Miss Bracy smiled, for she could remember instances when, after suffering much at the time, she had found the affront imaginary.
He was glad of that smile, and proceeded. "You will let me speak to you, as to one of my own girls? To them, I should say, use the only true cure. Don't brood over vexations, small or great, but think of them as trials that, borne bravely, become blessings."
"Oh! but Dr. May!" she exclaimed, shocked; "nothing in your house could call for such feelings."
"I hope we are not very savage," he said, smiling; "but, indeed, I still say it is the safest rule. It would be the only one if you were really among unkind people; and, if you take so much to heart an unlucky neglect of mine, what would you do if the slight were a true one?"
"You are right; but my feelings were always over-sensitive;" and this she said with a sort of complacency.
"Well, we must try to brace them," said Dr. May, much as if prescribing for her. "Will not you believe in our confidence and esteem, and harden yourself against any outward unintentional piece of incivility?"
She felt as if she could at that moment.
"Or at least, try to forgive and forget them. Talking them over only deepens the sense of them, and discussions do no good to any one. My daughters are anxious to be your best friends, as I hope you know."
"Oh! they are most kind--"
"But, you see, I must say this," added Dr. May, somewhat hesitating, "as they have no mother to--to spare all this," and then, growing clearer, he proceeded, "I must beg you to be forbearing with them, and not perplex yourself and them with arguing on what cannot be helped. They have not the experience that could enable them to finish such a discussion without unkindness; and it can only waste the spirits, and raise fresh subjects of regret. I must leave you--I hear myself called."
Miss Bracy began to be sensible that she had somewhat abused Ethel's patience; and the unfortunate speech about the source of her sensitiveness did not appear to her so direfully cruel as at first. She hoped every one would forget all about it, and resolved not to take umbrage so easily another time, or else be silent about it, but she was not a person of much resolution.
The doctor found that Meta Rivers and her brother had brought Flora home, and were in the drawing-room, where Margaret was hearing another edition of the history of the fair, and a by-play was going on, of teasing Blanche about the chain.
George Rivers was trying to persuade her to make one for him; and her refusal came out at last, in an almost passionate key, in the midst of the other conversation-- "No! I say-no!"
"Another no, and that will be yes."
"No! I won't! I don't like you well enough!"
Margaret gravely sent Blanche and the other children away to take their walk, and the brother and sister soon after took leave, when Flora called Ethel to hasten to the Ladies' Committee, that they might arrange the disposal of the one hundred and fifty pounds, the amount of their gains.
"To see the fate of Cocksmoor," said Ethel.
"Do you think I cannot manage the Stoneborough folk?" said Flora, looking radiant with good humour, and conscious of power. "Poor Ethel! I am doing you good against your will! Never mind, here is wherewith to build the school, and the management will be too happy to fall into our hands. Do you think every one is as ready as you are, to walk three miles and back continually?"
There was sense in this; there always was sense in what Flora said, but it jarred on Ethel; and it seemed almost unsympathising in her to be so gay, when the rest were wearied or perturbed. Ethel would have been very glad of a short space to recollect herself, and recover her good temper; but it was late, and Flora hurried her to put on her bonnet, and come to the committee. "I'll take care of your interests," she said, as they set out. "You look as doleful as if you thought you should be robbed of Cocksmoor; but that is the last thing that will happen, you will see."
"It would not be acting fairly to let them build for us, and then for us to put them out of the management," said Ethel.
"My dear, they want importance, not action. They will leave the real power to us of themselves."
"You like to build Cocksmoor with such instruments," said Ethel, whose ruffled condition made her forget her resolution not to argue with Flora.
"Bricks are made of clay!" said Flora. "There, that was said like Norman himself! On your plan, we might have gone on for forty years, saving seven shillings a year, and spending six, whenever there was an illness in the place."
"You, who used to dislike these people more than even I did!" said Ethel.
"That was when I was an infant, my dear, and did not know how to deal with them. I will take care--I will even save Cherry Elwood for you, if I can. Alan Ernescliffe's ten pounds is a noble weapon."
"You always mean to manage everything, and then you have no time!" said Ethel, sensible all the time of her own ill-humour, and of her sister's patience and amiability, yet propelled to speak the unpleasant truths that in her better moods were held back.
