Hollyhock: A Spirit of Mischief

Hollyhock felt a dreadful lump in her throat. She managed, however, to eat, and she struggled hard to hide her great chagrin.

'For the rest of the afternoon I am entirely at your service, my child,' said Mr Lennox. 'I think it is just precisely the day for a good long ride on Lightning Speed and Ardshiel. There's a fine, bright, fresh air about, and it will put roses into your bonnie cheeks. Get on your habit and we 'll go for a long ride.'

This was better; this was reviving. The horses were led out by the groom. Hollyhock, who could ride splendidly, was soon seated on the back of her glorious Arab, Lightning Speed. Her father looked magnificent beside her on Ardshiel, and away they started riding fast across country.

They returned home after an hour or two with ravenous appetites, to find that Duncan, the old serving-man, had lit a great fire of logs in the hall, and that Tocsin and Curfew were in their usual places, enjoying the blaze.

Hollyhock tossed off her little cap and sat down to enjoy tea and scones to her heart's delight. She now felt that she had done right not to go to Ardshiel. Her voice rang with merriment, and her father joined her in her mirth.

But when tea came to an end Lord Ian Douglas, the gentleman of vast estates whom Mr Lennox was to help as agent, appeared on the scene, and Hollyhock was forgotten. She was introduced to Lord Ian, who gave her a very distant bow, and began immediately to talk to his new agent about crops and manures, turnips, cattle, pigs, all sorts of impossible and disgusting subjects, according to the angry little Hollyhock.

Lord Ian did not go away for some hours, and when at last he departed it was time to dress for dinner. But how Hollyhock did miss the Precious Stones and The Garden girls! How dull, how gloomy, was the house! She tried in vain to eat her dinner with appetite, but she saw that her father looked full of preoccupation, that he hardly regarded her; in fact, the one and only speech that he made to her was this: 'Douglas is a good sort, and he has given me a vast lot to do. It will help to pay for the Flowers' education; but I greatly fear, my Hollyhock, that you will be a great deal alone. In fact, the whole of to-morrow I have to spend at Dundree, Lord Ian's place. I wish I could take you with me, my darling; but that is impossible, and I must leave you now, for I have to look over certain accounts which Lord Ian brought with him. This is a very lucky stroke of business for me. Your Dumpy Dad can do a great deal for his Flower Girls by means of Lord Ian.'

'I hate the man!' burst from Hollyhock's lips.

If her father heard, he took no notice. He calmly left the room.

CHAPTER VIII.

HOLLYHOCK LEFT IN THE COLD

The fire burned brightly in the ingle-nook, and the dogs, Tocsin and Curfew, slept in perfect peace in close proximity to its grateful heat; but Hollyhock was alone – utterly alone. She felt more miserable than she had ever believed it possible to be in her hitherto joyous life. She drew up a chair near the hearth, and the dogs came and sniffed at her; but what were they, compared to Jasmine, Delphinium, and the Precious Stones? As to Dumpy Dad, she could never have believed that he would treat his little girl in such a heartless manner. Had she not given up all for him, and was this her reward?

She felt a great lump in her throat, and a very fierce anger burned within her breast. What right had Dumpy Dad and Aunt Cecilia to forsake the only child who was true to them? The others were off and away at their learning and their fun, perchance; but she, Hollyhock, the faithful and the true, had remained at home when the others had deserted it. She had been firm and decided, and here was her reward – the reward of utter desolation.

'Get away, Curfew,' she said, as the faithful greyhound pushed his long nose into her hand.

Curfew raised gentle, pleading brown eyes to her face; but being of the sort that never retorts, he lay down again, with a sigh of disappointment, close to Tocsin. He, too, was feeling the change, for he was a very human dog, and missed the Flower Girls and the Precious Stones, and the dear, dear master and Mrs Constable, just as Hollyhock did.

But what was the use of making a fuss? According to Curfew's creed, it was wrong to grumble. Hollyhock did not want him. He lay down with his long tail on Hollyhock's frock, and his beautiful head pressed against Tocsin's neck. Tocsin was a magnificent bloodhound, and he was the greatest support and comfort to Curfew at the present crisis.

By-and-by Mr Lennox passed hurriedly through the hall. He was going into his special library to get some books. He saw the melancholy figure of Hollyhock seated not far from the great fire, and the faithful dogs lying at her feet. He said in his most cheerful tone, 'Hallo, my little girl! you and the dogs do make a pretty picture; but why don't you play the organ or sing something at the piano?'

