about being hot. I shall cool downagain some day."

  Audrey picked up a tray. "I am going to get mother's breakfast," sheannounced. "I want to make it look nice. Mary, can you wipe this trayfor me, it has something sticky on it."

  Mary put down her saucepan of milk and went away with the tray in herhand. "I s'pose it must have touched something," she said cheerfully.

  "Yes, evidently--and you couldn't have washed it properly. It has made myhands sticky too." It really was aggravating, for she had only justwashed them. "Where can I find a clean tray-cloth, Mary?"

  "In the drawer of the press, miss."

  Audrey's face wore an expression of deep disdain as she turned over thecollection of things in the untidy drawer. "I can't see anything fit touse," she said irritably. "Where are the clean ones kept, Mary?"

  "We have only two, miss, one is in the wash, the other you've got in yourhand. It is a bit crumpled, I am afraid."

  "If we've got so few, it's a pity not to take more care of those we have,"grumbled Audrey, "this really is not fit to use, but I suppose I must."When she began to collect the china, the cup, as usual, had a smear on it,and the plate was not clean. "I had better wash it all, I suppose, asusual!" she thought impatiently, and banged open the tea-towel drawer withsuch force that Joan started out of her sleep.

  "I'd have got the tray ready, if you'd left it, Miss Audrey," said Maryshortly.

  "I wanted to make it look nice and tempting."

  Poor Faith grew to look harassed and miserable. Whatever happened, shedid not want a collision between Audrey and Mary. Mary was rough, and notthorough, but she was good-tempered, hard-working, and ready to turn herhand to anything.

  Mr. Carlyle came into the kitchen. "Is breakfast nearly ready?" he asked,"it is nine o'clock, and I have a full day before me--why, Baby! what isthe matter?" He stood looking down at his two flushed daughters, whileFaith explained. "But I think she is better," she concluded eagerly,"look, daddy, she is smiling at you! If we are careful all day, I daresayshe will be well to-morrow."

  "And do you intend to sit by that fire all day with her! Why, you will bea cinder."

  Faith laughed, "I am rather hot, but it has done her good, I am sure--atleast the hot bath and the heat has. Mary thought of it, wasn't it cleverof her?"

  "I will take her presently, Miss Faith, while you have your breakfast,"said Mary, much gratified by the little compliment.

  Mr. Carlyle went over to where Audrey stood arranging a few flowers on hermother's tray. "How dainty!" he said approvingly, "your mother willappreciate that, dear. She loves pretty, dainty things about her.I am going over to Abbot's Field to-day," he added, "and I thought I wouldcall on Mrs. Vivian, and the old gentleman. Will you come with me, torepresent your mother? I think it would be rather pleasant, don't you?"

  Audrey coloured with embarrassment. To her the prospect did not seem atall pleasant. "I--I am afraid I can't, father. I have a lot to do athome."

  Her mind was full of plans for tidying house and garden, and makingeverything more presentable. It was a big undertaking, she knew, but shewas full of zeal.

  Her father looked disappointed. "Oh well, then, I must go alone.I thought you would like to meet the young people again--and I think theystill expect you--they were so anxious to see you. But never mind, I willtell them that you are busy, but are hoping to see them over here one dayvery soon. I had better fix a day; will Thursday do?"

  "Thursday! so soon!" The suggestion filled her with dismay, but she kepther dismay to herself. "Yes, father, I think so," she said feebly, andlifting up the tray went slowly with it to her mother's room. Debby wassitting on the bed, chattering quite happily, all the temper forgotten.

  "Oh, how pretty," she cried, as she caught sight of the breakfast tray.

  "Oh, how tempting," said Mrs. Carlyle, smiling her appreciation,"the sight of it gives me quite an appetite."

  "Do you always do trays like that?" asked Tom, "or is it a birthday?"

  "Yes, always. No, it is not a birthday. It is the right way, that'sall."

  "When I am ill in bed, will you bring up my breakfast to me on a tray witha white cloth, and a flower, and a dear little dainty teapot of my own?"asked Debby eagerly.

  "Yes," laughed Audrey, "but don't try to be ill on purpose."

  "I think I will wait until the new governess comes," said Debby gravely.She could not endure the thought of lessons, and of being shut up for everso many hours a day.

  As soon as breakfast was over Audrey stepped out at the front door, andsurveyed the garden. "It is the first thing they will see," she thoughtdespondingly, as, with the expected guests in her mind, she looked fromthe ragged grass to the unswept path, and thence to the untrimmed bushes."I wish I could get Job Toms to cut the grass. I must ask father to orderhim to."

