Jasper

“It will all be such a change for them, you see,” she explained, and Harriet, who was good-natured and willing, delighted to come to London, and not troubled with nerves, promised to do her very best.

Hers was the face which met them as the cab at last drew up at one of a row of houses in a quiet, rather dull, but by no means “slummy” side-street.

“It isn’t so very bad,” said Chrissie, “and that new servant looks rather nice. I suppose she’ll be instead of Fanny.”

“Of course not,” said Leila, “there’ll be no Fanny and no Nurse and no anybody except a cook and housemaid. You certainly will have to put on your own shoes and stockings now!”

And Chrissie’s face, which had brightened a little, clouded over again. But it was not in human nature, above all not in child, even spoilt-child nature, not to try to smile and look pleased, when at the open door of the little drawing-room the sisters caught sight of their mother, and heard Jasper’s joyful cry, “Oh Mumsey, what a sweet little room.”

“Come in, darlings. I’ve been longing so for you,” she exclaimed, “and tea is all ready in the dining-room. Nurse, you must have it with us. Daddy, darlings, won’t be back till seven, but Roley is here.” It was a pretty little room. Mrs Fortescue had wisely kept only such furniture as was really suitable, especially as to size, so there was no look of crowding or “not-at-home-ness” about it. And as the whole house had been freshly painted and papered, there was nothing dark or dingy.

“If I could fancy it was a little house we had got for a few weeks at the seaside somewhere, I’d think it was quite nice,” thought Christabel. “I wonder how many rooms there are. We really need one each if we’re not to be always knocking against each other!”

Chapter Five

A Stormy Morning

Small as the dining-room was in comparison with the spacious one “at home,” as, more than once, the children caught themselves saying, still, they all settled round the table quite comfortably, and on the whole they were a more cheerful party than might have been expected. Chrissie, even, was graciously pleased to express her approval of the hot buttered scones which their kind mother had specially ordered for the occasion.

“They are quite as good as Mrs Williams’s,” she said when she had eaten, I am afraid to say how many of them. “May we have them often, Mummy? The new cook will have lots of time, as there’ll never be dinner-parties, or luncheon-parties, or – or anything like that, of course,” and she gave a deep sigh.

“The new cook, as you call her,” said Mrs Fortescue, “is no other than Mrs Williams’ niece, Susan, who till now has been the kitchen-maid. So it is not surprising that her scones are good. But as for having lots of time, you must remember that, now we have only two servants, she will have to do many things besides cooking. We mustn’t expect scones except as a treat.”

“Oh, of course,” murmured Chrissie, “we mustn’t expect anything nice. I see how it’s going to be.” But either she spoke too low for her words to be heard, or her mother thought it wiser to take no notice of them, and she went on talking about other things.

“Yes,” she said, in reply to a question of little Jasper’s, “there is a tiny garden behind, as you see, and, besides the back-door, there is an entrance to it out of Daddy’s study, through a French window. I daresay you will be able to grow some pretty hardy things in it.”

Jasper’s face flushed with pleasure.

“Oh, I do hope Aunt Margaret will remember to bring my new garden-tools what are at Fareham,” he exclaimed.

“I will ask her about them when I write to-morrow,” said his mother.

“Daddy’s study,” repeated Leila, “then there is a third sitting-room. I was just wondering what we’d do for a schoolroom.”

“You will have to use this room a good deal,” said Mrs Fortescue, “but in warmer weather, when you don’t need fires, you can prepare your lessons in your own room upstairs, as you will see. Now, if we’ve all finished, I am anxious to take you over the house, Roley has seen it all,” with a glance at him.

“Yes,” Roland answered, “and I think it’s quite wonderful what you’ve made of it, Mums, really wonderful. The rooms couldn’t be nicer.”

And as the little girls followed their mother upstairs, in their heart they could not but agree with him. A nice airy room, not large of course, but as large as any in the house, had been furnished for them, with their own little beds and toilet-table, and as many of their favourite belongings as it was possible to find room for, including two bookcases with glass doors, on the wall, and a small writing-table in front of the fireplace.

“It’s really very nice, Mumsey dear,” said Leila, delighted at the sight of her low straw chair in one corner; “I don’t believe I’d ever be too cold up here – not with a shawl on. It seems so nice and peaceful, if only – ” she stopped and hesitated and glanced at her sister.