'You know, daddy, I have no real love for music,' said Hollyhock in a cross voice.

'Well, well, then, take a book, my child. Here 's a nice story I can recommend you —Treasure Island, by Louis Stevenson.'

'I hate reading,' she said.

'Well, I'm afraid I can't help you, dear. I'm frightfully busy, and shall not get to bed until past midnight. Taking up this new work means a great deal, and you know, my Flower Girl, your Dumpy Dad, as you like to call him, is the very last person in the world to do a thing by halves. If I have to sit up till morning, I must do so in order to be prepared for Dundree and Lord Ian to-morrow. Perhaps, dear, you had best kiss me and say good-night.'

'Daddy – daddy – I 'm so – miserable!'

'Sorry, my child; but I can't see why you should be. You have all the comforts that love and sympathy can bestow upon you.'

'No, no; I am alone,' half sobbed Hollyhock.

'Don't get hysterical, my child. That is really very bad for you; but, anyhow, I 've no time to waste now over a little girl who is surrounded by blessings.'

'If Daddy Dumps goes on much longer in that strain I shall absolutely begin to hate him,' thought the furious child. 'The bare idea of his thinking of talking to me as he has done. – No, Curfew, don't! Put your cold nose away.'

Curfew heaved another heavy sigh and lay closer to Tocsin, and with a smaller portion of his tail on Hollyhock's dress.

Now the olden custom at The Garden and The Paddock – that lovely custom which had suddenly ceased – was music, dancing, games, fun, shrieks of laughter from Precious Stones and Flower Girls, the hearty peal of a man's voice when he was thoroughly enjoying himself, the gentle, restrained merriment of a lady. This lady was Mrs Constable, who was now going to be a kindergarten teacher, forsooth! And this man was Dumpy Dad, who was going to be an agent, indeed! No wonder the girl and the dogs felt lonely. The end of the happy evenings had arrived. One evening used to be spent at The Garden, the next at The Paddock; and then the delightful good-byes, the cheerful talk about the early meeting on the morrow, and if it was the evening for The Paddock, the lively and merry walk home with Daddy Dumps and the other Flower Girls.

Oh, how things were changed! What an unbearable woman Aunt Agnes was! What a horror was Mrs Macintyre! Had not those two between them simply swept four of the Flower Girls out of sight, and all the Precious Stones; and, in addition, had not Dumpy Dad and Aunt Cecilia undertaken some kind of menial work with regard to Dundree and Ardshiel? It was solely and entirely because of Ardshiel that Dumpy Dad was going to be an agent. It was entirely on account of Ardshiel that Aunt Cecilia was going to stoop to be a sort of nursery-governess. Well and cleverly had those wicked women, Aunt Agnes and Mrs Macintyre, laid their plans. 'But the plans o' the de'il never prosper,' thought Hollyhock. 'They'll come to their senses yet; but meanwhile what am I to do? How ever am I to stand this awful loneliness?' Hollyhock was not a specially clever child. She was passionate, fierce, and loving; but she was also rebellious and very determined. There was a great deal in her which might make her a fine woman by-and-by; but, on the other hand, there was much in her which showed that she could be, and might be, utterly ruined.

Suddenly a wild and naughty idea entered her brain. Nothing, not all the coaxing, not all the petting, not all the language in all the world, would get her to go to Ardshiel as a pupil; but might she not go there now, and peep in at the windows and see for herself what was going on, what awful process was transforming the Flower Girls and the Precious Stones into other and different beings?

Her father had said good-night to her, but it was still quite early – between eight and nine o'clock. The Ardshielites, those wicked ones, would still be up. She would have time to go there, to look in and see for herself what was going on.

She was the sort of girl who did nothing by halves. The servants had no occasion to come into the hall again that night. Ah yes, here was Duncan; she had better say something to him in order to lull his suspicions.

The old man came in and began to close the shutters. 'Don't ye sit up ower long, Miss Hollyhock. Ye must be feelin' a bit dowy without the ithers, bless them.'

'No, I don't, Duncan,' replied Hollyhock. 'But, all the same, I 'd best go to bed, I expect.'

'Weel, that 's exactly what I 'm thinkin',' said the old man. 'Ye 'll gang to your rest and have a fine sleep. That's what a body wants when she's eaten up wi' loneliness. I ken fine that ye are missin' the ithers, lassie.'

'I'm not missing them a bit,' replied Hollyhock. 'As if I could miss traitors.'

