CHAPTER IX.
THE NEWS
Mr. Cardew arrived at Meredith Manor very late that evening. The long and happy day had come to an end. The Tristram girls and Maggie Howland had returned to the rectory. Cicely and Merry were having a long, confidential chat together. They were in Merry’s bedroom. They had dismissed their maid. They were talking of the pleasures of the day, and in particular were discussing the delightful fact that their beautiful cousin Aneta had wired to say she would be with them in two days’ time.
They had not seen Aneta for some years, but they both remembered her vividly. Her memory shone out before them both as something specially dazzling and specially beautiful. Maggie Howland, too, had spoken of Aneta’s beauty. Maggie had been told that Aneta was coming, and Maggie had expressed pleasure. Whatever Maggie’s private feelings may have been, she was very careful now to express delight at Aneta’s appearance at Meredith Manor.
“What a darling she is!” said Merry. “I doubt very much – I suppose it’s rank heresy to say so, Cicely, but I really greatly doubt whether I shall ever prefer Aneta to Maggie. What are mere looks, after all, when one possesses such charm as Maggie has? That seems to me a much greater gift.”
“We need not compare them, need we?” said Cicely.
“Oh, certainly not,” said Merry; “but, Cicely darling, doesn’t it seem funny that such a lot of girls who are all to meet in September at Aylmer House should be practically staying with us at the present moment?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Cicely. “I feel almost as though I belonged to it, which of course is quite ridiculous, for we shall never by any chance go there.”
“Of course not,” said Merry, and she sighed.
After a time Cicely said, “I wonder what father went to town for to-day.”
“Well, we don’t know, so where’s the use of troubling?” said Merry.
“I asked mother,” said Cicely, “why he went to town, and she said she couldn’t tell me; but she got rather red as she spoke.”
“Cicely,” said Merry after a long pause, “when these glorious holidays come to an end, and the Aylmer House girls have gone to Aylmer House, what shall you and I do?”
“Do,” said Cicely – “do? I suppose what we’ve always done. A fresh governess will be found, and another music-master, and we’ll work at our lessons and do the best we can.”
Merry gave a deep sigh.
“We’ll never talk French like Belle Tristram,” she said, “and we’ll never play so that any one will care to listen to us. We’ll never, never know the world the way the others know it. There seems very little use in being rich when one can’t get education.”
It was just at that moment that there came a light tap at the girls’ door. Before they could reply, it was opened and Mrs. Cardew came in. She looked as though she had been crying; nevertheless, there was a joyful sort of triumph on her face. She said quickly, “I thought, somehow, you two naughty children would not be in bed, and I told father that I’d come up on the chance of finding you. Father has come back from London, and has something important to tell you. Will you come down with me at once?”
“Oh mother! mother! what is it?” said Merry in a tone of excitement which was slightly mingled with awe.
“Your father will tell you, my darling,” said Mrs. Cardew.
She put her arm round Merry’s slight waist and held Cicely’s hand, and they came down to the great drawing-room where Mr. Cardew was waiting for them.
He was pacing slowly up and down the room, his hands folded behind his back. His face was slightly tired, and yet he too wore that odd expression of mingled triumph and pain which Mrs. Cardew’s eyes expressed.
When the mother and the girls entered the room he at once shut the door. Mr. Cardew looked first of all at Merry. He held out his hand to her. “Come to me, little girl,” he said.
She flew to him and put her arms round his neck. She kissed him several times. “Oh dad! dad!” she said, “I know I was downright horrid and unkind and perfectly dreadful yesterday, and I don’t – no, I don’t– want to leave you and mother. If I was discontented then, I am not now.”
Merry believed her own words at that moment, for the look on her father’s face had struck to her very heart.
He disengaged her pretty arms very gently, and, still holding her hand, went up to Cicely, who was clinging to her mother. “I have just got some news for you both,” he said. “You know, of course, that Miss Beverley cannot teach you any longer?”
“Poor old Beverley,” said Cicely; “we are so sorry. But you’ll find another good governess for us, won’t you, dad?”
“I am afraid I can’t,” said Mr. Cardew, “So I sent for you to-night to tell you that I have broken the resolve which I always meant to keep.”
“You have what?” said Merry.
“I have turned my back on a determination which I made when you were both very little girls, and to-day I went up to town and saw Mrs. Ward.”
“Oh!” said Merry. She turned white and dropped her father’s hand, and, clasping her own two hands tightly together, gazed at him as though she would devour his face.
