Dumps – A Plain Girl

I had only thirty shillings out of my ten pounds when I returned home that afternoon, having provided presents for every one except myself; and in addition I presented an exceedingly expensive, huge box of chocolates each to Rita and Agnes Swan. They called me their best darling, and said that each moment my appearance was improving, until at last their remarks made me so angry that I said, “If you say that again I will never speak to you or give you sixpence-worth of chocolates as long as I live!”

Upon this threat the two girls were silent, until at last Rita remarked, “Well, whatever happens, she will always pass in a crowd.”

“What does that mean?” I said.

“It means that whatever you put on, you will never be anything but a most ordinary-looking person. Now, does that content you?”

“Better than flattering words which are false,” I said stoutly.

They had conducted me home. I was dead-tired and very hungry. My hands were full of parcels. I rushed impetuously into the house. It was time for lunch; the morning had flown with marvellous swiftness. Nay, more; I was late for lunch. Father was standing alone in the dining-room. Marriage had wrought very little perceptible alteration in him. It is true he always now wore a perfectly clean collar, and his coats were always well brushed, but each one seemed to hang upon him in just its old, loose, aggravating fashion, being worn very high up on the nape of the neck, which gave his back a sort of bowed appearance; and his collars, however neat when he put them on in the morning, managed to get finely rumpled before school-hours were over. This was from a habit he had of clutching his collar fiercely when in the heat of argument. There was no laundress in the whole of London who could have made collars stiff enough to withstand father’s clutch. But even Mrs Grant could not persuade him to put on a clean one to go back to afternoon school, nor could she get him to visit the barber as often as she wished. Therefore, on the whole, father looked much as he had always done. But perhaps he would not have been respected or loved as he was loved and respected if even his outward appearance had been changed. He was in a deep brown study now. He hardly saw me as I rushed into the room. I went up to him and took both his hands, and said, “Thank you – thank you so much!”

“What in the world are you thanking me about, Dumps?” he said.

He seemed to wake with a start.

“Where have you been? What is the matter? Don’t litter the place, please; your step-mother doesn’t like it.”

He observed the brown-paper parcels.

“They’re presents,” I said. “Don’t speak about them.”

He raised his hand wearily to his brow.

“I am not likely to,” he said. “Things wrapped up in brown-paper do not interest me.”

“Oh father! they interest most people. But you must – you really must – rouse yourself for a minute or two, for I have to thank you so greatly, darling father.”

“What for?” he muttered.

“The money – the money.”

“I am unaware, child, that I have given you any money.”

What could he mean? I felt a curious damp sensation round my spirits, which were quite high at the moment. Then I remembered that Mrs Grant had told me that I was not to worry father on the subject.

“She said,” I continued, with great eagerness, “that you were not to be worried, but that you had arranged it. I am to have an allowance in future, and she gave me the first quarter’s allowance to-day – ten pounds.”

“Goodness!” said father. “What wilful waste! Ten pounds! Why, it would have bought – it would have bought that new – ”

He mentioned a volume which had a long Latin name.

I understood now – or thought I understood – why my step-mother had desired me to be silent on the subject of my allowance. Father shook himself. I was roused even to a show of anger.

“Well, at any rate,” I said, “it might buy you a book, but it can buy other things as well. I was given the money to-day —your money – and I must thank you; only please in future make it a little more, for I cannot buy dresses with it; it isn’t enough.”

He stared at me wildly, and just at that moment my step-mother came in.

“Grace,” said my father, turning to her, “this child seems to be in a sad muddle. She has been endeavouring to confuse me, which is exceedingly wrong of her. I trust that in future you will permit yourself, my dear, the extreme privilege of repressing Dumps.”

“Oh, oh!” I said.

“Yes,” continued father, “of repressing her. – You are, Dumps, too exuberant, too unmannerly, too impulsive. – Keep her, my dear, from bringing unsightly objects of that sort into my presence.”

He pointed to my darling brown-paper parcels.

“And above all things, dear Grace, tell her not to thank me for what I have not done. She has been murmuring the most absurd rubbish into my ears, talking about a dress allowance. A dress allowance, indeed! Does she need money to spend on her outward adornment? Tell her to learn that hymn of Watts’s, ‘Why should our garments, made to hide’ – She had better learn that. Let her learn once for all that, —

“Be she dressed fine as she will,Flies, worms, and moths exceed her still.

