Silverthorns

Chapter Five

Lady Mildred

Charlotte went home that Monday looking fagged and unlike herself. Her mother met her as she was going into the school-room, her arms loaded with books.

“My dear, is that you?” said Mrs Waldron. “I did not hear you come in. What a dull, dreary day it is! You have not got wet, I hope?”

“It was not actually raining. My frock got no harm,” Charlotte replied.

But her voice was dull and dreary like the day, and though, as she had just said of the weather, “not actually raining,” the mother’s ears perceived that tears were not very far off.

“Don’t go to lessons again immediately you come in,” she said. ”‘All work and no play’ makes dull girls as well as dull boys. Come into the drawing-room. Jerry came in looking so shivery that I am going to give him a cup of my afternoon tea. Come too, dear, and let us three have a few minutes cosily together. The other boys won’t be home yet.”

Charlotte hesitated.

“Mamma,” she said, “I must work hard – harder than ever; and then – I changed my blue frock immediately. You know I promised you I would, and if any one should come in I would not look very nice,” and she glanced at the old brown dress.

“Nonsense, dear. It is most unlikely that any one will come on such a day. And take my word for it, you will work far better if you give yourself a little interval – a pleasant little interval.”

Mrs Waldron opened the drawing-room door as she spoke, and Charlotte followed her. It did look pleasant and inviting, for well-worn as was much of the furniture, simple – in these days of plush and lace and gorgeous Eastern draperies – as were the few additions that had been made to it from time to time, Charlotte’s mother possessed the touch that seems born with some people, of making a room attractive. Her extreme, exquisite neatness had to do with it – the real underlying spirit of order, which has nothing in common with cold primness or the vulgar hiding away from observation of the occupations of daily life; and joined to this a keen perception of colour, a quick eye and hand for all combinations which give pleasure.

“I can always tell when mamma has been in a room,” Charlotte would say, rather dolefully. “I wonder if I shall ever learn to give things the look she does.”

The tea-table was drawn up near the fire, and Jerry was seated on a low chair beside it.

“Oh, mamma,” he exclaimed, “I thought you were never coming. I have made the tea to perfection. Oh, and here’s Charlotte too. How jolly! It isn’t often that we three get a cosy tea together like this.”

“Are you warmer now, my boy?” his mother asked. “You are very bluey-white-looking still.”

For Jerry, unable to run or even to walk fast, was apt to catch bad colds in chilly weather.

“I’m all right, thank you, mother. I’m quite hungry. Look, Charlotte,” and he raised the cover of a neat little china dish on the table, “isn’t that nice? I bought it for a present to mother. I got it from the old muffin-man – he was just passing. That’s why mamma invited me to tea, I expect.”

Charlotte’s face relaxed. It was impossible to look and feel gloomy with such a welcome.

“It isn’t fair for me to come too,” she said in her own pleasant voice; “one muffin isn’t too much for two.”

“Nor for one, when it’s a proper tea,” said Jerry.

“But this isn’t, you know. This is only a slight refection. We’re going to have our proper school-room tea as usual of course.”

“And how have you got on to-day, Charlotte?” asked her mother, when the muffin and the tea had been discussed. She was a little anxious to hear, though careful not to let it be seen that she was so.

Charlotte’s face clouded over.

“Mamma,” she said, “I think you had better not ask me. You know I would tell you and Jerry more than anybody – but – I want to be good, and I can’t, and – perhaps there are some bad feelings that it’s best not to speak about.”

Jerry looked up with fullest sympathy in his thin white face.

“I don’t know,” said Mrs Waldron. “I can’t judge unless you tell me a little. Is it about that young girl, Charlotte? Has she come?”

“Yes; she was there all day.”

“Well, is she disagreeable? Does she interfere with you in any way?”

“In every way, mamma. At least I feel sure it is going to be in every way. She’s – she’s to be in my class for everything. She’s – it’s no good hiding the truth – she’s awfully clever and far on, and ahead of us all.”

Mrs Waldron’s face looked grave. She felt such sympathy with Charlotte that she was almost shocked at herself. She was only human! She had hoped that her child might be spared the special rivalry which she knew would touch her the most acutely.

“Are you not fanciful, dear? How can you possibly be sure in one day that Miss – what is her name?”

