CHAPTER II.
MRS. STEWART'S LETTER.
"'Tis half against my judgment. Kindly fortune, Send fair prosperity upon this venture!"
"It will be quite easy to find our rooms, mother," said Isobel. "We knowthey're close to the beach, and there only seems to be one row oflodging-houses down on the shore. I suppose that must be Marine Terrace,for there isn't any other. What jolly sands! Can't you taste the salt onyour lips? I feel as if I shall just want to be by the sea all thetime."
"I hope it will do you good, dear," said her mother. "I declare you lookbetter already. I shall expect you to grow quite rosy before we go homeagain, and to have ever such a big appetite."
"I'm hungry now," replied Isobel. "I hope Mrs. Jackson will bring in teadirectly we arrive. I mean to ask her first thing if she knows Mr.Binks. Wasn't it nice of him to let me sit by the window? Do you thinkwe shall be taking a walk to the 'balk'? I don't know in the least whata 'balk' is, but I suppose we shall find out. I should like immensely togo to his farm."
"I dare say we might call there some afternoon. He seemed a kind oldman, and I believe he really meant what he said, and would be pleased tosee you."
"Weren't the people in the carriage funny, mother? How tiresome thatpierrot was with his banjo, and the poor baby that wouldn't stop crying!I was so glad the little girl in the blue hat didn't miss the train.Isn't she lovely?"
"She's rather pretty," said Mrs. Stewart; "but I couldn't see her verywell--she was sitting on my side, you remember."
"I think she's perfectly beautiful!" declared Isobel, withenthusiasm--"just like one of those expensive French dolls at thestores. Did you see them drive away in the landau? I wonder wherethey're staying, and if we shall ever meet them again?"
"Perhaps you may see her walking on the beach, or in church," suggestedMrs. Stewart.
"I hope I shall. I wonder what her name is. Do you think she'd mind if Iwere to ask her?"
"Perhaps her mother might not like it," replied Mrs. Stewart. "I'mafraid it would hardly be polite."
"But I do so want to get to know her. I haven't any friends here, yousee, and I think she looks so nice."
"I'm sorry, dear, but I shouldn't care for you to try to scrape anacquaintance with these people. We shall manage to have a very happytime together, hunting for shells and sea-weeds. You must take me for afriend instead."
"You're better than any friend!" said Isobel, squeezing her mother'shand. "Of course I like being with you best, sweetest; only sometimes,when you're reading or lying down, it _is_ nice to have somebody to talkto. I won't ask her her name if you say I'd better not; but I hope Ishall see her again, if it's only just to look at her. Why, this is thehouse--there's No. 4 over the doorway; and that must be Mrs. Jacksonstanding in the front garden looking out for us. I think she ought to beMr. Binks's cousin; she's as fat and red in the face as he is."
"The place is very full, mum," said Mrs. Jackson, showing them to thelittle back sitting-room, which, at August prices, was all Mrs. Stewarthad been able to afford. "I had three parties in yesterday askin' forrooms, and could have let this small parlour twice over for double themoney but what I'd promised it to you. Not as I wanted to take 'em,though, for they was all noisy lots as would have needed a deal ofwaitin' on. I'd rather have quiet visitors like you and the young ladyhere, as isn't always a-ringin' their bells and playin' on the pianertill midnight, though I may be the loser by it. I'm short-handed now mydaughter Emma Jane's married, and not so quick at gettin' up and downstairs as I used to be."
"I don't think you'll find we shall give more trouble than we can help,"said Mrs. Stewart gently. "We seldom require much waiting on, and wehope to be out most of the day."
"I'm only too glad to do all I can, mum, to make folks feel home-like,"declared Mrs. Jackson, showing the capacities of the cupboard, andcalling attention to the superior comfort of the armchairs. "And ifthere's anything else you'd like, I hope as you'll mention it. I'm alittle short in my breath, and a bit lame in my right leg, bein'troubled with rheumatics in the winter, but I do my best to please, andso does Polly (she's my niece), though she's a girl with no head, andcan't remember a thing for two minutes on end."
"I'm sure you'll make us comfortable," said Mrs. Stewart, "and we hopeto have a very happy time indeed at Silversands. We should be glad ifyou could bring in tea now; we're both very hot and thirsty after ourlong journey."
