Amberwell

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

  "But Shakespeare isn't funny," said Mrs. Ayrton in surprise.

  Anne and Nell did not contradict their mother. They were too polite.

  "I suppose you found it in the library?" asked Mrs. Ayrton.

  "Yes," replied Anne. "We used to read Shakespeare with Miss Clarke, but we never read this play. It's rather difficult to understand—at least bits of it are."

  "Perhaps I could help you," suggested Mrs. Ayrton smiling sweetly. She remembered "doing" "Midsummer Night's Dream" with her governess (or at least she remembered she had "done" it). She had a vague recollection of fairies and a man with a donkey's head.

  "What's a bawd?" asked Nell.

  "It's a sort of committee," replied Mrs. Ayrton promptly. "Your father was on the Board of Directors of a big Insurance Company at one time."

  Her daughters gazed at her in bewilderment.

  "But Pompey was put in prison!" exclaimed Anne.

  "He was an unlawful bawd," Nell reminded her.

  Mrs. Ayrton was equally bewildered. She picked up the book and began to turn over the pages and in a very few moments her idea that Shakespeare's Plays were suitable reading for the young received a severe shock. She replaced the book in her husband's library and informed her daughters that they were not to read Shakespeare's Plays.

  "Oh well, there are lots of other books," said Anne.

  There were lots of books in the library and the girls browsed amongst them very happily, and in addition they continued to collect wild flowers. It was now April and plants were beginning to wake up after their winter sleep. Most plants had country names, which were much more fun than their ordinary everyday names, and many plants had little stories attached to them. Dog violets were called Blue Mice; wood-rush was Chimney-Sweeper, because of its spiky brush; nettles—less obviously—were Adam and Eve in the Bower.

  One afternoon when they were returning from an expedition they met Mr. Gray in the gardens and showed him their treasures.

  "Och, they're just weeds," he said in disgust.

  "But so interesting," said Nell. "We're finding out stories about them. For instance the Red Indians call the plantain White Man's Foot, because when the white men went over to America they took some seeds of it with them and it seeded itself everywhere."

  Mr. Gray was heard to say in his deep, rumbling tones that he also had a name for the plantain.

  "Oh, what?" asked Nell eagerly. "Do tell us and we'll put it in the book."

  But Mr. Gray refused to tell them and offered the feeble excuse that he did not know how to spell it . . . "And that's just mugwort, no more no less," he added, pointing to the feathery flower with its green and silvery leaves.

  "It's magic," Nell told him. "Long ago people in China thought it was a magic plant."

  "I wouldn't wonder," said Mr. Gray. "It grows like Jack and the Beanstalk. One day it's not there, and a week later it's thriving like mad. See here. Miss Nell, there's no need for you to go seeking for that sort of rubbish; I'll pick you a nice bunch of pretty flowers for your room whenever you like."

  CHAPTER IX

  1

  Mr. Gray did not understand the fascination of collecting wild plants and making a book about them, and Mrs. Ayrton had even less patience with her daughters' hobby. There was nothing wrong in it, of course, but it seemed so "queer." She wanted Nell and Anne to be like other girls— like Connie for instance—and to take their proper place in Society. She wanted them to play tennis and make friends with other girls, and possibly with young men.

  Mrs. Ayrton did her best with them; she had their hair waved, she bought them pretty clothes and she kept on urging them to make an effort.

  "What sort of effort, Mother?" asked Anne.

  "You must smile at people and talk," said Mrs. Ayrton. "You must be friendly. You must meet people half-way."

  Unfortunately Nell and Anne were so unused to meeting people that they could not meet them half-way; they could not manufacture polite conversation, it was difficult even to smile. At parties they stood close together all the time and if anybody spoke to them they blushed and trembled. Their behaviour was all the more annoying to their mother because, now that they had been smartened up, they were really very nice-looking (even Anne, the ugly duckling, had a curiously appealing charm). They were young and fresh, their figures had improved, and their complexions were beautiful, but people found them dull. Mrs. Ayrton could not blame people for finding her daughters dull; she found them dull herself.

