CHAPTER V
It certainly was a wonderful night. Lady Helen Dalrymple had placed herbox at the theatre at our disposal. She was a tall and slender woman,dressed in the extreme height of a fashion which I had never evendreamed about. Her cheeks had a wonderful colour in them, which was atonce soft and vivid. Her lips were red and her eyes exceedingly dark.She greeted me with great _empressement_; her voice was high-pitched,and I cannot say that it impressed me agreeably.
"Welcome, welcome, my dear Heather," she said, and then she invited meto seat myself on the front chair near her own, whereas father satbehind at the back of the box.
The play began, and to me it was a peep into fairy land. I had neverseen a play before, but, of course, I had read about plays and greatactors and actresses, and this one--_As You Like It_--took my breathaway. I could scarcely restrain my rapture as the different scenesflitted before my eyes, and as the characters--all real to me--fittedtheir respective parts. But in the midst of my delight Lady Helen benttowards me and said:
"Don't the footlights dazzle your eyes a little, child? Would you notprefer to take this chair and let your father come to the front of thebox?"
Now, my eyes were quite strong, and the footlights did not dazzle themin the very least, but I slipped back into the other seat, and, afterthat, if the truth must be known, I only got little glimpses of the playfrom time to time. Lady Helen and father, instead of being in rapturesover the performance, kept up a running fire of whispered talk together,not one word of which could I catch, nor, indeed, did I want to--soabsorbingly anxious was I to follow the story of Rosalind in the Forestof Arden.
When at last the performance was over, father suggested that we shouldall go to the Savoy Hotel for supper, where, accordingly, we went. Butonce again, although there was a very nice table reserved for us, fatherand Lady Helen did all the talking, and I was left in the cold. I lookedaround me, and for the first time had a distinct sense of home-sicknessfor the very quiet little house I had left. By this time Aunt Penelopewould be sound asleep in bed, and Buttons would have gone to his rest inthe attic, and the parrot would have ceased to say "Stop knocking at thedoor!" I was not accustomed to be up so late, and I suddenly foundmyself yawning.
Lady Helen fixed her bright eyes on my face.
"Tired, Heather?" she asked.
I had an instinctive sort of feeling that she ought not to call meHeather, and started back a little when she spoke.
"Oh, you need not be shocked, Heather," said my father. "Lady Helen issuch a very great friend of mine that you ought to be only too proudwhen she addresses you by your Christian name."
"I shall have a great deal to do with you in future, my dear," said LadyHelen, and then she looked at father, and they both laughed.
"The very first thing I want you to see about, kind Lady Helen," saidfather, in his most chivalrous manner, "is this poor, sweet child'swardrobe. She wants simply everything. Will you take her to the shopsto-morrow and order for her just what she requires?"
Lady Helen smiled and nodded.
"We shall be in time to have her presented." Lady Helen bent her facetowards father's and whispered something. He turned very white.
"Never mind," he said; "I always thought that presentation business wasa great waste of time, and I am quite sure that we shall do well forlittle Heather without it."
"I am so tired," I could not help saying.
"Then home we'll go, my girl. Lady Helen, I will call early to-morrowand bring Heather with me, if I may. Whatever happens, she must beproperly dressed."
"I shall be ready to receive you, Major, at eleven o'clock," said LadyHelen, and then she touched my hand coldly and indifferently, but smiledwith her brilliant eyes at my father. Her motor-car was waiting for her;she was whirled away, and we drove back in our brougham to the hotel.
"Well, Heather," said my father, "what a wonderful day this must havebeen for you. Tell me how you felt about everything. You used to be suchan outspoken little child. Didn't you just love the play, eh?"
"I loved the beginning of it," I said.
"You naughty girl! You mean to say you didn't like the end--all thatpart about Rosalind when she comes on the stage as a boy?"
"I could not see it, father--I could only see the back of your head; andoh, father, your head is getting very bald, but the back of Lady Helen'shead isn't bald at all--it is covered with thick, thick hair, which goesout very wide at the sides and comes down low on her neck."
"It's my belief she wears a wig, Heather," said my father, bendingtowards me. "But we won't repeat it, will we, darling? So she and I tookup all your view, poor little girl! Well, we did it in thoughtlessness."