"That you will be, I'm sure, mum," returned Mrs. Jackson. "We've not hada hotter day this summer. Little missy looks fair tired out. But there'snought like a cup of tea to refresh one, and I'll have it up in a fewminutes; the kettle's ready and boilin'."
"The room feels rather stuffy," said Mrs. Stewart, throwing open thewindow when her landlady had departed to the kitchen regions. "I'm sorrywe have no view of the sea; but we can't help that, and we must be outof doors the whole day long. Luckily the weather is gloriously fine, andseems likely to keep so."
"What queer ornaments, mother!" said Isobel, going slowly round the roomand examining with much curiosity two stuffed cocks, a glass bottlecontaining a model of a ship with full sail and rigging, a case ofsomewhat moth-eaten and dilapidated butterflies, a representation ofWindsor Castle cut out in cork, some sickly portraits of the RoyalFamily in cheap German gilt frames, and a large Berlin wool-worksampler, which, in addition to the alphabet and a verse of a hymn,depicted birds of paradise at the top and weeping willows at thebottom, and set forth that it was the work of Eliza Jane Horrocks, agedten years.
"I think we shan't need quite so many crochet antimacassars," laughedMrs. Stewart. "There seems to be one on every chair, and there areactually five on the sofa. We must ask Mrs. Jackson to take some of themaway. We would rather be without all these shell baskets and photoframes on the little table, too. If we moved it into the window it wouldbe very nice for painting or writing if it should happen to be a wetday."
"I hope it won't be wet," said Isobel. "At any rate, there are somebooks to read if it is," turning over a row of volumes which reposed onthe top of the chiffonnier. "I've never seen such peculiar pictures. Thelittle girls have white trousers right down to their ankles, and theboys have deep frilled collars and quite long hair."
"They are very old-fashioned books," said Mrs. Stewart, examining with asmile "The Youth's Moral Miscellany," "The Maiden's Garland," "ALooking-Glass for the Mind," and "Instructive Stories for Young People,"which, with a well-thumbed edition of "Sandford and Merton," a batteredcopy of "The History of the Fairchild Family," and a few bound volumesof _Chambers's Journal_, made up the extent of the library. "I shouldthink they must have belonged to Mrs. Jackson's mother or grandmotherfor this one has the date 1820 written inside it."
"Of course they don't look so nice as my books at home," said Isobel;"but they'd be something new."
"You're such a greedy reader that no doubt you will get through them,however dry they may prove," laughed her mother. "Here comes our tea. Weshall enjoy new-laid eggs and fresh country butter, shan't we?"
"I wonder if they're from Mr. Binks's farm," said Isobel, seatingherself at the table.--"Do you know Mr. Binks, Mrs. Jackson? He said Iwas to ask you, and he was sure you wouldn't deny the acquaintance."
"Know Peter Binks, miss!" exclaimed Mrs. Jackson. "Why, there isn't asoul in Silversands as doesn't know him. Binks has lived at the WhiteCoppice ever since I was a girl, and afore then, and him church-wardentoo, and owner of the _Britannia_, as good a schooner as any about. Hiswife's second cousin is married to my daughter, and livin' at Ferndale.Know him! I should just say I do!"
"I thought you would!" said Isobel delightedly. "We met him in the trainas we were coming. He gave me his seat by the window, and asked us togo to his farm some day. You'll be able to tell us the way, won't you?"
"Another time, dear child," said Mrs. Stewart "Mrs. Jackson's busy now,and our tea is waiting.--Thank you; yes, I think we have everything weneed at present. Polly might bring a little boiling water in a fewminutes, and we will ring the bell
if we require anything more.--Come,Isobel, you said you were hungry!"
"A nice-spoken lady," said Mrs. Jackson afterwards to her husband in theprivacy of the kitchen. "Any one could see with half an eye as they wasgentlefolk, though they've only taken the back room. I wonder, now, ifthey can be any relation to old Mr. Stewart at the Chase. They did sayas the son--him as was killed in the war--had married somewhere infurrin parts, and his father was terrible set against it, havin' a wifeof his own choosin' ready for him at home. A regular family quarrel itwas, and both too proud to make it up; but they said the old man wasnigh heartbroken when his son was taken, and he'd never sent him a kindword. I had it all from Peter Binks's nephew, who was under-gardenerthere at the time."
