A Modern Tomboy - L. T. Meade (best fiction books to read txt) 📗

a good, brave, and noble woman she is. Who but she would have acted as she has done lately? She has taken the bull by the horns and saved us from absolute ruin. By her plucky ways and determination has she not just kept our heads above water? My dear Lucy, you little know what might have happened but for your mother's pluck and bravery."

"I know," said Lucy, softened on the spot. "But if she only wouldn't—wouldn't make so free with them when they come, and if there might be a little order, and if they could have been postponed till the resident governesses had arrived. But now they are there, all of them, as merry and jocular as you like, running about the place, racing here and there, and devouring all our best fruit, tramping in and out of the greenhouses and conservatory, and making such a noise just over your study. It would be much better to give up Sunnyside—anything would be better than this."

"I don't think so, and you will find after a time that you will like your school friends. Your education will be finished without any extra cost whatever. We are being very well paid for these girls, we know they are all ladies, and your mother will be happy and in her element. How could you turn your dear mother into a precise, stately woman? It isn't in her, and you would not wish it to be."

"I don't know," said Lucy. "I think I would. But, father, you always make me ashamed of myself. You, who suffer so much, are so good, so patient."

"If I am good and patient it is because of my dear wife and my dear daughter," said the man sadly. "And now, Lucy darling, go back to them all and try to help your mother. The governesses will come to-morrow, and the day after lessons will begin. In a week's time you will see perfect order arising out of chaos, and you will be surprised at your present feelings."

Lucy raised her father's hand to her lips. She loved her mother, but she adored him, with his slight stoop, his scholarly face, his gentle smile, his kindly eyes. There were few men more beloved than Professor Merriman. He had given some really great books to the world, and was a scholar in the truest and best sense of the word. When he instructed Lucy, which he did now and then, she regarded those moments as the happiest and most sacred of her life.

"Well, whatever happens, I have got him," she thought as she turned to go back to the house. "And if it adds any years to his precious life, surely I can endure anything. But I do hope he won't get to like any of those girls. Perhaps he will. Perhaps he will even offer to teach some of them. I sincerely trust none of them are clever. Oh, who is this queer little creature coming to meet me?"

The queer little creature in question, dressed in brown holland, with a small brown hat and cotton gloves, was no other than Phyllis Flower. She ran up to Lucy, and stood in front of her, and said, "Is your father really the great Professor Ralph Merriman?"

"Yes," said Lucy, coloring and smiling, for it was delightful to her to hear the appreciative tone in Phyllis's voice.

"I thought so, but I was not quite sure. Agnes Sparkes and I were arguing about it. Agnes said it couldn't be, but I said it was. I am very glad. I hope we shall see him sometimes."

"He is not well," said Lucy. "He can't be disturbed."

"We would none of us dream of disturbing him; but we would love to look at him sometimes, and perhaps sometimes to hear him speak."

"I dare say you will see him. When he is well enough he will dine with us," said Lucy. "But you must not expect"——

"Oh, we expect nothing—nothing certainly from you," said Phyllis Flower, flushing angrily, for there was a tone in Lucy's voice which she could scarcely stand. Then she, continued, "Why are you determined not to be nice to us, Miss Merriman?"

"You had better call me Lucy," said the girl after a pause. "We are all girls together. You are at school and I am at school."

"How old are you, Lucy?"

"I am fifteen."

"And I am thirteen and a half. How old do you think I look?"

"Oh, any age. You are so thin."

"And wizened," laughed Phyllis. "Well, never mind. I dare say I shall grow tall enough by-and-by. Now, my dear," she continued after a pause, "you have nothing whatever to be jealous of in me. I am not clever, I am not good-looking; in short, I am nothing at all, just the most ordinary person. But I can tell you something about the characters of your other school-fellows if you like. Would you care? There is plenty of time. Shall we walk up and down for a little?"

Lucy could not resist the temptation. Phyllis, who was quite as frank and free as Mrs. Merriman herself, laid her hand on Lucy's arm. Lucy shuddered, but submitted.

"The person who has got the greatest character among us is Rosamund Cunliffe. She will rule us all."

"She won't rule me," interrupted Lucy angrily.

"You can't help it, my dear. She has always ruled every one with whom she comes in contact; and she does it quite nicely, too, for she isn't unamiable. She simply has a strong character."

"I hardly know what she is like," said Lucy.

"Oh, you must have observed her—that tall, dark, pretty-looking girl, with rosy cheeks and a pretty mouth."

"Yes, I think I know whom you mean."

