The Palace Beautiful: A Story for Girls by L. T. Meade (short novels in english TXT) 📗

is it that you, who never condescended to know my mother, intrude upon us now, in our loss?' She was most gentle and most dignified, but I could as soon take liberties with her as with—with—you, Joseph, when you choose to exert your authority. After Miss Mainwaring came, I thought it best to run away; but before I went I extracted a promise from the three darlings to come and spend the day here to-morrow. Really, Joseph, I have had a surprising day; but I remember now that Miss Martineau did say something about these children being well born."

Mr. Ellsworthy again raised his eyebrows.

"I had an acquaintance once of the name," he said, "but I lost sight of him years ago. It is a good name. Well, Kate, you will do what you can for your protegées. I am glad you have found some objects of interest close to your own gates."

Here Mrs. Ellsworthy dropped her slightly frivolous tone, and rising from her seat, went up to her husband.

"Joseph," she said, "I want you to contrive to be at home for lunch to-morrow. I want you to see my girls, and to advise me how best to help them. Primrose is so proud and so inexperienced; the two younger ones, of course, know nothing of either poverty or riches; they live as the flowers live, and are happy for the same reason. Do you know, Joseph, that the eldest of these sisters is not seventeen, and the youngest only ten; that they seem to be absolutely without relations, almost without friends, and that between them they have only a Government grant of thirty pounds a year."

Here Mrs. Ellsworthy's pretty bright blue eyes filled with tears, and her husband, stooping down, kissed her.

"I will make a point of seeing those girls to-morrow Kate," he said. "I am glad you have come across them."

Then he went off to his library, where he sat, and read, and lost himself in great thoughts far into the night. It is to be feared that during these hours he forgot the Mainwarings and their troubles.

Mrs. Ellsworthy had appointed noon the next day to receive her young guests, and punctual to the moment the three walked into her drawing-room.

Daisy instantly commented on this fact. "There's the last stroke of twelve striking from the church clock," she exclaimed. "Oh, please! where's the Persian kitten?"

"I have brought you all the carnations that were in flower," said Jasmine. "Smell them; aren't they delicious? Mamma used to love them so—I would not give them to any one but you."

Mrs. Ellsworthy stooped and kissed Jasmine, and taking her hand, gave it a little squeeze. "Thank you, my love," she said—"I value your beautiful flowers—you shall arrange them yourself in this amber vase."

"They are such a vivid crimson, they would look best against white," answered Jasmine, raising her eyes a little anxiously. "I like to arrange flowers to look like a picture. Mamma always allowed me to arrange the flowers, and Primrose will in the future." Here Jasmine went up to Primrose, and took her hand, and the elder sister smiled at her with great affection, and said, looking at Mrs. Ellsworthy, "We call Jasmine our artist at home."

"And our poet—she makes poetry about the Pink at home," said Daisy. "Oh, dear!" she continued, giving a deep sigh, "I can't see the Persian kitten anywhere. I do hope what Miss Martineau said is not true."

"What did she say, my dear?" asked the lady of Shortlands.

"Oh, a lot of nonsense—that this was a great house, and we were to sit on chairs, and not speak unless you spoke to us, and we were not to play with the Persian kitten, nor see the dogs. She said you were a very grand lady, and that was the proper way to go on—we didn't agree with her, did we, Jasmine?"

"No, of course we didn't," said Jasmine; "we knew better."

"We said you were a romp," continued Daisy. "You seemed like it in our garden. I wouldn't have come if I thought you were one of those ladies who wanted little girls to sit on chairs. Oh! do say you are a romp."

Here there was a laugh heard behind them, and Mr. Ellsworthy came up and joined the group. He greeted the girls kindly, and very soon discovered that their father had been the old acquaintance whom he had known of the name. Then he and Primrose went off together, and Mrs. Ellsworthy took the two young girls' hands.

"My darling," she said, "with the single exception of my only son, Frankie, who is at present at school, I am the greatest romp in existence. Now let us come out into the sunshine and enjoy ourselves."

The few hours the girls spent at Shortlands passed only too quickly for Jasmine and Daisy. Mrs. Ellsworthy laid herself out to be charming, and no one could be more charming than she when she chose. She had naturally a good deal of sympathy, and taking her cue from the little ones, she entered into their lives, and became one with them. Jasmine and Daisy became quite merry. An indiscriminating observer would have said: "How shocking to hear such merry laughter—their mother has only been dead a month." But Mrs. Ellsworthy had far too kind a heart to do these children such an injustice. She knew that the dark lines under Jasmine's bright eyes were caused by the passion of a great grief; but she also knew that with such a nature sunshine must follow storm. Daisy in the midst of her play, too, began suddenly to cry.

"What is the matter, my little one?" asked the lady of the house. The child put her arms round her neck, and whispered through sobs: "I am so happy now; but I know I'll be miserable bye-and-bye. I'll want so badly to tell mamma about you, and mamma won't be there."

Primrose was also serenely happy—she was glad to hear her sisters' laughter, and she liked to walk about the beautiful place, and to feel the soft summer air on her cheeks.

The village of Rosebury lay low; but Shortlands stood on rising ground, and the more bracing air did Primrose good. When she saw how happy Mrs. Ellsworthy made her sisters she forgave her for not calling on her mother.