“Meredon, mamma. Claudia Meredon – isn’t it a lovely name?” said Charlotte with a rather curious smile. “Even her name is uncommon and beautiful.” Mrs Waldron could not help laughing.

“You are going too far, my dear child. I am sure your own name is quite nice enough. You have no reason to be ashamed of it.”

“Ashamed of it! no, mamma,” said Charlotte with heightened colour. “It isn’t that.”

“But you are fanciful, dear, about Miss Meredon. How can you be sure in one day that she is going to distance you in all your lessons?”

“She will do so in German, any way,” said Charlotte gloomily, “and that is almost the worst of all. Oh, mamma, if you had heard Herr Märklestatter to-day! Just out of contradiction I got an extra difficult piece to translate, and I stumbled over it rather, I know. At another time I wouldn’t have minded, and he wouldn’t have minded. But to-day – ”

“He wanted you to show off before the new girl of course, and very likely you did too, and that made you worse,” said Jerry bluntly.

“Perhaps,” Charlotte agreed. “But oh, mamma, you would have been sorry for me,” and her voice broke.

“I am sorry for you, my dear. It is a battle you have to fight. But you must be brave – about your lessons; you know we know you always do your best. That should keep you happy.”

Charlotte gave a deep sigh. But before she left the room she stooped and kissed her mother.

“Thank you, mamma,” she said.

Jerry followed her to the school-room.

“Jerry,” she said, as she sat down and spread out her books, “I must have had a sort of feeling that this girl was to do me harm. It is not true that things are even – she has everything, you see. The worst of it is, that I almost believe she is good.”

“Charlotte!” exclaimed Jerry.

“Yes, it sounds awful, but you know what I mean. It makes it horrider of me to hate her, and I’m afraid I do. At least if she gets the German prize – the one he gives for composition at the end of the term – I shall.”

“Shall what?”

“Hate her,” said Charlotte, grimly.

Jerry said no more.

Had Claudia Meredon “everything?”

Charlotte would assuredly have thought so more firmly than ever had she seen her at the moment when she was thus speaking of her. She was driving up the Silverthorns avenue in the pretty pony-carriage which Lady Mildred had appropriated to her use. It was a chilly evening, and the rain had been falling by heavy fits and starts all day. Miss Meredon was well wrapped up, however, and she drove fast. Her cheeks were glowing with excitement, and even in that most unbecoming of attire, a waterproof cloak, she looked, as Charlotte had almost bitterly allowed, “lovely.” Her bright hair crept out in little wavy curls from under her black hat, her eyes were sparkling – she looked a picture of happiness.

“Don’t ring,” she said quickly to the groom, as she threw him the reins, “I’ll let myself in,” and she was out of the carriage and up the steps in a moment.

The great front door was fastened from within, but Claudia ran round the terrace to a side entrance which she knew she should find open. And without waiting to take off even her waterproof, she flew down a passage, across the large hall, and into a smaller one, on to which opened the drawing-room where Lady Mildred usually sat when alone.

“She cannot but be pleased,” thought the girl; “and if I am very quick, I may be able to write a word home to-night.”

She opened the door, and as she did so she seemed to bring in with her a gust of the fresh breezy autumn air. The lady who was reading by the fire, or possibly dozing, for the light was growing faint, started and shivered.

“Claudia,” she exclaimed, “for any sake, shut the door. How can you be so inconsiderate?”

Miss Meredon closed the door gently and came forward.

“Oh, Aunt Mildred, forgive me; I am so sorry,” she replied in her bright eager voice. “I was in such a hurry to tell you how capitally I have got on. I have been so happy. The school is delightful. And, aunt, only fancy – won’t mamma and all of them be pleased? The German master did so praise me! I am to be in the highest class, and – and – he said it would do the others good to have me with them. It’s not for myself I am so pleased – it’s for papa and mamma. And to think that I never had German lessons from any one but mamma.”

She ran on so eagerly that it would have been almost impossible to stop her. And when she at last came to a halt, out of breath, Lady Mildred did not at once speak. When she did her words were more chilling than silence.

“I do wish you were less impulsive and excitable, Claudia,” she said. “Of course I am pleased that you should take a good place, and all that; but I think it rather injudicious of the teachers to have begun praising you up so the first day. They would not have done so had you not been my niece. It is just what I was afraid of.”

