Amberwell

by Stevenson, D. E. (Dorothy Emily), 1892-1973

  "Anne, you're not to laugh," said Nell earnestly. She knew only too well that when Anne began to laugh there was no stopping her.

  "I can't help it," chuckled Anne. "It was—so funny— "

  "Stop laughing at once—or—or I'll hit you. Listen! I can hear Nannie coming along the passage!"

  Anne managed to stop. They lay and listened, holding their breath.

  "It isn't," said Anne. "There isn't anybody. You imagined it."

  "Well, anyhow, I made you stop," replied Nell. She turned over and snuggled down.

  Later, when Nannie came in to look at them, as she always did before she went to bed, they were both fast asleep. She smiled as she looked at them: they were so sweet and good. She had brought them up from babies and she knew everything that went on in their dear little heads. It was a shame that they were not to be allowed to see the fountain—it really was.

  As Nannie turned to come away she was a little surprised to see some damp foot-marks on the linoleum but it did not worry her unduly for she was no Sherlock Holmes. She just made a note in her mind to remember to tell the under-housemaid about it tomorrow morning.

  3

  Perhaps Nannie would have taken more interest in the damp foot-marks if her mind had not been full of the interesting conversation which had taken place that evening in Mrs. Duff's room. All the usual habitués had been there and the talk had been about the party tomorrow night.

  "It'll be a grand show," declared Mr. Gray. "We've got wee fairy lights to string up in the trees—all different colours they are—but if the moon's as bright as tonight well scarcely need them."

  "I'm sick of the whole thing," declared Janet, the head-housemaid. "Mrs. Ayrton's been after me all day telling me to polish this and polish that . . . and Miss Ayrton's coming tomorrow."

  "I thought she'd be coming," said Nannie with a sigh.

  The others said nothing. None of them was fond of Beatrice Ayrton.

  "Poking her nose into everything," continued Janet. "Every time Miss Ayrton comes her room has to be Spring cleaned—and that on top of everything else, mind you."

  "Well, ye get paid for yer work," said Mrs. Duff.

  Janet laughed scornfully. "I'd get better pay in a shop and half the work . . . and I'd not have Her nosing after me."

  "That's no way to talk," reproved Mrs. Duff.

  "Ye should boo tae the bush that bields ye," added Mr. Gray.

  "That's an old-fashioned notion," retorted Janet. "I'll not boo to any bush. I'm as good as her any day. I'll not demean myself."

  Mr. Gray leaned forward and shook his finger at her. "That's foolish talk," he said. "There's nothing demeaning in showing a proper respect for yer employer—if you respect him he'll respect you. And there's nothing demeaning in an honest day's work. Ye can stand up and look the whole wurrld in the face. It's the shirkers that need to look sideways."

  "I'd as lief be my own master," declared Janet, somewhat taken aback.

  "And how would you be that?" asked Mrs. Duff tartly. "If ye worked in a shop ye'd have a master, wouldn't ye?"

  "And maybe a less considerate one," put in Nannie.

  "That's a true word," nodded Mr. Gray. "Ye're looked after in a place like Amberwell. Ye get yer pay regular and ye've no cause to worry. My brother's got a wee cycle shop in Dumfries. He's doing well but there's a deal of worry in it and I wouldn't change with him. My father was in the South Lodge for forty years—and now I've got it. That makes ye feel safe—if ye see what I mean."

  "Och, you've no ambition!" exclaimed Janet.

  "That's no way to speak to Mr. Gray," said Nannie.

  "I'm not worrying," said Mr. Gray smiling. "It's true I'm a contented man and I've no desire to better myself, but I've got a few wee ambitions all the same. I like to see the gardens well kept. I've done my best to have everything in apple-pie order for tomorrow. And then there's the Show . . . the roses are nice this year and I've a marrow that'll be hard to beat. Och, yes, I've got ambitions."

  Mrs. Duff changed the subject tactfully. "Well, yell be glad the fountain's finished anyway," she said.

  "I am that," he agreed. "It's been enough to turn my hair grey, what with one thing and another."

  "Ye've been gray all your life," replied Mrs. Duff seriously.

