*CHAPTER IX*
*ISOBEL MAKES TROUBLE*
Pamela had just finished her sketch, and had begun to be aware that achilly breeze was blowing down her neck, and that her hands were cold,when the sound of voices came floating toward her; she suddenly realizedthat it must have been a long time ago when the other girls had lefther. And then she heard Isobel's voice exclaiming:
"Why, she's still here! Good gracious, Pamela, you don't mean to sayyou're still drawing those old bits of wood and bricks! ... Well!" Thevoice ended on a note of despair that was meant to signify Isobel'sconviction that Pamela was qualifying for an asylum. "You must befrightfully hungry," Isobel continued, as the three girls came up toPamela.
Then it was that Pamela woke up to the fact that she was hungry--veryhungry, and very glad of the sandwiches which Beryl now produced andhanded over to her.
"I say, that was thoughtful of you. Thanks so much," she smiled atBeryl.
"Did you finish your sketch? May I see it?" asked Beryl shyly.
Pamela brought the drawing out. "But I'm not a bit satisfied with it,"she said.
"Oh, I think it's splendid," said Beryl, gazing admiringly at Pamela'spicture of the old windmill and the pond.
It was certainly well done; Pamela's style was uncommon, and hertreatment of the subject bold and decided. She had talent, undoubtedly,but how far this talent would take her, time alone would show. Pamelawas very ambitious, but very critical of her own work, and though fullof enthusiasm over a picture while at work upon it, was rarely satisfiedwith it when finished, which was a very good thing, as it always spurredher on to try to do better. However, Beryl, who was no judge ofpictures, thought Pamela's sketch was perfect.
Not until they reached home and were sitting round the fire after 'hightea' did Isobel remember that she had meant to buy a camera in Inchmoor.
"I must get it when I go over to Madame Clarence's for my first lesson,"she said. "It will be amusing to keep a photographic record of my visithere."
She had told them all about Madame during the walk home, and now triedto persuade one of them to join her in having dancing-lessons. Nothingdefinite was settled that night, and Isobel left them to think thematter over.
The following day the girls made an attempt to start on their programmeof work. Caroline put in a couple of hours sewing. Beryl practised andcopied out some music. And Pamela got out her sketch-book. But whatwas poor Isobel to do without a Madame Clarence, or a camera at hand?She wandered round the garden for a time, and then she went indoors andtalked to Caroline; but finding this too dull, she roamed round thehouse--keeping a safe distance from the locked door--and went in and outof various rooms, and stood looking out of windows and yawning, untilshe was almost bored to tears. It was curious, she thought to herself,that the very sight of other people working made her restless anddisinclined to settle down to read or write or sew or do anything atall.
Unfortunately this seemed to be the case throughout her stay atChequertrees; she never wanted to work when other people were working,and consequently there were frequent interruptions from her. Pamelafound that the only time she could work indoors undisturbed was whenIsobel was over in Inchmoor at her dancing-lessons. Isobel was one ofthose unhappy people who cannot entertain themselves, but who alwayswant somebody else to be entertaining them.
On this first occasion, when the other three were working and Isobelyawning, Pamela bore it as long as she could, then, packing hersketching materials away with a sigh of regret, she invited Isobel tocome out and do a bit of gardening with her. Isobel hated gardening,but it meant some one to talk to, and so she jumped at the idea eagerly.Pamela was not over-fond of gardening, she knew very little about it,but anything was better than hearing Isobel's restless feet wanderingabout and listening to her audible sighs and yawns.
Out of doors it was rather cold, so they wrapped up warmly, and set towork to 'tidy up a bit' in the garden at the back of the house.
For a while all went well and Isobel chatted away to her heart'scontent, while Pamela tied up some withered-looking plants (whose nameshe did not know) with a length of twine she had found in the kitchen.Martha was upstairs getting dressed for the afternoon when the two girlsstarted on their new occupation, and Ellen was out shopping in thevillage, otherwise Pamela and Isobel might have been warned about oldSilas Sluff. As it was, they continued their gardening, blissfullyunconscious that old Silas was just round the corner of the gravel path,behind the privet hedge that separated the vegetable garden from thelawn and flowers.
"I think," said Pamela, "this old bush ought to be trimmed a bit--Iwonder if there's a pair of shears handy.... Is this the right time ofyear to cut it though? ... What do you think?"
