Book Two – Chapter Eight
Mr Durrant Visits Brown House
Mr Durrant arrived at the Brown House on Sunday afternoon. It was a day when few visitors were expected. Mr Starling, having gone to church in the morning, invariably spent the afternoon lying back in a cosy corner of the green-house, smoking and reading a Sunday newspaper. He was by no means an irreligious man, but he liked his ease on Sunday, being under the supposition that he worked extremely hard during the week days. Mrs Starling spent Sunday afternoon lying down and imagining herself a little worse than usual. Miss Felicia sat in the drawing-room, and Violet and Rose played on the lawn.
They were quite good little children and never made any unruly noise – that is, except when Robina was at home. Robina brought a disturbing element into their young lives: but now that she was gone, and Bo-peep was gone, the entire Starling family had settled down into their ordinary habits.
The day was an intensely hot one, and when Mr Durrant appeared on the scene, he stood still for a minute to wipe the moisture from his brow.
“Hallo, little ’un!” he said to Rose who, not at all shy, toddled up to him.
“What’s ’oo want, g’ate big man?” was her inquiry.
“I want your father, or your mother, or your aunt,” was Malcolm Durrant’s reply. “I want some one who can tell me something. Now I know you can’t, because you’re too small.”
“There’s my auntie in the drawing-room,” said Violet at that moment. Violet by no means wished Rose to monopolise the stranger. “She’ll say ‘Don’t’ if you has mud on your boots: but you hasn’t, they is quite clean.”
“Only dusty,” said Rose. “Let’s dust ’em.”
She knelt down as she spoke, and, taking the skirt of her little white frock, began to remove the dust from the stranger’s boots.
“Don’t, Rose! Rose, how dare you!” called a shrill voice from the drawing-room, and Miss Felicia made her appearance through the open window. “How do you do, sir,” she said. “I must apologise for my niece. Really, Rose, your conduct is disgraceful. Go away at once to the nursery and get your frock changed; what a dreadful mess you are in!”
“Poor little one!” said Malcolm Durrant. “She but did what her sex did before her for the Saviour of all the world. Forgive her, madam.”
He spoke in a very courteous tone, and, raising his hat, exhibited a noble brow and features which at once puzzled Miss Felicia and caused her heart to beat. “Won’t you come indoors, sir?” she said.
“And don’t ‘don’t’ him, please auntie!” said Violet.
But Miss Felicia, agitated, she knew not why, did not even hear her. She conducted the stranger into the little drawing-room.
“Sit down, sir,” she said. “And now, may I ask your name. You have, of course, come to see my brother-in-law on business. I can call him in a moment; but first, would you not like something to drink?”
“Very much, indeed,” said the stranger. “The fact is, I was never in such a thirsty place in the whole course of my life. A cup of tea or – or lemonade or – or – water – in fact, anything except spirits.”
“Dear sir, I am glad you are a teetotaller.”
“Dear madam, I drink wine in moderation; but that is neither here nor there. I should not like it at the present moment. You want to know my name? Malcolm Durrant. Your niece – for surely you are Miss Felicia Jennings – is at present honouring me by residing under my roof.”
“So you are the great traveller,” said Miss Felicia. She felt herself turning quite pale. “Sir,” she said, in a low reverent tone, “I honour you. It is a great, great privilege to have you under this roof. I will presently tell my brother-in-law and my sister of your arrival. My poor sister is a sad invalid; but to see you – I have not the slightest doubt – she will make an effort to come downstairs.”
“And I earnestly beg,” said Durrant, “she will do nothing of the kind. My business can be confided to you, madam. You can acquaint your sister and your brother-in-law with my desires, and they can either accept or refuse. But first of all – your hospitality was very much to the fore, dear madam, a minute ago; and I am terribly thirsty.”
Never did Miss Felicia Jennings in the whole course of her life feel happier than now. She tripped eagerly from the room, knocking against a chair as she did so. In a few minutes, she conveyed in her own fair hands a large glass of cool lemonade to her guest. He drank it off to the last drop, put down the empty glass, and told Miss Felicia in the most courteous language that she was a good Samaritan.
“Ah! my dear sir,” was her reply. “Who would not be a good Samaritan to you?”
Durrant settled himself comfortably in his easy chair.
