A Modern Tomboy: A Story for Girls by L. T. Meade (mini ebook reader TXT) 📗

little girl herself. Now, it seemed that Lady Jane was blessed with a daughter, and as naughty as she must have been in her own early days. This made matters exceedingly interesting to Rosamund.

She reached the front door and rang the ponderous iron bell which hung from a chain by the side of a Gothic column, and a man-servant in livery, with powdered hair, appeared in reply to her summons.

"Is Lady Jane Ashleigh within?"

"Yes, madam," he replied respectfully, and he motioned Rosamund into a large, cool hall, beautifully furnished with all sorts of antique specimens of oak and Sheraton furniture. From here he took her into a little room rendered beautifully cool by green silk blinds, which were partly let down at the windows, one of which was altogether open and looked out on a flower-garden partly sheltered by trees. Here Rosamund saw, just for a brief moment, a girl in red, swinging backward and forward idly in a swing suspended from two stalwart boughs. The girl had somewhat wild eyes, a very bright face, and a mischievous expression round her lips. When she saw Rosamund she leaped from the swing, and disappeared from view, and the next moment Lady Jane sailed into the room. The contrast between the girl in red and the lady in deep mourning who now appeared puzzled the girl a good deal; also the extreme calm and graciousness of Lady Jane's bearing, the absence of all that wildness in the eyes which Rosamund's own mother had explained so fully. In short, the graciousness of a perfectly balanced nature seemed to surround this charming woman. She thanked Rosamund for coming, and sitting down near her, proceeded to question her with regard to her mother.

"It is years since we met," she said, "but I have never forgotten her. She was my favorite school-fellow. Our paths in life led very much apart afterward, for I married my dearly beloved husband and lived in the country, whereas she traveled a good deal over the world. But still we did contrive to correspond from time to time, although we have not met, I verily believe, since your birth, Rosamund. How old are you, my dear?"

"I was fifteen my last birthday," replied Rosamund.

"In some ways you look older than that."

"I am glad," said Rosamund, her eyes brightening. "I want to be grown-up," she continued. "I want to have done with school."

"Why did your mother think of sending you to Mrs. Merriman's?"

"Oh, there were a lot of reasons. Jane Denton, who is my greatest friend—although I don't know why I am so fond of her—was coming here, and her mother knew Mrs. Merriman, and mother hates ordinary schools, and she thought this would just do. And then all of a sudden she remembered that you lived near, although she did not say anything to me about that, or you may be sure I should have been quite interested. I am so glad to see you, Lady Jane! And, please, when am I to be introduced to Irene?"

Rosamund was sorry the moment she had said these words, for over Lady Jane's face there passed an expression of absolute pain. After a moment's pause, she said, "Who has told you about my little daughter?"

"Does it pain you for me to speak about her?"

"Answer my question, dear. Who has told you?"

"I think it might have been your kitchen-maid. I will explain to you the very truth, Lady Jane. You know you asked me to come here to-day, and you said you would send me back to-night, and I was so pleased; but when I spoke about it to Mr. Merriman, he said at once that he did not allow girls to visit friends on Sunday, and that that was one of his strictest rules."

"And yet you came?" said Lady Jane, her eyes darkening.

"Yes, I came," replied Rosamund, "for I simply couldn't stand it. Why should I be coerced and told that things were wrong by a man like Mr. Merriman?"

"A great scholar and a noble gentleman," said Lady Jane quietly.

Rosamund felt herself coloring, and a sense of annoyance swept over her.

"Well, anyhow, I came," she said; "and I suppose you are not going to send me back now that I have braved the displeasure of every one to come to you?"

"I will drive you back myself after we have had tea together; and you must come and spend a week day with me. It was wrong to come, dear, and it was a pity. When you get to know Mr. Merriman well you will understand that when he says a thing he means it. I will try and intercede for you on this occasion. I myself do not think it at all wrong that you should come and minister to the wants of a lonely woman on Sunday. I noticed your bright face in church; and although you are not very like your mother, you have got something of her expression, and many of the tones of her voice, and it gives me pleasure to converse with you."

"But why should you be lonely when you have got"——

Just at that moment there was a noise outside, followed by a fierce scuffle and the banging about of furniture, and the room door was opened, and the girl whom Rosamund had seen swinging at the other end of the sunlit lawn appeared on the scene. She was one of the most beautiful girls Rosamund, who thought herself very good-looking, had ever beheld in her life, but her eyes were wild and almost unsteady. Her laugh was harsh and her voice unpleasant.

"Irene," said Lady Jane, turning pale, "what is the matter with you? Won't you behave?"

The girl gave a laugh, flung herself into a chair, then drew herself a little closer, and stared full at Rosamund.

"Never mind mother," she said. "Who are you?"

"My name is Rosamund Cunliffe," was Rosamund's reply.

She spoke steadily. There was a certain calm about her voice which seemed to exercise a beneficent influence over the queer girl.

