Penelope and the Others - Amy Walton (best book club books .txt) 📗

"but there were some things I liked at Nearminster. Let me see," counting on her fingers, "there were Miss Unity, and old. Nurse, and Betty, and Sabine Merridew, and Kettles, and the Cathedral, and the market, and the College. That's five people and three things. And what I didn't like were needlework and dancing, and the dean, and Monsieur Deville, and all the other Merridews."

"I hope Betty's made hot-cakes for tea," said Nancy as the carriage stopped at Miss Unity's door.

"How can she, with only one hand?" said Pennie; and then the door opened and there was Betty herself, with her arm still in a sling, and a face shining with welcome.

"Lor', Miss Pennie, it do seem natural to see you again, to be sure," she said with a giggle of delight. "And Miss Nancy's rosy cheeks too. The mistress is expecting you; run upstairs to her, my dears."

She went towards the kitchen with a shake of the head and a short laugh, as if she had some inward cause for amusement.

"Betty seems to like having a sprain," said Nancy, looking at her over the balusters. "I never saw her look so pleased or laugh so much."

Miss Unity's welcome was quite as hearty as Betty's, but she too seemed a little odd, and inclined to give nervous glances at the door as though she expected some one to come in.

"Would you like us to go and help Betty bring up tea?" asked Nancy, noticing this. "We should like it tremendously if you would let us."

She started up as she spoke, and would have rushed down-stairs in another moment, if Miss Unity had not caught hold of her hand.

"No, my dear; no, thank you; certainly not," she said hurriedly. "Betty has some one to help her."

A little disappointed, Nancy sat down again. Her eyes fell on the parcel she held, and she frowned at Pennie to draw her attention to it. Pennie was looking dreamily round the sitting-room with all its old familiar objects. She wondered where Kettles' clothes, which she had left on the side-table, had been put. What a long time it seemed since she had sat sewing in that high-backed chair! Brought back to the present by Nancy's deeply frowning glance, she gave a little start and said hurriedly:

"Nancy and I have brought some new boots and stockings for Kettles. May we give them to her with the clothes?"

"And will she be at the College?" put in Nancy, "or can we go to Anchor and Hope Alley?"

Miss Unity's head gave another nervous jerk in the direction of the door. She had heard a footstep coming upstairs, which was not Betty's.

"We will see about it after tea," she said. "You shall certainly see the little girl, as I promised you."

The door opened as she spoke, and a small maid-servant in a tall cap appeared, bearing a tray. Betty hovered in the background with a face in which pride and laughter struggled together.

Kettles was not used to her new style of dress yet, and held herself stiffly as though she had been dressed up for a joke. The tangled hair which used to fall low on her forehead was tightly brushed back and tucked up in a net. Her face looked bare and unshaded, and several degrees lighter by reason of yellow soap and scrubbing. It was surmounted by a cap of Betty's, which had been cut to fit her, but was still much too tall for such a small person. Nothing remained of the old Kettles but her eyes, which still had the quick observant look in them of some nimble animal, as she advanced in triumph with her tray.

The children stared in surprise at this strange little figure without any idea that they had seen it before, while Miss Unity and Betty watched them with expectant smiles.

"This is my new little maid," said Miss Unity.

Kettles dropped a curtsy, and having put down her tray, stood with her arms hanging straight beside her, and her bright eyes fixed on the children.

All at once Pennie gave her sister a nudge.

"Why, don't you see?" she exclaimed; "I really do believe it's Kettles!"

"We call her Keturah," said Miss Unity smiling kindly. "She is a very good little girl. Keturah, this is the young lady who made you all these nice clothes. You must say `thank you' to her."

Pennie hung shyly back. She did not want to be thanked, and she was quite afraid of Kettles now that she was so neat and clean.

"Do you like them?" she murmured.

Keturah chuckled faintly. "They're fine," she said. "I've got 'em all on. I don't never feel cold now."

"And," continued Miss Unity, "this other young lady, whom I think you saw once at Mrs Margetts', has been kind enough to think of bringing you some nice warm boots and stockings."

She looked at Nancy as she spoke, but for once Nancy remained in the background, clutching her parcel and staring at Kettles over Pennie's shoulder. The old Kettles, who had been in her mind all this time, was gone, and Keturah, clean, tidy, and proper, stood in her place. It was too surprising a change to be understood in a moment, and Nancy was not at all sure that she liked it.

Kettles was silent when the parcel was at length opened and presented, perhaps with excess of joy.