“In short, Grace, suppress the child, and tell her not to utter falsehoods in my presence.”

He went out; his wife followed him into the hall. She came back in a few minutes, and her cheeks were redder than was quite becoming.

“Now, Dumps dear,” she said, “I told you not to speak of your dress allowance to your father.”

“Then he never gave it to me?”

“Well, dear, not exactly. I mean that he did not give it to you in so many words; nevertheless, it is my place to see to these things.”

“But was the ten pounds father’s?” I asked stoutly.

“What is his is mine, and what is mine is his,” she replied.

“Please, step-mother,” I said imploringly, “answer me just for once. Did you give me that money, or did my father?”

“My dear child, will you not understand once and for all that it is my aim and wish to do what I can to make you happy? If you go on trying me, Rachel, as you have been doing lately, you will make me a very unhappy woman.”

She paused; then she said, “Never up to the present moment have I known what real, true unhappiness is. I, Grace Donnithorne, given by nature so cheerful a heart, and, I think, so brave a spirit, and, I believe, the power of looking at things on the bright side – I unhappy!”

She moved away; she stood by the fire. I saw tears starting to her bright, kindly, merry eyes; one rolled down her cheek. I went up to her and took her hand.

“I have not been trying,” I said – “I will confess it – I have not been trying to think kindly of you.”

“I know it, Dumps,” she said gravely, and she looked round at me.

“And I have been advising the boys not to show you any affection.”

“I know it, Dumps,” she said again.

“And – and I returned those clothes that you gave me when I was at Hedgerow House.”

“You did. Why did you do it?”

“If, perhaps,” I said slowly – “I don’t know, but perhaps if you had told me the truth then, that you were not being so awfully kind just because I was a lonely little girl, but because you were going to marry my father, I might have stood it better, and I might have acted differently; but you deceived me. I thought you were a very kind, middle-aged, rather fat lady, and I liked you just awfully; but when you deceived me – ”

“Don’t say any more,” she remarked hastily. “It was not my wish – I felt all along that – ”

But then, with a great effort, she resumed her usual manner.

“I see I have not won you yet,” she said. “But we must go on being friends outwardly, and perhaps– you have been confirmed, have you not?”

“Yes,” I said, somewhat startled.

“Then perhaps when we kneel together at the Great Festival, the feast of all feasts, your heart may be softened, and you may see that in all the world no one means more kindly to you than the one whom you used to know as Grace Donnithorne.”

“Oh, if you wouldn’t be quite so amiable I think I could love you better,” I said, and then I really hated myself.

“It will come, dear,” she said in a patient tone. “And now, just tell me what you bought. If your father isn’t interested in brown-paper parcels, I am.”

“They’re presents,” I said shortly.

“Those delightful things on the sofa are presents? You have spent a little of your money on presents? Rather extravagant of you, but I’m not going to scold.”

“That sounded such a lot of money,” I said, “but it didn’t turn out so much.”

“What do you mean, dear? It is a very substantial sum for a young schoolgirl of your age. I am sorry you did not take me with you to spend it; but you seemed so anxious to go alone, and I thought until Christmas was over – ”

“What is going to happen when Christmas is over?” I said.

“I will tell you when the time comes.”

“But please tell me now, step-mother – ”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me by that name.”

“Well, I can’t call you Mrs Grant; and you are my step-mother, you know.”

“It doesn’t matter – call me anything you like, dear.”

I wished she was not quite so accommodating; but while I looked at her I saw there was a change in her face: there was a purpose in it, a firmness, a sort of upper-hand look as though she did not mean that I, Dumps, should have my own way about everything. She asked me what I had bought for myself, and I said nothing particular, except a few ribbons and things like that.

“They ought to be bought last of all,” she said, “but of course you don’t quite understand this time.”

“Oh!” I said.

“You want a quiet, plain dress; let me recommend you to get it the first thing to-morrow morning. Peter Robinson has some very nice dresses for young girls; and Evans, just a little farther down Oxford Street, has perhaps even smarter costumes. You ought to get a very nice dress for about four guineas. It would be wrong to spend more. A warm coat and a nice short skirt would be the thing. Shall we go to-morrow morning to Evans’s?”