"And my name is Irene Ashleigh. Won't you come out, and I'll swing you? You'd like to have a good swing this hot day, wouldn't you?"

"If you will promise, Irene, to be very careful," began Lady Jane; but Irene's only reply to this was to jump up as suddenly as she had seated herself, take Rosamund's hand, and pull her through the open French window.

"Never mind mother," she said again. "She is nothing but an old croak. There's a bit of spirit about you. Oh! they all tell stories about me; but I'm not half bad, only I think I'm a changeling. Did you ever think you were a changeling?"

"Of course not. I don't know what you mean."

"I'll explain to you. I quite like your look. May I put my arm round your waist?"

"If it pleases you," said Rosamund.

"How stiffly you speak! But I like you all the same. You are what might be called a good old sort, and there's nothing prim about you. Do you know why I came into the room just now?"

"I'm sure I cannot tell."

"Well, I'll let you know. I was listening at one of the windows, and I heard you tell mother—dear old puritanical mother—that you had crept away without leave from the learned professor, and had got into difficulties. Oh, didn't I just love you for it! There's a Miss Frost here who tries to teach me; but, bless you! she can't knock much learning into me. She is as terrified of me as she can be, is old Frosty. She and I had a squabble in the passage; she said I was not to come in because I had my red dress on. You know, it's only a year since father died, and mother is in deep mourning still; but I will wear red—it is my sort of mourning. I suppose we can all do as we please. Well, when I discovered that you were one of the naughty sort, I thought I'd have a nearer view of you, and I like you very much. You are pretty, you know, quite pretty. Not so pretty as I am! Now, look me full in the face. Did you ever see any one prettier?"

"Irene, you do talk in a wild way!"

"It is rather cheeky of you to call me Irene; but I don't much mind. I like you to be cheeky. Well, here's the swing. How high up do you want me to push you?"

"Not any way at all just at present. Let us walk about and talk before you swing me. I must know something about you. How old are you?"

"I'm sure I don't know—I've forgotten. Oh, by the way, you didn't understand me when I said I was a changeling."

"I didn't, and I don't. But why do you talk in that silly way?"

"Well, I seriously think I am, for if you had seen father when he was alive you'd have said if there was a dear—I was very fond of dad—if there was a dear, sober, conscientious old man—he was a good bit older than mother—you'd have pronounced that he was he."

"That is very funny English, Irene."

"Oh, never mind! I like to talk in a funny way. Anyhow, you'd have said that he was he. And then there is mother. You see how good she looks. She is very handsome, I know, and every one adores her, and so does her loving daughter Irene; but, all the same, I was made in a sort of fashion that I really cannot keep indoors. No rain that ever was heard of could keep me in, and no frost, either. And I have lain sometimes on the snow for an hour at a time and enjoyed it. And there's scarcely a night that I spend in bed. I get out, whatever poor old Frosty may do to keep me within bounds. I can climb up anything, and I can climb down anything, and I like to have a boat on the lake; and when they are very bad to me I spend the night there in the very centre of the lake, and they can't get at me, shout as they may. No, I never take cold."

"The only thing I am keen about is to be allowed to wear colors that I like. I love gay colors—red one day, yellow the next, the brightest blue the next I hate art shades. I am not a bit æsthetic. Once they took me to London, but I ran away home. Oh, what a time I had! I am a wild sort of thing. Now, do you suppose that any mother, of her own free-will, would have a daughter like me? Of course I am a changeling. I suppose I belong to the fairies, and my greatest wish on earth is to see them some day. Sometimes I think they will meet me in the meadows or in the forest, which is two miles away, or even in the lake, for I suppose fairies can swim. But they have never come yet. If they came I'd ask them to let me go back to them, for I do so hate indoor life and civilization and refinement. And now you see the sort I am, and if you are the sort I somehow think you are, why shouldn't we be friends? Perhaps you are a changeling, too. You know that dress doesn't suit you one bit; it is too grand and fine-ladyish; and you ought to let your hair stream down your back instead of having it tied behind with that ribbon. And you ought to have a hole in your hat instead of that grand black feather. And—oh, good gracious!—what funny boots! I never saw anything like them—all shiny, and with such pointed toes. How can you walk in them? I as often as not go barefoot all day long; but then I am a wild thing, a changeling, and I suppose, after all, you are not."

Rosamund felt herself quite interested while Irene was delivering herself of this wild harangue. She looked back at this moment, and saw Lady Jane standing in the French window. Irene's arm was still firmly clasped round Rosamund's waist. Rosamund could just catch a glimpse of the expression of Lady Jane's face, and it seemed to signify relief and approval. Rosamund said to herself, "We all have our missions in life; perhaps mine is to reclaim this wild, extraordinary creature. I shouldn't a bit mind trying. Of course, I don't approve of her; but she is lovely. She has a perfect little face, and she is just like any savage, quite untrained—a sort of free lance, in fact. Irene," she said aloud, "I am not going to let you swing me just now; but you may sit near