“You have a nice little place here,” he said, “and a pretty out-look. How many sweet and peaceful homes there are in England! – and those two dear little maids to welcome me on the lawn. I only wish that they belonged to my party of young people who are at present enjoying life at Sunshine Lodge.”
“They are too young to leave home at present,” said Miss Felicia; “although I doubt not that being in your presence would do them a great deal of good. May I ask, my dear sir, how that precious little animal, Bo-peep, is progressing?”
“Bo-peep is, I believe, in admirable health, and so is Robina. You have not asked yet after the welfare of your niece.”
“Robina is a strong child: she never ails anything,” replied Miss Felicia.
“I am glad to be able to inform you that she remains in her normal, health,” answered Durrant. “And now for the purpose of this visit. I have, as you know, a little son.”
“I have heard of him; a child after your own heart – in fact, your Benjamin.”
“My little son; my only child,” said Durrant. “He is young – not yet quite six years old. I do not care to send children of such a tender age to school. I have many schemes for his future while I, alas! am forced to part from him, and my final desire is to leave him in his present home with a trustworthy lady whom I know, and who was my late dear wife’s relation – and with one young girl to be his constant companion. The girl I particularly wish to be with Ralph during my absence is, madam, your niece, Robina Starling.”
“Indeed!” said Miss Felicia. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘Don’t,’ but the word did not come.
“You look surprised,” said the traveller.
“Well,” said Miss Felicia, “I know you admire Robina, or you would not have given her that pony in such an extraordinary and munificent way. But surely, she is a little – a little rough – if I may so express it.”
“Hers is an upright character: she is upright, honest, truthful. My boy cares for her, and she cares for him: he cannot be under better influence. In short, if her father and mother consent, I want to make them an offer with regard to their child, Robina.”
“And what is that offer, Mr Durrant?”
“I want to take her from her present school, making arrangements with Mrs Burton, so that Mr Starling may be put to no expense by her transfer. I want to give her all the possible advantages of a good education. These can partly be supplied by Mrs Temple, who is a very polished and accomplished lady, and partly by masters and mistresses who visit Eastbourne weekly from London. Eventually, if she so desires it, I would pay all her expenses at Girton or Newnham.”
“It is a great chance for Robina: to be honest with you,” continued Miss Felicia, “we sent her from home because she was a little noisy, and upset her poor dear mother, who is a sad invalid; but she is a good girl on the whole.”
“I find her an excellent girl: I like her very much.”
“Well, sir,” said Miss Felicia; “I thank you for what you have told me. I will now go and acquaint my brother-in-law with the fact that he is deeply honoured by your visit to our humble roof.”
“Don’t put it in that way, I beg of you, madam. Try, please, and remember that when I am at home I may be just an ordinary individual, and in no sense wish to be lionised. You will oblige me by bearing this fact in mind.”
“I will endeavour to do so,” said Miss Felicia. She left the room, nodding many times to herself.
“Now he is under our roof – I have looked at him: I have heard his voice. I wonder if he will write his name in my birthday book. I should so prize it. I have not had one real celebrity to write in my book yet. Malcolm Durrant! How that great name would stand out amongst the inferior signatures of the people in our small neighbourhood. Oh, what a chance for Robina! Of course she will go. And her expenses lifted from her father’s head. He will grab at it. I can’t imagine myself what such a great man as Malcolm Durrant finds in the child. Still, these great people are very odd now and then in their preferences. I must go to wake Edward. Dear, dear! what a lot of sleep that man does require!”
She burst open the green-house door.
“Edward; how you are snoring! Do rouse yourself. Who do you think is in the drawing-room?”
“Dear me, Felicia! How can I tell,” replied Edward Starling, rubbing his eyes and looking at his sister-in-law in a dazed way. “You know perfectly well that I don’t see visitors on Sunday. It is my one day of rest after a week of toil.”
“A week of toil, indeed! Why, you do nothing. But rouse yourself now, if you don’t want your child to lose her golden chance in life. There is no less a person waiting for you in the drawing-room than the great traveller, Malcolm Durrant!”
Now the fame of this very great person had penetrated even to Edward Starling’s ears, and he roused himself at the news, fixing his eyes in some amazement on his sister-in-law.
“You must be dreaming,” he said. “It is quite impossible that Durrant should come here.”
