“There are one or two fairly comfortable, but not exactly what I should recommend for ladies,” he said.
“It is not very often hotel accommodation is needed here. People come down for the day. I did not know – I thought perhaps you had friends in the neighbourhood.”
“No, no one I could go to suddenly,” said Mrs Derwent. “I daresay we shall manage well enough,” and she was turning away, when a bright idea struck the agent.
“There are lodgings – private apartments – in the High Street,” he said, “where you could certainly be accommodated for the night, and though it might be in a plain way, it would be quieter and more retired for ladies alone than the hotels. It is at number – What is Miss Halliday’s number in the High Street, Joseph?” he called out to an invisible somebody in the inner office.
There was a moment’s delay. Then the invisible somebody replied.
“Twenty-nine, sir – number twenty-nine.”
“Exactly – twenty-nine. Miss Halliday has a small millinery establishment, but has more rooms than she wants – it is a good-sized house – and lets them to lodgers. And I happen to know that they are vacant at present.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs Derwent more cordially than she had yet spoken to the house-agent; “I think that sounds much better. We will drive round there at once.”
“Mamma,” said Blanche, when they were again in the fly, “it may be a very good thing to know of these rooms; for we may find it a convenience to come down here before the house is ready, to superintend its getting into order.”
“Yes, that is a good idea,” her mother agreed; “for I may find the hotel in London very dear. I really don’t know. I could not get them to say anything very definite, but English hotels are always dearer than abroad, I believe. Yes, I really think we are very lucky.”
This opinion increased when, in reply to the flyman’s knock at Miss Halliday’s door, it was opened by a neat, old-fashioned looking, little servant-maid of twelve or thirteen, who replied that her missis was in the shop, but she would see the ladies at once. It was evidently a case of lodgings, not bonnets, and the small damsel appreciated its importance.
Mrs Derwent and Blanche left Stasy, rather to her disgust, to wait for them in the fly, while they were shown into Miss Halliday’s best sitting-room. A very nice old sitting-room it was, at the back of the house, looking out upon a long strip of walled-in garden, which in summer bade fair to be quaintly pleasant. And Miss Halliday matched her house. She was small and neat, with a certain flavour of “better days” about her, though without the least touch of faded or complaining, decayed gentility. On the contrary, she was briskly cheerful, though the tones of her voice were gentle and refined. She took in the situation at a glance, was honoured and gratified by the application, much obliged to Mr Otterson, and anxious at once to take upon her small shoulders the responsibility of making her visitors as comfortable as their sudden advent would allow.
“Tell Stasy to come in, Blanchie dear,” said Mrs Derwent. “I have no doubt Miss Halliday will make us a cup of tea quickly, for we are cold and rather tired. – Will your servant ask the flyman his fare?” she added, turning to the little landlady; “and, oh, by-the-by, I forgot. Can I easily send a telegram?”
“The post-office is only two doors off,” Miss Halliday replied. “Deborah shall run with it at once. And this room will soon be warm – the fire burns up very quickly once it is lighted – but if the ladies would honour me by stepping into my own little parlour across the passage. It is nice and warm, and tea shall be ready directly. Dear, dear, down from London to-day, and such cold weather! You must be tired, and longing for tea.”
Now that they were free to rest, they did begin to feel tired, and very glad to escape the dark journey back to town, and the cold drive from the station. The bedrooms up-stairs were aired and ready, as Miss Halliday was expecting visitors next week for a few days.
“There’s a good deal of coming and going at Blissmore, nowadays,” she said. “It’s a very improving place by what it used to be, every one says,” as she hospitably bustled about.
“You have not been here many years, I suppose,” said Mrs Derwent. “I cannot remember this house. I don’t think it used to be a shop in the old days, otherwise I should recollect it. There were not many shops here when I was a girl.”
Miss Halliday looked deeply interested, but she was too well-bred a little woman to ask questions.
“If you were here a good many years ago, madam,” she said, “you may remember my aunt, Mrs Finch, whom I succeeded. She had a nice little millinery business, and I came to her as a learner. Things had gone badly at home, after my dear old father died, and I was very glad to have the chance my aunt offered me. That was about seven years ago. There’s been many changes here even since then, but the most of the building had begun before I came.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Derwent, “I had not heard anything of it. I was quite astonished to find how the school had increased. Mrs Finch, did you say? Oh yes, I remember her very well, but she did not live here – not in this house.”
“No,” said Miss Halliday, “my aunt lived in the Market Place – a small corner house. But we got on pretty well, and then we moved here to join apartments to the millinery. So many ladies disliked the hotels: they were noisy and rough. And it’s answered pretty well on the whole.”
“Then your aunt is dead, I suppose,” said Mrs Derwent. “She must have been a good age, for when I remember her, she had already quite white hair and stooped a good deal. She used to retrim and alter my hats very nicely, and I remember how interested she was when my new ones came down from London. I was – my unmarried name was Fenning. My father was the rector of Fotherley, the village near Alderwood.”
Miss Halliday looked delighted at having her curiosity thus satisfied.
“Oh indeed, madam,” she said. “I’m sure I’ve heard my aunt speak of the late Mr Fenning. When I first came to Blissmore, the vicar of Fotherley was a Mr Fleming, and I recollect my aunt drawing a contrast, if you’ll excuse my naming it, between that gentleman and his predecessor.”
Mrs Derwent smiled.
“Yes,” she said, “by all accounts there was a very marked contrast.”
Then Deborah appeared to say that the fire was burning up nicely in the best parlour, and thither the ladies repaired to rest and talk. Blanche, the foreseeing, had taken the precaution of bringing a bag with a few necessary articles “just in case we were kept too late,” and Miss Halliday was only too ready to lend anything she could, so the prospects for the night were not very alarming.
Altogether, the spirits of the little family improved; and when Miss Halliday’s neatly prepared little supper made its appearance, they drew their chairs round the table, prepared to do full justice to it.
“I really think,” said Mrs Derwent for the second time that day, “that we have been very lucky. It is nice to have found out these lodgings. We could stay here quite comfortably for a few weeks while the house is getting ready.”
“It would certainly be much less expensive than a London hotel,” said Blanche. “Yes, I do hope we may get to like Blissmore, if all goes through about the house.”
“You mean you hope we shall like Pinnerton Lodge,” said Stasy. “We needn’t have anything to do with Blissmore, except, of course, that it will be our station and post-town. And I suppose we shall do a little shopping here. But, of course, we shall not know any Blissmore people. Mamma, I wish you’d begin to look up some of your old friends. That big place now, near us – East Moddersham. Didn’t you know those people long ago?”
Mrs Derwent shook her head.
“It was as good as shut up in those days,” she said. “The Marths were scarcely ever there, as the then Lady Marth was very delicate. – Do the present owners of East Moddersham live there much, do you know?” she inquired of Miss Halliday, who just then