"I don't think she did," I answered stoutly "I think she wanted to talkto you."
"She'll have plenty of time for that in the future," he said; "but tellme now, before we get to the hotel, what do you think of her ladyship?She's a very smart-looking woman--eh?"
"I don't know what that means, father, but I don't like her at all."
"You don't like her--why, child?"
"I can't say; except that I don't."
"Oh, you mustn't give way to silly fancies," said my father. "She's avery fine woman. You oughtn't to turn against her, my dear Heather."
"Do you like her, father?" I asked, nestling up to him and slipping myhand into his.
"Awfully, my dear child; she's my very dearest friend."
"Oh! not dearer than I am?" I said, my heart beating hard.
He made no reply to this, and my heart continued to beat a great dealfaster than was good for it.
By and by I went to bed. I was very, very tired, so tired that thestrange room, with its beautiful furniture, made little or no impressionon me. The very instant I laid my head on the pillow I was far away inthe land of dreams. Once more I was back with Aunt Penelope, once morethe parrot screamed, "Stop knocking at the door!" once more Jonas brokesome crockery and wept over his misdeeds, and once more Aunt Penelopeforgave him and said that she would not send him away without acharacter this time. Then, in my dreams, the scene changed, and I was nolonger in the quiet peace of the country, but in the bustle andexcitement of London. Father was with me. Yes, after all the long years,father was with me again. How I had mourned for him--how I had criedout my baby heart for him--how glad I was to feel that I was close tohim once more!
By his side was Lady Helen Dalrymple, and I did not like Lady Helen. Sheseemed to push herself between father and me, and when at last I awokewith the morning sun shining into my room, I found myself saying tofather, as I had said to him in reality the night before, "Lady Helen isnot dearer than I am?" and once again, as on the night before, fathermade no reply of any sort.
I was awakened by a nice-looking maid, who was evidently the maid inattendance on that special floor of the hotel, bringing me some tea andsome crisp toast. I was thirsty, and the excitement of the night beforehad not yet subsided. I munched my toast and drank my tea, and then,when the maid asked me if I would like a hot bath in my room, I said"Yes." This luxury was brought to me, and I enjoyed it very much. I hadto dress once again in the clothes that father thought so shabby, theneat little brown frock--"snuff-coloured," he was pleased to callit--the little frock, made after a bygone pattern, which just reached tomy slender ankles and revealed pretty brown stockings to match andlittle brown shoes; for Aunt Penelope--badly as she was supposed todress me--was very particular where these things were concerned. Shealways gave me proper etceteras for my dress. She expected the etceterasand the dress to last for a very long time, and to be most carefullylooked after, and not on any account whatever to be used except for highdays and holidays. But she had sufficient natural taste to make me wearbrown ribbon and a brown hat and brown shoes and stockings to match mybrown frock.
I went down to breakfast in this apparel and found father waiting for mein the private sitting-room which he had ordered in the Westminsterhotel. He came forward at once when I appeared, thrusting as he did sotwo or three open papers
into his coat pocket.
"Well, little girl," he said, "and how are you? Now, if I were anIrishman, I'd say, 'The top of the morning to you, bedad!' but beingonly a poor, broken-down English soldier, I must wish you the best ofgood days, my dear, and I do trust, my Heather, that this will prove avery good day for you, indeed."
As father spoke he rang a bell, and when the waiter appeared he ordered_table d'hote_ breakfast, which the man hastened to supply. As we wereseated round the board which seemed to me to groan with the luxuries notonly of that season, but of every season since cooking came into vogue,father remarked, as he helped himself to a devilled kidney, that really,all things considered, English cooking was _not_ to be despised.
"Oh, but it's delicious!" I cried--"at least," I added, "the cooking ata hotel like this is too delicious for anything."
"You dear little mite!" said father, smiling into my eyes. "And how didAuntie Pen serve you, darling? What did she give you morning, noon, andnight?"
I laughed.
"Aunt Penelope believed in plain food," I said.
"Trust her for that," remarked my father. "I could see at an eye'sglance that she was the sort of old lady who'd starve the young."
"Oh, no," I answered; "you are quite mistaken. Aunt Penelope neverstarved me and was never unkind to me. I love her very dearly, and Imust ask you, father, please, not to speak against her to me."