Still Flora was good-tempered, though Ethel would almost have preferred her being provoked; "I know," she said, "I have been using you ill, and leaving the world on your shoulders, but it was all in your service and Cocksmoor's; and now we shall begin to be reasonable and useful again."
"I hope so," said Ethel.
"Really, Ethel, to comfort you, I think I shall send you with Norman to dine at Abbotstoke Grange on Wednesday. Mr. Rivers begged us to come; he is so anxious to make it lively for his son."
"Thank you, I do not think Mr. George Rivers and I should be likely to get on together. What a bad style of wit! You heard what Mary said about him? and Ethel repeated the doubt between hating and detesting.
"Young men never know how to talk to little girls," was Flora's reply.
At this moment they came up with one of the Miss Andersons, and Flora began to exchange civilities, and talk over yesterday's events with great animation. Her notice always gave pleasure, brightened as it was by the peculiarly engaging address which she had inherited from her father, and which, therefore, was perfectly easy and natural. Fanny Anderson was flattered and gratified, rather by the manner than the words, and, on excellent terms, they entered the committee-room, namely, the schoolmistress's parlour.
There were nine ladies on the committee--nine muses, as the doctor called them, because they produced anything but harmony. Mrs. Ledwich was in the chair; Miss Rich was secretary, and had her pen and ink, and account-book ready. Flora came in, smiling and greeting; Ethel, grave, earnest, and annoyed, behind her, trying to be perfectly civil, but not at all enjoying the congratulations on the successful bazaar. The ladies all talked and discussed their yesterday's adventures, gathering in little knots, as they traced the fate of favourite achievements of their skill, while Ethel, lugubrious and impatient, beside Flora, the only one not engaged, and, therefore, conscious of the hubbub of clacking tongues.
At last Mrs. Ledwich glanced at the mistress's watch, in its pasteboard tower, in Gothic architecture, and insisted on proceeding to business. So they all sat down round a circular table, with a very fine red, blue, and black oilcloth, whose pattern was inseparably connected, in Ethel's mind, with absurdity, tedium, and annoyance.
The business was opened by the announcement of what they all knew before, that the proceeds of the fancy fair amounted to one hundred and forty-nine pounds fifteen shillings and tenpence.
Then came a pause, and Mrs. Ledwich said that next they had to consider what was the best means of disposing of the sum gained in this most gratifying manner. Every one except Flora, Ethel, and quiet Mrs. Ward, began to talk at once. There was a great deal about Elizabethan architecture, crossed by much more, in which normal, industrial, and common things, most often met Ethel's ear, with some stories, second-hand, from Harvey Anderson, of marvellous mistakes; and, on the opposite side of the table, there was Mrs. Ledwich, impressively saying something to the silent Mrs. Ward, marking her periods with emphatic beats with her pencil, and each seemed to
close with "Mrs. Perkinson's niece," whom Ethel knew to be Cherry's intended supplanter. She looked piteously at Flora, who only smiled and made a sign with her hand to her to be patient. Ethel fretted inwardly at that serene sense of power; but she could not but admire how well Flora knew how to bide her time, when, having waited till Mrs. Ledwich had nearly wound up her discourse on Mrs. Elwood's impudence, and Mrs. Perkinson's niece, she leaned towards Miss Boulder, who sat between, and whispered to her, "Ask Mrs. Ledwich if we should not begin with some steps for getting the land."
Miss Boulder, having acted as conductor, the president exclaimed, "Just so, the land is the first consideration. We must at once take steps for obtaining it." Thereupon Mrs. Ledwich, who "always did things methodically," moved, and Miss Anderson seconded, that the land requisite for the school must be obtained, and the nine ladies held up their hands, and resolved it.
Miss Rich duly recorded the great resolution, and Miss Boulder suggested that, perhaps, they might write to the National Society, or Government, or something; whereat Miss Rich began to flourish one of the very long goose quills which stood in the inkstand before her, chiefly as insignia of office, for she always wrote with a small, stiff metal pen.
Flora here threw in a query, whether the National Society, or Government, or something, would give them a grant, unless they had the land to build upon?
