Borrowed feathers
Hill all the year round, even with free run at everything? As to Laura,
of course she is the eldest. She likes to claim all the privileges of
her present age. But wait a year or two, and she will be only too glad
for people to think she is the younger."
Lionel nodded sagaciously as he finished his long speech.
Nettie made no answer until Sarah Jane left the room.
Then she remarked, with a little laugh, "I think the 'reed' must be
less deaf than usual. I am almost certain she heard you, Lionel, she
looked so knowing. Now, dear boys, understand that there are many
reasons why I should stay at home. As the maid, Bolton, only counts for
half in the hotel bill, I might do a maid's duties, but I should cost
the same as mamma or Laura. I should have wanted some new gowns had I
accompanied them; my old ones are good enough for home use."
"Laura got new ones; so did mamma," said Fred.
"When I go away for a holiday, I shall have them, too," insisted Nettie.
"When? I should like to know when?" replied Lionel, in a tone of
disgust.
"And you shall know, my dear boy," said Mrs. Worsley. "Nettie's holiday
will begin on Saturday next. When she and I have seen you two safe off
these premises, we shall prepare for our own departure. If there had
been no other reason for her staying here until then, you boys would
have furnished two substantial ones. You are to blame for the fact that
one sister is gone to the seaside, the other is left to take care of
you."
The speaker's face expressed no little amusement as she observed the
effect of her words.
"Aunty, what do you mean?" asked Annette. "It cannot be true that I am
to go somewhere with you. What would mamma say?"
"She has said you may go, dear."
"But when? How did you hear from her? I do not understand," replied
Nettie, more bewildered than ever.
"I had a letter from your mother about a week ago, in which she told me
that she and Laura were at Scarborough, and you here with the boys. She
suggested my joining them on my way home, for I was then in Scotland. I
did spend a single night under the same roof for I wanted to run away
with you, Nettie, and I thought I could negotiate for that purpose
more successfully in person than by letter. After a little talk, it
was arranged that as soon as the boys were off I might have you. The
method of taking possession was left to myself. I might write for you
and enclose this, or do as I chose about communicating your mother's
consent to my plan."
Mrs. Worsley handed a note to Nettie.
And the girl exclaimed, "How kind of you, aunty! To think of you
travelling so far out of your way on my account, first to Scarborough,
then to this place! How can I thank you?"
"Do not try, dear. Read your mother's note," said Mrs. Worsley. "But
please do not put me down as another sham, because I asked you so many
questions when I already knew the answer to some of them. I wanted to
have a peep into your mind. As to Bolton, I inquired after her in all
good faith, for neither your mother nor Laura told me that she was with
them, or how very much you had been left to yourself."
Nettie gave her godmother a girlish hug and a little shower of kisses,
then applied herself to the letter, whilst the boys expressed their
delight at her improved prospects, after the manner of their kind.
They repeatedly embraced their sister, showered thanks on Mrs. Worsley
in rather slangy English, and finally gave relief to their exuberant
spirits by dancing round the den in a sort of wild Indian style, which
was not calculated to render the reading of the letter an easy task to
Nettie.
The purport of it was, however, soon mastered. Mrs. Clifford wrote
warmly of Mrs. Worsley's kindness, and told her daughter that she must
consider herself at liberty to leave Heydon Hill as soon as Williams
returned and the boys were gone. There were loving messages and a
promise of another letter to follow by post, and that was all.
Annette's dreams were pleasant ones for that night, but the waking was
less agreeable. The morning brought the promised letter, with detailed
instructions as to certain matters for the house and the boys, and a
cheque to meet the expenditure involved by their coming journey, and
the domestic supplies alluded to. But for Annette herself there was
nothing, not even a hint as to possible wants. The girl thought she
must be mistaken, that there must be another enclosure; but a further
examination revealed the fact that the envelope contained nothing more.
"How can I go?" she exclaimed. "Mamma knows that I need at least a
couple of new gowns to make me fairly presentable, and it would be
a dreadful scramble to get one in the short time there is. Besides,
Laura's last are unpaid for, and I will not go for more on credit,
though I suppose that is what she must have meant me to do. Mamma must
feel that I cannot go away without even the means to pay my travelling
expenses, or a spare pound in my pocket."
Annette's self-communings had reach this point when Mrs. Worsley
entered the den, where breakfast awaited her coming.
"I thought you were still asleep, aunty," said the girl. "I have been
twice to your door, but everything was so quiet that I stole softly
down again. The boys had to go, you know, to be in time for school, so
I shall have you all to myself. Have you rested well?"
"Delightfully, Nettie, and I am quite ready for breakfast, and work to
follow, for we must begin our preparations for the journey without an
hour's delay."
Annette's face flushed and paled as she turned her mother's letter
round in her fingers in an absent fashion. Then she said, "I am afraid
I can make none. Mamma has written about everyone but me. She must know
that I need more than her permission to go with you."
"My dear, I am sorry that you have had a moment's anxiety on that
score, which I might have prevented by a word. Your mother and I
arranged everything on your behalf when we met at Scarborough. This is
for you, Nettie, to meet any minor expenses, and after breakfast we
will see what sort of a substitute for the fairy godmother I shall make
in providing the more substantial portion of your outfit."