  Appreciative smiles greeted this sally. "That's a good one," admitted the victim. "I'll need to mind that, and tell Jean."

  "She'll be coming here tomorrow night?" asked Mrs. Duff. "We're all to be there and see the fountain. It'll be a grand show—"

  "We're all to be there except the children," said Nannie.

  "The children!" exclaimed Mr. Gray. "But they've been talking of little else for months. Are they not to be there? Could ye not allow them to stay up and see the fun?"

  "It's not for me to say," declared Nannie, setting her mouth grimly.

  "Well, I call it a shame!" cried Janet. "It's Her, of course. She's nothing but a hard-hearted old wretch."

  "Wheesht!" said Mrs. Duff in scandalised tones.

  "I'll not wheesht! Those children get no fun at all, they're shut up in the attics from one year's end to another—it's a wonder to me if their mother knows them by sight. I wouldn't be them for a good deal." Janet rose as she spoke and flounced out of the room, adding as a parting shot, "The dog has a better life; he's allowed to lie on the hearth-rug anyway."

  An uncomfortable silence followed Janet's departure for there was too much truth in what she said for her audience to treat it lightly. Mrs. Duff and Nannie and Mr. Gray had all thought the same—in their inmost hearts—though they were too loyal to breathe a word of it.

  "Och well," said Mr. Gray at last. "They'll not be neglected as long as they have Nannie—that's certain." He rose and went away, for it was obvious that there could be no more comfortable talk that evening. Janet's bomb-shell had effectually burst up the party.

  Mr. Gray wandered round to the lily-pool. He had made certain that everything was all right for tomorrow but his mind was disturbed and he thought he would have another look at the fountain before going home to bed. He approached it through the trees—and suddenly stood still, petrified with amazement. The fountain was playing. The bright water was leaping up and falling in rainbow showers . . . my, it's pretty! thought Mr. Gray regarding it in awestruck admiration.

  His first idea was that Mr. and Mrs. Ayrton were trying it out, and then as he approached near he saw the little group of children on the steps. At that moment Tom turned off the water and the children dispersed and vanished. The two little girls ran away up the steps and into the house, the boys followed more slowly. The fountain slept.

  "Well, what d'ye think of that!" exclaimed Mr. Gray. Possibly he was addressing his remark to a tree, for no human being was present.

  Still half dazed Mr. Gray went forward and kneeling down made sure that the handle had been properly turned off and no damage had been done. Then he rose and considered the matter.

  "Maybe I dreamed it," murmured Mr. Gray (though as a matter of fact the drops of water glistening upon the mermaid's shoulders proved that he had not). "Maybe it was a dream—and anyway it's none of my business."

  He went home chuckling.

  CHAPTER V

  1

  The gardens at Amberwell had never looked better than upon the August day when the mermaid fountain was to be displayed for the first time. Mrs. Ayrton had banked on a fine day and the weather had not disappointed her; the sun was shining with golden warmth and the skies were cloudless. The guests had been invited for five o'clock so that they might see the gardens while it was still light. When the light began to fade they were to come in and have a meal and listen to some music . . . and then, when it was dark and the moon had risen, they were to go out and see the fountain. A great many people had been invited, people from far and wide all over the south of Scotland, and nearly all had accepted for this was no ordinary party, this was an Occasion.

  Mrs. Ayrton had decreed that the children were to appear for the f
irst part of the entertainment so they were scrubbed and polished and dressed in their best clothes. They were ready far too soon and Nannie shepherded them out to the bowling-green, spread rugs for them to sit on and gave them picture-books. She herself took a chair and her knitting and sat down beside them. They looked nice, grouped upon the rugs, and Nannie was proud of them.

  "When are the people going to arrive?" Anne enquired.

  "Will we have to speak to them?" asked Nell in anxious tones— "speaking to people" was a dreadful ordeal to Nell.

  "They'll arrive soon," replied Nannie. "And, if they speak to you, you'll rise and answer politely."

  The boys were restive. They were much too hot, dressed up in their kilts, and there were all sorts of things they wanted to do.

  "What a waste of a good afternoon!" growled Tom under his breath.

  "We might have bathed," said Roger wistfully.

