My New Home

'I've had no orders about a bath,' she replied, 'but, to be sure, you can't go to the bathroom, as it's next master's dressing-room. You'll have to speak to Hales about it,' and she went away murmuring something indistinctly as to new ways and new rules.

In a few minutes, however, she came back again, lumbering a bath after her and looking rather cross.

'How different she is from Kezia,' I thought to myself. 'I would not have minded anything as much if she had come with us.'

Still, I was sensible enough to know that it was no use making the worst of things, and I think I must have looked rather pleasanter and more cheerful than the evening before, when I tapped at grandmamma's door and went downstairs to breakfast holding her hand.

She had much more to think of and trouble about than I, and if I had not been so selfish I was quite sensible enough to have understood this. A great many things required rearranging and overlooking in the household, for, though the servants were good on the whole, it was long since they had had a mistress's eye over them, and without that, even the best servants are pretty sure to get into careless ways. And grandmamma was so very conscientious that she felt even more anxious about all these things for Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur's sake, than if it had been her own house and her own servants. Besides, though she was so clever and experienced, it was a good many years since she had had a large house to look after, as our little home at Middlemoor had been so very, very simple. Yes, I see now it must have been very hard upon her, for, instead of doing all I could to help her, I was quite taken up with my own part of it, and ready to grumble at and exaggerate every little difficulty or disagreeableness.

I think grandmamma tried for some time not to see the sort of humour I was in, and how selfish and spoilt I had become. She excused me to herself by saying I was tired, and that such a complete change of life was trying for a child, and by kind little reasons of that sort.

'I shall be rather busy this morning,' she said to me that first day at breakfast, 'but if it keeps fine we can go out a little in the afternoon, and let you have your first peep of London. Let me see, what can you do with yourself this morning? You have your things to unpack still, and I daresay you would like to put out your ornaments and books in your own room.'

'I don't mean to put them out,' I said, 'it's not worth while. I will keep my books in one of the boxes and just get one out when I want it, and as for the ornaments, they wouldn't look anything in that big, bare room.'

But as I said this I caught sight of grandmamma's face, and I felt ashamed of being so grumbling when I was really feeling more cheerful and interested in everything than the night before. So I changed my tone a little.

'I will unpack all my things,' I said, 'and see how they look, anyway. Perhaps I'd better hang up my new frocks, I wouldn't like them to get crushed.'

'I should think Belinda would have unpacked your clothes by this time,' said grandmamma, 'but no doubt you'll find something to do. But, by the bye, they may not have lighted a fire in your room, don't stay upstairs long if you feel chilly, but bring your work down to the library.' I went upstairs. In the full daylight, though it was a dull morning, I liked my room even less than the night before. There was nothing in it bright or fresh, though I daresay it had looked much nicer, years before, when Cousin Agnes was a little girl, for the cretonne curtains must once have been very pretty, with bunches of pink roses, which now, however, were faded, as well as the carpet on the floor, and the paper on the walls, to an over-all dinginess such as you never see in a country room even when everything in it is old.

I sat down on a chair and looked about me disconsolately. Belinda had unpacked my clothes and arranged them after her fashion. My other possessions were still untouched, but I did not feel as if I cared to do anything with them.

'I shall never be at home here,' I said to myself, 'but I suppose I must just try to bear it for the time, for grandmamma's sake.'

Silly child that I was, as if grandmamma ever thought of herself, or her own likes and dislikes, before what she considered right and good for me. But the idea of being something of a martyr pleased me. I got out my work, not my fancy-work – I was in a mood for doing disagreeable things – but some plain sewing that I had not touched for some time, and took it downstairs to the library. I heard voices as I opened the door, grandmamma was sitting at the writing-table speaking to the cook, who stood beside her, a rather fat, pleasant-looking woman, who made a little curtsey when she saw me. But grandmamma looked up, for her, rather sharply —

'Why, have you finished upstairs already, Helena?' she said. 'You had better go into the dining-room for a few minutes, I am busy just now.'