“But he has come here! It is about Robina; he wants to settle her in life, to do everything for her. You had best go and clinch the bargain. What he sees in her is more than I can tell. If I had my way, and could speak honestly to the poor dear man, I would say ‘Don’t’ fast enough. But there – these geniuses always take strange fancies – do let me pull your collar down, Edward, and smooth that long lock of your front hair. It looks so queer half hanging down your back. Now then, you look better. Go in: make yourself agreeable. I will follow in a few minutes just to see that you don’t make a fool of yourself.”
Book Two – Chapter Nine
A Discovery
Malcolm Durrant might be a great traveller, and doubtless was; but all the same, Mr Starling felt annoyed at being disturbed in his Sunday nap. Great people did not raise enthusiasm within his breast: he believed in them, of course, and would have been quite interested to hear some of the said Malcolm Durrant’s adventures, had that gentleman been kind enough to tell them. But on a hot August afternoon, sleep was more refreshing than anything else, and he was not in the best of humours, when he entered the room where his guest was waiting for him.
Robina – Something was about to happen which would be to Robina’s advantage. As a matter of fact, she was his favourite child. He had a much better time when she was at home than when she was at school. She suited him, as he himself expressed it, down to the ground. She “ragged” him, as she called it. She was not at all afraid of him. She made him laugh. She encouraged him to be more noisy at meals than Miss Felicia thought was seemly in the house with a great invalid. He had yielded to Miss Felicia’s representations that school was necessary for Robina. She had gone to school, and some one else had discovered her virtues, for she had come back accompanied by a very valuable adjunct – no less a thing than a live pony, a spirited animal which could gallop and canter and trot and look all that was bright and intelligent. This animal, provided with a side-saddle and attendant groom whose wages were paid by some one else was a great addition to the ménage at the Brown House. When Robina went away to Sunshine Lodge, accompanied by the pony and the groom and the side-saddle, Edward Starling had missed his child and her belongings a great deal. He wondered what else was to be expected of him, and nodded curtly now to the stranger as he entered the room.
“Glad to see you, of course, sir,” he said. “How is Robina?”
“Very well, thank you,” said Durrant.
“You are a great person, Mr Durrant,” said Starling: “that is, you have made a great name for yourself. But be that as it may, I hold with the words, ‘A man’s a man for a’ that.’ You are a man, sir, and I am another, and Robina is my child. Now, my sister-in-law, who between ourselves is a right good sort but a bit of a goose, considers you not a man, but an archangel, with a halo round you. Now I see neither the archangel nor the halo, but a person who at present is enjoying the society of my pleasing young daughter. I understand that you have come to say something to me about her. What, Mr Durrant, may that something be?”
“A very outspoken something,” replied Durrant. “I am exceedingly glad, Mr Starling, that you speak to me as you do. I am not an archangel, and I wear no halo. I am an ordinary man. Circumstances have placed me, on several occasions, in positions of extreme danger where, if I had not used an Englishman’s pluck, I should have been worsted in the battle. I only did, sir, what you or any other man would have done under the circumstances. But now – to come to your child. I want to know if you will grant me a very great favour.”
“Well, let us hear it, let us hear it,” said Starling. “But why should we sit moped up in this fusty room? Let us come out into the garden and enjoy our pipes together: what do you say?”
“I shall be only too delighted,” said Durrant.
The two men immediately left the drawing-room. Miss Felicia, from a sheltered corner of her sister’s bedroom, watched them as they passed up and down.
“He has, my dear sister,” she remarked, “the most honourable carriage of the head: it is but to look at that man to see what he is. You, dear, at least, won’t throw any obstacle in the way of Robina’s good luck: all her life long it will be remembered in her favour that she was selected by Malcolm Durrant to be the companion of his little boy during his own absence.”
“I am not likely to put an obstacle in the way,” answered Mrs Starling, “seeing that I have small voice in any matters. Where you don’t rule me, – Felicia, – my husband does; and where my husband doesn’t, the little children do; and where the little children don’t, Robina does; and where Robina doesn’t, the servants do. I am ruled by everyone; I am the most ruled out person on earth; I have not a bit of colour or opinion left. When Bo-peep was here, I felt a little happier than I had done for some time, because the animal seemed to like me without wanting in the very least to get the upper hand of me. But there, it cannot be helped.”
