CHAPTER XII.
THE PANZY ROOM AND COSY NOOK.
"There is rosemary, that is for remembrance.... And there is pansies that's for thoughts."
SHAKESPEARE.
"That way madness lies; let me shun that."
_King Lear._
It was impossible for Waveney not to be amused by Nurse Marks' quainttales; her sense of humour was too strong, and the atmosphere of theCubby-house was so full of comfort that, in spite of herself, her sadface began to brighten.
"If you knew Sergeant McGill," she said, presently, "perhaps you knewhis sweetheart, Sheila, too." Then Nurse Marks smiled and nodded, as shecut another appetising slice of bread-and-butter, and laid it onWaveney's plate--such sweet home-made bread and fresh, creamy butter!
"Aye, dearie, I knew Sheila McTavish well, for when I was a slip of agirl I had a bad illness, and my mother's cousin, Effie Stuart, took meback with her to the Highlands to bide with her for more than a year.The McTavish cottage was next to ours, and not a day passed that I didnot see Sheila coming up from the loch-side with her creel, with herbare feet and red petticoat, and maybe a plaid over her bonnie brownhair. I was always a homely body, even in my young days, but neverbefore or since have I seen a lovelier face than Sheila McTavish, 'theFlower of the Deeside'--that was what they called her."
"Was she engaged to McGill then?"
"Aye, my dearie. She had broken the sixpence with him, but he was awayin India then. I remember one day, as I sat on the churchyard wall,Sheila came over the moor, and she had a sprig of white heather in herhand. She held it up to me with a smile. 'It is good luck, Kezia,' shesaid, and her eyes seemed full of brown sunshine, 'and this morning Ihave heard from Fergus McGill himself, and it is he who is the guid ladwith his letters. He is coming home, he says, and then we are to be wed,and it is the white heather that will bring us luck.' Ah, dearie, beforethree weeks were over, Sheila, our sweet Flower of the Deeside, lay inher coffin, and they put the white heather on her dead breast; and whenFergus McGill came home there was only the grave under the rowan tree.There, there, it is a queer world," finished Nurse Marks, "and there ismany a love-story left unfinished, for 'man' (and woman, too) 'is borninto trouble,' and I know that the women get the worst of it sometimes;for it stands to reason," continued the old woman, garrulously, "thatthey think a deal more of a love tale. Now, as we have finished tea,shall I take you to your room, my dearie? It is called the Pansy Room,and is close to mine. Miss Althea is a grand one for giving names. Allthe bedrooms are called after flowers, to match the paper and cretonne.There is the Rose Room and the Forget-me-not and the Pink Room, and theLeafy Room, and the Marigold Room, where they put gentlemen."
"Which is Miss Althea's?" asked Waveney, quickly.
"Oh, the Rose Room. Miss Althea has a passion for roses. Miss Doreensleeps in the Forget-me-not Room; everything is blue there. The otherrooms are for their guests, but near the servants' quarters there aretwo pretty little attics called 'Faith' and 'Charity,' where they putshop-girls who have broken down and need a rest; and these are neverempty all the year round. There is a little sitting-room attached, wherethey take their meals. There, they are crossing the tennis-lawn thismoment from the Porch House. The tall one is Laura Cairns; she has hadan operation and has only just left the hospital, and the little fat oneis Ellen Sturt; there is not much the matter with her except hard workand too much standing."
"Oh, how good they are!" thought Waveney, as Nurse Marks bundled downthe passage before her. "Every one seems to have something to say intheir praise, even the cab-driver;" and then she looked round the PansyRoom well pleased. It was so fresh, and dainty, and pretty, and, afterher room at Cleveland Terrace, so luxuriously comfortable.
For there was actually a cosy-looking couch, and an easy-chair, andbeautiful flowers on the toilet-table, and some hanging book-shelvesfull of interesting books.
The window looked over the tennis-lawn with the Porch House, where thegirls were pacing arm-in-arm. One of them looked up at the window, andsmiled a little as Waveney gazed down at her. Nurse Marks, who wasalready beginning to unpack, went on talking briskly.
"It was Miss Althea's thought, but Miss Doreen helped her to carry itout. It is always like that with my ladies, they are just the two halvesof a pair of scissors, but they work together finely. What one says theother does. It is like the precious ointment, that's what it is, MissWard, my dear! and never a misunderstanding or a contrary word betweenthem.
"The girls come for a month, and sometimes they stay longer; and if theyare well enough they wait on themselves, or if not, Reynolds, the underhousemaid, sees to them; and when the weather permits they are in thegarden, or on the common the whole day long, and they have the run ofthe Porch House, too, and help themselves to books from the library;they are no trouble and fall in with our ways, and the blessing the RedHouse is to some of those poor things is past my telling. Now, dearie,shall I hang these things in the wardrobe for you--there is plenty ofroom and to spare. And then I will go back, and finish a bit of mendingfor Miss Althea."
