Mollie's Prince: A Novel

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

  CHAPTER VIII.

  MOLLIE'S BABY-HOUSE.

  "Within 'tis all divinely fair, No care can enter my retreat; 'Tis but a castle in the air, But you and I are in it, sweet."

  HELEN MARION BURNSIDE.

  It is necessary to retrace our steps a little; for it was not until muchlater that Waveney executed her _pas-de-seul_ in the moonlight. MissHarford had kept her word, and Waveney was deposited at Sloane StreetStation punctually at seven; and before the quarter had struck she waswalking quickly up Cleveland Terrace. Mollie, whose state of mind bythis time baffled description, was on the balcony watching for her, andhad the door opened before Waveney was at the gate; a few hurriedquestions and answers had been interchanged, and then they had heardtheir father's latch-key in the door.

  "Oh, dear! oh, dear! Why is father so dreadfully early, this evening?"exclaimed Mollie, in a lamentable voice.

  "Never mind," returned Waveney, philosophically. "We must just waituntil bed-time; and then won't we make a night of it, Moll?"

  "But father will hear us, and rap on the wall," observed Mollie,fretfully, "and tell us to go to sleep like good children."

  "Oh, no, he won't, if we curl ourselves on the window-seat; it is a bigroom, and our voices won't reach him. Mollie dear, remember, nothing isto be said to father to-night; he is far too tired for fresh worries.To-morrow I will take him for a prowl, and talk to him severely. No;" asMollie looked at her wistfully. "I must have him all to myself; I canmanage him more easily so. Run down to him now, dear, while I take offmy hat, and then I will join you."

  Mollie did as she was told; and, thanks to Waveney's management, theyhad another merry evening. Monsieur Blackie was the leading topic.Waveney was quite touched when Mollie handed her the bouquet with alittle speech; but Noel entirely spoilt it by croaking out in an absurdvoice, "Your much and eternally obliged Monsieur Blackie."

  "Hold your tongue, you young rascal," returned Mr. Ward, in highgood-humour. "Mr. Ingram is a gentleman, and shows that he knows whatgood manners are."

  "Manners make man," observed Mollie, slyly; and then Noel explodedagain.

  "He was the coolest hand I ever knew," he replied. "If he were his Gracethe Duke of Wellington, he could not have lorded it better. 'You are ahumourist, my young friend.' I should like to have given him one for hisimpudence! And then the cheek of telling 'the wobbly one' that he wouldcall again."

  Mr. Ward frowned.

  "Noel, I will not have you call Mollie by that name. A jest is a jest,but it must not be carried too far."

  "Pegtop, then," returned Noel, unabashed by this rebuke, for behind hisfather's back he winked at Mollie. "But he was not a bad sort of chap.He would be rather useful on an east-windy, dismal sort of a day--hewould make you feel cheerful. I like a fellow who can take a jokewithout turning rusty over it"--and from Noel this was high praise.

  Mollie thought the evening dreadfully long, and she fidgeted so much,and looked at the clock so often, that her father called herdrowsy-head, and begged her to go to bed; but this made her redden withconfusion. And then, when they were safe in their room, Waveney chose tobe ridiculous and cut capers. But as soon as her little song wasfinished she produced an old shepherd's plaid rug, which was known infamily annals as "the Lamb," and they both crept under it, and tucked uptheir feet on the window-seat, and felt cosy.

  And if an artist could have drawn the picture, it would have made hisfortune, for the rough old plaid set off Mollie's exquisite face andglorious golden brown hair to perfection, while Waveney's looked fairand infantine in the moonlight.

  Waveney was the talker now, and Mollie was the listener, but every nowand then there were little interjections of surprise and admiration. Atthe description of "Fairy Magnificent" Mollie drew in her breath andsaid "Oh!" Miss Harford's ugliness rather shocked her; she said "It wasa great pity, and Waveney had never been used to live with uglypeople"--which was perfectly true.

  She thought Queen Elizabeth's Wraith a rather far-fetched description.She could not endure Queen Bess; she was such an unladylike person, andboxed gentlemen's ears. And if Miss Althea were like her----But hereWaveney interposed.

