The Palace in the Garden

"We must ask her," I said; "any way, we must go and see her again to ask her. We must go to see her once, and we will tell her what grandpapa said."

"I think she is a fairy, and that she lives in Fairyland; and grandpapa didn't say we weren't to speak to fairies," said Gerald.

"Oh! how I wish Mr. Truro was here; we could ask him about it," I said.

"And there's another thing," said Tib: "we almost promised Mr. Truro we wouldn't say anything about the palace and all that to grandpapa just now – not till they came again. It's rather a muddle altogether, don't you think, Gussie?"

"I dare say she – we must get a name for her, Tib – "

"We'd better just call her Regina," Tib said. "She said it was her name."

"Well, I dare say Regina will tell us what she thinks we should do. Any way, as you say, we must go to see her once to tell her about it. I wonder what the bell was that rang, and made her rush off in such a hurry. That part of it was really very like a fairy story."

"If only she had left a slipper behind her, it would have been a little like Cinderella," I said; "though the deserted, quiet rooms, and that part of it, is more like the Sleeping Beauty."

"And the first day, when we were trying to get in at the door in the wall, was like one of the stories of dwarfs and gnomes in the woods, wasn't it?" said Tib. "We've really had a good many adventures at Rosebuds."

This conversation took place the morning after we had first seen Regina. We were in the schoolroom, waiting for Mr. Markham. It was a little past his usual time when he came in.

"I'm a little late, I fear," he said. "I had to go to the Rectory to settle about giving some holiday lessons to one of the boys there. It will be Whit-week holidays soon, you know."

We didn't care very much; Whit-week would make no difference to us. Indeed, Christmas itself we didn't look forward to in those days, as most children do. It brought no happy family meetings, no Christmas-trees, or merry blind-man's buff and snap-dragon to us. But we knew too little about these things in other homes to think about what we missed, and grandpapa always gave us a pound each to spend as we chose. And at Ansdell, the Christmases we happened to be there, the servants had a party, and we used to watch them from the gallery that runs round the big hall. But Whit-week we cared nothing about.

"We're not to have holidays, then, are we?" I asked.

"Oh, no; Mr. Ansdell has said nothing about it," Mr. Markham replied. "By the by, Miss Gussie, you don't know when he will be coming down again, do you?"

"No," I said. "It won't be next Saturday, and perhaps not the Saturday after."

"Ah well! I can write to him. I thought perhaps he would say something for me to the rector – you don't know the family at the Rectory, I think?"

"No," said Tib.

"It is curious," said Mr. Markham – he was rather talkative this morning; perhaps it had put him into an extra good humour to have the hope of some more pupils – "it is curious – I saw a young lady there this morning that I could really have thought was an elder sister of Miss Tib's – she was so very like her."

We were all ears and attention now.

"So like Tib?" said Gerald and I.

"So like me?" said Tib.

"Yes," repeated Mr. Markham, "exceedingly like."

He didn't add, as I have done, "only a great deal prettier." Perhaps it is because Tib is my own sister, and I'm always seeing her and know her face so well, that I don't think her as pretty as other people do – or rather, I don't think about it. When you love people dearly you don't think about whether they're pretty or not – even now with Reg – Oh! I am too stupid again.

"It is very funny," we said, in which Mr. Markham agreed. He was thinking, of course, that the likeness was curious; we were thinking of far more than that – of how strange it would be if our mysterious lady was staying at the Rectory. If so, how did she get into the saloon? – how did she know our names? – how did she know that we went there to play?

"Yes, I should like you to see it for yourselves. But you don't know the family there?"

"No," repeated Tib, rather sharply, "we don't. Grandpapa doesn't wish us to make any friends here."

"Oh, exactly – I beg your pardon," said poor Mr. Markham. Probably grandpapa had said something about it to our tutor himself, which for the moment he had forgotten, for he got rather red, poor young man, and began rather hurriedly to get the books ready. "We mustn't waste any more time," he said, and, as we were sorry to see him looking uncomfortable, we didn't remind him, as we might have done, that it was he, and not we, who had begun the conversation.