“No, thank you,” I replied.

“But, my dear child, you want a dress. Well, perhaps you will get one of the girls to go with you.”

“I would rather,” I replied. I gathered up all my parcels in my arms and prepared to leave the room.

“Just as you like, dear; but remember we go on the 24th to Hedgerow House.”

“On the 24th; yes, step-mother, thank you.”

I went upstairs.

Part 2, Chapter III

Christmas in the Country

After all, Christmas Eve was jolly. You may cherish a feud against the most innocent and good-natured person in the world with all your might and main; but unless you are specially wicked you cannot bring it into prominence when every one else around you is in the best of good spirits.

It was altogether a very merry party which started off by train from Liverpool Street en route for Hedgerow House. We seemed to have left cares of every sort behind us. The boys were absolutely unruly in their mirth. As to father, he elected to go in a smoking carriage. This was a very keen disappointment to Augusta. I saw her start from her seat as though she would accompany him; but not being invited – indeed, the Professor did not even see her – she sank back again and solaced herself by eating chocolates and reading a German book the whole way down.

“Don’t you ever want to watch the scenery?” said Von Marlo in his slow Dutch fashion.

“Yes, when it is worth looking at,” she responded. She glanced at him. “You are a foreigner?”

“Yes, a Dutchman.”

“I don’t approve of Dutchmen.”

She lapsed back into her German. Von Marlo thought it well to change his seat. He came nearer to me.

Oh, I forgot to say that Hannah was also of the party. Now, she had not wished to come; she had objected very strongly; but my step-mother, there was no doubt, was beginning to win Hannah over. Hannah came to my room that very morning when I was dressing to go, and said, “Miss Dumps, I do hope you won’t take it amiss, but – ”

“Why, what is it, Hannah?” I asked.

“Well, I’m going too.”

“I’m very glad,” I said.

“’Tain’t that I like her a bit better than I did,” said Hannah – “not a bit. She’s a step-mother, and what’s a step-mother but a sort of person who is in league against the children of the first wife? I’ve sworn to be a friend to the first wife’s children. Didn’t the poor lady come to visit me in a dream the very night I heard of your pa’s marriage, and didn’t I promise that I’d never leave you? And didn’t she come again last night in another dream and tell me to go down to Hedgerow House – not for my own enjoyment, but to be close to you, Miss Dumps, and the two dear boys? So I’m going. Those new servants can look after this place. ’Tain’t what it was.”

“Indeed it isn’t, Hannah. I am very glad you are going with us. And to be honest, Hannah, isn’t it now, frankly, very much nicer than it was?”

“Not to my way of thinking,” said Hannah. “The house now is at that work what I ’ates.”

“The house?” I said. “What is the poor house doing?”

“Pushing out old memories; that’s what this ’ere house is busy over. Every room that gets decked up new is pushing out the old memories – the memories of the time when that poor, dear shadow walked from room to room trying to get a glimpse of sunshine. She’ll soon be gone, poor dear! That’s what I call the behaviour of the house, so don’t ask me if I like it better, for I don’t, and that’s flat.”

Had I been at all wise I should have talked sensibly to Hannah; but in my heart of hearts, although knowing that she spoke the most absolute nonsense, I could not help partly agreeing with her.

The very last thing I did before leaving was to take mother’s miniature and stuff it into the bottom of the little old horse-hair trunk which had been unearthed from a distant garret for me. Nothing would induce me to take my step-mother’s new trunk on this special journey. I was not too well dressed, either, for I could not possibly buy the smart, warm costume which my step-mother had set her heart on, and up to the present I had given her no reason for this. But then I had endless ribbons – sky-blue, pink, mauve, even green; and I had quantities of chiffon bows and chiffon ties, and good gloves and good stockings, and lovely handkerchiefs. I felt that I would pass muster, and turned a deaf ear when Mrs Grant came somewhat anxiously to my room to know if I did not want a corner of her trunk for some of my prettiest dresses. I told her that the horse-hair trunk held all I required, and she went away.

Well, at last we got off, and we were in the train. Good-bye, dull care! This was Christmas-time – the time of presents, of fun and hilarity. I had taken good care to bring all my Christmas-boxes with me.