“Don’t talk any more in that silly vein,” was Miss Felicia’s remark. “Each day after day as it goes, you make things quite disagreeable and contrary. I wanted to dress you nicely and bring you downstairs to tea, so that you might have the privilege of conversing yourself with the distinguished traveller; but really, what with hysterics in view, I doubt if it would not be better to leave you upstairs.”
“I am not going to have any hysterics,” said poor Mrs Starling. “I have passed all that. Perhaps Robina rules me rather less than the rest of you; but I should like to see the man who wants to be a sort of father to her. I can’t imagine why she should leave her own father; but you all think otherwise.”
“We all think otherwise,” retorted Miss Felicia with a sort of snort; “when golden chances do come in life, as a rule one isn’t such a fool as to throw them away. But now, my dear Agnes, your purple silk dress with the real lace collar will look exceedingly nice, and it will do you no harm to get into it, even if you don’t come downstairs.”
While Mrs Starling was being dressed, the men were having their smoke in the garden. Durrant made his proposal quite plainly before Mr Starling.
“I shall be absent for a year,” he said. “During that time, I want your daughter to be my little son’s companion; I, of course, paying all expenses. At the end of the year, she can, if you wish it, go back to Mrs Burton, and continue her education in that most excellent school, or she can still remain under my roof, looked after by my friend and relation, Mrs Temple, and given the best possible instruction that Eastbourne and the neighbourhood of London can supply. When she is old enough, I will myself send her to Newnham or Girton; or if she does not care for that sort of education I will give her two or three years’ foreign travel. It will be a great pleasure to me to do all this for the girl who helps my little boy during a rather lonely period of his life. I offer these advantages to your daughter because, in the first place, Ralph likes her better than any other girl he has ever seen, and in the second place, I respect and love her on her own account. During the holidays she will of course spend the time with you, unless you wish it otherwise.”
“There is no use whatever in that,” said Starling, interrupting Mr Durrant’s remarks in a somewhat gruff voice. “Robina is a good girl, and suits me uncommonly well, but she does not get on with the ladies here. Can’t tell why, I am sure – too outspoken – doesn’t suit Felicia Jennings. Felicia, between you and me, is somewhat of a bore – an excellent creature, but too much ‘don’t’ about her. Robina has got a high spirit, and she can’t stand it. That is why she went to school. Believe me, I didn’t want her to go: I miss the girl uncommonly. She takes after me – a little rough, you know.”
“I haven’t found her rough,” said Mr Durrant.
“Well, perhaps you would not call it so; but that is what the women here say. They have dinned it into my ear till at last I have got to believe it. Robina is so rough, they say, and so noisy, and so like a tomboy.”
“I need not tell you, my dear sir, that I found the child spirited and agreeable and an excellent companion. What I admire about her so much is her outspoken honesty and her truthfulness,” said Mr Durrant.
“Well, yes; she is all that: I have never found her out in a lie, never, although, to be sure, many a person might prevaricate a trifle to get away from the ‘don’ts’ of that old woman, Felicia. I am agreeable to your proposal, Mr Durrant: you can carry it out with my consent, and I have no doubt my poor wife will also fall in with your views: but I leave you, sir, to tackle the ladies yourself, for I am no match for them. Women are always slippery sort of creatures, hard to circumvent, sir, and mighty knowing. It is my belief they have twice the brains of us men. A woman can squeeze herself out of a corner where a man would be simply trapped. Now you know my opinion. Robina’s a good girl, and she may as well stay at Sunshine Lodge for a year as at Mrs Burton’s for a year. As to the holidays; if you would invite me to spend part of the time with her at Sunshine Lodge, it would save a lot of ructions; but I don’t make that a sine qua non. I am agreeable to any arrangement that suits you and the ladies.”
“Thank you; you are very kind,” said Mr Durrant.
The conversation languished a little after that, although Mr Starling tried to keep it lively by expatiating on Bo-peep’s many excellent points, and describing how truly his wife loved the little animal. Eventually, a small, clear voice interrupted the conversation, and Violet, dressed in her best and most starchy white frock, appeared on the scene. She announced in a prim little voice that tea was ready.
“You is to come in, and I may hold oo’s hand,” said Violet, giving hers at once with the utmost confidence to the stranger.