Waveney was not sorry to be left alone; she wanted to begin a letter toMollie. She had so much already to tell her. So she sat down at thewriting-table, and her pen flew over the paper, until a quick, light tapat her door roused her, and Miss Althea entered.
Waveney gave a vivid description of her to Mollie afterwards. "Shelooked so grand and stately that I felt quite shy; but her dress wascharming. It was a soft, cloudy grey, but it shimmered as though it werestreaked with silver, and she had a close little bonnet that looked likesilver too, and a ruff of fine cobwebby lace round her long neck. Ifancy she always wears a ruff, and she looked more like Queen Bess thanever. Somehow she is oddly picturesque, and makes other people lookcommonplace beside her. But there, you must see her one day foryourself."
Althea came up to the writing table as Waveney rose, a little confused,and held out her hand to the girl with one of her winning smiles.
"I was so sorry to be out when you arrived," she said, kindly, "but myaunt, Mrs. Mainwaring, sent for me most unexpectedly. I hope Nurse Markstook good care of you."
"Oh, yes," returned Waveney, shyly, "she was very kind."
"Oh, my dear old nurse is the kindest creature in the world. Sheliterally bubbles over with benevolence. Is not the Cubby-housedelightful? Did you see the toy cupboard, where all our dear old dollsand toys are stored? Marks won't part with one of them; she is quitehuffy if we propose to give them away. When children come to the house,she lets them play with them under her own eye. One day she came intothe library with a long face to tell me that little Audrey Neale hadbroken Bopeep's arm;" and Althea laughed quite merrily; then she lookedat the clock on the mantelpiece, and uttered an exclamation: "Half-pastseven, and I am not dressed. What will Peachey say? I will come back andfetch you directly the gong sounds;" and then Waveney was left to finishher letter.
She did not see Miss Doreen until they entered the dining-room, and thenshe welcomed her very cordially. To Waveney the dinner-table was arevelation. She had never taken a meal out of her own home, and thesoft, shaded lights, the hot-house fruits and flowers, the handsomesilver, and the fineness of the damask, excited her wonderment. Theservant moved so noiselessly over the thick carpets, and then shethought of Ann stumping round the table in her heavy boots.
Ah, they would be just sitting down to supper, and Mollie would bemixing the salad as usual; for Everard Ward had learnt to enjoy a saladin his Paris days, and would sup contentedly on bread-and-cheese or evenbread-and-butter, if only he could have a handful of cress, or a stalkor two of endive, to give it a relish.
Doreen and Althea were quite aware that the forlorn little stranger wasnot at her ease. The small, childish face looked subdued and thoughtful,and the dark, _spirituelle_ eyes were sad in their wistfulness; but withtheir usual tact and kindness they left her alone, and talked to eachother in their cheerful way.
Althea gave a descr
iption of her afternoon party, which was full ofgentle humour; and Doreen had a great deal to say about the Home. Shehad had tea with old Mrs. Wheeler--and as usual the poor old soul wasfull of her grievances against Miss Mason.
"She is a cantankerous, east-windy sort of body," went on Doreen, with alaugh, as she helped herself to some grapes, "and she leads poor MissMason a life. But there! one must not judge her, she has led a hard,grinding sort of existence. Althea, these grapes are unusually fine;don't you think Laura Cairns would enjoy some? Ellen likes pearsbetter;" and then Doreen heaped up a plate with fine fruit and badeMitchell take it to the Brown Parlour.
When the sisters rose from the table Althea touched Waveney's arm.
"Come with me to the library," she said, in a kind voice. "We shall sitthere this evening. We do not often use the drawing-room--it is a verybig room, and we always feel rather lost in it."
"I call this big, too," remarked Waveney, in rather an awed voice. Shehad never seen such a beautiful room in her life; it was better than anyof the dream rooms at Kitlands.
The grand oriel window, with its cushioned seat; the carved oakfurniture, and bookcases filled with handsomely-bound books; the fineengravings on the walls;--all excited her admiration. But when Altheadrew back a curtain and showed her a tiny room hidden away behind it,with a glass-door opening on the terrace, she could not refrain from anexclamation of delight.
"Oh, what a dear little room!" she said, quite naturally.
"Yes, I call it my cosy nook. But it is not really a room, it is merelya recess." And Waveney thought how well Miss Althea's name suited it.There was a small writing-table prettily fitted-up, an easy-chair, and awork-table.