“Well, it’s all settled, children,” said Mr. Cardew, “and: when September comes you will go with your friends Molly and Belle to Aylmer House.”
This announcement was received at first in total silence. Then Merry flew to her father and kissed him a great many times, and Cicely kissed her mother.
Then Merry said, “We can’t talk of it to-night; we can’t quite realize it to-night; but – but – we are glad!”
Then she took Cicely’s hand, and they went out of the room. Mr. and Mrs. Cardew watched them as the little figures approached the door. Merry opened it, and they both passed out.
“I wonder,” said Mr. Cardew, looking at his wife, “if they are going out of our lives.”
“Indeed, no,” said Mrs. Cardew; “from what you have told me of Mrs. Ward, she must be a good woman – one of the best.”
“She is one of the very, very best, Sylvia; and I think the very happiest thing for us both would be to run up to town to-morrow, and for you to see her for yourself.”
“Very well, darling; we will do so,” said Mrs. Cardew.
CHAPTER X.
ANETA
So everything was settled. Cicely and Merry scarcely slept at all that night. They were too much excited; the news was too wonderful. Now that their wish was granted, there was pain mingled with their joy. It seems as though perfect joy must have its modicum of pain to make it perfect.
But when the next morning dawned the regret of the night before seemed to have vanished. In the first place, Mr. and Mrs. Cardew had gone early to London; and the mere fact that their father and mother were not present was a sort of relief to the excited girls. The picnic need not be postponed, for Mr. and Mrs. Tristram could act as chaperons on this auspicious occasion.
They were all to meet at the Manor at eleven o’clock; and, punctual to the hour, a goodly array of happy young people walked up the avenue and entered the porch of the old-house. Andrew, devoted to Maggie, was present. Jack, equally Maggie’s slave, was also there. Maggie herself, looking neat and happy, was helping every one. Molly and Belle, all in white, and looking as charming as little girls could, were full of expectation of their long and delightful day.
One wagonette could hold the whole party, and as it drove round to the front door the boys fiercely took possession of the box-seat, fighting with the coachman, who said that there would be no room for Miss Howland to sit between them.
“Well then, Mags, if that is the case,” said Peterkins, “you get along in at once, and take this corner close to me; then, whenever we want, we can do a bit of whispering.”
“You won’t whisper more than your share,” said Jackdaw. “I’ve a frightful lot to say to Mags this morning.”
“Hush, boys!” said Maggie; “if you quarrel about me I shall not speak to either of you.”
This threat was so awful that the boys glanced at each other, remained silent and got quietly into their places. Then the hampers were put on the floor just under their feet.
Presently Cicely and Merry came out to join the group. They were wearing pretty pink muslins, with pink sashes to match. Merry’s beautiful dark eyes were very bright. Mr. and Mrs. Tristram inquired for their host and hostess.
“Oh, I have news for you!” said Merry.
“Yes,” said Cicely, “Merry will tell.”
“Well, it’s Just this,” said Merry, almost jerking out her words in excitement: “Father and mother have been obliged to go rather unexpectedly to town.”
“Why?” said Maggie; then she restrained herself, knowing that it was not her place to speak.
“They have gone to town,” said Merry, scarcely looking at Maggie now, and endeavoring with all her might and main not to show undue excitement, “because a great and wonderful thing has happened; something so unexpected that – that Cicely and I can scarcely believe it.”
Maggie glanced at the sweet little faces. She said to herself, “All right,” and got calmly into the wagonette, where she sat close under the box-seat which contained those obstreperous young heroes Andrew and Jack. The others clustered round Merry.
“As I said, I can scarcely believe it,” said Merry; “but father has done the most marvelous thing. Oh Belle! oh Molly! it is too wonderful! For after all – after all, Cicely and I are to go with you to Aylmer House in September, and – and – that is why father and mother have gone to town. Father went up yesterday and saw Mrs. Ward, and he – he settled it; and father and mother have gone up to-day – both of them – to see her, and to make final arrangements. And we’re to go! we’re to go!”
“Hurrah!” cried Molly. Immediately the boys, and Maggie and Belle, and even Mr. and Mrs. Tristram, took up the glad “Hurrah!”
“Well, children,” said Mr. Tristram when the first excitement had subsided, “I must say I am heartily pleased. This is delightful! I take some credit to myself for having helped on this most excellent arrangement.”
“No one thanks me for anything,” thought Maggie; but she had the prudence to remain silent.