  "Don't be a little goose, Moll. She is like Queen Elizabeth, and youwould say the same yourself if you saw her; but she is so nice andgentle that I am sure I shall soon love her. Well, let me go on. I wantto tell you about the Red House." Then Mollie sighed with satisfaction,and composed herself to listen.

  Mollie, with all her sweetness and goodness, was a little Sybarite atheart. She loved pretty things, fine house, gems, beautiful dresses. Mr.Ward had been almost shocked when he had taken her one day to BondStreet to look at the shops. It was impossible to get her away from thejewellers'; the diamond tiaras and necklets riveted her. "Who buysthem, dad?" she had asked, in quite a loud voice; "dukes and earls, andthose sort of people?"

  "Yes, of course," returned Mr. Ward, a little impatiently, "and thePrince of Wales, I daresay;" for he was rather provoked at the attentionthe child was exciting. Two gentlemen who were passing, and hadoverheard Mollie's remark, smiled at each other.

  "What a beautiful child!" observed one; he was a tall, old man, with afine, benevolent face.

  "You are right, Duke," returned the other, with a supercilious laugh."Some little rustic come to town for the first time."

  "Come, Mollie," observed her father, rather crossly, "we must not takeup the pavement in this way or the Bobby will be telling us to move on;"and then Mollie had limped on until another shop-window attracted her.

  Mr. Ward had felt a little perplexed by Mollie's unsatiable appetite forpretty things, and on their return home he unbosomed himself to Waveney.

  "All girls like shops," he said, seriously, "and I knew Mollie would bepleased, but I never expected her to glue her face to the glass for halfan hour at a time. She made herself quite conspicuous, and severalpeople laughed at her."

  "Mollie must be better behaved next time," returned Waveney, smiling."Father, dear, I don't think it matters really. Mollie is young, and sheleads such a quiet life, and sees so few things, that when she goes outshe just loses her head. I think," she continued, calmly, "that she doescare for pretty things more than most people,--she would love to berich, and dress grandly, and have pictures and jewels and beautifulthings. When we were tiny children she always would make me read thestory of Cinderella; nothing else pleased her."

  "Don't you care for pretty things, too, Waveney?" asked her father, alittle sadly.

  "Oh, yes, dad! All girls care a little, I think; but I am not alwayslonging for them like Mollie. She makes up stories to amuse herself.Some one is to leave us a fortune, and we are all to be rich suddenly.She has actually imagined a house and fitted it up bit by bit; and justfor the fun of the thing I have helped her--it is our play-house, youknow. But Mollie thinks it quite real. If you say to her, 'Let us godown to Kitlands,' her eyes brighten, and she looks quite happy."

  "You are foolish children," observed Mr. Ward, fondly. "Who would havethought that my sweet Moll had been such a little worldling at heart!"

  "No, dad, you must not say that. Worldly people are selfish, and Molliehas not a selfish thought. It is just a pretty, childish fancy. Isometimes believe in Kitlands myself, we have talked about it so often.On windy nights I have seen the oaks tossing their branches in the park,and the deer huddling under them, and the west room where we always sitof an evening, with the bay window. And how the red firelight streamsout on the terrace? And there is a delicious couch by the fire with alovely Japanese screen behind it, and----" But here Mr. Ward put hishand over the girl's mouth.

  "Do you think I am going to be entertained by a description of yourbaby-house?" he said, in mock wrath. "Tell Mollie she ought to be grownup by this time." But when he was left alone, he said to himself, "Now,why in the world should they have hit on that name Kitlands? Don't Irecollect that sunny evening when I walked up the terrace, and the redlight streamed from the west room!" He sighed, then rouse
d himself."Bless their dear, innocent hearts. Now if only their mother could haveheard all that!"

  Mollie was perfectly ravished with the description of the Red House, andas soon as Waveney paused to take breath, she said, "Why, it is almostas nice as Kitlands, only there is no park and no deer. But I wish I hadthought of a peacock." Then she put her head on one side and reflecteddeeply. "There is the Italian garden, you know, Wave, a sundial would dovery nicely there, and we could choose an inscription." But Waveney gaveher a little push. "Don't be such a baby, Mollie. We are getting too oldfor Kitlands. We must put our play-house away with the dear old dolls.But, seriously, is it not perfectly delicious to think we shall betogether every Sunday?"