"Well, I won't, child; I admire loyalty in others. Now then, leavethose kidneys and bacon alone. Have some cold tongue. What! you have hadenough? Have a kipper, then. No? What a small appetite my little girlhas got! At least have some bread and butter and marmalade. No again?Dear, dear--why, the sky must be going to fall! Well, I'll tell youwhat--we'll have some fruit."
"Oh, dad, I should like that," I said.
"Your bones are younger than mine, child," remarked the Major; "you mustpress that bell. Ah! here comes James. James, the very ripest melon youcan procure; if you haven't it in the hotel, send out for it. Let ushave it here with some powdered ginger and white sugar in less than tenminutes."
"Yes, sir," answered the man. He bowed respectfully and withdrew.
"What are you staring at, Heather?" asked my father.
"You called that man James," I said. "Is that his name?"
"Bless you, child, I don't know from Adam what his name is. I generallycall all waiters 'James' when I'm in England; most of them are James, sothat name as a rule hits the nail on the head. In Germany Fritz issupposed to be the word to say. But now, what are you thinking of? Oh,my little darling, it's I who am glad to have you back!"
I left the table, and when James--whose real name I afterwards heard wasEdgar--came back, he found me throttling father's neck and pressing mycheek against his.
"Where's the charm I gave you, Heather? I trust you have it safe."
I pointed with great pride to where it reposed on a little chain whichheld my tiny watch.
"By Jove," said father, "you are a good child to have kept it so long.It will bring you luck--I told you it was a lucky stone. It was about tobe placed on the tomb of the prophet Mahomet when I came across it andrescued it, but it was placed before then on many other sacred shrines.It will bring you luck, little Heather. But now, in the name of fortune,tell me who gave you this gold watch?"
"Aunt Pen gave it to me," I said. "She gave it to me my last birthday;she said it had belonged to my mother, but that she had taken it aftermother's death. She said she knew that mother would wish me to haveit--which, of course, is the case. I love it and I love the little goldchain, and I love the charm, father."
"The charm is the most valuable of all, for it brings luck," said myfather. "Now, sit down and enjoy your melon."
I don't think I had ever tasted an English melon before, and this onewas certainly in superb condition. I rejoiced in its cool freshness andate two or three slices, while father watched me, a pleased smile roundhis lips.
"I am going to take you to Lady Helen this morning, Heather."
"Yes, father," I answered, and I put down my last piece of melon,feeling that my appetite for the delicious fruit had suddenly faded.
"Why don't you finish your fruit, child?"
"I have had enough," I said.
"That's a bad habit," said my father, "besides being bad form. Well-bredgirls invariably finish what is put on their plates; I want you to bewell-bred, my dear. You'll have so much to do with Lady Helen in thefuture that you must take advantage of a connection of that sort.Besides, being your father's daughter, it also behoves you to act as alady."
"I hope I shall always act as a lady," I said, and I felt my cheeksgrowing crimson and a feeling of hatred rising within me towards LadyHelen; "but if acting as a lady," I continued, "means eating more thanis good for you, I don't see it, father, and I may as well tell you sofirst as last."
"Bless you, child," said father, "bless you! I don't want to annoy you.Now, I'll tell you what your day is to be. Lady Helen will take you andget you measured for some smart dresses, and then you are to lunch atthe Carringtons. Lady Carrington has been kind enough to send round thismorning to invite you. She and Sir John are staying at their very smarthouse at Prince's Gate, Kensington. Lady Helen will put you down therein her motor, and then she and I will call for you later in the day. Youwill enjoy being with Lady Carrington. She is the sort of woman youought to cultivate."
"Lady Carrington used to live not far from Hill View," I said. "Once Imet her and she--she was going to be kind to me, when Aunt Penelopestepped in and prevented it."
"Eh, dear," said my father, "now what was that? Tell me that story."
I did not like to, but he insisted. I described in as few words aspossible my agony of mind after parting with him, and then mydetermination to find Anastasia, who, according to his own saying, wasto come by the next train. I told him once again how I ran away and howI reached the railway station, and how the train came in and LadyCarrington spoke to me, as also did Sir John, but there was noAnastasia, and then Aunt Penelope came up, and--and--I remembered nomore.