“Aunt Mildred, I assure you the German master knew nothing about who I was. And I feel sure he wouldn’t have cared if he had known. And it was more he than any one. Miss Lloyd is nice, but – she isn’t at all gushing. She just told me quietly that so far as she could judge I should be in the highest classes, and – and that it was plain I had been very well taught.”

Lady Mildred looked up sharply.

“You did not – I hope,” she said, “you did not think it necessary to enlighten them as to who had been your teachers?”

“No,” said Claudia, “I did not, because you had told me not to do so. I don’t know in any case that I should have done so, aunt, for though you say I am so childish, I don’t feel inclined to tell everything to people I don’t know. Indeed I am not so silly, only – I couldn’t help running to tell you, just – just as I would have done to mamma,” and Claudia’s voice quivered a little.

“Oh, well,” said her aunt, “don’t excite yourself about it. I am glad to see you have sense of your own – indeed, I always say you have if you would only think a little. But you must learn to be less impulsive – you know how entirely I forbid your making any friendships or intimacies among those girls. What are they like – pretty fair on the whole?”

“They were all very kind,” began Claudia.

“Kind, child! Don’t use such stupid words. Of course they will be all only too civil. That’s not the question. What sort of girls do they seem?”

“Some seem very nice indeed,” replied Miss Meredon. “The nicest looking of all, indeed she is rather a peculiarly pretty girl – I never saw any one quite like her, except – no, I don’t remember who it can be she reminds me of. She has quite dark brown hair, and a rather brown complexion, prettily brown, you know, and yet bright blue eyes. Her name is Charlotte Waldron.”

“Humph!” said Lady Mildred, “like her father.” She was not fond of Mr Waldron’s very “Osbert” characteristics, though she scarcely allowed even to herself that he had any traceable connection with the Silverthorns’ family.

“Oh, do you know them?” exclaimed Claudia, joyfully. “I felt sure when I saw her that you could not object – ”

“Nonsense, Claudia,” Lady Mildred interrupted. “Her father is the Wortherham lawyer, or a Wortherham lawyer; no doubt there are plenty of them. And I should rather more object, if possible, to your making friends with this girl than with any others of the Wortherham misses. Mr Waldron has some little of the Silverthorns business, and I won’t have any gossiping about my affairs. You know the understanding on which you came to me?”

“Of course I do, dear aunt,” Claudia replied. “I wish you would not think because I say out to you whatever I feel that I have any idea of going against your wishes. I only meant that this girl looked so – it sounds rather vulgar to express it so, but it is the only way to say it – she looks so completely a lady that I thought you would probably not mind my knowing her a little better than the others. I fancy we shall be together in most of our lessons.”

“So much the worse,” thought Lady Mildred. “It is really very unlucky. I had no idea that Edward Waldron had a daughter old enough to be at school.”

But aloud, after a moment’s silence, she remarked with a slight touch of sarcasm in her tone, —

“So Miss Waldron also is a remarkably talented young person. She must be so if she is to rank with you, I suppose.”

“Aunt Mildred!” exclaimed Claudia. In her place most girls of her age, Charlotte Waldron certainly, would have burst into tears, or left the room in indignation, but this was fortunately not Claudia’s “way.” She forced back the momentary feeling of irritation, and answered brightly: “I know you are only teasing me, Aunt Mildred. You don’t really think me so dreadfully conceited?”

Even Lady Mildred could not help relaxing.

“You are very sweet-tempered, my dear, whatever else you are or are not, and it is the best of all gifts.” She sighed as she spoke.

“Now you will make me blush,” said Claudia merrily.

“And was this Miss Waldron very ‘kind,’ as you call it – very ‘empressée,’ and all the rest of it?” Lady Mildred asked.

“No-o,” answered Claudia, hesitating a little; “I can’t say that she was. Her manner is rather cold and reserved, but there is something very nice about her. I am sure she would be very nice if one knew her better. Perhaps she is shy. I think that gave me the feeling of wishing to be nice to her,” she added naïvely.

”‘Nice’ in the sense of being civil and courteous, of course you must be. I trust you are quite incapable of being otherwise. And it is the most ill-bred and vulgar idea to suppose that the right way of keeping people in their places is by being rude to them. That at once puts one beneath them. But, on the other hand, that is a very different thing from rushing into school-girl intimacies and bosom friendships, which I cannot have.”