It was a little later than usual when we got out that afternoon. Nurse had kept us to try on some new frocks she was making for us, and we were very cross about it, I remember. But after all, it didn't matter. When we found ourselves at last in the saloon, and looked round eagerly, there was no one to greet us, but the smiling face of the portrait – the same which we had before thought so lovely, but which now seemed uninteresting and disappointing compared to the living, changing, half-mischievous, half-tender face, which already I really believe we had learnt to love.

"She'll be coming soon, I dare say," said Tib. "Let's sit down quietly, and think of all we want to ask her, in case she makes off in a hurry like yesterday," and we were turning towards the end of the room where stood all the old chairs and couches, when something on one of the marble consols caught our eyes. It was something lightly covered with a sheet of white tissue-paper, and lifting it up, there were three little nosegays of lovely flowers – delicate, brilliant hot-house flowers they were, and each nosegay lay on a book, and a card with writing on it was put so that it could be seen at once on the middle nosegay. The words on the card were these: —

"For Tib, Gussie, and Gerald. I am so sorry I cannot come to-day. The books are to amuse you instead, and I will come again the first day I can.

"R."

We were very disappointed. Still, it was very nice and funny to receive messages and presents in this mysterious way. The flowers were really beautiful, and the books were chosen as if she had known us all our lives. We knew at once which was for which, by the way they were lying on the table. Gerald's was about animals – stories, I mean – and Tib's was Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare, and mine was The Wonder Book.

We sat down and looked at our books, and scented our flowers – don't you think it's very ugly to talk of smelling flowers? we always say "scenting," though somebody laughs at us for it, and says it isn't the proper meaning of the word – and then we all three made ourselves very comfortable in different corners of the arm-chairs and couches, and read our new stories. And thus we spent the afternoon. It wasn't as long a one as usual, for we had come so late. But before we went away we got into a great puzzle about how to thank her for the books and flowers.

"It would be rude to go away and leave no message," said Tib. "And she doesn't say she'll come to-morrow, only 'The first day I can.' Perhaps she'll come in the morning, and look to see if we've taken the books."

But not one of us had a pencil or a scrap of paper in our pockets, though we turned them inside out. Gerald had a top and some nails, and an awful little pink and white grimy ball that he called his "handkercher"; and Tib had her garden gloves, and a rather clean handkerchief, and some red wool with a crochet needle stuck in it, as she was learning to crochet; and I had nothing at all. What was to be done?

"I know," I said; "you don't mind using your wool, do you, Tib? Well, look here, we'll write with it on the white marble," and I set to work, and very soon I had written the words, "Thank you, kind fairy," to which Gerald made me add, "Come soon," and our initials, "T" and two "G's." It really looked quite pretty, and one comfort was, there was no fear of any one spoiling it before Regina saw it.

And then we went home, but we left our new books in the conservatory, because we shouldn't have known what to say if nurse had asked us about them.

The next day, to our great vexation, something prevented our going at all – I forget what it was – oh no! I remember. It was that nurse took us to the little town where Mr. Markham came from, to get us spring hats. She had got grandpapa's leave to take us when he was at Rosebuds, and she hadn't told us – poor old Liddy! – because she thought it would be such a delightful surprise.

It would have been a great treat if we hadn't had our heads so full of Regina, and wanting to see her again. But we were not so unkind and selfish as not to look pleased when nurse told us about it.

"How are we to go to the station?" I asked, for nurse had said it was two stations off by train, and when she said we should walk to the station – it was quite fine, and if it hadn't been fine we would have had to wait for another day – we were very pleased.

"We can peep in at the Rectory garden as we pass," I said to Tib, "and perhaps we'll see the lady that's like you, whoever she is. I wonder if she is Regina?"

"So do I," said Tib; "I wonder about it altogether."

But though we stared in with all our eyes at the garden of the pretty house next the church, on our way to the station, there was nobody to be seen.

"That is the Rectory, isn't it, nurse?" Tib asked her.

"I suppose so, my dears," she replied, rather nervously. "But I couldn't say for certain, having been so little in the village."

She was always in such a fright, for fear of getting to know any one or anything in the village. It was rather stupid of her to show it so, for it only put all grandpapa's funny ways about it more into our heads, but we didn't like to tease her, so we said no more.