“You’d better finish,” said Chrissie sharply. “I know it’s something horrid about me.”

“No, it isn’t horrid,” Leila replied. “It’s only if you could be tidy.”

”‘Tidy,’ indeed,” repeated Chrissie scornfully.

“I’m quite as tidy as you, and tidier. Am I not, Nurse?” she went on, turning to her.

Nurse, in spite of her extreme anxiety to make the best of things and to keep all smooth, could scarcely help smiling.

“I’m afraid, my dear, that there isn’t much to be said as to tidiness,” she replied. “Perhaps it’s been partly my fault, ma’am,” she went on to Mrs Fortescue, “I’ve not left off feeling as if the young ladies were still the tiny little fairies I remember them when I first came. But now they’re so much bigger, and with things being so different, I’m sure Miss Leila and Miss Chrissie will do their very best to help in every way.”

“She’s not at all sure of anything of the kind,” thought Christabel, “and that’s why she says she is. I wish people wouldn’t be humbugs.”

Poor Nurse herself certainly did her very best during the two or three days she remained at Spenser Terrace. And there was, of course, still a great deal to do. For, notwithstanding the careful choice of furniture and such things for the little house, when the trunks and boxes came to be unpacked, it was by no means easy to find room for all that had been brought. But for Nurse, I much doubt if the children’s possessions would ever have been properly arranged! She managed to interest the girls – Chrissie especially, who was naturally quick and active – in her plans about cupboards and shelves and chests of drawers, and before she left she glanced round with satisfaction at the result.

“If only they will try now to be thoughtful and methodical,” she said to herself.

These first few days had passed not unpleasantly. With Nurse still there, the great difference to themselves personally had not, of course, been very much felt by the little girls, and there is always, I think, to all children – and to many grown-up people too – a curious charm in novelty. It was a nice change to breakfast downstairs with their father and mother, to have tea also in the dining-room, and no lessons. Then, fortunately, just then the weather was fine and bright and dry. They went out with Mrs Fortescue or Nurse two or three times to explore their new neighbourhood, and found it rather amusing. They even thought it would be great fun to have expeditions in omnibuses, though at present there was still too much to do indoors for anything of that kind.

Mr Fortescue was pleased with them, and said so to their mother.

“I think we have worried ourselves unnecessarily about Leila and Chrissie,” he said, “they seem to be settling down all right.”

“I hope so,” she replied. “But of course the real test will come when Nurse goes and Aunt Margaret comes. In some ways she must be my first thought, when we remember all she is doing to help us.”

“But she is a miracle of unselfishness. I am only afraid of her spoiling the children,” he said.

“She is too wise to do so,” said Mrs Fortescue. “I earnestly hope they may learn to follow her example,” but still she sighed, and Mr Fortescue thought that anxiety and overwork were probably making her rather downhearted, though he did not say so.

Nurse left on a Saturday, and Aunt Margaret was expected to arrive on the Monday. I don’t think this was a very good arrangement, and if I had been consulted I should have said so. Sundays are, and should be, rather different from other days, but to make them thus in a happy way takes some method and planning, as the heads of all households, large and small, know well. And in a family accustomed to twelve or fifteen servants, suddenly obliged to manage with only two, of course the difficulties were much increased.

“We must begin rightly at once, or we shall get into wrong ways,” thought Mrs Fortescue. “The servants must both go to church; one in the morning, and one in the evening, turn about. And we must have a cold meal once a day. Let me see – if Harriet goes to-morrow morning, we can have a hot luncheon and cold supper this first Sunday, and tea all together in the afternoon,” and she lay awake half the night thinking about it, which was not very wise, I must allow, as it made her sleep later than usual the next morning.

But she dressed quickly, and on her way downstairs to breakfast, glanced in at the little girls’ room, expecting to find them ready.

Alas! What was the spectacle that met her view?

Leila in bed reading – a candle still alight on the little table by her side, though the room was, of course, in full daylight. Christabel, half dressed, standing in front of the looking-glass, tearing wildly at her hair, and scolding furiously at her sister, who was calmly paying no attention to her. And the room! Its state may be imagined when I say that it looked as if every article of clothing the children possessed had been dragged out of wardrobe and drawers and flung pell-mell on beds, chairs, and floor. It was really difficult to believe that such confusion was possible in the same room that Nurse had left in perfect order the very afternoon before.