I went away immediately, but I was very much offended, it just seemed the beginning of what I was fancying to myself. The dining-room door was ajar, and I caught sight of the footman looking over some spoons and forks.

'I won't go in there,' I said to myself, and upstairs I mounted again.

On the first landing, where grandmamma's room was, there were several other doors. All was perfectly quiet – there seemed no servants about, so I thought I would amuse myself by a little exploring. The first room I peeped into was large – larger than grandmamma's, but all the furniture was covered up. The only thing that interested me was a picture in pastelles hanging up over the mantelpiece. It caught my attention at once, and I stood looking up at it for some moments.

CHAPTER XI

AN ARRIVAL

It was the portrait of a young girl, – a very sweet face with soft, half-timid looking eyes.

'I wonder who it is,' I thought to myself, 'I wonder if it is Mrs. Vandeleur. If it is, she must be nice. I almost think I should like her very much.'

A door in this room led into a dressing-room, which next caught my attention. Here, too, the only thing that struck me was a portrait. This time, a photograph only, of a boy. Such a nice, open face! For a moment or two I thought it must be Cousin Cosmo, but looking more closely I saw written in one corner the name 'Paul' and the date 'July 1865.' I caught my breath, as I said to myself —

'It must be papa! I wonder if granny knows – she has none of him as young as that, I am sure. Oh, dear, how I do wish he was alive!'

But it was with a softened feeling towards both of my unknown cousins that I stepped out on to the landing again.

It did seem as if Mr. Vandeleur must have been very fond of my father for him to have kept this photograph all these years, hanging up where he must see it every time he came into his room.

Unluckily, just as I was thinking this, Belinda made her appearance through a door leading on to the backstairs.

'What are you doing here, miss?' she said. 'I don't think Hales would be best pleased to find you wandering about through these rooms.'

'I don't know what you mean,' I said, frightened, yet indignant too. 'I was only looking at the pictures. In grandmamma's house at home I go into any room I like.'

She gave a little laugh.

'Oh, but you see, miss, you are not at your own home now,' she said, 'that makes all the difference,' and she passed on, closing the door I had left open, as if to say, 'you can't go in there again!'

I made my way up to my own room, all the doleful feelings coming back.

'Really,' I said, as I curled myself up at the foot of the bed, 'there seems no place for me in the world, it's "move on – move on," like the poor boy in the play grandmamma once told me about.'

And I sat there in the cold, nursing my bitter and discontented thoughts, as if I had nothing to be grateful or thankful for in life.

Grandmamma did not come up to look for me, as in my secret heart I think I hoped she would. She was very, very busy, busier than I could have understood if she had told me about it, for though he did not at all mean to put too much upon her, Mr. Vandeleur had such faith in her good sense and judgment, that he had left everything to be settled by her when we came.

I do not know if I fell asleep; I think I must have dozed a little, for the next thing I remember is rousing up, and feeling myself stiff and cramped, and not long after that the gong sounded again. I got down from my bed and looked at myself in the glass; my face seemed very pinched and miserable. I made my hair neat and washed my hands, for I would not have dared to go downstairs untidy to the dining-room. But I was not at all sorry when grandmamma looked at me anxiously, exclaiming —

'My dear child, how white you are! Where have you been, and what have you been doing with yourself?'

'I've been up in my own room,' I said, and just then grandmamma said nothing more, but when we were alone again she spoke to me seriously about the foolishness of risking making myself ill for no reason.

'There is reason,' I said crossly, 'at least there's no reason why I shouldn't be ill; nobody cares how I am.'

For all answer grandmamma drew me to her and kissed me.

'My poor, silly, little Helena,' she said.

I was touched and ashamed, but irritated also; grandmamma understood me better than I understood myself.

'We are going out now,' she said, 'put on your things as quickly as you can. I have several shops to go to, and the afternoons close in very early in London just now.'