The men immediately entered the house, accompanied by the little maid. Rose was within, looking rather tearful, and seated close to her mother.
“I is not to ’peak, but I is ’onging to,” was her first remark as she fixed her cherubic eyes on the stranger’s face.
“Don’t, Rose! Keep silent,” said her aunt. “Mr Durrant, may I present you to my dear sister, Robina’s mother.”
Mr Durrant found a place close to Rose. He presently transferred this small person to his own knee, where she became radiantly happy, and then he entered into conversation with Mrs Starling. Mrs Starling, without in the least intending it, managed to convey to him the fact that she considered Robina a very rough, disobedient child, whom of course she loved, but to whom discipline was sadly necessary.
Mrs Starling was a very sweet looking woman, notwithstanding her illness, and Durrant became instantly much interested in her, and asked her a good many questions with regard to Robina. Finally, it was arranged that the momentous question of the little girl’s becoming Malcolm Durrant’s guest during his absence was to be deferred until the week after that spent by the entire happy party of school-mothers on the yacht; and Durrant promised to write to the Starlings on the subject at the end of that period.
He arrived back at Sunshine Lodge early on Monday morning, and then informed the different children that the weather report being excellent they would start on the cruise early on the following day. Nothing could exceed the delight of all the little school-mothers, and amongst them, no one was more cheerful than Harriet Lane. She had quite recovered her normal health, and was to all appearance in the highest of spirits.
That evening, she and Jane had a short conversation together.
Jane, said Harriet; “I mean, if possible, to be the girl left in charge of Ralph during his father’s absence. I know quite well all that has happened with regard to Robina. Mr Durrant wants Robina to stay with Ralph here; and he went to see her people, because he told me so; but all the same, matters won’t be quite settled until Ralph himself arranges the matter. Now Ralph wishes for me, not Robina, and I think Ralph’s wishes will in the end carry the day.”
Jane looked somewhat unhappy. After a pause, she said:
“Nothing could be more delightful than our life here, and I am looking forward to our time on board the yacht more than anything else in all the world; but you manage somehow always to give an unpleasant tone to things. I thought after the fright you got with regard to Ralph when we were at school that you would let him alone in the future; but you are just as bad as ever.”
“I am,” said Harriet; “I am worse than ever. I am not very happy at home, and I have not the advantages that Robina has.”
“Robina has one thing that you have not,” said Jane, stoutly. “She really and truly loves little children. Don’t you remember how sweet she was to Curly Pate? She has a way about her that all little children like: I suppose it is partly because she has got two little sisters of her own. Now, you do not care for children – not in your heart of hearts.”
“I don’t care for the ordinary child, and I certainly began by not loving Ralph at all,” was Harriet’s response; “but certainly I do care for him now better than I ever did for any other child. If I were left here, I should be good to him, and he would be happy. But that is not the point. I want the advantages that Mr Durrant offers – oh yes! Robina can keep her pony; that wonderful Bo-peep can go back to the Brown House and delight them all, and Robina can ride Bo-peep in the holidays. I don’t grudge her her pony, but I do grudge her Ralph. Why I – oh, but you don’t know about that.”
She stopped abruptly.
“You may as well tell me,” said Jane. “I guessed – I think we all guessed that something happened that day when you were so horribly cross and would not come with us to the sea-shore. You got poor little Ralph into no end of mischief that day, or why should you both have been taken ill that evening?”
“I will tell you, Jane,” said Harriet, “if you will promise never, never to let it out to anybody else.”
There was a girl lying in a hammock close by. That girl was Robina. She had been fast asleep. The day was hot, and she was tired from much exercise, for Mr Durrant’s parties never did let the grass grow under their feet. But she awoke now to find that Harriet and Jane were standing a few feet away. Her impulse was to say, “I am here.” The next moment, she would have uttered the words, but, hearing her own name spoken, arrested the speech that was on her lips. She did not know why, but a swift and horrible temptation came over her. She bent a little forward, and, unperceived by the two who were standing two or three feet off, could hear every word that was spoken.
“You will never tell,” began Harriet.
“No, no,” said Jane, a trifle impatiently; “if I wanted to begin to tell all the things you have confided in me, I’d have a pretty bad time of it. You know you have always plotted and planned against Robina. Well, what did you do against her that day?”