Mrs Fortescue’s heart sank. For a moment or two she stood there speechless – unobserved by Leila, absorbed in her book, or by Chrissie, in the noise and excitement of her temper. And when at last their mother spoke, it was only by raising her voice that she gained their attention.

“Leila,” she said, and her tone was more severe than either of the girls had ever before heard it, “Leila, get up at once. I am completely ashamed of you;” and Leila started up. She attempted no excuse.

“Christabel,” Mrs Fortescue went on, “be silent.”

“I can’t be, I won’t be,” stormed Chrissie. “It is all Leila’s fault. I got up very soon after that stupid Harriet brought the hot water, and she said she’d come back to help me to tie my hair, and I would have been ready, but Leila wouldn’t get up, and at last I threw a pillow at her, and it overturned the chair with her clothes on, and then she said I’d got out her Sunday frock instead of mine, and I hadn’t, and then she went on so, that I did get out hers and threw it on the floor, and her jacket and hat too, just to show her, and – ”

“Christabel be silent,” repeated her mother, and this time the child, though with flaming cheeks and really shaking with anger, did obey her.

“And this,” said Mrs Fortescue, “this is the first Sunday in our new little home; the first day you have really had an opportunity of – I won’t even say helping me – but of showing yourselves sensible and trustworthy. It might and should have been a peaceful and happy morning. Stand still, Christabel,” as the little girl was flouncing about, “stand still while I tie your hair. It is very good-natured of Harriet to offer to do it, but you and Leila are perfectly able to help each other.”

“She’s not good-natural,” muttered Christabel: “when I told her to come back in ten minutes, she said she couldn’t. She’s very impertinent.”

“Be silent,” was her mother’s only reply. Then, turning to Leila, she went on, “Give me that book,” and Leila did so. Mrs Fortescue glanced at it. It was one of Mrs Ewing’s. “I cannot let you have it again to-day,” she said, “nor to-morrow, unless you are dressed and downstairs by half-past eight, and properly dressed, remember,” and so saying she left the room, and with a very heavy heart slowly made her way downstairs.

It was a dull, grey day, not yet raining, but with small promise of lightening or brightening, and Mrs Fortescue, accustomed to a well-warmed and luxurious house, felt it very chilly. And when she opened the little dining-room door, she felt even chillier, and no wonder, for the window was pushed up as far as it would go, evidently to get rid of smoke, some remains of which was still hanging about. There was only one person in the room, and that person not only a very small one, but so crouched down in a little bundle on the hearth-rug, that for a moment or so Mrs Fortescue really did not see him. Then the bundle stirred, and a small face, rather red and with smutty marks on its cheeks, looked up.

“Jasper,” his mother exclaimed, “what are you doing? Not playing with the fire, surely!” in anxiety, for indeed if Jasper were going to turn mischievous or disobedient, where would she be?

“Playin’, Mummy,” he repeated, with a touch of very excusable indignation, “in course not. It wouldn’t flame up nicely, and I’ve been down a long time. Roley buttoned my waistcoat before he got up, but he’s just comin’. So Susan gave me the bellowses,” and he held them up in triumph, “and it’s burnin’ beautifly now,” and so it was. “I think we might shut the window,” he added, with a glance of consideration.

“My darling,” said his mother, “I hope you haven’t caught cold,” and having closed the window, she turned to this brownie in a sailor suit with some anxiety.

“Oh no, I’m quite hot,” he replied. “Shall I take the bellowses back to Susan?” he went on. “Daddy wouldn’t like to see them here, and you don’t mind us goin’ to the kitchen if it’s a real message, now we mustn’t ring the bells often, do you, Mumsey?”

“No, my boy, take the bellows back by all means,” said his mother, and on he went, murmuring us he did so, “Susan will think I’m handy and clever.”

The funny little scene had cheered Mrs Fortescue again, and she was looking quite calm and happy when Roland and his father made their appearance.

“Breakfast is all ready. The things have just come in – everything is nice and hot,” she said brightly.