'Come, come, noo; don't be talkin' that way.' Here Duncan shut the great shutters with a bang. 'Why should a young maid talk so ignorant? Ye 'll be a' richt yet, lassie; but there, ye 're lonesome, my bonnie dearie.'

'Suppose, now, you had been me, Duncan, what would you have done?' said Hollyhock suddenly.

'Why, gone to Ardshiel, of course.'

'Duncan, I hate you. You 're another traitor.'

'No, I'm no,' said Duncan; 'but I ken what's richt, and I ken what's wrang, and when a little lass chooses betwixt and between, why, I says to myself, says I, "Halt a wee, and the cantie lass'll come round," says I. Shall I take the dogs or no, Miss Hollyhock?'

'Yes, take them; I don't want them,' said Hollyhock.

'The poor maister, he's that loaded wi' work. – Come away, doggies; come away. – Guid-nicht to ye, missie; guid-nicht. Bed's the richt place for ye. I 'm sorry that Magsie 's no here to cuddle ye a bit.'

'Thanks; I'm glad she's gone. I hate her,' said Hollyhock.

'Ay,' said the old man, coming close to the child and looking into her eyes. 'Isn't it a wee bit o' the de'il ye hae in ye the nicht, wi' your talkin' o' hatin' them that luves ye! – Come, doggies; come. My poor beasties, ye 'll want your rest; and there's no place like bed for missie hersel'.'

'You 'd best go to your own bed, too, Duncan,' called Hollyhock after him. 'You are a very impertinent old man, and getting past your work.'

'Past my work, am I, now? Aweel, ye 'll see! Guid-nicht, miss. I bear no malice, although I pity the poor maister.'

Duncan departed, taking the greyhound and the bloodhound with him. As soon as she was quite sure that he had gone, and silence, deep and complete, had fallen on the house, Hollyhock took down an old cloak from where it hung in a certain part of the hall, and wrapping it firmly round her shoulders, went out into the night. It was better out of doors – less suffocating, less lonely – and the girl's terribly low spirits began to rise. She was in for an adventure, and what Scots lassie did not love an adventure?

So she crept stealthily down the avenue, slipped through the smaller of the gates, and presently found herself on the highroad. It was still comparatively early, and certainly neither Lennox nor old Duncan missed her. Duncan thought she was in bed; Lennox was too absorbed in his heavy work to give his naughty little girl a thought. She had chosen to stay behind. It was very troublesome and awkward of her, but he was confident that her rebellious spirit would not last long. Accordingly Hollyhock went the short distance which divided Ardshiel from The Garden, entered by the great iron gates, and walked up the stately avenue toward the beautiful mansion, where her own sisters were traitorously and wickedly enjoying themselves.

'But let them wait until lessons begin,' thought Hollyhock; 'let them wait until that woman puts the birch on to them; then perhaps they 'll see who's right – I, the faithful, noble girl, who would not desert her father, or they, who have just gone off to Ardshiel for a bit of excitement.'

Ardshiel really looked remarkably pretty as Hollyhock drew near. It was illuminated by electric light from attic to cellar, and there was such a buzz of young voices, such an eager amount of talk, such peals of happy, childish laughter, that Hollyhock was led thereby in the right direction, and could peep into a very large room which was arranged as a vast playroom on the ground floor, and where all the children at present at Ardshiel were clustered together.

Hollyhock, wearing her dark cloak, looked in. The blinds had not yet been pulled down, and one window was partly open. She therefore saw a sight which caused her heart to ache with furious jealousy. Her own sister Jasmine was talking to a girl whom she addressed as Barbara. Her own sister Rose of the Garden was chatting bravely with a girl whom she addressed as Augusta. Hollyhock could not help observing that both Barbara and Augusta were particularly nice-looking girls, with fair English faces and refined English voices. All the children were dressed for the evening.

'So affected at a school,' thought Hollyhock; 'but the birch-rod woman will be on them soon, if I 'm not mistaken.'

There was, however, a boy present who specially drew her attention and even forced her admiration. He was a remarkably handsome boy, and his name was Ivor. What his surname was Hollyhock could not guess. She only knew that she had never seen such beautiful blue eyes before; and such a manner, too, he had – almost like a man. Why, Jasper, Garnet, Sapphire, Opal, and Emerald could not touch him even for a moment – that is, as far as appearance and ways went.

While she gazed in at the window, who should come up to this boy but her own sister Gentian! She took the boy by the arm and said, 'Now let's sit in a circle and think out our charade for Monday night.'

Ivor gave a smile. He looked with admiration at Gentian, whom Hollyhock always considered very plain. Instantly chairs were drawn into a circle, and an excited conversation began.