"Oh, I expect so," said Isobel at random, knowing nothing about it."Any time would be all right with those sturdy old bushes--I don't knowwhere the shears are, but here's a pair of old scissors I brought outfrom the kitchen--they'd do, wouldn't they? Here, let me do a bit oftrimming. And, do you know, mater had promised me and Gerald that inany case we should..." She continued a lengthy story that she hadstarted to recount for Pamela's benefit.
And then old Silas came round the privet hedge to fetch his wheelbarrow.He came to an abrupt standstill when he caught sight of the two girls,and stared, open-mouthed, his hat pushed back on his head and his wateryblue eyes wide with astonishment. He had had no idea that there wasanyone in the garden; he had not heard any talking, as he was afflictedwith deafness.
"'Ere!" was all he said, when he recovered from his surprise.
Pamela and Isobel started, and turned round at once.
They beheld a very wrinkled little old man, with a ruddy complexion anda tuft of white beard under his chin; he wore a green baize apron, toprotect his clothes from the soil, and had a vivid pink shirt withsleeves rolled up to the elbow. As the girls returned his gazesteadily, they saw his face begin to work and twitch with indignation.
"'Ere!" he said again.
"I beg your pardon," said Pamela.
"What do you want, my good man?" inquired Isobel, haughtily.
"'Ere! Wot yer doin' to that there bush? You leave it be, my gels!"called Silas.
Isobel's eyebrows were raised in indignant surprise.
"Why--we're only doing a little gardening! What is it? Who are you?"asked Pamela, unaware that old Silas was deaf.
"'Ere's me--done this gardin--man and boy--for forty year--and I don't'ave no interference," cried Silas.
"Oh, I suppose you are Miss Crabingway's gardener?" said Pamela.
"Leave it be, my gels," was all Silas replied. "If you'd _arxed_ me I'da-given you summat to do--but not that bush--you oughter arxed mefirst."
"How dare you speak to us like that--" began Isobel, angrily.
But Pamela interrupted with, "It's no good, Isobel, I think he's deaf.He doesn't seem to hear anything we say."
"I don't care whether he's deaf or not deaf--I won't be spoken to likethat by a servant. Such impertinence!" cried Isobel.
Silas meanwhile had continued talking without a pause, while he advancedslowly down the path toward them.
Pamela moved forward to meet him, and raising her voice tried to makehim understand what they were doing and who they were.
"I'm sorry if you think we've done any harm to the garden--but I don'tthink we have, you know," she cried. "And we didn't know MissCrabingway had a gardener."
Silas caught the last sentence. This indeed was adding insult toinjury, though Pamela had not meant to be in the least insulting.
"Didn't--know--Miss--Crabingway--had a gardener," repeated Silas,amazed. "Why--I done this gardin----man and boy--forty year, I 'ave.Don't it _look_ like it?" he demanded.
"Yes, it does--of course it does," answered Pamela, trying to appeasehim.
"Well then--" he began, then caught sight of Isobel treading on the sideof the garden bed. "'Ere! Get orf that, my gel," he cried. "You'recrush
in' them li'l plants."
This was too much for Isobel. The gruff, disrespectful tones, theordering manner, and the 'my gel,' made her suddenly enraged, and hertemper got beyond her control.
"How--how dare you!" she flared up. "This is no more your garden thanit is--than it is mine, and _I won't_ be spoken to like this!"
As her words seemed to be making no impression on Silas, shedeliberately stamped on the little plants; then, her temper beingproperly roused, she turned and snatching at a branch of the bush behindher she twisted and bent it and snapped it off, and flung it on to thepathway.
"There!" she panted. "_Now_ perhaps you will understand that _I willnot_ tolerate your insolent manner."
With her head high in the air, and her cheeks burning, she walkedhaughtily away into the house.
Old Silas was dumbfounded.
"Oh, how silly!" cried Pamela, ashamed for Isobel. "I'm so sorry shedid that."
Old Silas's watery blue eyes were still more watery as he stooped downand tried with gentle hands to remedy the mischief that Isobel had doneto the little plants. Pamela knelt down on the path to help him, andwas bending over the garden bed when all at once she heard the oldgardener give a chuckle. She glanced round in surprise. Silas waswagging his head from side to side and chuckling to himself. The plantswere not very much damaged, and the bush--well, it would grow again.But it was not these discoveries that filled old Silas's soul with glee.