When we arrived at Chelmsford Station there was a great wagonette waiting for us, drawn by a pair of brown horses. My step-mother immediately took the reins. We all scrambled in; father was huddled in one corner occupied with his Greek Testament. When he had nothing else to do he always read his Greek Testament.

Augusta pushed herself into the seat exactly opposite to him; she bent forward and stared fixedly into his face; but he never once looked at her. I am certain he did not see her. Occasionally she said “Oh!” in quite an audible tone. I felt that Augusta would be quite enough to keep any one from perfect bliss if she went on in such an idiotic fashion.

“What is she doing?” whispered Charley to me.

“Oh, let her alone,” I said; “she is worshipping him.”

“Worshipping him?” he cried.

“Yes; don’t you know?”

“I’ll prick her with a pin,” he said.

“Oh, you mustn’t – you really mustn’t! Do let her alone, poor thing! You see, she sees a kind of glory round father which we don’t.”

“My word, I should think not!” said Charley. “Poor, dear old Professor! Of course, he’s a jolly old dad and all that sort of thing, but – ” Charley gave a low whistle.

Augusta’s voice was now heard.

“You were reading that passage aloud; I heard it,” she said. “Would you greatly mind raising your voice a little?”

The Professor lowered his book.

“Eh?” he said.

Then he dropped his glasses. They were pince-nez, and as he dropped them one of the glasses fell out. The wagonette had to be stopped, and we had all to search for the missing glass; and so Augusta’s question was never answered, for when the glass was found it was slipped into its case, and father readjusted his pince-nez on his nose, and went on reading as though nothing had happened.

Augusta looked round at me.

“It would have been such a valuable help,” she said, “and so very little extra exertion to him.”

“Oh, don’t talk to him while he’s reading,” I said. “I’ll get you a chance if you’re good; but do just make an effort to keep your feelings to yourself.”

We had now reached the house, and we all tumbled out of the wagonette. I do think there is no other way of describing the manner in which we left that vehicle. Mrs Grant immediately assumed the manners of hostess. She gave directions to the groom who had brought the carriage, flung him the reins, and then spoke to a man who was waiting. This man disposed of what luggage had been brought in the carriage; the rest was to follow in a cart. Then we entered the house.

Its smallness, its bewitching appearance, the little drawing-room with the stuffed birds and stuffed animals, the dear little dining-room, the pretty bedrooms upstairs, were invaded as though by a horde of ants. Nancy was curtsying and bobbing at the hall door. She welcomed me as though I were a very dear friend, and personally took me up herself to the identical room where I had slept before. It was just as sweet and fresh and fragrant, and the brightest of fires burned in the grate; but there was an extra bed in one corner, which in itself was disconcerting.

Then Augusta appeared and flung down an ugly leather valise, which she had brought her clothes in, on the snowy white counterpane, and said, with a sigh, “Oh, wonderful – wonderful! Marvellous beyond words to express! I am here! I am here!”

“Augusta,” I said stoutly, “if you go on in that fashion you’ll be a raving lunatic before Christmas Day is over. Now pull yourself together and be sensible. You’ll never get father to talk to you if you keep on staring at him and interrupting him. We are going to have a jolly time, and to forget heroics and ‘high strikes’ and all the rest. Oh, there’s the luncheon-bell, and I’m ever so hungry!”

That was a very happy evening notwithstanding the fact that the Miss Grace Donnithorne of less than a couple of months ago was now Mrs Grant and our step-mother. In her own house, surrounded by her own things, she was more difficult than ever to resist. Indeed, I think no one tried to do so, for she was the very soul of tact, and managed to make us all feel that we were her guests, and as guests ought to be particularly nice. Alex said to me, “She is quite charming! She is good! She is a dear! I’m beginning to love her. I don’t care what you say to the contrary.”

“I like her for herself,” I said.

“Then for goodness’ sake prove it, Dumps, and don’t wear that horridly starched, proper face. It’s enough to drive any one cracked even to look at you. You were always plain, but now that you are both plain and affected, you will be too offensive to live with before long.”

“Thank you,” I answered. “I never did come to my family for compliments, and I certainly am not getting them.”

“You won’t get them from me, or from Charley, or from Von Marlo while you behave like that. Why, I declare I’d rather be that poor, demented Augusta Moore than go on as you are doing.”