  "Yes, that will be nice, of course. But is it really settled, Wave?" andMollie's voice was full of melancholy.

  "I think so, dear; but, of course, I must talk to father. Darling,promise me that you will try and make the best of it. The week will passso quickly, and then, when Sunday comes, we shall be together. I daresayI shall be with you by half-past three, just after father and Noel havestarted for their afternoon walk."

  "I shall come to the station and meet you," interrupted Mollie.

  "Will you? How nice that will be! And we shall have a cosy hour onGrumps, and you shall tell me all your worries--every one of them; and Iwill tell mine. Then, when father comes in, you and Noel shall get teaready, and dad and I will have a little talk. And after tea we will singall our favourite hymns, and then we will go to St. Michael's together,and I will have my old place by father."

  "Yes; and then we will all go to the station with you. But oh, Wave, howI shall hate Monday mornings! I shall never feel cheerful untilWednesday is over;" but Waveney would not hear of this--she preachedquite a little homily on the duty of cultivating cheerfulness; but hereloquence died a natural death when she saw Mollie nod, and ten minuteslater they were both asleep.

  It was a free morning with Mr. Ward, and he was not at all surprisedwhen Waveney invited him to take a prowl.

  "Won't Mollie prowl, too?" he asked, as he noticed her wistfulexpression. But Waveney shook her head.

  "Mollie was an idle girl yesterday," she remarked, severely; "she muststay in and finish her menu card. There, you shall have the BlackPrince's flowers to console you;" and Waveney placed them on thepainting-table. "'Sweets to the sweet'--they are as much yours as mine,Mollie." Then Mollie blushed a little guiltily. More than once thethought had passed through her mind--how nice it would be if she had aMonsieur Blackie to bring her hot-house flowers. For Mollie was veryhuman, and certainly

  "A creature not too bright and good, For human nature's daily food,"

  and she had her girlish weaknesses. Not that she envied Waveney herflowers; but, as she sniffed them delightedly, her imagination conjuredup numberless bouquets for Miss Mollie Ward; only the donor must be talland fair, not a little dark Frenchified artist like Monsieur Blackie.

  Waveney chatted to her father quite gaily until they had crossed thelime avenue, and had reached the landing-stage. Then they walked alittle way down the embankment, and sat down on a bench under a shadytree. It was still early, and there were few passengers; only now andthen a river steamer passed, churning the blue water into light, foamywaves. Two or three children were bowling their hoops, followed by apanting pug.

  Waveney cleared her voice rather nervously; then she slid her hand intoher father's arm. Everard could see the worn little glove fingers on hiscoat sleeve; he stared at the white seams dreamily as he listened. Hewas a man who noticed trifles; there was a feminine element in hischaracter. That little shabby grey glove appealed to him forcibly.

  "Father, dear, I have something to tell you--that is why I did not wantMollie to come; it is so much easier to talk about difficult things toonly one person." Waveney's voice was not as clear as usual. "Will youpromise to listen, dearest, without interrupting me?" Mr. Ward nodded,but his face was a little grave. What could the child have to say?

  Waveney told her story very fully. She gave her father a description ofthe Red House and Fairy Magnificent, but she never mentioned MissHarford's name; she spoke of them vaguely as "the ladies."

  "And you have settled all this without speaking to me?" and there was ahurt look on Mr. Ward's face. Then Waveney nestled closer to him.

  "Father, dear, I wanted to tell you--I want to tell you everything; butyou were so tired, and I thought it would be kinder to wait until I hadspoken to the ladies."

  "The ladies. What ladies? Have they no name?" he asked, irritably.

  "Yes, dear, of course they have," returned the girl, gently. "Their nameis Harford."

  Then he turned round a little quickly.

  "Harford. Oh, I daresay there are plenty of that name. I knowErpingham--Noel and I walked there one Sunday afternoon; but I do notremember the Red House."