"Who'd a thought it!" he chuckled. "There's a high sperrit for yer!'Oighty-toighty is it, my gel? Ho! Hall right! We shall see. OleSilas Sluff'll learn yer to darnse on 'is gardin. You wait!"
He took no more notice of Pamela, but seemed absorbed in his ownthoughts, and when Pamela left him and went indoors he was still givingoccasional chuckles and muttering to himself.
"What made you do it?" Pamela said to Isobel afterward. "It didn't doany good----"
"But the man was preposterous!" said Isobel.
"I know he spoke gruffly, but I don't think he meant to be rude," saidPamela. "It's just his manner."
"Then it's time he learnt better," Isobel replied. "I don't know whatthe world's coming to, I'm sure, with all these inferior creaturessetting up to teach----"
"If you count Silas Sluff your inferior, you should be sorry for him andset to work to show him how to behave, instead of----"
"If he were my gardener I'd dismiss him on the spot," Isobel said.
Pamela realized the uselessness of continuing the discussion any furtherat present, and so the subject was dropped for the time being.
"I ought to have warned you, Miss Isobel," said Martha, when she heardthe story. "Old Silas is that touchy-like--but no one takes no noticeof what he says. He's worked about these parts for years as a jobbinggardener. But no one takes no notice of him. At present he comes andworks two days a week for Miss Crabingway, and the other four days hegives a extra hand up at the Manor House. He lodges down in thevillage--next door but three to the blacksmith--nice littlehouse--overlooks the stables of the 'Blue Boar' from the back windows."
But when Martha recounted the incident to Ellen, over supper that night,Ellen remembered previous occasions when Silas had been put out withpeople, and, thinking of his subsequent revenges, her only comment onthe story was, "Oo-er!"
The first dinner of Pamela's choosing was voted a great success byIsobel and Beryl. Caroline, who always liked to be as accurate aspossible in her remarks, said she would have liked the pudding to havebeen a little more 'substantial'; chocolate _souffle_ was very tasty,but there was no inside to it. Caroline had a strong preference forsolid puddings--as the other three were to learn when Caroline's turnfor arranging meals came round. Meal-times had been fixed so as to giveeverybody at Chequertrees as much freedom as possible. Breakfast was at8 a.m. and dinner was at 6.30 p.m., and between those hours there wassometimes lunch at 12.30--and sometimes there was not. If the girlswere going out for the day they would get lunch out, or take somesandwiches with them. A tea-tray, daintily set for four, with milk,sugar, tea-pot, spirit kettle, and a plate of cakes, was always to befound in the drawing-room in the afternoons, so that the girls couldmake a cup of tea when they fancied it; and Martha and Ellen were thusleft free in the afternoons. This had been one of Pamela's ideas, andhad astonished Martha, who had protested that it was no trouble for herto get them a cup of tea; but Pamela had insisted, and when Martha gotused to the arrangement she appreciated it very much. It was good toknow that the whole afternoon was her own, and that she would not bedisturbed. A glass of hot milk just before bedtime was the last meal ofthe day.
By the end of January the four girls had settled down fairly comfortablyin their new surroundings. Isobel had had her first dancing-lessons atthe Academy, which she enjoyed immensely, although she had not been ableto persuade one of the other girls to join her yet. Pamela had startedan ambitious piece of work--a picture of Chequertrees, as seen from thefront garden--which she meant to work on from time to time whenever theweather did not tempt her to go farther afield than the garden; shewanted to take a picture of Chequertrees home with her, so that Motherand Michael could see what the house was like--the house where she hadspent six months away from them. Beryl had kept up her practice eachday, and spent a good deal of time studying books on theory,composition, and the biographies of great musicians. And Caroline hadfinished her handkerchiefs and had started on a linen brush and combbag.
One evening after dinner the four girls were in the drawing-room, Pameladeeply engrossed in a historical story, Beryl copying some music into amanuscript music-book, Caroline sewing as usual, and Isobel reclining onthe couch by the crackling fire and dividing her time between yawningand glancing at the _Barrowfield Observer_; presently she gave anexclamation of surprise, and sat up, rustling the paper.