Mr. Ellsworthy took a good deal of notice of Primrose, and showed her some of his pet books, and talked to her in a sensible grown-up way. Jasmine and Daisy were young for their years, but Primrose was old, and she liked to ask practical questions. Had she known Mr. Ellsworthy a little better she might have even consulted him as to the best way of laying out thirty pounds per annum, so as to cover all the expenses of three girls who wished to live as ladies; but she was both shy and reserved; and when Mr. Ellsworthy, goaded on by certain looks from his wife, referred to the subject of money, Primrose started aside from it like any frightened young fawn.

The day, the happy day for all three, passed only too quickly, and it was Mrs. Ellsworthy at last who determined to plunge boldly into the heart of the subject which was uppermost in her thoughts.

"Primrose," she said, taking the elder sister aside, "you must forgive me for speaking plainly to you, dear. I call you Primrose, because you do not seem to me altogether a stranger, and my husband knew your father. I may call you Primrose, may I not, love?"

"Please, do," said Primrose, with that sweet smile which came only rarely to her quiet face; "I like it—it is my name. When people say Miss Mainwaring I feel—lonely."

"You are Primrose, then, to me, dear. Now, Primrose, take my hand, and sit quietly in this chair. I am going to confess something to you. I called to see you and your sisters yesterday morning, intending to patronize you."

"To patronize us—why?" asked Primrose.

Mrs. Ellsworthy laughed in a slightly nervous manner.

"My dear child, we won't go into the whys and the wherefores. I found I could not do it, that is all. I have not, however, half finished my confession. I called to see you because Miss Martineau asked me to."

Here Primrose flushed a very rosy pink, and Mrs. Ellsworthy saw a displeased look fill her eyes.

"You must not be angry with Miss Martineau, Primrose. She loves you three girls very much. She is most anxious about you. She—my dear, she told me of your poverty."

Here Primrose rose from her seat and said, in the quietest tone—

"We are certainly poor, but I don't think that is anybody's concern. We don't mind it ourselves—at least, not much. You see, we have never known riches, and we cannot miss what we have never had. It would be a great pity for people to try to make us discontented. I think it was ill-bred of Miss Martineau to mention our private affairs to you; but still, as we have got to know you through these means, I forgive her. You are a very delightful friend. Mrs. Ellsworthy, I think you must let us go home now—Daisy is not accustomed to being up so late."

"Of all the tiresome, hard-to-be-understood young people I ever came across, Primrose Mainwaring beats them," thought Mrs. Ellsworthy to herself; but aloud she said very sweetly—

"Yes, dear—and you shall drive home in the carriage I could not hear of your walking."

CHAPTER VIII. THIRTY POUNDS A YEAR.

Miss Ellsworthy thought Primrose both tiresome and obtuse, but here she was mistaken.

Miss Martineau's solemn looks, Mr. Danesfield's emphatic injunctions to make the most of their visit to Shortlands, and, above all, the expression of deep distress on Mrs. Ellsworthy's charming face when she spoke of their poverty, were by no means thrown away on her.

She felt very grave as the three sisters were driven home in the Ellsworthys' luxurious carriage. She scarcely joined at all in Jasmine's chatter, nor did she notice Daisy's raptures over a tiny white pup—Mrs. Ellsworthy's parting gift.

On their arrival at home the Pink greeted this unlooked-for addition to the family with a furious assault; and Jasmine, Daisy, and Hannah were all intensely excited over the task of dividing the combatants; but Primrose felt but small interest, and owned that she had a slight headache.

Nevertheless, when the younger girls retired to bed she sat up, and, taking out an account-book, began an impossible task. Even all the resources of this young and vigorous brain could not make thirty pounds cover a year's expenses. Again and again Primrose tried. The rent of the cottage was twelve pounds a year. She pronounced this extravagant, and wondered if they could possibly get a cheaper dwelling.

Then there were Hannah's wages. Well, of course, they could do without Hannah—it would be very painful to part with her, but anything would be better than the humiliating conclusion that Mrs. Ellsworthy and Miss Martineau considered them too poor to live. Then, of course, they could do without meat—what did healthy girls want with meat? Only—and here Primrose sighed deeply—Daisy was not very strong. Eggs were cheap enough in Rosebury, and so was butter, and they could bake their own bread; and as to clothes, they would not want any more for a long time. Here Primrose again felt herself pulled up short, for Jasmine's walking-shoes were nearly worn through.

She went to bed at last, feeling very depressed and anxious. Thirty pounds was really a much smaller sum of money than she had given it credit for being. Try as she might, it would not stretch itself over the expenses of even the humblest establishment of three. She was much comforted, however, by the reflection that there remained a large sum to their credit in the bank. Primrose found her faith shaken in the capacities of an income of thirty pounds a year; but a sum total of two hundred pounds she still believed to be almost inexhaustible. She resolved to go and consult Mr. Danesfield on the morrow.

Mr. Danesfield was generally to be found in his private room at the bank by ten o'clock in the morning. Very soon after that hour on the following day a clerk came to say that one of the young ladies from Woodbine Cottage wanted to see him. "The eldest young lady, and she says her business is very pressing," continued the man.

The bank at Rosebury was only a branch office of a large establishment in the nearest town. It happened that that morning Mr. Danesfield was particularly busy, and anxious to get away to the large bank at an early hour. For more reasons than one, therefore he felt annoyed at Primrose's visit.

"Poor child," he said to himself, "I have certainly nothing very good to tell her; and I have undoubtedly no time to waste over her this morning."

Aloud, however, he said to his clerk—

"Ask Miss