“But what am I doing?” I asked. “What do you mean? I’m doing nothing.”

“Nothing, Dumps? Be truthful with yourself. Try and get over that horrid feeling, and let us be really happy this Christmas.”

“But there was our mother – ”

“She wasn’t with us last Christmas, was she?”

“She was in spirit.”

“Well, if she was with us in spirit last Christmas – when we were so jolly miserable, and I had that bad influenza, and Charley sprained his foot, and we had hardly any Christmas dinner and no Christmas-boxes at all except the things we managed to make with the old carpenter’s tools, and when father forgot to come home till the evening, and you began to cry and said that he had been run over by an omnibus – if mother was with us in spirit when we were all really wretched, don’t you think she will be twenty times more in spirit with us now when we are all jolly and good and good-humoured? If our mother is an angel in heaven – and I suppose you believe she is – she must be blessing that sweet woman Grace Donnithorne, as you used to call her, every moment of the time. Oh, there! I needn’t say any more. I’ll let Von Marlo have a talk with you.”

“But he sha’n’t – I won’t be talked to,” I said.

I rushed away up to my own room. In spite of myself, my feelings were arrested by Alex’s words. For a moment I knelt down and said to God, “Please let me feel kindly towards my step-mother; please let me have a really nice Christmas Day.”

After that it was wonderful how my spirits were soothed and how much happier I felt. Christmas Eve ended in fun and games and all sorts of preparations for the merriest Christmas which was to follow, and we all went to bed in high good-humour.

Part 2, Chapter IV

Christmas Day

My presents were much appreciated, although it is true that father looked somewhat dubiously at his inkpot. He asked me how it was opened. I described the exact method by which he was to press the spring, and he remarked then that it would take time.

“But,” I said, “you see there is a kind of sponge with a leather cover to it, which presses down into the bottle and prevents every scrap of air from getting in, so that the ink keeps much longer.”

“Yes; but the period it takes from one’s existence!” remarked father. Then he glanced at me. “Never mind,” he said; “you meant well. I am always willing to admit it when any one means well.”

Now, I had actually spent a pound of my money on this inkstand of father’s – one-tenth of my quarter’s allowance – and all the praise I got was that I meant well.

Von Marlo came up to me and said, “It is a most wonderful and cleverly constructed inkstand. I tell you what – whenever I come over to your house I’ll see that it’s dusted and kept in order. I’ll look after it myself. I think it’s quite lovely.”

I had given Von Marlo a nice little tablet for notes, which he professed to be delighted with; and I had given my step-mother a new sort of diary with a lock and key. There was no one whom I had forgotten. Even Augusta was in raptures with the very driest book on mathematics that I could pick up. She said that for once she believed I was a thoroughly sensible girl.

Then there were the gifts from the others to me. My step-mother gave me a lovely little narrow gold chain with a locket attached to it; and father, for the first time since I could remember, gave me a present simply as a present. It consisted of a row of very curious, sweet-scented beads, which were mounted now in gold, and could be worn either as a necklace or as a bracelet.

“But you have had these for ages,” I said.

“Yes; but my wife thought that they could be set very prettily for you,” he said.

I was delighted, and thanked him heartily. I had often coveted those blue beads, for they were a wonderful greenish blue, and in some lights looked quite opalescent.

The boys, too, gave me things very suitable and very useful. No one had forgotten me. Even Augusta gave me a pin-cushion stuck full of pins that I scratched myself with the first thing. That was very likely, for she had put them in so badly that several stuck out underneath, and I had inflicted a wound before I was aware of this fact.

But the presents, after all, were nothing compared to the festive air which pervaded the place.

We went to church, and we knelt before God’s altar, and joined in the great and glorious Festival of Divine Love.

After church we were all to go to the Aldyces’ for dinner. This invitation had been vouchsafed to us on the occasion of my father’s marriage, and Mrs Grant said that it was quite impossible not to accept it.

“You will like Hermione,” I said to Augusta. I thought she would. I thought Hermione’s precise ways would rather please Augusta. The carriage, however, did not meet us at the church, for it was arranged that we were to go home first and have lunch at Hedgerow House, and then were to walk in a body the two miles which separated us from The Grange, Squire Aldyce’s beautiful old residence.