“We had better start on our picnic now,” said Mr. Tristram, and immediately the whole party climbed into the wagonette. The horses started; the wheels rolled. They were off.
By-and-by Merry felt her hand taken by Maggie. Maggie just squeezed that hand, and whispered in that very, very rich and wonderfully seductive voice of hers, “Oh, I am glad! I am very, very glad!”
Merry felt her heart thrill as Maggie uttered those words. She answered back, turning her face to her young companion, “To be with you alone would be happiness enough for me.”
“Is it true, Cicely,” said Mrs. Tristram at the moment, “that your cousin, Aneta Lysle, is coming to stay with you?”
“Oh yes; but I had half-forgotten it in all this excitement,” said Cicely. “She will arrive to-morrow. – Maggie, you’ll be glad, won’t you?”
“More than delighted,” said Maggie.
“It is too wonderful,” said Cicely. “Why, it will soon come to pass that half Mrs. Ward’s school will be all together during the holidays. Fancy, we two, and you two” – she touched one of the Tristram girls – “and you, Maggie, and then dear Aneta; why, that’ll make six. What a lot we shall have to talk about! Maggie, you and Aneta will be our two heroines; we shall always be applying to you for information.”
The conversation was here interrupted by Jackdaw, who pinched Maggie on the arm. “You’re not attending to us,” he said.
“Nonsense, Jackdaw!”
“Well, stand up for a minute; I want to whisper to you.”
Maggie, who never lost a chance of ingratiating herself with any one, obeyed.
“Jack dear, don’t be troublesome,” said his mother.
“I am not,” said Jackdaw. “She loves it, the duck that she is!”
“Be quick, Jackdaw; it’s very difficult for me to keep my hold standing up,” said Maggie.
“How many chocolates can you eat at a pinch?” whispered Jackdaw in her ear.
“Oh, forty,” replied Maggie; “but I should be rather ill afterwards.”
“We’ve got some in our pockets. They’re a little bit clammy, but you don’t mind that?”
“I don’t want any just now, dear boy; and I’ll tell you why. I want to be really starving hungry when the picnic begins.”
“That’s a good notion, isn’t it?” said Jackdaw. – “I say, Andrew, she wants to be starving hungry when the picnic begins!”
Maggie resumed her seat, and the boys went on whispering together, and kicking each other at intervals, and rather upsetting that very stolid personage, Mr. Charles, the Meredith Manor coachman.
The picnic was a perfect success. When people are very happy there is no room for discontent in their hearts, and all the members of that party were in the highest spirits. The Cardew girls had no time yet for that period of regret which must invariably follow a period of intense excitement. They had no time yet to realize that they must part with their father and mother for the greater portion of the year.
To children so intensely affectionate as Cicely and Merry such a parting must mean considerable pain. But even the beginning of the pain did not come to them on that auspicious day, and they returned to the house after the picnic in the highest good-humor.
Mr. and Mrs. Tristram, however, were wise in their generation; and although Cicely and Merry begged and implored the whole party to come to the Manor for supper, they very firmly declined. It is to be regretted that both Jack and Andrew turned sulky on this occasion.
As the rectory girls and Maggie and the boys and Mr. and Mrs. Tristam were all going homewards the two girls and Maggie fell behind.
“Isn’t this real fun? Isn’t it magnificent?” said Molly Tristram.
“It’s a very good thing indeed for your friends Cicely and Merry,” said Maggie. Then she added, “Didn’t I tell you, girls, that you would win your bracelets?”
Belle felt herself changing color.
“We don’t want them a bit – we really don’t,” said Molly.
“Of course we don’t want them,” said Isabel.
“You’ll have them all the same,” said Maggie. “They are my present to you. Surely you won’t refuse my present?”
“But such a very rich and handsome present we ought not to accept,” said Molly.
“Nonsense, girls! I shall be unhappy unless you wear them. When I return to mother – which, alas! I must do before many days are over – I shall send you the bracelets.”
“I wish you wouldn’t, Maggie,” said Belle Tristram; “for I am certain father and mother would not like us to wear jewelry while we are so young.”
“Well, then,” said Maggie, “I will give them to you when we all meet at Aylmer House. You must take them; you know you promised you would. You will hurt me most frightfully if you don’t.”
As Molly and Isabel certainly did not wish to hurt Maggie, they remained silent, and during the rest of the walk the three girls scarcely spoke. Meanwhile Cicely and Merry entered the Manor House and waited impatiently for the return of their father and mother.