  Perhaps it would have been better, thought Mrs. Ayrton, if she had tried one at a time; if she had taken Nell and left Anne in the schoolroom for another year. Then they could not have clung to one another in that ridiculous fashion.

  Mrs. Ayrton was at her wits' end when she received a letter from her sister-in-law asking Anne to go and stay with her for a month. Perhaps it will help, thought Mrs. Ayrton. Beatrice knows a lot of people in Edinburgh . . . but it must be Nell, of course. Nell is the elder. She wrote back at once thanking her sister-in-law and suggesting that Nell should come. Miss Ayrton replied that it was Anne she wanted. Oh well, thought Mrs. Ayrton, Anne had better go; perhaps when Anne is not here I shall be able to do something with Nell.

  She explained the matter to her husband.

  "Well, I don't know," he said doubtfully. "Beatrice is rather a fool—but it's for you to say, of course."

  "It will do Anne a lot of good," declared Mrs. Ayrton. "And it will be good for Nell, too. They've never been separated and they cling to each other like limpets."

  Nell and Anne were horrified when they heard the news. It was an absolute bomb-shell. They discussed it together in private.

  "Why should I go?" said Anne. "I don't want to go. It's frightful. Fancy being separated for a whole month! And I'm terrified of Aunt Beatrice! I shall tell Mother I don't want to go."

  "It's no use," replied Nell miserably. "Mother has made up her mind. She thinks it will improve you."

  "It won't," said Anne in a hopeless voice. "Nothing will improve me. I just can't make polite conversation. I can't think of anything to say—especially when Mother is watching me."

  "Mother won't be watching you," Nell pointed out.

  This was true of course but it did not do much to relieve the gloom.

  "It's worse for me, really," continued Nell. "I shan't have you to help me."

  "But you'll be here, at Amberwell," said Anne with a sigh.

  "Perhaps you needn't stay a whole month," suggested Nell. "Aunt Beatrice may get tired of having you or something."

  "I can't think why she wants me at all," declared Anne. She heaved another sigh and added, "You'll write to me, won't you?"

  "Yes, and you'll write to me. I tell you what, Anne, I'll get up early and meet the postman. Then you can tell me everything that happens and I won't have to show your letters to Mother."

  Oddly enough Nannie was on their side. She was dismayed at the news that Anne was to spend a month in Edinburgh with Miss Ayrton. She said nothing to the girls, of course, nor did she broach the subject to their mother, but Mrs. Duff heard her views in private session.

  "It's ridiculous," declared Nannie. "Anne's far too young to go off to Edinburgh on her own."

  "But she'll be staying with her aunt," objected Mrs. Duff.

  Nannie snorted scornfully. "Her!" she said.

  "Anne's nearly eighteen now—that's not so very young. I mind when I was eighteen I was airning my living and—"

  "And so was I," interrupted Nannie. "But you and me were brought up very different, Katie. Anne's just a bairn and Nell's not much better. I wouldn't say this to anybody but you, but the fact is they've not been properly brought up. There's been no notice taken of them; they've not been anywhere or seen anything all their lives; they've not even been to the pantomime. That's the truth and you know it as well as me."

  This was plain-speaking indeed.

  2

  It was very dull at Amberwell House when Anne had gone. Nell was miserable and far from be
ing better company for her mother she was worse. She mooned about the gardens and went for long walks over the moor and she spent hours sitting in Ponticum House where nobody could find her. Every morning she got up early and met the postman in the avenue and in the first week she received three long letters.

  The letters were quite cheerful. Anne said she missed Nell very much but on the whole it was not as bad as she had expected; Aunt Beatrice was very land. They had been to the Zoo and to the Botanical Gardens and to the theatre together. Aunt Beatrice had bought Anne a new hat and taken her to tea with some friends and she had met several people who were quite easy to talk to.

  The second week there were only two letters, and they were much shorter; the third week there was only one.