The birch-rod woman was a long time in appearing! Hollyhock's black eyes were fixed on the blue eyes of Ivor. It would certainly not be unpleasant to talk to a boy of that sort; but he seemed quite devoted to Gentian – poor, plain, little Gentian – while she, Hollyhock, the beauty of the family, was standing out in the cold; and it was cold on that September night, with a touch of frost just breathing through the air. Hollyhock felt herself shiver; then, all of a sudden, her patience gave way. Those children should not be so happy, while she was so wretched. She got behind the window where no one could see her, and shouted in a loud, cracked voice, which she assumed for the purpose, 'Oh! the ghost! the ghost!'

She then rushed down the avenue, fearing to be caught and discovered. She ran so fast that her long cloak tripped her, and she suddenly fell and cut her lip. When she came to herself she had to wipe some stains of blood away from her injured lip with her handkerchief.

She just reached the lodge gates in time to shout once again, 'The ghost! the ghost!' when the woman who lived in the lodge came out, prepared to lock up for the night.

'Who may you be?' said the woman.

'I'm the ghost. Let me through!' screamed Hollyhock.

And she really looked so frightful, with her big black eyes, and blood-stained face, and streaming lip, that the woman, who was a stranger, and did not know her, called out, 'Get ye gone at once or I'll set the dogs on you. The shortest road ye can go'll be the best. Ye 're not a ghost, but a poor cracked body.'

Hollyhock was sincerely glad to find herself once again on the highroad, but in some mysterious way her dislike for Ardshiel had vanished, and she felt furiously angry with Ivor Chetwode for daring to take notice of her plain sister, Gentian.

She got into the house without much difficulty, bathed her swollen lip, and retired to bed to think of Ivor's blue eyes. What a nice boy he must be! – a real bonnie lad, one worth talking to. Why should a girl be a dunce all her days, when there was such a laddie at Ardshiel? Ah, well, she would know more about Master Ivor before long.

She slept soundly, and forgot the troubles of her miserable day. In her dreams she thought of the Precious Stones and Ivor, and imagined them all fighting hard to gain the goodwill of Gentian, who was a freckled little girl, not to be named with her, Hollyhock. If that was the sort of thing that went on at Ardshiel, and the birch-woman did not appear, it must be rather a nice place, when all was said and done.

CHAPTER IX.

THE WOMAN WHO INTERFERED

There is nothing in its way more difficult than to start a new school; and Mrs Macintyre, with all her vast experience – for she had been mistress of more than one of the celebrated houses at Cheltenham College in the time of the great and noble Miss Beale, and had in fact, until her marriage, been a teacher – knew well what special difficulties she had before her, more particularly in a mixed school. There was no reason, however, why such schools should not exist, and do well. But she knew they had a fight before them, and that conflict lay in her path. She did not, however, know that this conflict was to take place so soon.

Mrs Macintyre was a good deal surprised by what followed Hollyhock's stolen visit to Ardshiel. The children – boys and girls alike – were now hard at work at their daily tasks. The first day passed splendidly. The Precious Stones became extremely great friends with Roger Carden, Ivor Chetwode, and Henry Anstel. There were also some other boys whose parents were negotiating to send their sons to Mrs Macintyre, for the fame of her school and the beauty of its surroundings were much talked of, and the idea of a mixed school highly pleased some people, while it equally annoyed others.

It was on the first Saturday morning, when the Precious Stones and the Flower Girls were to return home, that Mrs Macintyre was informed by one of her servants (Magsie, no less) that a lady, a Mrs Maclure, had called, and was waiting to see her in the white drawing-room. Mrs Macintyre's husband had been Scots, and she herself was Scots. She therefore knew many of the Edinburgh people, and had drawn upon this knowledge in getting pupils for her school. She wondered if Mrs Maclure was a certain Jane Scott whom she knew in her youth, and who had married a Dr Maclure. She felt not a little surprise at this visit at so early and important an hour.

'The leddy kens ye are busy, but will not keep you long,' said Magsie, who was struggling in vain to acquire an English accent.

'I will be with her immediately,' said Mrs Macintyre, and Magsie tripped away, her eyes very bright. She was enjoying herself immensely. As a matter of fact she had never known real life before.

Mrs Macintyre went at once into the drawing-room, having given different orders to her teachers to proceed with their work, and promising to be with them again before long. The moment she entered the drawing-room she gave a little gasp of pleasure.

'Why, Jane, is it indeed you?' she could not help remarking.