That walk with grandmamma – at least it was only partly a walk, for she took a hansom to the first shop she had to go to, – and I had never been in a hansom before, so you can fancy how I enjoyed it – yes, that first afternoon in London stands out very happily. Once I had grandmamma quite to myself everything seemed to come right, and I could almost have skipped along the street in my pleasure and excitement. The shops were already beginning to look gay in anticipation of Christmas, to me – country child that I was, they were bewilderingly magnificent. Grandmamma was careful not to let me get too tired, we drove home again in another hansom, carrying some of our purchases with us. These were mostly things for the house, and a few for ourselves, and shopping was so new to me, that I took the greatest interest even in ordering brushes for the housemaid, or choosing a new afternoon tea-service for Cousin Agnes.

That evening, too, passed much better than the morning. Grandmamma spoke to me about how things were likely to be and what I myself should try to do.

'I cannot fix anything about lessons for you,' she said, 'till after Cosmo and Agnes return, for I do not know how much time I shall have free for you. But you are well on for your age, and I don't think a few weeks without regular lessons will do you any harm, especially here in London, where there is so much new and interesting. But I think you had better make a plan for yourself – I will help you with it – for doing something every morning while I am busy.'

'But I may be with you in the afternoons, mayn't I?' I said.

'Of course, at least generally,' said grandmamma, 'whenever the weather is fine enough I will take you out. It would never do to shut you up when you have been so accustomed to the open air. Some days, perhaps, we may go out in the mornings. All I want you to understand now, is that plans cannot possibly be settled all at once. You must be patient and cheerful, and if there are things that you don't like just now, in a little while they will probably disappear.'

I felt pleased at grandmamma talking to me more in her old consulting way, and for the time it seemed as if I could do as she wished without difficulty.

And for some days and even weeks things went on pretty well. I used to get cross now and then when grandmamma could not be with me as much as I wanted, but so far, there was no person to come between her and me, it was only her having so much to do; and whenever we were together she was so sweet and understanding in every way, that it made up for the lonely hours I sometimes had to spend.

But in myself I am afraid there was not really any improvement, it was only on the surface. There was still the selfishness underneath, the readiness to take offence and be jealous of anything that seemed to put me out of my place as first with grandmamma. All the unhappy feelings were there, smouldering, ready to burst out into fire the moment anything stirred them up.

Christmas came and went. It was very unlike any of the Christmases I had ever known, and of course it could not but seem rather lonely. Grandmamma still had some old friends in London, but she had not tried to see them, as she had been so busy, and not knowing as yet when Cousin Agnes would be returning. It seemed a sort of waiting time altogether. Now and then grandmamma would allude cheerfully to Cousin Cosmo and his wife coming home, hoping that it would be soon, as every letter brought better accounts of Mrs. Vandeleur's health. I certainly did not share in these hopes, I would rather have gone on living for ever as we were if only I could have had grandmamma to myself.

I think it was about the 8th of January that there came one morning a letter which made grandmamma look very grave, and when she had finished reading it she sat for a moment or two without speaking. Then she said, as if thinking aloud —

'Dear me, this is very disappointing.'

'Is anything the matter?' I asked. 'Can't you tell me what it is, grandmamma?'

'Oh yes, dear,' she said, 'it is only what I have been looking forward to so much – but it has come in such a different way. Your cousins are returning almost immediately, but only, I am sorry to say, because poor Agnes is so ill that the London doctor says she must be near him. They are bringing her up in an invalid carriage the first mild day, so I must have everything ready for them. It will probably be many weeks before she can leave her room,' and poor grandmamma sighed.

This news was far from welcome to me, but I am afraid what I cared for had only to do with myself. I didn't feel very sorry for poor Cousin Agnes. Partly, perhaps, because I was too young to understand how seriously ill she was, but chiefly, I am afraid, because I immediately began to think how much of grandmamma's time would be taken up by her, and how dull it would be for me in consequence. And when grandmamma turned to me and said —

'I'm sure I shall find you a help and comfort, Helena,' it almost startled me.

I murmured something about wishing there was anything I could do, and I did feel ashamed.