  Nell had met the postman every day and had been disappointed so often that she was thrilled when he handed her a bulky envelope; she could hardly wait until his back was turned before tearing it open to devour its contents.

  Darling Nell,

  I am so sorry I have not written to you before but such a lot has been happening that I have had very little time. We have been going about all over the place and I am really getting quite good at talking to people. I can see now what Mother meant when she said we ought to meet people half-way—so I am doing it. Of course Aunt Beatrice does not watch me like Mother which makes it easier. Aunt Beatrice took me to a dance on Thursday night. It was given by some friends of hers who have a lovely country house at Barnton. I had nothing nice to wear so she took me to Jenners and bought me a real evening dress. It is pale pink with little frills—and very pretty. I was rather frightened at first because I did not think I would know anybody to dance with, but oddly enough Aunt Beatrice understood. She said she used to feel the same and then she made up her mind not to care, but just to enjoy herself. Also she gave me a glass of champagne before we started! I don't know whether it was the champagne or the new dress or Aunt Beatrice's advice but I felt on top of the world and enjoyed myself tremendously and I had plenty of partners. Martin was there —he dances beautifully—and there were several other men that I had met before. Aunt Beatrice played Bridge most of the evening and did not bother about me at all. Aunt Beatrice is very keen on Bridge, she belongs to a club which meets twice a week. She asked me if I minded being left alone while she went out, and of course I said no. The first time it seemed a bit queer being all alone in the flat but now I don't mind a bit. There are plenty of books to read and I can have the wireless. Tonight is one of her club nights but I shall not be here alone because Martin is coming to take me to the theatre. It will be fun. I can't make up my mind whether to wear my bridesmaid's dress or my old blue silk. It is difficult to know. I miss you very much and I miss Amberwell. Sometimes when I am alone I long to be home—especially at night. I miss our talks in bed and everything. All the same I really am enjoying myself and I feel as if I were beginning to grow up and become more like other people. Aunt Beatrice wants me to stay on a little bit longer so I have written to ask Mother if I can.

  Lots of love darling Nell. I wish you were here.

  Your loving

  Anne.

  P.S. Aunt Beatrice says my bridesmaid's dress is too smart so I must just wear my blue. I hope Martin will not think it very shabby. I wish you could meet Martin because I am sure you would like him.

  P.P.S. I see I have not explained who Martin is. He is Martin Selby and he teaches mathematics in a big school in London. Of course he is very clever but he is amusing too, and not a bit alarming. Aunt Beatrice got to know Martin last year when she was staying in Rome at the Pensione Valetta. Do you remember how she used to talk about her visits to Rome? Martin talks about Rome too, but of course he is much more interesting and knows more about ancient history. Martin has been ill and is staying in Edinburgh for a holiday but he will have to go back to London soon.

  A.A.

  It was fortunate that Nell had got this letter from the postman because if she had received it at breakfast-time her mother would have insisted upon reading it and somehow she felt that her mother would not have approved of it at all. There was nothing very private about it but it gave Nell a feeling of unease. She read it several times and became more and more worried. Why did Anne want to stay on with Aunt Beatrice and not come home? It seemed so queer, Nell was not very experienced in worldly matters but she was a year older than Anne. Anne was just a child. She was adorable of course, dear and sweet and funny, but she knew nothing about life. Now, here she was, suddenly whirled into a gay round of parties with nobody but Aunt Beatrice to look after her—and apparently Aunt Beatrice was not looking after her at all.

  Another thing that worried Nell was the way in which "Martin" kept cropping up in the letter. A schoolmaster— who taught mathematics—seemed a most unlikely sort of man to appeal to Anne. Nell felt certain she would not like Martin; she was even more certain that her parents would not approve of him.

  Oh dear! thought Nell . . . but perhaps Mother will say she has got to come home.

  Mrs. Ayrton did not share Nell's apprehension; she had received a letter from Anne and one from her sister-in-law as well, and from these she gathered that Anne was emerging from her shell and behaving more like a reasonable human being, so she replied very graciously that Anne might stay a little longer and added that it was very land of Aunt Beatrice to give her such a good time.