"I am so glad you have taken a fancy to it," went on Miss Althea--andshe looked very much pleased--"because this is to be your littlesanctum. You see, it would never do for me to have my reader andcompanion far away from me. And yet I imagine we should both find itirksome to be always together--even my sister and I could not standthat; but, you see, when the curtain is dropped, you will be quiteprivate."
"And it is really for me!" and Waveney's eyes sparkled with pleasure.
Then Miss Althea smiled, and put her hand kindly on the girl's arm.
"I want you to be happy with us, my dear, and not to look upon us asstrangers, because in the old days your father was a dear friend ofours. Last night an idea struck me. Do you think you would feel more athome with us if we were to call you by your Christian name? You havesuch a pretty name, and it is so uncommon."
"Oh, please do," returned Waveney, flushing with shy pleasure. "It wassilly of me, but I was so dreading that 'Miss Ward;'" and somehow a loadseemed lifted off her at that moment.
"She is such a little childish thing," observed Miss Althea afterwards;"and yet she has plenty of character. We are very unconventional people,Doreen, you and I; but I never could endure these artificial barriers.My dignity, such as it is, is innate; it does not need bolstering up. Icould not be stiff and proper with Everard Ward's daughter;" and then astrangely sad look came into Althea's eyes, as though some ghost fromthe past had crossed her path; "no, certainly not to Everard Ward'sdaughter;" and Doreen smiled as though she understood her.
Doreen's world was inhabited by warm-blooded human beings; no ghostlyvisitants ever haunted her. "I am a woman without a story," she wouldsay. "Most people have some sort of romance in their lives--evenunmarried women have their unfinished idylls; but my life has been bareprose." But she always laughed when she made these speeches, for therewas nothing morbid in Doreen's character.
Althea proposed, as the evening was mild and balmy, that they shouldtake a turn in the garden.
"It will be very pleasant on the terrace, and in the kitchen-garden,"she remarked, "but, of course, we must avoid the grass. Are not theseshut-in lawns pretty? Through that arch, if it were light enough, youwould have a glimpse of my flower-garden. I call it mine, because I giveit my special supervision. Doreen takes more interest in thekitchen-garden, and when I boast of my roses and begonias, she isdilating on the excellence of her strawberries and tomatoes."
"I think I should care most for the flower-garden," observed Waveney.And then, of her own accord, she began telling Miss Althea about thepensioners' little gardens, and the corporal's flowers.
Althea listened with much interest, and then, little by little, herquiet questions and sympathetic manner induced Waveney to break throughher shy reserve, and speak of her home. Althea soon found out all shewanted to know: the home that was so perfect in Waveney's eyes, thelittle warm nest that held all her dear ones, seemed meagre and bare tothe elder woman, who had been used to luxury all her life, and had neverhad a want ungratified.
As the girl talked on in a _naive_ way, all at once a vision rose beforeAlthea's eyes of a brilliantly-lighted ball-room, and of a fair,boyish-looking man, with stephanotis in his buttonhole, standing beforeher with eager looks.
"It is our valse, Althea, and I have been looking forward to it all theevening." And then--and then----But she started from her reverie with aquick feeling of shame. Why had these thoughts come to her? He wasDorothy's lover, not hers. Had he ever cared for her really? "It was alla mistake. It was not he who was to blame, it was I--I!" and even in theSeptember darkness she smote her hands angrily together. The love hadbeen in her imagination; it had never existed--never. She had barteredher warm woman's heart for a shadow, and alas, alas! it was not inAlthea's nature to change. "If I love once, I love for ever," she hadonce said in a bitter moment to Doreen. How she repented that speechafterwards! "No; you do not understand, neither do I; but I think it ismy nature to be faithful."
When Althea roused from her brooding, she found that Waveney had becomesilent. "You were speaking of your sister, were you not?" she said,gently. "Some one told me," she continued, a little vaguely, "that shewas very pretty."
"Oh, yes," returned Waveney, eagerly, "everyone thinks Mollie quitelovely. It is such a pity she is lame. It spoils things so much for her,poor darling! But people admire her just the same--in the street theyturn round and stare at her; but Mollie never seems to notice them abit. That reminds me of such a funny speech"--and here Waveney began tolaugh. "An old Irishwoman who works for us sometimes, once said to her,'It is my belief, Miss Mollie darlint, that the Powers above were afterfashioning an angel, and then they thought better of it, and changed itinto a flesh-and-blood woman. For the angel still laughs out of youreyes, mavourneen.' And would you believe it, Miss Harford, that Mollieonly burst out laughing when Biddy said that, but I think it wasbeautiful."
"I must see your pretty Mollie," returned Althea, thoughtfully; "but wemust go in now."
"I think I must tell Moritz that," she said to herself, with a smile."'The angel still laughs out of your eyes, mavourneen.' How very like anIrishwoman!"
Mollie's Prince: A Novel Page 13