“That’s all right,” Mr Fortescue replied. “I’m quite hungry. Change of air – eh?” but he smiled as he said it. Then with a glance round the table – “Where are the others?” he went on, “Leila and Chris – There is a gong, isn’t there?”

“Yes, I brought the small one, but I haven’t taught Harriet to strike it yet. Perhaps they – ”

But almost before she had got as far as this in her sentence Jasper was at the door.

“I’ll run up and tell them. I won’t be a minute,” he said. Nor was he. He was down again almost at once, but Mrs Fortescue’s quick eyes saw that his small face looked troubled. And several minutes passed before the door opened to admit first Christabel, and a moment or two later, Leila.

“Hurry up, young ladies,” said their father. “Why, Mummy has been down for ever so long, and the rest of us not far behind. I’m afraid you overslept yourselves.”

“I didn’t,” said Chrissie; “you’d better ask Leila, Daddy, why we’re late.”

Her father, who had spoken quite cheerfully, glanced at her, for something in her tone struck him as slightly sullen. And the expression of her face did not reassure him. Still he spoke kindly and brightly.

“Well, here you are, better late than never,” he went on. “Will you have bacon and eggs – or bacon alone – or egg alone, Leila?” but before she replied he caught sight of her strange appearance. “What’s the matter with you, child?” he exclaimed. “Have you forgotten to do your hair?” and certainly there was every reason for the inquiry, for Leila’s dark locks were in an extraordinary state of confusion. She had evidently tried to tie them up herself, and had only succeeded in perching a very dilapidated bow of ribbon in a wild way over one ear, where it was dangling about as if on the point of falling. And her face hardly looked as if she had washed it at all.

She grew scarlet when she felt all eyes upon her.

“I can’t tie up my hair myself,” she said. “I have brushed it and combed it, and it would have been all right if Chrissie had helped me a little, instead of standing mocking at me and throwing all my things about and – ” here her voice broke, she was evidently on the point of bursting into tears.

“Christabel, will you have bacon and eggs?” asked her father.

“Yes, please, Daddy,” she replied calmly, though she darted a look at Leila that was not good to see.

“And you, Leila?” he continued, turning again to the older girl.

“Nothing, thank you,” she murmured. “I’ll have some bread and butter.”

“As you please,” Mr Fortescue said. Then he helped Chrissie, and when her plate was before her, he looked at both children.

“This is our first Sunday morning in the new little home which your mother and I are doing our best to make a happy one for you. If you choose, wilfully and foolishly, to quarrel, do so. I shall not pity either of you. But one thing I will not allow, and that is, that your tempers are to upset the comfort of the rest of the family. So I give you fair warning. You must behave properly when you are at table with us.”

Neither answered. Christabel went on eating, though with a slightly contemptuous expression which her father and mother thought it wiser to pretend not to see. Leila choked down her tears and munched away at what would have been dry bread, had not Jasper quietly put a pat of butter on her plate.

And Roland and his father began talking about the weather, the fors and againsts of frost setting in and the chances of skating, as if no such silly, disagreeable little girls as Leila and Christabel were in existence. And Mrs Fortescue made little jokes with Jasper, and poured out second cups of coffee in a most matter-of-fact way. For once, I think, both the foolish, ungrateful children began to feel themselves rather small, and the rest of the day passed fairly well, though, but for their mother’s hurrying through with her own dressing, so as to be able to superintend theirs, I much doubt if either Leila or Christabel would have been ready for church, or fit to be seen when their father called them.

Mrs Fortescue did not speak till she was leaving their room, then she said quietly —

“Leila and Chrissie, I have helped you to dress this morning because I could not bear to have another scene, especially as it is Sunday. But from now, I warn you, I cannot and will not do for you what you are perfectly able to do for yourselves. When you do need help, you shall have it, and I can make allowance for things being difficult for you just now, but I will not help you to make them more difficult for yourselves. When you come in from church, you must put away your out-of-doors things and make the room perfectly neat,” and so saying, she left them, without giving them time to reply.

“I hope you’re pleased,” said Christabel to her sister, as soon as the door had closed. “You know it all began with your refusing to get up.”

Leila did not answer. She was naturally more timid and less high-spirited than Christabel, but in some ways more difficult to manage, owing to her indolence and dreaminess.