But on the way home we took another peep in at the Rectory gates. Nurse was a little way behind, loaded with parcels which she wouldn't let us help her to carry; and we ran on a little. It was easy to peep in without being seen, but what we saw added to our puzzle. A lady was walking up and down the avenue with a book in her hand which she was reading, and as she turned our way, we saw her face clearly.

"Tib," I whispered, "she's like you, and she's like Regina, too – only she's old. And, Tib, she's like grandpapa."

So she was. She had the same straight-up, rather proud way of holding herself as he has, dark hair, which was beginning to get grey, and those pretty blue eyes with the bright eager look which all the blue eyes among us have – yes, she was like them all– the portrait, too. And just as we were staring, there came a call from the house, and an old, quite old, lady came to a glass door which opened on to the terrace. I knew afterwards that this old lady was the clergyman's mother or his wife's mother, who lived with them, and they have all lived there a very long time.

"Regina, Queenie, my dear," the old lady called out, "tea is ready. Frances wants you to come in."

The lady turned quickly.

"I'm coming, Mrs. Leslie," she said, and then she walked quickly to the house.

"Regina, another Regina!" we exclaimed. "And Queenie: what a pretty name for a pet name! I wonder our Regina didn't tell us to call her 'Queenie.'"

For of course, as we had learned a little Latin, we knew that Regina meant "queen."

"We must ask her why she didn't," said Gerald.

You can fancy how we looked forward to the next afternoon, and how we hoped our pretty lady would be there.

It all went right for once. Nurse was more busy than usual about all the things she had bought for us at Welford, and very glad to get rid of us as soon as we had had our dinner. For, happily, she had no trying-on to do to-day.

"You may have a good long afternoon in the garden," she said. "I must say you're wonderful good children for amusing yourselves. There's never any tease-teasing, like with some I've known – 'What shall we do, nurse?' or, 'We've nothing to play at.' And you're getting very good, too, about never getting into mischief. You're much better, Miss Gussie, than you were last year at Ansdell: for it was you as was the ringleader."

"Yes," said I, not very much ashamed of the distinction. "Do you remember the day I took grandpapa's new railway rug to make a carpet to our tent, and left it out all night, and it rained and all the colour ran? And do you remember when I pushed Gerald into the pond to catch the little fishes, and how he stood shivering and crying?"

"Ah, yes, indeed," said nurse. "But speaking of ponds – the one at Ansdell was nothing; but those nasty pits or pools in the fields near by: you never go near them? Your grandpapa has a real fear of them, and he told me not to let you forget what he'd said."

"No fear," we all answered, "we never go near them. We promised him we wouldn't, nurse."

Then off we ran.

"Even if she isn't there, she's sure to have left some message for us, like the last time," said Gerald as we ran. "I wish she'd bring us some butter-scotch."

"Gerald!" exclaimed Tib and I, "what sort of ideas have you? Fairies and butter-scotch mixed in the same breath. I only hope," Tib went on, "that she won't think we're ungrateful for the books, or that we don't care for them, because we had to leave them in the conservatory."

"If only she's there, we can explain everything," said I.

And she was there.

Not waiting in the saloon this time, but running down the long passage to meet us as soon as she heard our steps, looking prettier, and merrier, and sweeter than ever. Dear Regina!

I have never minded her teasing since that first day, when I really didn't understand her. I shall never mind it again, I am sure.

She led us into the big drawing-room, where she had prepared another little surprise for us. She was as pleased about it as we were ourselves. It was more of Gerald's kind of treat this time – not butter-scotch, but fruit – grapes, and beautiful little Tangiers oranges, and little cakes and biscuits of ever so many kinds. They were so nice, and we ate such a lot of them, and Regina ate a good many herself.

"You see, though I am a fairy, I like nice things," she said.

"Do you have afternoon luncheon every day?" asked Gerald. "Oh, how I would like to be you."

"Isn't he a greedy boy?" I said; and then I told her about the butter-scotch, and somehow the butter-scotch led to our talking of grandpapa – you remember about Gerald wishing he'd bring us some – and then we all got rather grave, for we had a great deal to tell our new princess, and to ask her.