"And she is clever, too. But I don't think it is her beauty or her talent that makes her curious charm. It is something beyond all this. I never saw her do a really unamiable thing, and yet I think she must love power very much. You will soon find out for yourself what she is like. As for Janey Denton, she is just a good sort, something like me. And Laura Everett is very proud of her family, and she is clever. And Annie Millar is Laura's shadow, and does nothing whatever except what Laura wishes. Then there is Agnes Sparkes. She is supposed to be my friend, and she is very pretty, fair, and lively and clever. But of all the girls who have come here to-day the two who will make their mark in the world are beyond doubt Rosamund Cunliffe and Laura Everett. Now, I think I will let you find out the rest for yourself."

CHAPTER II. ROSAMUND TAKES THE LEAD.

Before that day had come to an end, Lucy had discovered how true were Phyllis Flower's words. For Rosamund Cunliffe, without making herself in the least disagreeable, without saying one single rude thing, yet managed to take the lead, and that so effectively that even Lucy herself found that she could not help following in her train.

For instance, after dinner, when the girls—all of them rather tired, and perhaps some of them a little cross, and no one exactly knowing what to do—clustered about the open drawing-room windows, it was Rosamund who proposed that the rugs should be rolled back and that they should have a dance.

Lucy opened her eyes. Nobody before had ever dared to make such a suggestion in the house of Sunnyside. Lucy, it is true, had dancing lessons from a master who came once a week to instruct her and other girls in the winter season, and she had occasionally gone to a children's party. But beyond that she had never danced, looking forward to it, however, as a possible recreation by-and-by.

Rosamund's clear voice was now heard.

"Let us push back the sofas. This is a splendid room. We can roll up the rugs in a twinkling. Where is Mrs. Merriman? She will play the dance music. Oh, there are seven of us—one too many. Perhaps you will play for us, Lucy?"

"But I don't know any dance music," said Lucy; "and then mother would not like the rugs being disturbed. The room is arranged just as father and mother wish it to be. I think perhaps"——

She colored painfully.

"We will do nothing without leave, of course," said Phyllis Flower. "I'll just run and find Mrs. Merriman and ask her."

Before Lucy could prevent her, Phyllis had darted out of the room, returning in a minute or two with the required permission.

"It's all right, girls," she said; "we can trip it on the light fantastic toe as long as ever we please, and the rugs may go to Hong-kong for all Mrs. Merriman cares."

Lucy colored with rage. Rosamund gave a quiet smile—a smile which seemed to denote power. Phyllis's dancing eyes lit for a moment on Lucy's face. Those eyes said in the most provoking manner, "I told you so." And then some one went to the piano, and a minute or two later all the girls, Lucy included, were dancing round and round the room in the merry waltz.

Even Lucy enjoyed it when once it had begun, and the little performer at the piano played well, and kept excellent time. And by-and-by Lucy forgot herself, and could not help laughing when Rosamund seized her round the waist and whirled her round and round, and taught her to reverse, and instructed her in one or two other matters unknown to Lucy up to the present.

The dance lasted for over an hour; and just in the midst of it, when Lucy was really laughing in quite a heart-whole manner, she raised her eyes and saw no less a person than Mr. Merriman himself standing in the doorway. He was smiling, and his eyes were fixed on Rosamund's face.

The moment Rosamund saw him she stopped at once, and said to Lucy, "Is that your father, the great professor?"

"Yes," said Lucy.

"Please introduce him to me."

Lucy longed to say, "It will tire him; I can't do it." She longed to give any sort of excuse, but none would come to her lips. She was forced to take Rosamund up to Mr. Merriman.

"This is Rosamund Cunliffe," she said, "and she wants to know you, father."

"I am very much pleased to see you, Miss Cunliffe," said Mr. Merriman; and then Rosamund stood in the doorway and talked.

Lucy went back and tried to dance with another girl, and the dance music still went on. But she could not help straining her ears and trying to catch the subject of Rosamund's conversation. Why, she was absolutely laughing, and the Professor, who was generally so grave and quiet, was laughing also. What did it all mean?

"Father, aren't you tired?—Miss Cunliffe, you are tiring father," said Lucy at last, running up to the door and trying to speak calmly.

"No, my dear," said her father. "On the contrary, I am intensely interested.—You must tell me that story again, Miss Cunliffe. Would you like to come and see my library?"

The two went off together, and Lucy felt almost as though she must burst into tears. Phyllis's eyes again met her face, and she had to restrain her feelings. The "I told you so" look was too maddening almost for endurance.

Rosamund's love of power showed itself further in the arrangement of her bedroom. She took down the dividing curtain between herself and Jane Denton without asking any one's permission; and she slept in the bed intended for Jane, and rearranged the drawers, putting them into another part of the room; and complained about the wardrobe, saying that she would like it put opposite the door instead of in its present position. And whatever she wished was immediately done, and whatever she said was said so politely that no one took offense. And Lucy had to confess to herself that Phyllis was right, and that Rosamund would be a power—the leading power—in the school.

Early the next day the two teachers arrived. Mademoiselle Omont was very French in appearance, very dark, with sparkling