'Ah, yes, Elsie, it's no other.'

'Well, sit down, Jane, won't you?'

'I suppose I 've come at an inconvenient time, Elsie?'

'Well, I do happen to be busy.'

I can't help that, my dear,' said Mrs Maclure. 'The business that hurries me to your side is too urgent and important to brook a moment's delay.'

'Dear me, what can be wrong?' said Mrs Macintyre.

'I'm told that you keep a mixed school.'

'Yes, I do. I have a few small boys here.'

'Shocking!' said Mrs Maclure.

'What do you mean, Jane? Why shouldn't the boys be here?'

'This is a costly place,' said Mrs Maclure, looking round her. 'The laying out of it must have cost a deal of money.'

'It did; but generous friends helped, and the Duke was not stingy with his purse.'

'I don't want to know any of the financial particulars,' continued Mrs Maclure. 'But tell me one thing, Elsie. Do you want your school to pay?'

'Of course I do.'

'Ah, I thought as much. Now, I 'll tell you what it is, Elsie. I have come here with a scheme, and if you see your way to carry it out, why, the school will pay, and pay again and again; but there must be no mixing in it. I mean by that, the eggs must be in one basket and the butter in another.'

'You puzzle me very much, Jane.'

'Well, I was always outspoken, my dear, and I heard of your trials, and your noble courage, and the fact that you 'd got hold of one of the bonniest bits of land in the whole of Scotland. Why, Ardshiel could be full over and over again if it wasn't mixed. But mixed it must not be.'

'I 'm very sorry to displease you, Jane,' said Mrs Macintyre; 'but the thing cannot be altered now. I have, after all, at the present moment only got eight boys in my school, although others will probably arrive. I cannot turn those dear little fellows out.'

'Well, then, the girls must go.'

'No; I mean to keep my girls.'

'Elsie, you were always obstinacy personified. You've got a good school in a lovely spot, within easy reach of Glasgow and Edinburgh, and also capable of receiving children from different parts of England. The establishment is in working order. Now pray tell me how many you have got in the school?'

Mrs Macintyre said, 'Reckoning the boys first, I have got eight, as I said; but I have had letters this morning from several parents who wish to send their sons to my school.'

'Well, we 'll say eight boys,' said Mrs Maclure. 'I suppose they are quite babies?'

'Not at all. Jasper is fifteen. He is the eldest boy in the school, but will only stay for a year, as he has been very well taught by his gifted mother and by Mr Lennox, the father of my sweet little Flower Girls, as I call them.'

'Elsie, you are becoming sadly romantic. It runs in the blood. You must be careful. Fancy a big boy of fifteen in a girls' school.'

'He's a gentleman and my right hand,' said Mrs Macintyre.

'That has nothing whatsoever to do with it. He's fifteen, and ought to be in a public school.'

'He wants a year's training before he can go to Eton. He is a singularly gifted lad, and is the life of the house.'

'He must be the life of some other house. Now, then, for the girls. How many of them have you got?'

'To begin with, I've got Lucy, Margaret, Rose, and Dorothy Lennox; their father is the Honourable George Lennox, who lives in a house called The Garden close by.'

'Well, go on. I suppose you have more girls than that. That makes four. Now proceed with the rest.'

'Well, there's Lady Leucha Villiers.'

'You don't say so!'

'I do, my friend. Her mother, the Countess of Crossways, has entrusted her to my care.'

'You amaze me!'

'Perhaps I shall amaze you further. I have also got the Ladies Barbara and Dorothy Fraser, daughters of the Marquis of Killin.'

'You astound me!'

'Then I have the Honourable Daisy Watson. In addition I have Miss Augusta Fane, Miss Agnes Featherstonhaugh' —

'Good name that,' muttered Mrs Maclure.

'Miss Margaret Drummond.'

'I know them well – Scots to the backbone,' said Mrs Maclure.

'Miss Mary Barton,' continued Mrs Macintyre, 'Miss Nancy Greenfield, Miss Isabella Macneale, Miss Jane Calvert.'

'Now let 's count how many you have got in the school,' said Mrs Maclure. 'Everything sounds well, but the boys will ruin the whole affair.'

'Oh, nonsense, Jane. If only you were not so narrow-minded.'

'I know the world, my dear friend, and I don't want the best school in Scotland to be spoiled for the lack of a little care – care bestowed upon it at the right moment. Your girls, counting the Lennoxes, make fifteen. Altogether in the school you have therefore twenty-three children. How many teachers, pray?'