We sat together in a little group on one of the arm-chairs, and Regina listened to us very attentively. We told her all that grandpapa had said to us before we came to Rosebuds, and all about the book in the library in London, and how we wanted to love grandpapa better, as Mrs. Munt had told us we should, but that it was rather difficult. We told her all we had told Mr. Truro, only more, for we had to tell her all about him as well. And then we asked her if she thought it was disobeying grandpapa for us to come to see her; and when we had told her all we could think of, we waited very anxiously to hear what she would say. Her face looked grave, though not exactly sad.

"Your friend – Mr. Truro – told you to wait till he came back again?" she said.

"Yes, but that was only about coming in here to play. We hadn't seen you then – and grandpapa told us not to make friends with any of the neighbours. Are you a neighbour? Do you live here?"

"No," said Regina. "I live far from here."

"And how can you come so often to see us, then?" we asked.

She smiled.

"Can't you fancy I come on a sunbeam, or a cloud, or on a broomstick if you like? Or if I had only thought of taking the picture away, you might really have thought I had come out of the frame! No children, I'm not going to tell you where I come from, or how I come, or anything. Then you can feel you're not hearing from me anything your grandfather would not wish you to hear, and when he and Mr. Truro come here again, you can tell them all – everything, and see what they say. You can bring Mr. Truro here to see me, if you like, and we'll talk it over. Now, as who knows how seldom we may see each other again, suppose we make the best use of our time. I've got some games to teach you – new games. Let us be as happy and merry as we can be while we are together."

And you cannot fancy what fun we had.

She kept us playing, and guessing tricks and riddles, and even singing little glees – she had such a pretty voice – so busily that we hadn't time to ask her any more questions, and indeed forgot to do so. So that when it grew late and we had to go home, and Regina kissed us and said good-bye, we knew as little about her, or where she had come from or was going to, as if she had really flown down to us from some fairy country invisible to mortal eyes.

"And will you come again soon?" we asked.

"Whenever I can, but that is all I can promise," she said, and then she disappeared behind the heavy doors, and we heard the key turn in the lock on the other side.

And we went home, wishing it were to-morrow.

"No, not to-morrow – she's sure not to come so soon again, but, all the same, we must come and see."

CHAPTER X

THREE STARLINGS

"'I can't get out; I can't get out,' said the starling.

'God help thee,' said I; 'but I'll let thee out.'"

Sentimental Journey.

he didn't come the next day, but instead of her we actually found three little packets of butter-scotch tied up in white paper, with a different coloured ribbon on each: mine was pink, and Tib's blue, and Gerald's green. I think nothing that had happened to us pleased Gerald as much as this, though he couldn't pretend to think it had come from Fairyland.

And two days after that, the girl herself came again, and we had another merry afternoon of games and fun. How we laughed! there never was any one as clever as our new princess at games. And when we were all too tired and hot to play any more, she told us to sit down quietly to rest, and to shut our eyes, and pretend to go to sleep for five minutes. And when we did so we heard a little faint rustling, and if we had not promised I am sure we should have opened our eyes, we were so afraid she was tricking us, and running away without saying good-bye.

But in a minute we heard the rustling again.

"Open your eyes," said her voice, and when we opened them, lo and behold! there was a glass jug filled with lemonade – it was so good – and four little tumblers, and sponge cakes. The tumblers were red and of a queer shape, and so was the big jug.

"These might have come from Fairyland," I said. "You know, Regina" – for she would make us call her so – "Gerald won't give up about you being a fairy; only when it came to packets of butter-scotch – "

"Even he couldn't believe there were butter-scotch manufactories in Fairyland," said she, laughing. And then we all laughed just because we were so happy.

"We've never laughed so much in our lives before, I don't think," said Tib.

"Poor little pets," said Regina, "it won't do you any harm. It should do the old house good too – it's many a long day since it heard any merry voices."

"The old house," said I; "what do you mean?"

"Why, the old house we're in – the place where you are. Where do you suppose yourself to be at this moment?" she asked, seeing I looked more and more puzzled.

"I don't know," I said. "We thought it was perhaps just this room, or else that it was a sort of a palace. We never thought of it as a regular house."