“I know,” said Claudia, but though she sighed a little it was inaudibly. “Aunt Mildred,” she began again, half-timidly.

“Well?”

“Has the letter-bag gone? Can I possibly write to mamma to-night?”

“The post-bag has not gone, I believe,” said Lady Mildred. “No doubt you can write. I suppose you are in a fever to report the German master’s compliments – if you think it amiable and considerate to leave your old aunt alone when she has been alone all day, instead of making tea for her and sitting talking with her comfortably. But of course you very intellectual young ladies now-a-days think such small attentions to old people quite beneath you. You will prefer to write in your own room, I suppose – you have a fire. I will send you up some tea if you wish it. May I trouble you to ring the bell?” But as Claudia, without speaking, came forward to do so, Lady Mildred gave a little scream.

“Good gracious, child, you haven’t taken off your waterproof, and you have been standing beside me all this time with that soakingly wet cloak. If you are determined to kill yourself I object to your killing me too.”

“It is scarcely wet, aunt,” said Claudia, gently. “But I am very sorry all the same,” and she left the room as she spoke.

“Why do I constantly vex her?” she said to herself, despairingly. “I must be very stupid and clumsy. I do so want to please her, as papa and mamma said, not only because she is so good to us, but even more, because she is so lonely – poor Aunt Mildred. Of course my letter can wait till to-morrow. Oh, I know what I’ll do – I’ll be very quiet, and I’ll creep into the drawing-room behind Ball with the tea-tray, and Aunt Mildred will not know I’m there.”

And the smiles returned to Claudia’s face as she flew up-stairs and along the gallery to her room. Such a pretty, comfortable room as it was! A bright fire burned in the grate, her writing-table stood temptingly ready. Claudia would dearly have liked to have sat down there and then, to rejoice the home hearts with her good news. For they, as well as she, had been awaiting rather anxiously the results of her measuring her forces against those of her compeers. So much depended on the opinion of qualified and impartial judges as to her capacities; for, as her mother had said laughingly, —

“It may be the old story of our thinking our goose a swan, you know, dear.”

Yes, it would have been delightful to write off at once – a day sooner than they had been expecting to hear. But the very sight of her room confirmed the girl in not yielding to the temptation, for it recalled Lady Mildred’s constant though undemonstrative kindness.

“No doubt it was she who told the servants to keep the fire up for fear I should be cold,” she thought. “Dear me, how very good she is to me. How I wish mamma, and Lalage, and Alix, and all of them, for that matter, could see me here really like a little princess! But oh! how I wish I could send some of all this luxury to them – if I could but send dear mamma a fire in her room to-night! They won’t even be allowing themselves one in the drawing-room yet – they’ll all be sitting together in the study. Monday evening, poor papa’s holiday evening, as he calls it.”

All the time she was thus thinking she was taking off her things as fast as possible. In two minutes she was ready, her hair in order, the rebellious curls in their place, her collar, and all the little details of her dress fit to stand the scrutiny of even Lady Mildred’s sharp eyes; and as she flew down-stairs again, she met, as she had counted upon, the footman carrying in the tea-tray. The drawing-room was quite dark now, as far as light from outside was concerned, and Lady Mildred’s lamp left the corners in shadow. It was easy for Claudia to slip in unperceived, for her aunt was not expecting her, and did not even raise her eyes when the door opened, and the slight clatter that always accompanies cups and saucers announced the arrival of the tea.

“Tell Crossley to come in a few minutes to take Miss Meredon’s tea up-stairs,” said Lady Mildred, not knowing that the footman had already left the room, and that the movements she still heard were made by Claudia, safely ensconced behind the tray, and laughing quietly to herself. In another minute a voice close beside her made the old lady start.

“Aunt Mildred,” it said, “here is your tea.”

“Claudia!” she exclaimed. “I thought you were up-stairs in your room.”

“Selfishly writing my letter home! Oh, aunt! how could you think I would be so horrid! My letter will do very well to-morrow. I did not think it was so near tea-time when I thoughtlessly spoke of it. Do you think I don’t enjoy making tea for you? – almost the only thing I can do for you,” said the girl with a kind of affectionate reproach.