“We must get everything extra nice for them,” said Cicely to her sister. “I do think it is so wonderfully splendid of them to send us to school.”
The sun had already set, and twilight had come on; but it would be quite impossible for Mr. and Mrs. Cardew to arrive at the Manor until about ten o’clock. What, therefore, was the amazement of the girls when they heard carriage-wheels in the distance!
“Father and mother could not possibly have done their business and caught the early train,” said Merry in some excitement. “Who can be coming now?”
The next moment their doubts were set at rest, for Aneta Lysle entered the hall.
“I came to-day after all,” she said. “Auntie thought it would be more convenient. You got my telegram, didn’t you?”
These words were uttered while her two cousins, in rapture and delight, were kissing her.
“No, no,” said Merry, “we got no telegram; but, oh, Aneta! we are glad to see you.”
“Here’s the telegram on the hall-table,” said Aneta, and she took up a yellow envelope. This was addressed to “Cardew, Meredith Manor.” “Yes, I know this must be from me,” said Aneta. “But why didn’t you open it?”
“Well, the fact is,” said Cicely, “father and mother were in London, and the rest of us were out on a picnic. But it doesn’t matter a bit; you’ve come, and the sooner the better. Oh, it is nice to see you again! But how tall you are, Neta, and how grown up you look!”
“I am seventeen, remember,” said Aneta. “I don’t feel grown-up, but auntie says I look it.”
“Oh, come into the light – do,” said Merry, “and let’s see you! We’ve heard so very much of you lately, and we want to look at your darling face again.”
“And I want to look at you both,” said Aneta in her affectionate manner.
The servants had conveyed Miss Lysle’s luggage into the house, and now the three girls, with their arms twined round each other, entered the same big drawing-room where Mr. Cardew had given his wonderful news of the night before. There was a blaze of electric light, and this, judiciously softened with rose-colored silk, was most becoming to all those who came under its influence. But the strongest glare of light could not disfigure any one so absolutely beautiful as Aneta Lysle. Her delicate complexion, the wonderful purity and regularity of her features, her sweet, tender young mouth, her charming blue eyes, and her great luxuriance of golden hair made people who looked at her once long to study that charming face again and yet again.
There was no vanity about this young girl; her manner, her expression, were simplicity itself. There was a certain nobility about her fine forehead, and the shape of her head was classical, and showed undoubted talent. Her clear, musical voice was in itself a charm. Her young figure was the very personification of grace. Beside her, Cicely and Merry felt awkward and commonplace; not that they were so, but very few people could attain to Aneta Lysle’s incomparable beauty.
“Well, girls,” she said, “you do look sweet, both of you!”
“Oh Neta, what a darling you are!” said Merry, who worshipped beauty, and had never come across any one so lovely as her cousin. “It’s two years since we met,” she continued, “and you have altered, and not altered. You’re more grown-up and more – more stately, but your face is the same. Whenever we want to think of the angels we think of you too, Neta.”
“That is very sweet of you, darlings; but, indeed, I am far from being an angel. I am just a very human girl; and, please, if you don’t mind, we won’t discuss my looks any more.”
Cicely and Merry both save their cousin a thoughtful glance. Then they said eagerly, “You must come to your room and wash your hands, and get refreshed for supper, for of course you are starving.”
“I shall like to have something to eat,” said Aneta. “What room am I to have, girls?”
“Oh, the white room, next to ours; we arranged it all this morning,” said Cicely.
“Well, come along at once,” said Aneta.
Soon the three girls found themselves in the beautiful bedroom which had been arranged for Aneta’s reception. As soon as ever they got there Cicely clasped one of her cousin’s arms and Merry the other.
“We have news for you – news!” they said.
“Yes?” said Aneta, looking at them with her bright, soft eyes.
“Most wonderful – most extraordinary – most – most beautiful!” said Merry, speaking almost with passion. “We’re going to your school; yes, to yours – to Aylmer House, in September. Could you have believed it? Think of father consenting, and just because I felt a little discontented. Oh, isn’t he an angel? Father, of all people, who until now would not hear of our leaving home! But we’re going.”
“Well,” said Aneta, “I am not greatly surprised, for I happen to know that your father, Cousin Cyril, came to see auntie yesterday, and afterwards he went to visit Mrs. Ward, and after his visit we saw Mrs. Ward; and, although he had not quite made up his mind then whether he would send you or not, we quite thought he would do so. Yes, this is splendid. I’ll he able to tell you lots about the school; but, after all, it isn’t the school that matters.”