  Nell wrote too of course, but she found it difficult to put her feelings into words. She wanted Anne to come home immediately but it seemed selfish to try to persuade her to come home when she was enjoying herself so much. Nell could not help feeling a trifle hurt for it was obvious that she missed Anne much more than Anne missed her. It was even more difficult to find the right thing to say about "Martin" so she left the subject alone. Her letter was mostly about a Garden Party at the Lamberts which she had been forced to attend and which she had not enjoyed at all. When she re-read her letter it seemed terribly dreary but there was no time to re-write it so she let it go.

  After that Anne's letters were very short and, even worse, there was no mention of her coming home to Amberwell.

  3

  One morning when Nell went down to breakfast she saw a letter in Anne's writing lying upon the table. She looked at it eagerly and then she saw it was addressed to her father.

  Nell suffered a qualm of anxiety when he took up the letter and looked at it. (Mr. Ayrton's habit was to examine the outside of his letters carefully and then slit them open very neatly with a paper-knife. Nell had watched this performance often but never with such impatience as today.)

  "I thought this was from Anne—it looks like her writing —but the postmark is London," Mr. Ayrton remarked.

  "London!" gasped Nell.

  He took no notice. He was unfolding the letter now . . . Nell watched him as he read it and saw his face change and his brow darken with rage.

  "Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "The girl has gone mad!"

  "What's happened?" asked Mrs. Ayrton in alarm.

  "She's married—that's what's happened."

  "Who is married?" asked Mrs. Ayrton.

  "Anne, of course."

  "Anne—married! It can't be true!"

  "It's true," declared Mr. Ayrton furiously. "She says so herself—"

  "But William—"

  "There you are!" he cried, throwing the letter across the table to his wife. "Read it! She's married a schoolmaster without a penny to his name—a schoolmaster! She's done it without so much as a 'by your leave,' without telling us a thing about it!"

  "But she couldn't!" exclaimed Mrs. Ayrton, seizing the letter.

  "She has, I tell you," raged Mr. Ayrton. "She's married the man and gone to London with him. That's what she's done. She's schemed and plotted behind our backs—"

  "But Beatrice! What was Beatrice thinking of to allow it!"

  "Beatrice! She's fixed up the whole thing of course! The woman is crazy. I said at the beginning we shouldn't allow Anne to go—but you insisted. Well, I hope you're sa
tisfied."

  "Perhaps it isn't so bad—" began Mrs. Ayrton.

  "Bad! It's as bad as can be," stormed her husband. "How could it be worse? If the man had the slightest sense of decency he would have asked my consent. It's obvious he's an absolute blackguard. For all we know he has a wife already and half a dozen brats!"

  "Nell, you had better go upstairs," said Mrs. Ayrton hastily.

  "But I want to know— " began Nell in a trembling voice.

  "You know all that's necessary," declared her father. "Your sister has gone mad and married an out and out blackguard. That's quite enough, isn't it?"

  CHAPTER X

  1

  After that one terrible row Anne's name was not mentioned by either of her parents—or at least not in Nell's hearing. A dark silence descended upon the house. Nell bore it for two days and then she could bear it no longer and plucking up courage she went to her mother and asked for news of Anne.

  "We know nothing," said Mrs. Ayrton shortly.

  "But you must know something."

  Mrs. Ayrton hesitated for a moment, looking at Nell's miserable face, and then she said, "I know it's hard for you, Nell, but you must be brave. Anne has behaved disgracefully; I couldn't have believed any daughter of mine could have behaved like that. Your father is furious—as you know. We can't do anything about it because she is married; she has chosen her own path; she must go her own way."

  "I'd like her address," said Nell.

  "Your father doesn't wish you to write to her."

  "But Mother—"

  "That's enough," said Mrs. Ayrton and she turned her back and continued to arrange the flowers.

  Nell realised that the interview was supposed to have ended, but anguish gave her courage. "I must know," she said in a shaky voice. "She's not—ill or anything, is she?"