“Oh, well,” continued Chrissie, “if you like to be sulky I’m sure I don’t mind. Any way, it is a satisfaction to learn that you won’t have any story-book all to-day.”

Her tone was most provoking; Leila would have liked to turn upon her, but she was afraid of beginning to cry, so with some difficulty she remained silent till Chrissie had flung out of the room.

“I wish they would let me go to school,” she said to herself when she was alone. “I don’t mind lessons, I only want to be left in peace. I’m sure they might find some cheap school, and when I’m old enough I’d ask to be kept on as a governess. I will ask Mummy about it. If Roland’s the eldest boy, I’m the eldest girl, and if they pay hundreds of pounds for him to go to Winton, they might pay something for me.”

The idea seized her fancy. There was a touch of “romance” about it. She pictured herself working hard at school, becoming a teacher herself at an extraordinarily early age, earning enough to be no longer a burden on her unnatural family, whom she would only visit at rare intervals and for a very short time.

“Perhaps they would begin to wish they had treated me differently,” she thought. “Perhaps even Chrissie would find out that everything wrong was not my fault – yes, when it was too late,” and with her usual habit of fanciful dreaming, she occupied her thoughts almost the whole of church-time, I fear, by picturing herself as the heroine of this touching and romantic story. And poor Mrs Fortescue, catching sight of her little daughter’s charming face, her dark eyes gleaming with interest, said to herself that Leila was really very open to good impressions. “I am sure she is making all sorts of excellent resolutions. Poor dear, I must not be hard upon her, nor upon Chrissie either,” though Christabel’s face still looked resentful and obstinate.

Chapter Six

Dusters

Monday morning brought considerable improvement. That is to say, Leila, having no book to read, and in her secret heart still faithful to the character of innocent and unappreciated martyr which she had imagined for herself, got out of bed almost as soon as she was awakened, dressed herself in silent dignity, and even offered to help Christabel.

“No thank you,” Chrissie replied loftily, “I don’t want any one to do anything for me except tying my hair, and Harriet can do that much, I suppose.”

“Mother has told her to come for ten minutes, at eight,” Leila replied meekly, glancing at Chrissie, and at the little bee-clock on the mantelpiece, which told that eight o’clock was fast approaching; much nearer at hand, according to present appearances, than the completion of Chrissie’s toilet.

“And you think I won’t be ready,” replied Chrissie. “Well then, you’ll just see,” and she rushed at her clothes in a rapid but very helter-skelter fashion, stopping, however, with her skirt half over her head, to have another fling at Leila. “What’s the matter with you this morning?” she said. “Why do you say ‘mother,’” and she copied her sister’s subdued tone of voice in a very irritating way, “like that? What a prig you can be, Leila! For my part I’d rather you were as lazy as a dormouse, staying in bed all day if you like, than to be so affected and lackadaisical.”

No answer to this tirade was vouchsafed, and just then Harriet knocked at the door.

“All right,” called Chrissie, “I’m ready – readier than Miss Leila, Harriet, – she hasn’t fastened her belt yet, and nowadays it’s got to be first come, first served, so here’s my comb – hurry up.”

Harriet was young and countrified, and, to tell the truth, rather in awe of “the young ladies,” whom hitherto she had only heard of in her aunt’s letters as beings not far removed from little princesses. So she gave a half-nervous laugh, and set to work at Christabel’s thick curls, Leila – her belt fastened by this time – standing by with a solemn, resigned expression of face.

As a rule it was no easy task to “do” Miss Chrissie’s hair, the owner of it being given to amusing little excursions about the room during the process, dragging her unfortunate attendant after her, in spite of all remonstrances. But this morning, out of sheer contradiction I fear, she stood like a lamb, and as soon as the ribbons were tied, dashed off, shouting, “Who’s first – who’s first? Who’ll be first downstairs after all?”

“Chrissie, Chrissie,” Leila called out, and this time she really meant well, and had forgotten for the moment all about being an innocent martyr, “Chrissie, you haven’t said your prayers, and your – ”

But a whistle from the staircase – plainly heard, though it was not a very successful one, as Christabel had been true to her rule of not shutting the door – was the only reply, and Leila sighed.

“Miss Chrissie do be a high-spirited young lady,” quoth Harriet with a respectful little cough.