Borrowed feathers
isolation of lodgings and housekeeping worries which would be avoided."
"Then is Bolton at the hotel too?"
"Of course, aunty. She would be useless anywhere else," said Nettie.
"But Mrs. Clifford and Laura have no maid when at home! It seems so
strange to take one for a month to an expensive hotel, when—"
Mrs. Clifford paused. She was very nearly adding, "when they are always
complaining of poverty and the difficulty of making ends meet." She
might have further said, "and borrowing without troubling much as to
how or when the money will be repaid." But she did not say this. She
only stopped, and Annette took up the subject.
"When there is not much money to spare, aunty, you would say. It
is quite true. There is none to spare, but mamma is rather fond of
appearing 'en grande dame' when she is from home. Here, in spite of
narrow means and perpetual pinching, she is a great lady, you know. Was
she not Miss Heydon, of Heydon Hill, before she became Mrs. Clifford?
Everyone knows that in this neighbourhood, and knows, also, that she
was a great heiress before she married a handsome, penniless captain of
dragoons, who lived nearly long enough to leave his wife and children
in the same condition. Does it sound wicked to say so, aunty? I never
saw my father, you know, after I was three years old, and I have been
more accustomed to hear him blamed than lamented."
"Unfortunately this has been the case, dear," said Mrs. Worsley, "but I
presume you would not say this to any ordinary acquaintance?"
"Certainly not," replied Annette. "You are far better informed of all
these particulars than I am, and therefore I did not think my alluding
to them would matter in the least. Besides, you are a dear, true friend
to us all—best and dearest to me."
"I should like to prove myself one, Nettie," and the speaker laid her
hand caressingly on that of the girl. "Now tell me about Bolton. I
interrupted you."
"Mamma cannot quite forget what she was accustomed to have as a girl,
and she is unwilling to do without it still. When at the seaside, for
instance, she likes to see 'Mrs. and Miss Clifford and maid' in the
visitors' list. I sometimes wish she did not care so much for keeping
up appearances. She pays pretty dearly for that word 'maid,' and it is
but an empty sound after all. But I suppose it would be hard for her to
change," added Annette, meditatively.
"Now you have accounted for the absence of one efficient servant. Where
is the cook?"
"Oh! Williams is gone home for her annual holiday."
"Does your mamma give her the whole month?"
"No, aunty, a fortnight. Then Williams will come back, and, with Sarah
Jane's assistance, do some cleaning down before mamma's return. Mamma
hates an upset house, and thinks it is better to have such work done
when she and Laura are absent, so that everything may be in apple-pie
order when they come. By letting cook take her holidays now, we have
our whole available staff when we settle down in winter quarters.
Bolton has no friends she cares to go and see, so her stay at the
seaside with mamma, as maid, gives her a double holiday."
"There is still the half—the girl, to be accounted for."
"She was not even half efficient, so as mamma would have parted with
her soon in any case, she said she might as well go before she and
Laura went away. Sarah Jane was sure she could manage by herself, and
mamma said she might try."
The girl gave a weary little sigh, though the expression of her
face was humorous enough. In fact, Sarah Jane's eccentricities and
incapacity served one good purpose. They kept Annette alive by giving
her food for fun. During the day, she carefully garnered every
experience, and, despite her daily difficulties, met the boys with a
bright face, and furnished material for laughter with the evening meal.
"When do you expect Williams?" asked Mrs. Worsley.
"On Friday evening, and on that day, the boys' vacation begins. They
hope to enjoy it, for Colonel Cracroft has invited them to spend the
whole time at Fox Howe, his charming country home in the Lake district.
The boys—ours and the two Cracrofts—are to take little walking tours
between Mondays and Saturdays, weather permitting, and their own
inclinations being in harmony with the plan. But anybody who chooses
may stay at home, as it is to be Liberty Hall for the young people. I
wish I were going on tramp for days together, aunty. Girls do it now
as well as boys, and the Cracrofts are so nice. But the colonel is a
widower with no daughters, or else, perhaps, he might have asked me,"
said Annette.
"Where are you going for your summer outing, dear?"
"Nowhere. When the boys are out of the way, I shall not be at home any
longer. The blinds will be down, and 'the family are away' will be
the reply should anyone, undeterred by the desolate appearance of the
premises, be rash enough to call."
At this moment there was a knock at the door, and Annette asked to be
excused for a few minutes, and left the room.
CHAPTER II.
MRS. WORSLEY was not long alone. Annette soon returned, flushed and
panting with exercise.
"Sarah Jane and I carried up your boxes quite easily," she said. "I had
forgotten when I spoke of the boys that they are playing in a school
cricket match, and as there will be a supper afterwards, they will not
be home till late. Your eyes are wandering round the den, aunty. It is
so desolate. It did not matter when we were less, but it would be nice
to have it made into a really charming room. A few pounds and a good
deal of handiwork and contriving would make it lovely. But there are no
pounds to spare for what would give lasting home comfort."
There was a shade of bitterness in the girl's tone which told Mrs.
Worsley whither her thoughts were tending. If only Mrs. Clifford
had been content to do without a maid at Scarborough, her children
would have reaped the benefit of her abstinence in years of increased
comfort. Fresh prettiness would have taken the place of dingy finery,
and much that was good and handsome might have been utilised by
renovation.