  The mere idea of bathing in the cool green sea made Roger feel hotter than before. It was almost unbearable. He asked Nannie if he could go and get a drink of water, but she refused. "It won't be long now," she assured him.

  "Nannie, my nose is bleeding!" exclaimed Tom.

  "It can't be!"

  "Yes it is," declared Tom and held out his handkerchief to prove the truth of his words.

  "Oh poor Tom," said Nell—but she said it instinctively and without consternation for she was aware that Tom's nose only bled when its owner wished it to do so.

  "Oh dear!" cried Nannie in anguished tones. "Don't let it bleed on your shirt!" but she spoke too late for already there were three large crimson drops upon Tom's carefully laundered falls.

  Tom rose. "It's a pity, isn't it?" he said. "I had better go and change before they come."

  "Lie down on your bed," advised Nannie. To lie upon your bed was Nannie's cure for every ill that flesh is heir to and it never occurred to her that it was not good treatment for nose-bleeding.

  Tom did not reply. He walked away slowly with his handkerchief held to his nose. The other children watched the pathetic sight with envy.

  "I'd better go, just to see that he's all right," said Roger, leaping to his feet and following his suffering brother.

  Nannie did not know what to do. She supposed she ought to go after them, but that would mean leaving the little girls who were really her responsibility. The boys were out of her hands now; they were not "hers" any longer. Nannie sighed and remained where she was.

  Aunt Beatrice was the first person to speak to the children; she had arrived at Amberwell that morning to stay for a few days and join in the festivities. She often came to Amberwell (in fact she came whenever she was asked) and she did her best to please but unfortunately she had a hasty temper. Miss Ayrton had wanted a rose-garden for Amberwell—a rose-garden with a sun-dial—and in her opinion the fountain was a ridiculous piece of extravagance, no use to anybody. She had arrived at Amberwell with the firm intention of concealing her feelings upon the subject, and she had managed to conceal them more or less, but the strain had told upon her and she was not feeling very amiable.

  Miss Ayrton kissed her three nieces and asked how they were and then without waiting for an answer she turned to Nannie.

  "Why are you sitting here?" she enquired.

  "Mrs. Ayrton wished them to be here," replied Nannie in the ultra-refined voice which she always put on for Miss Ayrton's benefit.

  "It's a foolish place to sit—much too hot," declared Miss Ayrton. "You should use your discretion, Nannie."

  Nannie boiled, but not with the heat of the sun. She was about to reply but at this moment the guests began to arrive and Miss Ayrton went to meet them,

  "What's a discreshon, Nannie?" asked Connie with interest.

  "It's a parasol, silly," said Nell.

  2

  The guests had been received by their host and hostess in the drawing-room and invited to walk round the gardens. They strolled out in twos and threes or in little groups; the ladies attired in silken frocks and wide-brimmed hats trimmed with flowers, the gentlemen in more sober garb. They were like birds or butterflies, thought Nell as she watched them drift across the lawn, but they made more noise of course; such a chatter filled the air as had not been heard for years in the quiet gardens. Some of the guests came and spoke to the children who, prompted by Nannie's stern eye, rose and replied politely.

  "They're like flowers themselves, the little dears," commented one of the ladies.

  "Sweetly pretty; especially the eldest," agreed her elderly companion in a low voice.

  Connie was delighted with the compliment but Nannie was annoyed for she was of the old school and disapproved of children being praised to their face.

  "All girls!" said another lady in slightly disappointed accents.

  "We've got two brothers," declared Connie. "They don't like parties so they've gone to bathe." This was a faux pas on Connie's part but she was slightly flown.

  "Lucky little devils!" exclaimed a gentleman who was standing by.

  "Where do you bathe?" asked the first lady.

  "In the sea," replied Connie. "It's quite near."

  The gentleman seemed anxious to visit the sea but the ladies were determined to walk round the gardens and a slight argument ensued.

  "You can do both quite easily," Connie told them. "Ill show you the way."

  "A guide would be most welcome," said the gentleman smiling,

  Nannie was shaking her head reprovingly but Connie took no notice; she thought it would be amusing to walk round the gardens with her new friends. She went o£F with the party and disappeared.