The ladies all started off hereupon, and all sorts of instances of hardness of heart were mentioned, the most relevant of which was, that the Church Building Society would not give a grant to Mr. Holloway's proprietary chapel at Whitford, when Mrs. Ledwich was suddenly struck with the notion that dear Mr. Holloway might be prevailed on to come to Stoneborough to preach a sermon in the Minster, for the benefit of Cocksmoor, when they would all hold plates at the door. Flora gave Ethel a tranquillising pat, and, as Mrs. Ledwich turned to her, asking whether she thought Dr. May, or Dr. Hoxton, would prevail on him to come, she said, with her winning look, "I think that consideration had better wait till we have some more definite view. Had we not better turn to this land question?"
"Quite true!" they all agreed, but to whom did the land belong?--and what a chorus arose! Miss Anderson thought it belonged to Mr. Nicolson, because the wagons of slate had James Nicolson on them, and, if so, they had no chance, for he was an old miser--and six stories illustrative thereof ensued. Miss Rich was quite sure some Body held it, and Bodies were slow of movement. Mrs. Ledwich remembered some question of enclosing, and thought all waste lands were under the Crown; she knew that the Stoneborough people once had a right to pasture their cattle, because Mr. Southron's cow had tumbled down a loam-pit when her mother was a girl. No, that was on Far-view down, out the other way! Miss Harrison was positive that Sir Henry Walkinghame had some right there, and would not Dr. May apply to him? Mrs. Grey thought it ought to be part of the Drydale estate, and Miss Boulder was certain that Mr. Bramshaw knew all about it.
Flora's gentle voice carried conviction that she knew what she was saying, when, at last, they left a moment for her to speak--(Ethel would have done so long ago). "If I am not mistaken, the land is a copyhold of Sir Henry Walkinghame, held under the manor of Drydale, which belongs to M-- College, and is underlet to Mr. Nicolson."
Everybody, being partially right, was delighted, and had known it all before; Miss Boulder agreed with Miss Anderson that Miss May had stated it as lucidly as Mr. Bramshaw could. The next question was, to whom to apply? and, after as much as was expedient had been said in favour of each, it was decided that, as Sir Henry Walkinghame was abroad, no one knew exactly where, it would be best to go to the fountain-head, and write at once to the principal of the college. But who was to write? Flora proposed Mr. Ramsden as the fittest person, but this was negatived. Every one declared that he would never take the trouble, and Miss Rich began to agitate her pens. By this time, however, Mrs. Ward, who was opposite to the Gothic clock- tower, began to look uneasy, and suggested, in a nervous manner, that it was half-past five, and she was afraid Mr. Ward would be kept waiting for his dinner. Mrs. Grey began to have like fears, that Mr. Grey would be come in from his ride after banking hours. The other ladies began to think of tea, and the meeting decided on adjourning till that day next week, when the committee would sit upon Miss Rich's letter.
"My dear Miss Flora!" began Miss Rich, adhering to her as they parted with the rest at the end of the street, "how am I to write to a principal? Am I to begin Reverend Sir, or My Lord, or is he Venerable, like an archdeacon? What is his name, and what am I to say?"
"Why, it is not a correspondence much in my line," said Flora, laughing.
"Ah! but you are so intimate with Dr. Hoxton, and your brothers at Oxford! You must know--"
"I'll take advice," said Flora good-naturedly. "Shall I come, and call before Friday, and tell you the result?"
"Oh, pray! It will be a real favour! Good-morning--"
"There," said Flora, as the sisters turned homewards, "Cherry is not going to be turned out just yet!"
"How could you, Flora? Now they will have that man from Whitford, and you said not a word against it!"
"What was the use of adding to the hubbub? A little opposition would make them determined on having him. You will see, Ethel, we shall get the ground on our own terms, and then it will be time to settle about the mistress. If the harvest holidays were not over, we would try to send Cherry to a training-school, so as to leave them no excuse."
"I hate all this management and contrivance. It would be more honest to speak our minds, and not pretend to agree with them."