"You were a troublesome little mite that day," said my father, kissingme as he spoke, and pinching my cheek. "Well do I recall the frenzy yourpoor aunt was in, and the telegrams and messages that came for me; welldo I recollect the hunt I had for Anastasia, and how at last I found herand brought her to see you, and how you quieted down when she sat byyour bedside. Well do I remember how often I sat there, too."
"I remember it, too," I said, "only very dimly, just like a far-offdream. But, father, dear father, why didn't Anastasia stay?"
"Your aunt would not have her, child."
"And why didn't you stay? Why did you come when I could not recogniseyou and keep away when I could?"
"_Noblesse oblige_," was his answer, and he hung his head a little andlooked depressed.
But just then there came a rustling, cheerful sound in the passageoutside, and Lady Helen, her dress as gorgeous as it was the nightbefore, with a very _outre_ picture hat, fastened at one side of herhead, and with her eyes as bright as two stars, entered the room. Shefloated rather than walked up to father's side, took his two hands, thendropped them, and said, in her high-pitched, very staccato voice:
"How do you do, Major? You see, I could not wait, but have come for thedear little _ingenue_. I am quite ready to take you off, Heather, and tosupply you with the very prettiest clothes. Your father has given me_carte blanche_ to do as I please--is not that so, Major?"
"Yes," answered my father, bowing most gallantly and looking like thevery essence of the finest gentleman in the land. "I shall be glad toleave Heather in such good hands. You will see that she is simplydressed, and--oh, I could not leave the matter in better hands. By theway, Lady Helen, I have had a letter this morning from Lady Carrington;she wants the child to lunch with her. Will you add to your many acts ofgoodness by dropping her at Prince's Gate not later than one o'clock?"
"Certainly," said Lady Helen.
"I shall have lunch ready for you, dear friend," sai
d my father, "at aquarter past one precisely at the Savoy."
"Ah, how quite too sweet!" said Lady Helen. She gave the tips of herfingers to father, who kissed them lightly, and then she desired me tofly upstairs and put on my hat and jacket. When I came down again,dressed to go out, I found Lady Helen and father standing close togetherand talking in low, impressive tones. The moment I entered the room,however, they sprang apart, and father said:
"Ah, here we are--here we are! Now, my little Heather, keep up thatyouthful expression; it is vastly becoming. Even Lady Helen cannot giveyou the look of youth, which is so charming, but she can bestow on youthe air of fashion, which is indispensable."
Father conducted us downstairs and opened the door of the luxuriousmotor-car. Lady Helen requested me to step in first, and then shefollowed. A direction was given to the chauffeur, the door was shutbehind us, father bowed, and stood with his bare, somewhat bald head inthe street. The last glimpse I had of him he was smiling and lookingquite radiant; then we turned a corner and he was lost to view.
"Well, and what do you think of it all?" said Lady Helen. "Is the littlebird in its nest beginning to say, 'Cheep, cheep'? Is it feeling hungryand wanting to see the world?"
"All places are the world," I answered, somewhat sententiously.
"For goodness' sake, child," said Lady Helen, "don't talk in that primfashion! Whatever you are in the future, don't put on airs to me. Youare about the most ignorant little creature I ever came across--it willbe my pleasure to form and mould you, and to bring you at last to thatstate of perfection which alone is considered befitting to the moderngirl. My dear, I mean to be very good to you."
"That is, I suppose, because you are so fond of father," I said.
She coloured a little, and the hand which she had laid for a momentlightly on my hand was snatched away.
"That kind of remark is terribly _outre_," she said; "but I shall sooncorrect all that, my dear. You won't know yourself in one month from thepresent time. Child of nature, indeed! You will be much more likely tobe the child of art. But dress is the great accessory. Before we beginto form style and manner we must be dressed to suit our part in thisworld's mummer show."
The car drew up before a large and fashionable shop. Lady Helen and Ientered. Lady Helen did all the talking, and many bales of wonderfulgoods, glistening and shining in the beautiful sun, were brought forwardfor her inspection. Lady Helen chose afternoon dresses, morning dresses,evening dresses; she chose these things by the half-dozen. I tried toexpostulate, and to say they would never be worn out; Lady Helen'sremark was that they would scarcely drag me through the season. Then Ipleaded father's poverty; I whispered to Lady Helen: "Father cannotafford them."