"Listen to this, girls!" she cried. "The local newsrag informs itsreaders that Sir Henry and Lady Prior and family return to the ManorHouse next week, and that Lady Prior wishes it stated that the annualbazaar and garden fete (in aid of the Barrowfield Cottage Hospital) willbe held as usual at the end of May, and that those who intend makinggifts for the stalls at the bazaar should send in their names to herladyship's secretary, Miss Daleham, as soon as possible. That's where_I_ come in!" Isobel continued. "That will be the best way to introducemyself to their notice.... So they'll be coming back to the Manor Housenext week, will they? Isn't it ripping?"
"I love bazaars," said Caroline, slowly and with relish; she saw in hermind's eye a vista of neatly hemmed handkerchiefs, with initials workedin the corners; plump pin-cushions, dorothy bags, hair-tidies, cushioncovers with frills, tea-cosies, all worked by hand. Already she couldsee these things spread alluringly out on a stall for sale, with neatlittle tickets stuck on them. "I'll send in my name to make something,"she added.
She did not see Isobel frown as she picked up her newspaper again.
"Bazaars," said Pamela over the top of her book, "I don't like bazaars.They are places where you get the least value for the greatest amount ofmoney spent. I'd always rather give my money willingly to any goodcause or fund--rather than buy something I didn't want at a price itwasn't worth--just so that I could _see_ something for the money I wasgiving in this roundabout way to a deserving object."
Caroline gazed at her in astonishment.
"I think bazaars are splendid things for helping charities," she saidslowly. "I don't think of them as you do----"
"Oh, what does it matter about the bazaar," broke in Isobel. "Whatreally matters to me is that it's a chance to make the acquaintance ofmy probable relatives. I wonder if there are any daughters in thefamily about my age?"
But Caroline, who was not attending to Isobel for the moment, threadedanother needle, and went steadily on with her line of argument.
"People buy much more at a bazaar than they would in the usual way," sheinformed Pamela.
"And they pay much more than they would in the usual way," laughedPamela.
"And so more money is
collected for the charity," urged Caroline.
"I doubt it," said Pamela. "You think of all the time and money spentin the making of the articles for the stalls--and the arrangements andcorrespondence in connection with the bazaar. Now if the cost of allthat were put into one side of the scales, and the amount of money takenat the bazaar put into the other side of the scales, I think I knowwhich side would weigh heavier."
"No," Caroline shook her head; "I don't think you do. Each person whohelps gives a little time and money to the making of the things, whichare afterward sold all together for a substantial sum. It seems to me avery good way to raise money."
"But it's such a wasteful system," objected Pamela. "If people gavewhat money they could spare straight to the good cause they wished tobenefit, and then spent their time on doing more useful work thanstuffing pin-cushions and writing out tickets for bazaars, I'm sure itwould be more practical."
"But people won't do things that way," said Beryl, joining in for thefirst time. "Though I quite agree with you, Pamela, in dislikingbazaars."
"Anyway," said Isobel, impatiently, because she had again lost the reinsof the conversation, "although I don't care 'tuppence' about bazaars,one way or the other, I'm going to this one for reasons I've alreadystated. You see I'm quite honest about it--I only want an excuse formeeting my long-lost, or perhaps I should say new-found, relations."
Pamela, looking across at Isobel, suddenly realized something, andmarvelled that it had not occurred to her before; maybe it was becauseshe had not paid much attention to Isobel's chatter about LadyPrior--had not taken it seriously; but now that she heard the Priorswere returning, and that Isobel was going to take the first opportunityof meeting them, she cried impulsively,
"Why, Isobel, you _can't_! Don't you remember that we all had topromise Miss Crabingway not to visit or invite to this house 'anyrelations whatsoever'!"
A look of dismay flashed across Isobel's face.
"Oh," her voice dropped in quick disappointment; but the next moment sherecovered. "But perhaps they're not my relatives after all," she said,hardly knowing whether she wished they were or were not. "Oh, botherthose silly old restrictions!" she cried irritably. "But what can I do?How can I find out if they are my relatives or not unless I meet them?"
Pamela thought awhile. "Well--appoint a deputy--some one to go and findout for you," she suggested, half sorry for Isobel on account of herobvious disappointment, and half amused at her keenness to claimrelationship with these titled folk of the neighbourhood. Pamela feltsure that Isobel would not dream of trying to claim kinship with thevillage bootmaker, or grocer, if his name happened to be Prior.