“The only thing I could do, and that was not much. You know all about the gipsies, and my following Ralph and bringing him home and my real sorrow, and my giving Ralph up to Robina; and you know how Robina won the pony?”
“Yes,” said Jane; “I know that story, I am perfectly sick of it,” she added.
“Well, that story has somehow come to an end, but another story has begun. It is this: I will tell you what really did happen. I was, oh! in such a rage; and I wouldn’t ride the horrid donkey, and you all went off without me, only Ralph – he stayed.”
“He is a dear little boy,” said Jane. “He did not want to stay, I can tell you; but he could not stand the thought of your being left all alone, so he asked his father if he might stay, and Mr Durrant said, ‘Of course.’ Mr Durrant never makes much of people being self-sacrificing; he seems to think it only right. Well, anyhow, he stayed.”
“He did,” said Harriet. “In some ways he was rather a little nuisance. He talked to me and I talked to him; and he – he – told me that he loved Robina the best.”
The girl in the hammock gave a quick catch in her breath, then a sigh of relief, but too faint to reach the girls who were talking eagerly in the shrubbery below.
“He said he loved her best; and you know that sort of little chap,” said Harriet, “he never, never could tell a lie – that is quite outside his category.”
“Oh quite, dear little man!” said Jane.
“Well, I wanted some water-lilies; and what do you think? I tried to pull some, but I couldn’t, and he – he crept along a bough. I could have prevented him, but I didn’t, for a thought got into my head.”
“What was that?”
“I knew quite well that if he crept along that bough – that willow bough that hangs over the round pond, that it wouldn’t hold his weight, and that he would fall in.”
“You knew it!” said Jane, gasping, “and you let him do it?”
“I did. I let him do it on purpose. He didn’t see me. He wanted to get the water-lilies for me, and he thought he would manage – oh, so fine! and I watched behind a shrub.”
“Oh, Harriet!”
“Well, my dear; you needn’t go on like that. The bough dipped lower and lower, and Ralph, he is not a bit frightened – you know he never was, he is as plucky as his father. I did feel inclined to say, ‘oh, do go back, Ralph – ’”
“And you didn’t say the words, Harriet?”
“No, no; you goose, I didn’t; well, anyhow, he tumbled into the water where it was pretty deep too; and he would have sunk, poor little man, for there are such a lot of weeds about just there – only of course I was close by, and I rushed down to the edge of the pond and flung myself in, and swam out to him. I saved him – oh, it was quite easy; he was not even unconscious when I got him out of the water; only of course we were both drenched to the skin.”
“I don’t understand,” said Jane. “It seemed a horrid mean thing to do, and you speak as though it was something fine.”
“Ralph thinks it awfully fine. You see, he takes it in this way. He thinks he tried to get the lilies for me at the risk of his life.”
“That’s true enough,” said Jane.
“And that I saved him at the risk of mine.”
“Which is not a bit true,” said Jane, “for you can swim like a duck anywhere.”
“Ah, but Ralph does not know that, and there is no one who will dare to tell him. We both got ill afterwards, and I was more ill than Ralph, because I was longer in my dripping wet clothes; and now Ralph loves me much, much better than Robina, for you see I saved his life.”
“Oh! I think you are a horrid girl!” said Jane.
“Do you? do you? Well, perhaps you won’t think me quite so horrid when I get you invited here, say, for Christmas, and when we have a jolly, jolly time, with that old Mr Durrant safe in Africa and Ralph just obliged to put up with us. I’ll always be good to him, you may be sure of that, but I shan’t molly-coddle him: I’ll look after number one, see if I don’t.”
“All the same,” said Jane, “Robina is the one who will be invited to take care of Ralph, and you haven’t a chance.”
“I know better,” said Harriet. “I have my own plans. You will have to help me, for if you don’t, I won’t give you that five pounds that my god-mother allows me on each of my birthdays.”
“Five pounds!” said Jane, with a gasp.
“Yes; if I am allowed to stay as Ralph’s companion, I will give you that money this year. Think what that will mean.”
Jane was absolutely silent. The girls went away from under the shadow of the thick plantation, and walked like any other innocent little pair in the sunshine. Robina, after a long time, crept out of her hammock and went to the house. She had a dreadful feeling at her heart. She must be alone. She reached her bedroom and locked herself in.