CHAPTER III.
THE BULLERS--MATILDA TAKES ME UP--WE FALL OUT--MR. GEORGE.
Major Buller took me home to his house after my father's death. Myfather had left his affairs in his hands, and in those of a friend inEngland--the Mr. Arkwright he had spoken of. I believe they were bothtrustees under my mother's marriage settlement.
The Bullers were relations of mine. Mrs. Buller was my mother's cousin.She was a kind-hearted, talkative lady, and good-looking, though nolonger very young. She dressed as gaily as my poor mother, though,somehow, not with quite so good an effect. She copied my mother's style,and sometimes wore things exactly similar to hers; but the result wasnot the same. I have heard Mrs. Minchin say that my mother took amalicious pleasure, at times, in wearing costumes that would have beenmost trying to beauty less radiant and youthful than hers, for the funof seeing "poor Theresa" appear in a similar garb with less success. ButMrs. Minchin's tales had always a sting in them!
Mrs. Buller received me very kindly. She kissed me, and told me to callher "Aunt Theresa," which I did ever afterwards. Aunt Theresa'sdaughters and I were like sisters. They showed me their best frocks, andtold me exactly all that had been ordered in the parcel that was comingout from England.
"Don't you have your hair put in papers?" said Matilda, whose own curlssat stiffly round her head as regularly as the rolls of a lawyer's wig."Are your socks like lace? Doesn't your Ayah dress you every afternoon?"
Matilda "took me up." She was four years older than I was, whichentitled her to blend patronage with her affection for me. In theevening of the day on which I went to the Bullers, she took me by thehand, and tossing her curls said, "I have taken you up, MargeryVandaleur. Mrs. Minchin told Mamma that she has taken the bride up. Iheard her say that the bride was a sweet little puss, only so childish.That's just what Mrs. Minchin said. I heard her. And I shall say so ofyou, too, as I've taken you up. You're a sweet little puss. And ofcourse you're childish, because you're a child," adds Miss Matilda, withan air. For had not she begun to write her own age with two figures?
Had I known then as much as I learned afterwards of what it meant to be"taken up" by Mrs. Minchin, I might not have thought the comparison agood omen for my friendship with Matilda. To be hotly taken up by Mrs.Minchin meant an equally hot quarrel at no very distant date. Thesquabble with the bride was not slow to come, but Matilda and I fell outfirst. I think she was tyrannical, and I know I was peevish. My Ayahspoilt me; I spoke very broken English, and by no means understood allthat the Bullers said to me; besides which, I was feverishly unhappy atintervals about my father.
It was two months before Mrs. Minchin found out that her sweet littlepuss was a deceitful little cat; but at the end of two days I hadoffended Matilda, and we plunged into a war of words such as childrenwage when they squabble.
"I won't show you any more of my dresses," said Matilda.
"I've seen them all," I boldly asserted; and the stroke told.
"You don't know that," said Matilda.
"Yes, I do."
"No, you don't."
"Well, show me the others then."
"No, that I won't."
"I don't care."
"I've got a blue silk coming out from England," Matilda continued, "butyou haven't."
"I've got a pink silk here," said I, "and pink shoes."
"Ah, but you can't wear them now your papa's dead," said Matilda; "Mammasays you will have to wear black for twelve months."
I am sure Matilda did not mean to be cruel, but this blow cut me deeply.I remember the tide of misery that seemed to flood over my mind, to thisday. I was miserable because my father was dead, and I could not go tohim for comfort. I was miserable because I was out of temper, andMatilda had had the best of the quarrel. I was miserable--poor littlewretch!--because I could not wear my pink silk, now my father was dead.I put my hands to my eyes, and screaming, "Papa! Papa!" I rushed outinto the verandah.
As I ran out, some one ran in; we struck against each other, and Bustleand I rolled over on to the floor. In a moment more I was in Mr.Abercrombie's arms, and sobbing out my woes to him.
I am sorry to say that he swore rather loudly when he heard what Matildahad said, and I fancy that he lectured her when I had gone to Ayah, forshe came to me presently and begged my pardon. Of course we were at onceas friendly as before. Many another breach was there between us afterthat, hastily made and quickly healed. But the bride and Mrs. Minchinnever came to terms.
"Mr. George" remained my devoted friend. I looked for him as I used tolook for my father. The first time I saw him after I came to the Bullerswas on the day of my father's funeral. He was there, and came back withMajor Buller. I was on Mr. George's knee in a moment, with my handthrough the crape upon his sleeve. The Major slowly unfastened hissword-belt, and laid it down with a sigh, saying, "We've lost a goodman, Abercrombie, and a true friend."
"You don't know what a friend to me," said Mr. George impetuously. "Why,look here, sir. A month or two ago I'd outrun the constable--I always amgetting into a mess of some sort--and Vandaleur found it out and lent methe money."
"You're not the first youngster he has helped by many, to my knowledge,"said Major Buller.
"But that's not all, sir," said Mr. George, standing up with me in hisarms. "When we first went in that night, you remember his speakingprivately to me once? Well, what he said was, 'I think I'm following therest, Abercrombie, and I wanted to speak to you about this.' He had gotmy I.O.U. in his hand, and he tore it across, and said, 'Don't botherany more about it; but keep straight, my boy, if you can, for yourpeople's sake.' I'm sadly given to going crooked, sir, but if anythingcould make a fellow----"
Mr. George got no further in his sentence, but the Major seemed tounderstand what he meant, for he spoke very kindly to him, and they leftme for a bit and walked up and down the verandah together. Just beforeMr. George left, I heard him say, "Have you heard anything of Mrs.Vandaleur?"
"I wrote to her, in the best fashion that I could," said Major Buller."But there's no breaking rough news gently, Abercrombie. I ought to hearfrom her soon."
But he never did hear from her. My poor mother had fled from the choleraonly to fall a victim to fever. The news of my father's death was, Ibelieve, the immediate cause of the relapse in which she died.
And so I became an orphan.
Shortly afterwards the regiment was ordered home, and the Bullers tookme with them.