  Faith on her way back to the kitchen and Joan, saw Audrey in the gardenand joined her. "I wish we had flower beds on either side of the path,"said Audrey, "they would look so pretty, but I suppose the children wouldalways walk on them."

  "They wouldn't if they were told not to," declared Faith, always ready tochampion the little imps. "What a jolly idea, Audrey. If Joan wasn't illI'd come out this minute and begin to make them. It wouldn't take verylong."

  "Oh yes, it would, to make them properly. We ought to have a realgardener to do it, and then we should want dozens of bedding plants, weshould have to have something to start with. But all that would cost verynearly a sovereign, I expect."

  "I hadn't thought of having bedding plants," said Faith, disappointedly."Of course we couldn't spend money on plants. I was thinking of roots,and seeds, and cuttings. The people in the village would gladly give usa lot. Mrs. Pope offered me young sunflower seedlings only a week or twoago, and Miss Babbs is always offering me phloxes, and wallflowers, andthings. We could soon fill up the beds, I am sure, and with things thatwould come up year after year by themselves. Let's each make a bed forourselves, shall we, Audrey, and each do our own in our own way. It wouldmake the garden look ever so much nicer."

  "I couldn't, and if I can't, you can't, at least you oughtn't to.It would look too silly to have a bed on only one side. The garden wouldlook like a pig with one ear."

&nbs
p; "It would be a very pretty pig," laughed Faith, "at least its one earwould."

  "Anyhow, we couldn't get it done by Thursday, and what I wanted was to tryand get the place looking nicer by the time the Vivians come. Now I amgoing in to see if I can do anything to the drawing-room."

  "Oh!" Faith's face grew grave. "Do you think we need use thedrawing-room? Won't the dining-room do? You see we have taken some ofthe nicest things from there for mother's room--to make that as nice aspossible. The curtains, and the carpet."

  "Whatever are we going to do!" cried Audrey in genuine dismay."It really is too dreadful. Father oughtn't to ask people here if wehaven't a room fit to ask them into. You see we _must_ use thedrawing-room."

  "What for?"

  "Why, for tea, of course, for one thing."

  "Oh!" cried Faith, "don't let's have a dotted-around-the-room tea!The children make such a mess with their crumbs, they can't help it, andthey are sure to upset their cups, and drop their plates--and we shall bein one big worry all the time. They hate those teas, and so do I!Let's have a nice comfortable one in the dining-room, and sit up totable."

  "And spend all the rest of the time there too, I suppose?" sarcastically.

  Faith looked pained. "Well, I don't suppose they would mind very much ifwe did, as long as we were all jolly and happy. They seemed so kind andfriendly, and not a bit stuck up."

  "Oh," cried Audrey impatiently, "you seem to think anything will do,as long as you are happy and jolly. You don't realise what other peopleare accustomed to, and expect."

  "I think I am glad I don't," said Faith gravely, "it only seems to worryone."

  "I do wish you would keep your blind straight in your bedroom," retortedAudrey irritably, "no house could possibly look nice with the blinds allanyhow, as ours are."

  "Um, yes, they do look bad, we ought to have sticks for them, tape isalways getting loose. Audrey," eagerly, "suppose we take our tea up onthe moor, and have a kind of picnic, when the Vivians come. Wouldn't thatbe rather jolly?"

  Audrey's face brightened. "Yes, that might be a good plan. They wouldnot be in the house much then."

  "Mother would want to see them."

  "Would she? Oh, well, she could. I'd like them to know mother--and herroom is quite presentable. We shall have to get some nice cakes.I wonder if we have any baskets that will do to carry the things in?And oh! I do hope that Mary will wash the cups and saucers properly thatday. She is so horribly careless, one can't trust her the least littlebit. I always have to look at my cup before I drink, to see if it isclean."

  Faith looked at her with troubled eyes. "The best plan would be to washthem all yourself that day," she suggested, "then you would be sure theywould be all right, and have quite a load off your mind. You can easilyoffer to wash the dishes and things for Mary, because she will have extrawork to do, and then you can put aside those that we shall want in theafternoon. I will go and look out the baskets by and by. Do remind me ifI forget. Oh, I must hurry in now, poor Mary is sitting by the fire allthis time holding Joan, she will be roasted alive."

  Audrey made no reply to her sister's suggestion. She liked things to bedainty, and clean, but she did not like the task of making them so; and toexpect her to wash the dishes herself was really rather too much!

  The head of a house did not expect to have to do the work herself.Her part was to tell others what to do, and see that they did it.At least that was her opinion.