  "No; it stands in a lane. You have to go through some white gates. Theyhave not always been at Erpingham; they used to live in Surrey." Thenshe felt him start slightly.

  "I suppose you did not hear their Christian names?" he asked a littleanxiously.

  "Oh yes, dad, I did. The ugly one--she was very nice, but she isterribly plain--was called Doreen; and the pale, fair one, like QueenElizabeth, was Althea." Then it was evident that Mr. Ward was completelytaken aback.

  "Doreen and Althea," he muttered. "It must be the same. With a singularcoincidence! Waveney, my child, tell me one thing. Was the name of theirhouse in Surrey Kitlands?"

  "I don't know, father; they never told me. But stay a moment: there wasa picture in Miss Harford's sitting-room of an old Elizabethan housestanding in a park, and under it was written Kitlands Park. I meant totell Mollie about that."

  "It is the same--it must be the same," he returned, in a low voice. "Thenames are too uncommon. Yes, and it is true, Althea was a little likeQueen Elizabeth. I would have given five years of my life that this hadnot happened. It is one of the little ironies of fate that my girlshould have gone to them."

  "Oh, why, father?" asked Waveney, piteously; her father's look ofbitterness filled her with dismay. Why was he so disturbed, so unlikehimself? He did not even hear her question. He got up from the benchquickly and walked to the railings. Another steamer was passing. Mr.Ward looked after it with vague, unseeing eyes.

  Everard Ward was a proud man, in spite of his easy-going ways. He hadhad his ambitions, his aspirations, and yearnings. He had set his idealhigh, and yet, for want of ballast, he had suffered shameful shipwreck.

  At the beginning of life he had had his good things--health, good looks,talents, and friends. Doors had opened to him, kindly hands had beenheld out to him, and one of them a woman's hand; but he had turned awayin youthful caprice, and had chosen his own path.

  He had meant to have carved his own fortunes, to have painted picturesthat would have made the name of Everard Ward famous; and he was only adrawing-master who painted little third-rate pot-boilers.

  How Everard loathed his poverty! His shabby coat, and Mollie's pitifullittle makeshifts and contrivances, were all alike hateful to him. Toowell he remembered the flesh-pots of Egypt--the Goshen of his youth,where he had fared sumptuously, when he had money to spend and the worldsmiled at him; and then, like a fool--the very prince of fools--he hadflung it all away.

  He had made a mess of his life, but he was not without his blessings;and in his better moments, when the children were singing their hymns,perhaps he would tell himself humbly that he was not worthy of them.

  But as he stood by the river that morning, it seemed to him as thoughthe cup of his humiliation was full to the very dregs. He had so brokenwith his old life that few ghostly visitants from the dim past troubledhim; and now there had started up in his path the two women whom he mostdreaded to see.

  And one of them he had wronged, when, hot with a young man's passion,and tempted by Dorothy's sweet eyes and girlish grace, he had drawnback, suddenly and selfishly, from the woman he had been wooing.

  Well, he had dearly loved his wife; b
ut the disgrace of that shamefulinfidelity was never effaced from his memory. It was a blot, a stainupon his manhood, a sore spot, that often made him wince.

  Would he ever forget that day they were in the old walled garden,gathering peaches, and Althea had just handed him one, hot with the sun,and crimson-tinted, and bursting with sweetness?

  "You always give me the best of everything, Althea," he had said; but hewas thinking of Dorothy as he said it, and of her love for peaches.

  "I like to give you the best--the very best," Althea had answeredsweetly, and her eyes had been so wistful and tender that he had feltvaguely alarmed. How he had made his meaning clear to her he never couldremember. He had spoken of Dorothy, and perhaps his voice had trembled,for all at once she had become very silent, and there was no moregathering of peaches.

  "I must go in now," she had said, suddenly, and he noticed her lips werepale. "Doreen wants me. Yes, I understand, Everard, and you have my bestwishes--my best wishes." And then he had stood still and watched her, atall, slim figure in white, moving between the fruit-trees and carryingher head proudly.

  "And it is to Althea Harford that my daughter has applied for asituation," thought Everard, sadly. And again he told himself that hewas draining the cup of humiliation to the very dregs.