Mrs. Worsley handed Annette an envelope addressed in her mother's
handwriting.
And on opening it, she found, to her utter amazement, a ten-pound note.
"For me, aunty? How has mamma spared it? Did she really send it?" asked
Annette, half ashamed of her question.
"I saw Mrs. Clifford place the note in the envelope, which she
addressed, and then handed to me, for your sole use, my dear, if that
is what you mean. And she sent her love, and hoped you would spend it
judiciously."
The young face brightened again at these words.
"Mamma is very kind; I did not expect this," she said. "Now I can
manage quite nicely. But how disgracefully selfish I am, to keep
you talking about my concerns when you must be famishing for your
breakfast!"
"Not famishing, dear, but with a good healthy appetite to enjoy this
tempting breakfast," replied Mrs. Worsley. "But, Nettie, you have not
asked whither we are bound when we leave Heydon Hill."
"I thought I was going home with you, aunty."
"Home in one sense, dear, but not to the one I call my very own. We are
going to my brother's."
"To Broadlands! You cannot mean it?"
"I am quite in earnest. My brother and his wife have given you a warm
corner in their warm hearts, Nettie. Your last year's visit established
you as first favourite with them and the children, and I believe if I
were to make my appearance alone, I should be sent back to fetch you.
The people at Ferndene are having a large party of young guests, too. I
believe almost the same who were there twelve months ago, so you will
meet a host of old young acquaintances."
Mrs. Worsley was looking straight at Nettie as she spoke, and, lo!
across the girl's face stole a look of indescribable gladness, along
with a rich rosy glow that spread from cheek to brow; a sort of
dancing, happy light, the reflex of some deep-seated joy, brought to
the innocent young heart by her friend's words.
Nettie turned away quickly and shyly, as if afraid that secret of hers
should be read, and she could not have borne a significant look just
then, much less a jesting word. That expression, however, set Mrs.
Worsley thinking and wondering whether, amongst the guests at Ferndene,
Cinderella might have met her prince.
Truly the girl was very young in her ways and simple in her tastes,
as innocent of flirting and coquetry as the most loving mother could
desire her child to be. But time had not been standing still with
Nettie any more than others; she would keep her nineteenth birthday
during the visit to Broadlands.
CHAPTER III.
BREAKFAST was over, and Nettie was standing in Mrs. Worsley's bedroom,
speechless and overwhelmed at the sight which met her view. Spread
around her were the contents of one of those large boxes which she
had assisted Sarah Jane to carry upstairs on the preceding evening.
There were braveries of all kinds suited to a girl like herself, and
fit for wear in such a home as Broadlands. Nothing very costly, but
all beautiful, dainty, and suggestive of refined taste and a sweet,
pure-minded girl wearer.
It was not the first time that Mrs. Worsley had supplied deficiencies
in Nettie's wardrobe, and the measures taken a year before would, she
knew, still be near enough to go by. She shrewdly suspected that her
request for the girl's company would be cheerfully acceded to if no
demand were made on the mother's purse to furnish the needed outfit.
Even that ten-pound note which had called forth such fervent gratitude,
though nominally sent by her mother, had first been given to Mrs.
Clifford by Mrs. Worsley for the purpose.
"She is rich, and has neither chick nor child. All her own relatives
are richer still, so why should not Nettie be the better for having a
wealthy sponsor?" said Mrs. Clifford to her eldest daughter. "Besides,
by having nothing to buy for Nettie, I shall be able the better to
supply your wants."
So Laura, too, had cause to rejoice, for she benefited indirectly by
Mrs. Worsley's gifts, in having money spent upon her wardrobe, some of
which must otherwise have gone for Nettie's.
Standing amidst a wealth of pretty things, Nettie said—"These are all
far too handsome, and you are much too kind, aunty, darling. I cannot
thank you as I ought. I feel that I shall be a grand sham myself
amongst the dear friends at Broadlands—'a daw with borrowed feather.'"
"Not borrowed, Nettie; these things are truly your own. Not shams any
more than you are, my dear, honest-hearted lassie. They are fashioned
by human fingers, not transformed by the touch of a fairy's wand, so
you can wear them without fear that they will resume some uncanny
shape. And they come from one who loves you dearly, Nettie, and who has
too much of this world's gear, and no kindred of her own who need to
share it. I settled about these trifles before I even saw your mother.
I never dreamed that I might find you too proud to accept at once, and
without misgivings, your godmother's little gift."
Nettie burst into tears, and flinging her arms round her friend's neck,
begged to be forgiven.
"Of course it is hateful pride and horrid ingratitude," she cried. "But
I did not see it in that way before; I only felt overwhelmed with your
kindness, and that it was all too much for you to do for my sake. I
have had shamefully ungrateful thoughts about being left here, and have
felt angry at mamma and Laura, and generally rebellious on account of
my lot, instead of just accepting it as from God's hand, and making the
best of it. And all the while, He was ordering everything for my good,
putting it into your heart to be so kind to me, and planning that I