"Well I never!" said Betty, advancing to examine the gift. "Keturah's in luck I will say. Dear, dear, what nice stout boots, to be sure! Well, now," with a nudge to the silent figure, "she'll do her best to deserve such kindness, I know. Haven't you got a word to say to the dear young ladies?"

But Keturah could not be made to speak a word. She dropped her little curtsy, and stood as if turned to stone, clasping the boots and stockings to her chest.

"She ain't tongue-tied; not as a rule," said Betty apologetically to the children; "but she hasn't been much used to presents, and it's a little too much for her."

"I think," said Miss Unity coming to the rescue, "that we must have our tea now, Betty, or the young ladies will have no time--and Keturah can go and try on her new boots and stockings."

"They're my size," said Nancy, speaking for the first time since Keturah's appearance. "I think they'll be sure to fit."

Betty and her little maid having hurried out of the room, Miss Unity's tea-table became the object of interest. It was always very attractive to the children, because it was so different to school-room tea at Easney.

The dark deep colours of the old Derby china seemed to match the plum-cake in richness; there were Pennie's hot-cakes in a covered dish, and Nancy's favourite jam in a sparkling cut-glass tub. In its way, though very different, it was as good as having tea with old Nurse at the College. On this occasion it was unusually pleasant, because there was so much to ask and hear about Keturah.

"Aren't you glad," said Nancy, when the whole story had been fully explained, "that you've got Keturah instead of a new mandarin?"

"Nancy!" said Pennie, shocked at this bold question.

But Nancy was quite unabashed.

"You know, don't you," she said to Miss Unity, "that it was Pennie's first plan to buy you a new one. The boys promised to help, but I didn't. And then all sorts of things happened, and there was hardly any money in the box. And then we saw Kettles. And then I made Pennie give up the plan, and save for the boots and stockings. But we never thought then that she'd ever have anything to do with you."

"It was very good of Pennie to wish to get me a new mandarin," said Miss Unity, her eyes resting affectionately on her god-daughter.

"She wanted to ever so much," continued Nancy. "She wouldn't buy a book she wanted at the fair, on purpose to save her money. But after all, Kettles is much nicer to have, because you can do all sorts of things with her, and the mandarin could only nod his head."

"If it had not been for Pennie," said Miss Unity, "I should never have heard or known anything about Keturah. She has given me a new maid instead of a new mandarin."

"But she's partly from Nancy too," said Pennie, "because you see she made me like Kettles and give up the other."

"She's partly from Pennie, and partly from me, and partly from Dickie too," said Nancy thoughtfully. "If Dickie hadn't had the measles Pennie wouldn't have stopped here, and if she hadn't stopped here you would never have heard of Kettles. Dickie _did_ put a penny into the box out of her slug-money. She took it out again, but she wanted to help with the mandarin. And after all she's helped to give you Kettles."

"Will she always stay here," asked Pennie, "after Betty's arm gets well?"

"If Betty finds her useful I should like her to stay," said Miss Unity, but as she spoke she felt that she should never have the courage to suggest it.

The matter was, however, taken out of her hands by Nancy, who, as soon as Betty appeared to take away the tea-things, put the question point-blank:

"You'll like Kettles to stay, won't you, Betty? because what's the good of making her look so nice if she's to go back to Anchor and Hope Alley?"

"I'm quite agreeable to it, Miss Nancy, if it suits the mistress," said Betty meekly. So the thing was settled at once. Kettles, out of Anchor and Hope Alley, had become Keturah, Miss Unity's maid in the Close.

"She looks very nice now she's Keturah," said Nancy, as the little girls drove away, "but she isn't funny any more. There was something I always liked about Kettles."

And Kettles she always remained to the children at Easney, though the name was never heard at Nearminster.


CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE HOME-COMING.

"I don't believe I ever was so glad of anything in all my life," said Nancy.

She was sitting with Pennie in a favourite place of theirs, a broad window-seat at the end of a passage which looked out on the garden. It was a snug private sort of corner, and when they had any particular bit of work, or any matter they wished to talk over without the boys, it was always their habit to retire there. This morning something very special had happened. A letter from mother to Miss Grey, inclosing one for the children, to say that they were all coming back on Monday. To-day was Saturday. Only one more day and two more nights before mother and father, Dickie, baby, and nurse, would be in their right places, and the house would feel natural again.

The boys, after hearing the news, had at once rushed upstairs to the museum and had not been seen since, though, as Nancy said, there was nothing more they could possibly do to it, unless they made it untidy for the pleasure of putting it straight. For