'I'm afraid there will not be much for you actually to do,' said grandmamma, 'and I don't think you need warning to be very quiet in a house with an invalid. You are never noisy,' and she smiled a little; 'but you must try to be bright and not to mind if for a little while you have to be left a good deal to yourself. I must speak to Hales about going out with you sometimes, for you must have a walk every day.'

And within a week of receiving this bad news there came one morning a telegram to say that Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur would be arriving that afternoon.

'Oh, dear, dear,' I thought to myself when I heard it. 'I wish I were – oh, anywhere except here!'

I spent the hours till luncheon – which was of course my dinner – as usual, doing some lessons and needlework. Hitherto, grandmamma had corrected my lessons in the evening.

'I don't believe she'll have time to look over my exercises now,' I thought to myself, 'but I suppose I must go on doing them all the same.'

I have forgotten to say that I did my lessons at a side table in the dining-room, where there was always a large fire burning. It did not seem worth while to have another room given up to me while grandmamma and I were alone in the house.

I did not see grandmamma till luncheon, and then she told me that she was obliged to go out immediately to some distance, as Mrs. Vandeleur's invalid couch or table, I forget which, was not the kind ordered.

'But mayn't I come with you?' I asked.

Grandmamma shook her head. No, she was in a great hurry, and the place she was going to was in the city, it would do me no good, and it was a damp, foggy day. I might go into the Square garden for a little if I would promise to come in at once if it rained.

There was nothing very inviting in this prospect. I liked the Square gardens well enough to walk up and down in with grandmamma, but alone was a very different matter. Still, it was better than staying in all the afternoon. And I spent an hour or more in pacing along the paths enjoying my self-pity to the full.

There were a few other children playing together; how I envied them!

'If I had even a little dog,' I said to myself, 'it would be something. But of course there's no chance of that – he would disturb Cousin Agnes.'

I went back to the house an hour or so before the expected arrival. Grandmamma had already returned. She was in her own room, I peeped in on my way upstairs.

'What do you want me to do, grandmamma?' I said.

She glanced at me.

'Change your frock, dear, and come down to the library with your work. Of course Cosmo will want to see you, once Cousin Agnes is settled in her room. Dear me, I do hope she will have stood the journey pretty well!'

I came downstairs again with mixed feelings. I should rather have enjoyed making a martyr of myself by staying up in my own room. But, on the other hand, I had a good deal of curiosity on the subject of my unknown cousins.

'I wonder if Cousin Agnes will be able to walk,' I thought to myself, 'or if they will carry her in. I should like to see what an invalid carriage is like!'

I think I pictured to myself a sort of palanquin, and eager to be on the spot at the moment of the arrival I changed my frock very quickly and hastened downstairs with my knitting in my hand – a model of propriety.

'Do I look nice, grandmamma?' I asked. 'It is the first time I have had this frock on, you know.'

For besides the new clothes grandmamma had ordered from Windy Gap, she had got me some very nice ones since we came to London. And this new one I thought the prettiest of all. It was brown velveteen with a falling collar of lace, with which I was especially pleased, for though my clothes had been always very neatly made, they had been very plain, the last two or three years more especially. So I stood there pleasantly expecting grandmamma's approval. But she scarcely glanced at me, I doubt if she heard what I said, for she was busy writing a note about something or other which had been forgotten, and almost as I spoke the footman came into the room to take it.

'What were you saying, my dear?' she said quickly. 'Oh yes, very nice – Be sure, William, that this is sent at once.'

I crossed the room and sat down in the farthest corner, my heart swelling. It was not all spoilt temper, I was really terribly afraid that grandmamma was beginning to care less for me. But before there had been time for her to notice my disappointment, there came the sound of wheels stopping at the door, and then the bell rang loudly. Grandmamma started up. If I had been less taken up with myself, I could easily have entered into her feelings. It was the first time for more than twelve years that she had seen her nephew, and think of all that had happened to her since then! But none of these thoughts came into my mind just then, it was quite filled with myself and my own troubles, and but for my curiosity I think I would have hidden myself behind the window-curtains.

Grandmamma went out into the hall and I followed her. The door was already opened, as the servants had been on the look-out.