Mrs. Worsley did not answer directly. She showed her sympathy by
drawing Annette to her side, and holding her in an affectionate embrace.
At length she said, "It does seem rather hard for you to be left alone
in this way, darling."
"I was not thinking of that. Indeed, I have now the most delightful
companion," and she lifted her honest face to Mrs. Worsley's for a
kiss. "And I mean to make the most of my privileges, before I assume my
rôle of Cinderella during the cleaning down season. Of course it would
be impossible for you to stay in the midst of a muddle, aunty."
"Quite, Nettie; I shall stay until Saturday, and when the boys' backs
are turned, I must turn mine."
Annette's countenance fell.
"Do you know," she said, "I was just wondering if it would be possible
to keep a little nook, a sort of small house in a large house,
comfortable enough to induce you to stay another week. Cinderella
grieves at the thought of so soon parting with her fairy godmother."
"I am afraid it would be as impossible for me to remain as to exercise
the powers of a fairy godmother, Nettie. Now if I could dress you in
all sorts of braveries with a mere touch of my wand, and send you out
to meet the prince, with the retinue of a princess, I might deserve the
name."
"I should not like you to do it if you could. I hate shams of every
kind, and I have already had too long an experience of them. Some
Cinderellas would ride with a light heart in a carriage that might
at any moment turn into a pumpkin again, but not 'your' Cinderella,
godmother, dear."
The young lips quivered, and Annette, while smiling bravely into Mrs.
Worsley's face, had to turn aside to brush away a rebellious tear.
To lead the girl's thoughts to something pleasanter, the visitor
suggested a stroll through the grounds.
"I thought I had never seen them look so beautiful," she said. "How you
must revel amongst fruit and flowers!"
"Shams again, aunty. Not the fruit and flowers; they are provokingly
real, but only to be revelled in by two senses—those of sight and
smell. The grounds are let out to a gardener and florist, who pays
a rent for them. It is true that fruit and vegetables, to a certain
weekly market value, are bargained for, and our table is fairly
supplied; but each article is sent in by mamma's tenant. We cannot
bestow a bouquet on a friend, or give one permission to cull blossom
or fruit for herself. The addition to the income is very useful, and
supplies more shams, but this state of things is dreadful when one
thinks of what used to be. Stay, though, aunty, I stood out for my own
garden—the plot I called mine when I was a tiny toddles, and mamma had
not the heart to take it from me. In it are some old-fashioned flowers,
a wealth of ivy on the wall, and some lovely yellow gooseberries with a
flavour better than that of half the grapes grown in the houses."
Towards this favourite corner Mrs. Worsley and Annette strolled
arm-in-arm, and the girl's eyes grew brighter as aunty fastened a rose
in her dress, and ate of the yellow champagnes with manifest enjoyment.
Bed-time brought the boys—victorious, noisy, and full of delight,
as they talked of the approaching holidays and the enjoyable visit
to which they were looking forward. They were not, however, wholly
self-absorbed. Mingled with these gleeful anticipations were regrets at
the thought of leaving their favourite sister behind them and alone.
"If we could only take Nettie, we should have nothing to wish for,"
said Lionel.
"Oh, Nettie, why were you not a boy?" cried Fred. "You would have been
such a jolly boy, and the Cracrofts could have asked the three of us."
"I am by no means sure of this. Two such boys must be quite enough to
have at once. Besides, you would not like me half so well if I were a
boy. You squabble almost daily about some nonsense or other; how would
you get friends again if you had each a second brother to quarrel with,
instead of a sister to reconcile your differences? Considering all I
do for you, it is very ungrateful to suggest that I could be improved
by a change of sex," said Nettie, with a little pout of the lip, which
deceived nobody.
"We should never get on without you, as you are, yet for your own
sake, we cannot help wishing to have you with us. Is it not horrid to
think of her being left at home by herself?" said outspoken Lionel,
addressing Mrs. Worsley. "Why did not mamma take Nettie to Scarborough
instead of Bolton? She does all sorts of things both for her and Laura,
when they are at home?"
"Hush, Lionel!" said Nettie.
"It is not for you boys to settle what your mother ought to do," said
Mrs. Worsley, "though I can well imagine that you would like to have
Nettie's enjoyment provided for as well as your own."
"And Laura's," interposed Fred. "It does not seem fair that Laura
should always be first and foremost, and Nettie left out in the cold."
"Mamma knows that I care less about gaieties than Laura does; and
besides, she is the eldest of us all."
"Don't tell fibs, Nettie. At least, do not pretend to be better than
you are. You may not care about parties and balls, and finery, but
never say you do not mind about being left here to see to the turning
out of rooms, the shaking of carpets, and with only the society of
Williams and Sarah Jane, for a fortnight after next Saturday. Do not
tell me that you are not longing for a whiff of the sea breeze, and the
sound of the waves as they tumble in. Heydon Hill is very beautiful,
with its flowers that we must not pluck, and its fruit that we are
forbidden to taste; but just ask us, now, whether we would not rather
go scrambling across the fells or boating on the lakes than have Heydon