“You must take me as I am, or I’ll go home again if you like,” said Nesta. “It would be much better for me to go home. I wouldn’t get into quite such an awful row as I shall get into all for love of you, if I went home now. I’ll go if you wish. I’ll just be in time to escape the very worst of the fuss. What am I to do, dear?”
“Never mind about your dress. I’d lend you something of mine, only you are twice as big.”
“Well, I’ll carry this basket,” said Nesta, picking up the tea basket. “Now, do let us go; I shan’t have an easy moment until we are well out of sight of the house.”
The girls walked on briskly. They had, for some time, to walk along the dusty road, but soon they came to a stile which led across some fields, delightfully green and inviting looking at this time of the year. The fields led again into a wood, and this wood, by an upland path, came at last to Norland’s Cliff. Norland’s Cliff was the highest point in that part of the country, and on this eminence had once been built by an eccentric Sir Guy Norland, a tower. He had built it as a sort of a vantage tower, in order to see as far round him as possible; but in the end, in a fit of madness, he had thrown himself from the tower, and his mangled body was found there on a certain winter’s night. Afterwards no one had gone near the tower except as a sort of show place; and it was, of course, supposed to be haunted, particularly at night, when Sir Guy Norland was said to ride round and round on horseback.
But it was a beautiful summer day on the present occasion, and the girls thought of no ghosts, and when they were in the shelter of the woods Nesta began to recount her wrongs.
“She has come back, the old spitfire,” she said, and she explained the whole situation.
Flossie was full of commiseration.
“She wanted you to give up your delightful time with me – this Saturday to which we have been looking forward for such a long time – just to sit with your mother?”
“That’s it, Floss; that’s the truth, Floss. Oh, Floss, how am I to bear it?”
“And you ran away then?”
“Yes, I ran away, I just could do nothing else; I couldn’t give up my afternoon with you. It is all very well to talk of filial affection, but the deepest affection of my heart is given to you, Floss.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Flossie, but she did not speak with the intense rapture that Nesta expected.
“Aren’t you awfully, awfully shocked about it all?” said Nesta, noticing the tone, and becoming annoyed by it.
“I am dreadfully sorry that anything should have occurred to prevent your coming to me; but it does seem fair that you should sometimes be with your mother. When my darling old mothery has a headache I like to sit with her and bathe her forehead with eau de Cologne.”
“Oh, that’s all very well,” said Nesta, “and so would I like to sit with my dear mothery, if she only had a headache once a month or so; but when it is every day, and all day long, and all night too, you get about tired of it.”
“I expect you do,” said Flossie, who was not at all strong-minded, and was easily brought round to Nesta’s point of view. “Well, at any rate, here you are, and we’ll try and have all the fun we can. Oh, do look at those donkeys down there, and the crowd of men, and girls and boys. Isn’t it gay?”
“I wonder if we can get into the tower,” said Nesta.
“We must get into the tower,” remarked Flossie. “I have determined all along that we will have tea just on the very spot where Sir Guy threw himself over the wall. I know the very niche. It will seem so exciting to-night when we are dropping off to sleep. I do like to have a sort of eerie feeling when I’m in a very snug bedroom, close to my father and mother, with the door just a teeny bit open between us. I love it. I wouldn’t like it if there was anything to be frightened about, but to know that you have been close to something queer and uncanny, it makes you seem to sort of hug yourself up, don’t you know the feeling, Nesta?”
“I do, and I don’t,” said Nesta. “I sleep in the room with Molly and Ethel, and we always jabber and jabber until we drop asleep. That’s what we do, but we have great fun all the same.”
Flossie gave a faint sigh. They approached the tower; but to their surprise a custodian stood at the entrance and informed the two little girls that this was a very special show day, and that no one could be admitted into the tower under the large sum of twopence. Neither Nesta nor Flossie had brought a farthing with them, and they stood back, feeling dismayed.
“Never mind,” said Nesta, “let us go and have tea in the wood, it will be just as good fun.”
“I suppose it will; only I did want to see the donkey races. Where are the races, please?” continued Flossie, turning to the man.
But here again disappointment awaited them. They would not be allowed within sight of the donkey races without paying a penny each.
“I have heaps of money at home,” said Flossie, “a whole little savings bank of pennies.”
“And I have half a crown which I have not broken into yet,” said Nesta. “It’s too bad.”
“Well, we have an excellent tea, and it is very shady and pleasant in the woods, much better than sitting in your mother’s room, getting scolded,” said Flossie, “so do come along and let us enjoy ourselves.”
Chapter Eight
A Feast to Delight the Eyes
Meanwhile matters were not going on quite so comfortably at the Aldworths’ house. They began smoothly enough. Mrs Aldworth had spent a morning full of perfect happiness, order, and comfort with her eldest daughter. Marcia had done everything that was possible for the well-being of the invalid. She had given instructions also with regard to the food which she was to be supplied with that afternoon, and last, but not least, had not left her, until she saw her enjoying a delicious little dinner of roast chicken, fresh green peas, and a basket of strawberries.
Mrs Aldworth was already beginning to feel the benefit of the change. Until Marcia arrived on the scene she had been, not nursed, but fussed over, often left alone for long hours together to fret and bemoan herself, to make the worst of her trials, and the least of her blessings. Her girls did not mean to be unkind, but they were very often all out together, and the one who was in, was always in a state of grumbling. Now the house seemed suddenly to have the calm and sweet genius of order and love presiding over it. Mrs Aldworth was conscious of the agreeable change, without analysing it too closely. She was glad, yes, quite glad, that dear Marcia should have a happy time with the St. Justs. She knew all about her husband’s first marriage. He had married a penniless girl of very good family, who had been a governess in a nobleman’s house. He had come across her when he was a poor lawyer, before he rose to his present very comfortable position. He had married her and she had loved him, and as long as she lived he had been a very happy man. But Marcia’s mother had died, and Mrs Aldworth was his second wife. She had been jealous of the first wife in a way a nature like hers would be jealous, jealous of a certain grace and charm about her, which the neighbours had told her of, and which she herself had perceived in the beautiful oil portrait which hung in Marcia’s room. She had always hated that portrait, and had longed to turn it with its face to the wall. But these sort of petty doings had gone out of fashion, and the neighbours would be angry with her if they knew. Then her own children had come, and ill health had fallen upon her, and she had sunk beneath the burden.
Yes, she knew all these things. Her past life seemed to go before her on this pleasant summer’s afternoon like a phantasmagoria. She was not agitated by any reminiscences that came before her eyes, but she was conscious of a sense of soothing. Marcia was nice – Marcia was so clever, and Marcia was wise. She was glad Marcia was out. She too would vie with her in being unselfish; she too would become wise; she too would be clever.
She thought of Marcia’s promise, that whatever happened she would visit her for a few moments that