The first thing I saw was a tall, slight figure coming very slowly up the steps on the arm of a dark, grave-looking man. Behind them came a maid laden with shawls and cushions. They came quietly into the hall, grandmamma moving forward a little to meet them, though without speaking.

A smile came over Cousin Agnes's pale face as she caught sight of her, but Mr. Vandeleur looked up almost sharply.

'Wait till we get her into the library,' he said.

Evidently coming up those few steps had almost been too much for his wife, for I saw her face grow still paler. I was watching with such interest that I quite forgot that where I stood I was partially blocking up the doorway. Without noticing who I was, so completely absorbed was he with Cousin Agnes, Mr. Vandeleur stretched out his hand and half put me aside.

'Take care,' he said quickly, and before there was time for more – 'Helena, do get out of the way,' said grandmamma.

That was the last straw for me. I did get out of the way. I turned and rushed across the hall, and upstairs to my own room without a word.

CHAPTER XII

A CATASTROPHE

No one came up to look for me; I don't know that I expected it, but still I was disappointed and made a fresh grievance of this neglect, as I considered it. The truth was, nobody was thinking of me at all, for Cousin Agnes had fainted when she got into the library and everybody was engrossed in attending to her.

Afternoon tea time came and passed, and still I was alone. It was quite dark when at last Belinda came up to draw down the blinds, and was startled by finding me in my usual place when much upset – curled up at the foot of the bed.

'Whatever are you doing here, miss?' she said, sharply. 'There's your tea been waiting in the dining-room for ever so long.'

The fact was, she had been told to call me but had forgotten it.

'I don't want any,' I said, shortly.

'Nonsense, miss,' said the girl, 'you can't go without eating. And when there's any one ill in the house you must just make the best of things.'

'Mrs. Vandeleur didn't seem so very ill,' I said, 'she was able to walk.'

'Ah, but she's been worse since then – they had to fetch the doctor, and now she's in bed and better, and your grandmamma's sitting beside her.'

I did feel sorry for Cousin Agnes when I heard this, though the sore feeling still remained that I wasn't wanted, and was of no use to any one. I was almost glad to escape seeing grandmamma, so I went downstairs quietly to the dining-room and had my tea, for I was very hungry. Just as I had finished, and was crossing the hall to go upstairs again, a tall figure came out of the library. I knew in a moment who it was, but Cousin Cosmo stared at me as if he couldn't imagine what child it could be, apparently at home in his house.

'Who – what?' he began, but then corrected himself. 'Oh, to be sure,' he added, holding out his hand, 'you're Helena of course. I wasn't sure if you were at school or not.'

'At school,' I repeated, 'grandmamma would never send me to school.'

He smiled a little, or meant to do so, but I thought him very grim and forbidding.

'I don't wonder at those boys not liking him for their guardian,' I said to myself as I looked up at him.

'Ah, well,' he replied, 'so long as you remember to be a very quiet little girl, especially when you pass the first landing, I daresay it will be all right.'

I didn't condescend to answer, but walked off with my most dignified air, which no doubt was lost upon my cousin, who, I fancy, had almost forgotten my existence before he had closed the hall door behind him, for he was just going out.

I did not see grandmamma that evening, and I did not know that she saw me, for when she at last was free to come up to my room, I was in bed and fast asleep, and she was careful not to wake me. She told me this the next morning, and also that Belinda had said I had had my tea and supper comfortably. But – partly from pride, and partly from better motives – I did not tell her that I had cried myself to sleep.

I need not go into the daily history of the next few weeks, indeed I don't wish to do so. They were the most miserable time of my whole life. Now that all is happy I don't want to dwell upon them. Dear grandmamma says, whenever we do speak about that time, that she really does not think it was all my fault, and that comforts me. It was certainly not her fault, nor anybody's in one way, except of course mine. Things happened in a trying way, as they must do in life sometimes, and I don't think it was wrong of me to feel unhappy. We have to be unhappy sometimes; but it was wrong of me not to bear it patiently, and to let myself grow bitter, and worst of all, to do what I did – what I am now going to tell about.