She looked at me out of her quizzical dark eyes and, laying her hand onmy shoulder, said:
"You may be quite sure of one thing, little girl--that I won't allowyour father to run into unnecessary expense."
I began to be sick of dresses. I found myself treated as a littlenobody, I was twisted right way front, and wrong way back. I was made tolook over my right shoulder at my own reflection in a long mirror; I wasdesired to stoop and to stand upright; I was given a succession ofmirrors to look through; I got deadly tired of my own face.
When the choosing of the dresses had come to an end there were stockingsand shoes and boots to be purchased, and one or two very dainty littlejackets, and then there was a wealth of lovely chinchilla fur, and alittle toque to match, and afterwards hats--hats to match every costume;in addition to which there was a very big white hat with a huge ostrichplume, and a black hat with a plume nearly as big. Gloves were bestowedupon me by the dozen. I felt giddy, and could scarcely at last take theslightest interest in my own wardrobe. Suddenly Lady Helen looked at herwatch, uttered an exclamation, and said:
"Oh, dear me! It is ten minutes past one! What am I to do? I must notfail your father at the Savoy. Do you think, child, if I put you into ahansom, you could drive to the house at Prince's Gate? I would give alldirections to the driver."
"I am sure I could," I answered.
I was not at all afraid of London, knowing nothing of its dangers.
"Then that is much the best thing to do," said Lady Helen. She turned toa man who was a sort of porter at the big shop, and gave him exactorders what he was to do and what he was to say. A hansom was called,the cabman was paid by Lady Helen herself, and at last I was off andalone.
I was glad of this. I had a great sense of relief when that patched-up,faded, and yet still beautiful face was no longer near me. When Ireached the house at Prince's Gate I felt rested and refreshed. Therewas a servant in very smart livery standing in the hall, and of him Iventured to inquire if Lady Carrington were at home.
"Is your name, madam, Miss Heather Grayson?" inquired the man.
I replied at once in the affirmative.
"Then her ladyship is expecting you. I will take you to her."
He moved across a wide and beautifully carpeted hall, knocked at a doorat the further end, and, in answer to the words "Come in," flung thedoor open and announced "Miss Grayson, your ladyship," whereupon I foundmyself on the threshold of a wonderful and delightfully home-like room.A lady, neither young nor old, had risen as the man appeared. She cameeagerly forward--not at all with the eagerness of Lady Helen, but withthe eagerness of one who gives a sincere welcome. Her large brown eyesseemed to express the very soul of benevolence.
"I am glad to see you, dear," she said. "How are you? Sit down on thissofa, won't you? You must rest for a minute or two and then I will takeyou upstairs myself, and you shall wash your hands and brush your hairbefore lunch. It is nice to see you again, little Heather. Do you knowthat all the long years you lived at High View I have been wanting, andwanting in vain, to make your acquaintance?"
"Oh, but what can you mean?" I asked, looking into that charming andbeautiful face and wondering what the lady was thinking of. "Would notAunt Penelope let you? Surely you must have known that I should havebeen only too proud?"
"My dear, we won't discuss what your aunt wished to conceal from you.Now that you have come to live with your father, and now that you are mynear neighbour, I hope to see a great deal of you. Your aunt wasdoubtless right in keeping you a good deal to herself. You see, dear,it's like this. You have been brought up unspotted from the world."
"I like the world," I answered; "I don't think it's a bad place. I amvery much interested in London, and I am exceedingly glad to have metyou again. Don't you remember, Lady Carrington, how tightly I held yourhand on that dreadful day when I was first brought to Aunt Penelope?"
"I shall never forget the pressure of your little hand. But now I seeyou are quite ready to come upstairs. Come along, then--Sir John may bein at any moment, and he never likes to have his lunch kept waiting."
Lady Carrington's beautiful bedroom was exactly over her sitting-room.There I saw myself in a sort of glow of colour, all lovely andiridescent and charming. There was something remarkable about the room,for it had a strange gift of putting grace--yes, absolute grace--intoyour clothes. Even my shabby brown frock seemed to be illuminated, andas to my face, it glowed with faint colour, and my eyes became large andbright. I washed my hands and brushed back my soft, dark hair. Then Ireturned to the drawing-room with Lady Carrington.