"My dear Ethel! have I spoken a word contrary to my opinion? It is not fit for me, a girl of twenty, to go disputing and dragooning as you would have me; but a little savoir faire, a grain of common sense, thrown in among the babble, always works. Don't you remember how Mrs. Ward's sister told us that a whole crowd of tottering Chinese ladies would lean on her, because they felt her firm support, though it was out of sight?"
Ethel did not answer; she had self-control enough left not to retort upon Flora's estimate of herself, but the irritation was strong; she felt as if her cherished views for Cocksmoor were insulted, as well as set aside, by the place being made the occasion of so much folly and vain prattle, the sanctity of her vision of self-devotion destroyed by such interference, and Flora's promises did not reassure her. She doubted Flora's power, and had still more repugnance to the means by which her sister tried to govern; they did not seem to her straightforward, and she could not endure Flora's complacency in their success. Had it not been for her real love for the place and people, as well as the principle which prompted that love, she could have found it in her heart to throw up all concern with it, rather than become a fellow-worker with such a conclave.
Such were Ethel's feelings as the pair walked down the street; the one sister bright and smiling with the good humour that had endured many shocks all that day, all good nature and triumph, looking forward to success, great benefit to Cocksmoor, and plenty of management, with credit and praise to herself; the other, downcast and irritable, with annoyance at the interference with her schemes, at the prospects of her school, and at herself for being out of temper, prone to murmur or to reply tartly, and not able to recover from her mood, but only, as she neared the house, lapsing into her other trouble, and preparing to resist any misjudged, though kind attempt of her father, to make her unsay her rebuke to Miss Bracy. Pride and temper! Ah! Etheldred! where were they now?
Dr. May was at his study door as his daughters entered the hall, and Ethel expected the order which she meant to question; but, instead of this, after a brief inquiry after the doings of the nine muses, which Flora answered, so as to make him laugh, he stopped Ethel, as she was going upstairs, by saying, "I do not know whether this letter is intended for Richard, or for me. At any rate, it concerns you most."
The envelope was addressed to the Reverend Richard May, D. D., Market Stoneborough, and the letter began, "Reverend Sir." So far Ethel saw, and exclaimed, with amusemen
t, then, with a long-drawn "Ah!" and an interjection, "My poor dear Una!" she became absorbed, the large tears--yes, Ethel's reluctant tears gathering slowly and dropping.
The letter was from a clergyman far away in the north of England, who said he could not, though a stranger, resist the desire to send to Dr. May an account of a poor girl, who seemed to have received great benefits from him, or from some of his family, especially as she had shown great eagerness on his proposing to write.
He said it was nearly a year since there had come into his parish a troop of railwaymen and their families. For the most part, they were completely wild and rude, unused to any pastoral care; but, even on the first Sunday, he had noticed a keen-looking, freckled, ragged, unmistakably Irish girl, creeping into church with a Prayer-book in her hand, and had afterwards found her hanging about the door of the school. "I never saw a more engaging, though droll, wild expression, than that with which she looked up to me." (Ethel's cry of delight was at that sentence--she knew that look too well, and had yearned after it so often!) "I found her far better instructed than her appearance had led me to expect, and more truly impressed with the spirit of what she had learned than it has often been my lot to find children. She was perfect in the New Testament history"--("Ah! that she was not, when she went away!")--"and was in the habit of constantly attending church, and using morning and evening prayers." ("Oh! how I longed, when she went away, to beg her to keep them up! Dear Una.") "On my questions, as to how she had been taught, she always replied, 'Mr. Richard May,' or 'Miss Athel.' You must excuse me if I have not correctly caught the name from her Irish pronunciation." ("I am afraid he thinks my name is Athaliah! But oh! this dear girl! How I have wished to hear of her!") "Everything was answered with 'Mr. Richard,' or 'Miss Athel'; and, if I inquired further, her face would light up with a beam of gratitude, and she would run on, as long as I could listen, with instances of their kindness. It was the same with her mother, a wild, rude specimen of an Irishwoman, whom I never could bring to church herself, but who ran on loudly with their praises, usually ending with 'Heavens be their bed,' and saying that Una had been quite a different girl since the young ladies and gentleman found her out, and put them parables in her head.
The Daisy Chain, or Aspirations Page 49