"A pavilion of some kind, I suppose you mean," said she.

"Why do you call it the old house? Is it very old?" asked Tib.

"Yes," said Regina, "it is. It has got into being called the old house because it is the oldest anywhere about, I suppose. And then, you see, when people haven't lived in a place for very, very long, they get into that way of speaking of it – out of a sort of affection – just as one speaks of the old days, you know, when one speaks of long ago."

"Did you live here long ago, and then not for a great while?"

"No, I never lived here, and then I'm not so old as all that. I heard about the old days of course from – " but then she got red, and stopped suddenly. "I think it's time to go," she said.

"Wait a minute," said I; "will you show us some of the rooms of the house? We should so like to see them."

The new princess hesitated. Then she shook her head. "No, dears," she said, "I'd better not. Just try to keep to your old fancies, and take Gerald's way: it's the best just now. And now listen: this is Wednesday. I can't come to-morrow. You'll promise to come on Friday?"

"Yes," we all said.

"I particularly want you to come on Friday," she went on, and her face grew a little sad, "though I can't quite explain why – except – just that after that perhaps I can't see you for a good while."

"Oh! don't say that," we all cried together; "do try and not let it be that way. We will come on Friday, you may be sure."

"But don't expect me very early," she said. "I may not be able to come till pretty late."

And then she kissed us all again, and she went her way, and we ours.

It happened very well that she had asked us to come on Friday, and not on Thursday, for on Thursday it was so extra pouring wet that nurse wouldn't let us go out at all. And we were exceedingly anxious on Friday morning to see what the weather was going to be, and we were all delighted to see it was fine.

"We must have a long afternoon to ourselves, nurse," we said. "It's horrid to be cooped up in the house all day."

"Well, I'm sure, my dears, I'm as sorry as you can be when it has to be so," said nurse. "But it's very wet everywhere still to-day. It did pour so yesterday. You must be sure to take your goloshes, and to come in at once if you feel chilly or shivery. I wouldn't for anything have you take cold."

"We never do, nurse," Tib said. "You must allow that we don't give you much trouble about our being ill."

"As if I'd grudge any trouble, my dear," said Liddy – she was very matter of fact. "But it's true you've given no trouble of any kind since you've been here, and so I shall tell your dear grandpapa – and so, I'm sure, will Mrs. Munt. She thinks there never were such children. But do be careful now, dears, not to catch cold just as your dear grandpapa's coming?"

"Grandpapa coming! You never told us," we exclaimed. "When is he coming?"

"To-morrow; and Mr. Truro too. At least, Mrs. Munt's sure it's him, though Mr. Ansdell only says to prepare the same rooms as last time. I meant to tell you when we began speaking – Mrs. Munt just got the letter this morning."

"What a good thing he's not coming to-day," we said to ourselves. "Nurse would never have let us out at all, or else we would have had to come in early, and she said she couldn't come early. I wonder, Tib," I went on, "I wonder if somehow her wanting us so much to-day, and what she has said, has anything to do with grandpapa's coming?"

"How could she know he was coming before we knew it ourselves, even? Gussie, it's not me that's too fanciful nowadays," said Tib. "Of course, on our side, knowing he was coming might have made us say perhaps it would be the last time. You know we've promised her and ourselves to tell Mr. Truro all about her, and then he or we must tell grandpapa, and who knows what he'll say? It's to be hoped he's not so busy and worried as he was when he was here before."

But the thought that it might be the last time we should see our pretty princess – that grandpapa might even forbid our ever going to our palace, as we still called it, at all, made us rather sad and subdued, and it was not as merrily as usual that we ran through the tangle to the door in the wall.

"Be quick, Gerald," I said, when he had got the key in the lock, and was turning it – he always counted it his business; "what are you pulling at?"

"It's stiff to-day – it may have got rusty with it raining so yesterday," he said. For we still always left the key in the summer-house – we were afraid to take it into the house. "It needs oiling again, perhaps;" but he had managed to open the door by this time, and he took the key out of the lock as he spoke, and we all passed through, Gerald locking the door again inside, and leaving the key in the lock, as we always did.