But Pamela's suggestion did not suit Isobel at all; half the excitementwould be lost if some one else had all the introductory moves to do."Oh, I don't think Miss Crabingway's silly old rule could possibly applyto Lady Prior," said Isobel.
"Why not?" asked Pamela.
"Well--you see--it's different somehow--you see they are strangers to meat present, even if they _are_ my relatives. And I can't see how itwould matter if I get to know them. Miss Crabingway must mean relativesone already knows."
"Not necessarily, I'm afraid," said Pamela.
"Well, what shall I do?" asked Isobel, blankly.
"If you are really anxious to settle the matter, I'm afraid a deputy isthe only course open to you. Of course, if they are your relations youmust simply ignore them; if they're not, you can cultivate theiracquaintance or not, just as you like," Pamela said, trying her best tobe helpful to Isobel, as she could see the problem appeared to be ofgreat moment to her.
"Oh, but I couldn't ignore Lady Prior in any case, could I?" saidIsobel.
"You must settle that matter yourself," replied Pamela, quietly. "But Ithink it would be breaking your word to Miss Crabingway if you visit'any relations whatsoever.'"
Isobel was quiet for a while, thinking the matter over.
"Um! Well, I'll have to see," she said presently, and fell silentagain, making plans for the future.
The other three resumed their occupations, and for a while there were nosounds in the room but the rustle of paper, the scratching of a pen, andthe little plucking noise of Caroline's needle as it moved in and out ofthe stiff linen she was sewing.
By and by Beryl got up and went out of the room to fetch another sheetof music from her box upstairs. This interruption caused Isobel tobreak silence again by making several remarks to Caroline concerningBeryl's attire.
"And why ever she wears such short-sleeved blouses this cold weather,I'm sure I don't know," she ended.
"They don't look like new ones. Perhaps she's had them some time,"suggested Caroline.
"Yes. Certainly the style looks a bit out of date," said Isobel,laughing. "I wonder her people didn't get her some new ones when theyknew she was coming here, instead of sending her in old-fashioned thingslike that."
Pamela, deep in her book, became suddenly aware of the turn theconversation had taken, and fearing Beryl might return and overhear(because Isobel was thoughtlessly talking in her usual clear,penetrating voice), she clapped her book to, and jumped up, saying:
"What do you say to a tune--and, oh, I know--a little dance--to tire usout before we go to bed. May I have the pleasure, mam'selle? Get up,Isobel, I want to push the couch out of the way to make more room. Comeand show us what you learnt at Madame Clarence's on Friday?"
Isobel, welcoming any diversion for a change, willingly helped to pushthe furniture out of the way, and very soon she was waltzing round theroom to the strains of a haunting melody that Pamela was playing on thepiano. Caroline, although she protested that she could not dance, wasmade to join in by Isobel.
"I'll show you, come on!" Isobel insisted; and to the accompaniment ofPamela's tune and much laughter and joking from Isobel (all of whichCaroline took very good-temperedly), Caroline was piloted round theroom, moving ponderously and ungracefully in the mazes of a waltz.
"Of course you're not _obliged_ to dance on my feet, dear child,"groaned Isobel, laughingly. "It would make a little variety for you ifyou danced on the carpet just _occasionally_, you know. Take care,you'll knock that chair over! Look out, Pamela, we're coming past you!"
It was to this laughing, animated scene that Beryl returned. Pamela,looking over her shoulder, took a hurried glance at Beryl's face, andwas satisfied. "I'm so glad. She didn't overhear Isobel then," shethought. But Pamela was wrong.
However, Beryl, having had time to cool her tell-tale cheeks before shecame in, joined in now as if quite unconscious; and when, presently,Ellen appeared with four glasses of hot milk on a tray (followed byMartha, who was curious to see what was going on), Beryl was playing alively Irish jig on the piano, and Pamela and Isobel were dancingfuriously in the middle of the room; while Caroline sat gasping on thecouch, fanning herself with the _Barrowfield Observer_, and recoveringfrom the polka Isobel had just been trying to teach her.
"I like to see young things dance and enjoy theirselves," observedMartha, as she and Ellen stood in the doorway for a few minutes,watching.
"It's a long time since there was any dancing in this house," saidEllen.
"Yet what's nicer!" replied Martha, beaming into the room.
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