“Then what matters, Aneta?”
“It’s Mrs. Ward herself,” said Aneta; “it’s she who makes the whole thing so perfect. She guides us; she enlightens us. Sometimes I can scarcely talk of her, my love for her and my passion for her are so deep.”
Cicely and Merry looked thoughtful for a minute.
“I’m ready now to come downstairs,” said Aneta; and they went down, to find supper prepared for them, and the old butler waiting to attend on his young ladies.
After the meal was over the girls retired to the drawing-room, where they all three sat by one of the windows waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Cardew’s return.
Merry then said, “It is so funny of you, Aneta, to speak as though the school was Mrs. Ward.”
“But it is,” said Aneta.
“Surely, surely,” said Merry, “it’s the girls too.”
“You will be surprised, perhaps, Aneta, to hear,” said Cicely, “that our dear, darling friends – our greatest girl-friends, except yourself perhaps, and you’re a sort of sister – Molly and Isabel Tristram are also going to Aylmer House in September. They are so nice – you will like them; and then, of course, there’s Maggie Howland, one of the most charming girls we have come across.”
“Whom did you say?” asked Aneta.
“Maggie Howland. She is here.”
“In this house?” said Aneta.
“No; she is at the rectory. She is a special friend of Molly and Isabel. She has been at school with them before in Hanover. You know her, of course? She is one of the girls at Aylmer House.”
“I know her – oh yes, I know her,” said Aneta.
“And you like her, you feel her charm, you – you almost worship her, don’t you, Neta?”
Aneta was silent.
“Oh, I know she is considered plain,” said Merry, “but there’s something about her which prevents one even considering her features. She is the most unselfish, most fascinating girl we have ever come across. You love her, don’t you, Neta?”
There had come a curious change over Aneta’s face. After a brief pause she said, “I have no right to say it, but you two are my cousins”–
“Yes, yes! What does this mean?” said Cicely with great eagerness.
“Well, I know you will be faithful and not repeat it to any one; but I don’t love Maggie Howland.”
“Oh, Neta!”
“And,” continued Aneta, “you; as my cousins, I most earnestly hope, will not make her your special friend at Aylmer House.”
“But we have done so already, Neta. Oh, Neta darling! you are mistaken in her.”
“I say nothing whatever against her,” said Aneta, “except that personally I do not care for her. I should be very glad if I found that I had misjudged her.”
“Then why don’t you want us to be friends with her? We are friends with her.”
“I cannot control you, darlings. When you come to school you will see a variety of girls, and most of them – indeed, all of them – nice, I think.”
“Then why shouldn’t we like poor Maggie?”
“You do like her, it seems, already.”
“Yes; but you are so mysterious, Neta.”
“I cannot say any more; you must forgive me,” answered Aneta. “And I hear the sound of wheels. Your father and mother are coming.”
“Yes, yes, the darlings!” said Merry, rushing into the hall to meet her parents.
Aneta and Cicely followed her example, and there was great excitement and much talk. Mrs. Cardew was now as anxious that the girls should go to Aylmer House as though she herself had always wished for such an arrangement, while Mr. Cardew could not say enough in Mrs. Ward’s praise.
“You agree with me, Aneta,” said Mrs. Cardew, “that the school is quite unique and above the ordinary.”
“Mrs. Ward is unique and above the ordinary,” was Aneta’s reply.
When the girls retired to their own rooms that night, Cicely and Merry met for a brief moment.
“How funny of Aneta not to like Maggie!” said Merry.
“Well, if I were you, Merry,” said Cicely, “I wouldn’t talk about it. I suppose Aneta is prejudiced.”
“Yes,” said Merry; “but against Maggie, of all people! Well, I, for my part, will never give her up.”
“I suppose,” said Cicely, who was more conscientious than her sister, “that we ought to think something of Aneta’s opinion.”
“Oh, that’s very fine,” said Merry; “but we ought to think something, too, of Molly’s opinion, and Belle’s opinion. They have known Maggie longer than Aneta has.”
“Yes,” replied Cicely; “I forgot that. But isn’t Aneta herself delightful? It’s a pure joy to look at her.”
“It certainly is,” said Merry; “and of course I love her dearly and am very proud of her; but I confess I did not quite like her when she spoke in that queer way about dear little Maggie. I, at least, am absolutely determined that nothing will induce me to give Maggie up.”
“Of course we won’t give her up,” said Cicely. But she spoke with thought.