"It might be," said Mr. Jackson oracularly, taking a pinch of snuff ashe spoke, "and, on the other hand, it might not be. Stewart's by nomeans an uncommon kind of a name. There was a Stewart second mate on the_Arizona_ when we took kippers over to Belfast, and there was a chapcalled Stewart as used to keep a snug little public down by the quay inWhitecastle, but I never heard tell as either of 'em was any connectionof old Mr. Stewart up at the Chase."
"It weren't likely they should be," replied Mrs. Jackson, with scorn."But that don't make it any less likely in this case. I remember Mr.Godfrey quite well when we lived at Linkhead, and I'd used to walk overwith Emma Jane to Heatherton Church of a Sunday afternoon. A finehandsome young fellow he was, too, sittin' with his father in the familypew, takin' a yawn behind his hand durin' the sermon, and small blame tohim too--old Canon Martindale used to preach that long! I can see himnow, if I close my eyes, with his light hair shinin' against the redcurtain of the big square pew. Little missy has quite a look of him, tomy mind."
"You're always imaginin' romances, Eliza," said Mr. Jackson. "It comesof too much readin'. You and Polly sit over them stories in _The FamilyHerald_ till you make up goodness knows what tales about every new partyas comes to the house. There was the young man with the long hair asplayed the fiddle, whom you was sure was a furrin count, and who onlyturned out to be one of the band at Ferndale, and went off withoutpayin' his bill; and there was a couple in the drawing-room as talkedthat grand about their motor car and their shootin' box and importantbusiness till you thought it was a member of Parliament and his lady,takin' a rest and travellin' incog., till you found out they was onlywine merchants from Whitecastle after all. Don't you go a-meddlin'. Letthem manage their own affairs, and we'll manage ours."
"How you talk!" declared Mrs. Jackson indignantly. "Who wants tomeddle? As if one couldn't take a bit of interest in one's own visitors!There's the drawin'-room a-ringin', and the dinin'-room will be wantin'its tea. Stir the fire, Joe, and hold the toast whilst I answer thebell. Where's that Polly a-gone to, I wonder?"
In spite of her husband's disdainful comments, Mrs. Jackson's surmiseswere not altogether groundless; and if she had peeped into her backsitting-room that evening, when Isobel was in bed, she might have seenher visitor slowly and with much care and thought composing a letter.Sheet after sheet of notepaper was covered, and then torn up, for thewriter's efforts did not seem to satisfy her, and she leaned her head onher hand every now and then with a weary air, as if she had undertaken adistasteful task.
"I do not ask anything for myself," wrote Mrs. Stewart at last. "Thatyou should care to meet me, or ever become reconciled to me, is, I know,beyond all question. My one request is that you will see yourgrandchild. She is now nearly eleven years of age, a thorough Stewart,tall and fair, and with so strong a resemblance to her father that youcannot fail to see the likeness. I have done my utmost for her, but I amnot able to give her the advantages I should wish her to have, andwhich, as her father's child, I feel it is hard for her to lack. She isnamed Isobel, after your only daughter, the little sister whose loss myhusband always spoke of with so much regret, and whom he hoped she mightresemble. You would find her truthful, straightforward, obedient, andwell-behaved, and in every respect worthy of the name of Stewart. It iswith the greatest difficulty that I bring myself to ask of you anyfavour, but for the sake of the one, dear to us both, who is gone, I begthat you will at least see my Isobel, and judge her for yourself."
She addressed the letter to Colonel Stewart, the Chase, sealed it,stamped it, and took it herself to the post. For a moment she stood andhesitated--a moment in which she seemed almost inclined to draw backafter all; she turned the letter over doubtfully in her hand, went astep away, then suddenly straightening herself with an air of firmdetermination, she dropped it into the pillar-box and returned to herlodgings. Going upstairs to the bedroom, she tenderly lifted the softgolden hair, and looked at the quiet, sleeping face of her little girl.
"He cannot fail to like her," she said to herself. "It was the onlyright thing to do, and what _he_ would have wished. I'm glad I have hadthe courage to make the attempt. He will surely acknowledge her now, andmy one prayer is that he will not take her away from me."
Bosom Friends: A Seaside Story Page 2