  "Look at that!" exclaimed Nannie who had now lost three of her five chickens and could do nothing about it. "I'll sort Connie when I get her . . . and what in the name of goodness made her say the boys had gone to bathe!"

  Nell and Anne looked at one another and were silent.

  People came and went. Most of them were strangers to the children and even the people they knew looked strange in their party clothes. They saw the Findlaters in the distance, they saw nice Dr. Maddon and his family, and they saw Mr. Orme. Presently Mr. and Mrs. Lambert appeared with Gerald in tow.

  The children knew the Lamberts of course and rose politely as they approached. Mr. Lambert was large and hearty with a red face and a flourishing moustache; Mrs. Lambert was very small and dainty. She was always beautifully dressed but today she was even more exquisite than usual in a sprigged muslin frock and a hat with a little veil. Gerald, who was usually very untidy, was extremely smart in a new grey-flannel suit.

  "I say, where are Roger and Tom?" demanded Gerald. "I bet they're bathing. It's just the sort of afternoon for a bathe. I think I'll—"

  "No, Gerald," said Mrs. Lambert.

  "Oh, but look here!"

  "No Gerald, you must stay with us. You'll get dirty," declared Mrs. Lambert who knew her son and was aware that the only way to keep him reasonably clean was not to let him out of her sight. "It will soon be time to go in to supper," she added craftily.

  Gerald was about to disobey his mother but now hesitated uncertainly.

  "It's a lovely supper," said Nell. "There's lobster mayonnaise and cold chicken and ham and cold grouse and jellies and trifles."

  "Sounds good," said Gerald approvingly.

  Mrs. Lambert looked at Nell and smiled; she was amused, and grateful. Although she lived next door, so to speak, she scarcely ever saw the little Ayrton girls; nobody ever saw them, they were kept in the background as if they were something to be ashamed of.

  "You're Constance, aren't you?" asked Mrs. Lambert.

  "Great Scott!" exclaimed Gerald roaring with laughter. "Fancy you not knowing that's Nell!"

  Nell and Anne expected the sides to fall but Mrs. Lambert did not seem to mind . . . all the same Nell was sorry for her.

  "I've grown a lot," Nell explained. "I've grown so fast that I can wear Connie's last year's dresses and of course we've both got yellow hair."

  "But you're not like Connie," said
Gerald looking at her critically. "You're horribly skinny and your hair is quite straight."

  "What nonsense, Gerald!" exclaimed Mrs. Lambert.

  "It isn't nonsense. Connie is much prettier than Nell."

  "In that case Connie must be very pretty indeed."

  "Come on, Poppet," said Mr. Lambert impatiently. "I want to speak to Gray about the fuchsias."

  "Well, I never," murmured Nannie under her breath as they walked away.

  Gerald only stayed long enough to make a long nose at Nell and then he lumbered off after his parents in his usual ungainly fashion.

  "Poppet!" said Nell. "That's a funny name, isn't it? I do think she's sweet, don't you?"

  Anne had begun to laugh. "I can't help it," she gurgled. "They look so—so funny. She's like a fairy—and Gerald— Gerald's like—a bear."

  "Come along," said Nannie firmly. "It's time for bed."

  3

  Nannie had expected trouble at bed-time and was surprised when Nell and Anne ate their bread-and-milk quite cheerfully and went off to bed like lambs. They were actually in their beds when Connie rushed in, breathless and excited, and announced that she was to stay up after all.

  "That lady was Lady Annan," declared Connie. "I mean that lady who said I was the prettiest. She's very important. I took her all round and showed her everything and she liked me so much that she asked Mother specially if I could stay up and see the fountain and Mother said I could, so I'm going to have supper downstairs and I'm going to see the fountain."

  Even this—which Nannie thought most unfair—did not disturb the younger children.

  "That's lovely," said Nell, snuggling down in bed. "I'm so glad you're going to see it after all. It's a lovely, lovely fountain; the moon makes the water look like rainbows and the drops patter down like rain."

  "The mermaid wakes up when the water begins," added Anne dreamily.

  It was just as well that Nannie and Connie were both too full of their own affairs to listen intelligently. Nannie had intended to punish Connie for her disobedience (and lo and behold she had received unmerited reward) and Connie was far too excited at her good fortune to notice what anybody said.