Meg's Friend: A Story for Girls

  CHAPTER XX.

  ARRIVAL.

  Past stretches of meadowland and woodland, past undulating fieldssleeping peacefully in the sunshine, past busy towns and reposefulhamlets sped the train bearing Meg to her unknown guardian's home. Thesolitude of the empty carriage oppressed her. The flurry of thefarewells and the pain of sundered associations increased the timidityof her spirit, as she realized more vividly that she was hurrying sheknew not whither to meet she knew not whom.

  Meg had not yet recovered from the recoil she had experienced on hearingthat she was so soon to meet her mysterious benefactor. As every momentlengthened the space that parted her from surroundings which, if notaltogether sympathetic, had yet the sweetness of familiarity, theunknown future presented itself to her invested with a touch of fear.She combated this mood. Was she not hastening toward the human beingwho had shown solicitude toward her in her forlornness?

  She felt almost sure that her protector would prove to be the sternstranger whom she had twice seen in her childhood, and yet there woulddrift up to her mind the possibility that Mr. Standish might turn out tobe this unknown friend.

  "I hope not," Meg said to herself, sudden shame overcoming her at thepossibility of meeting so soon, and of owing so much to one upon whosepersonality her thoughts had dwelt so long. "I was a foolish sprite of achild when I cared for him. I am a young woman now," she murmured.

  When she stepped out on the platform of the wayside station of Greywoldsshe looked about. Mr. Fullbloom was not there. No one appeared to bewaiting for her. A farmer's cart and a private carriage were drawn up onthe other side of the paling that separated the country station from theroadside. The single passenger who had alighted besides herself from thetrain got into the carriage and drove off; the cart after depositing aload of metal casks jogged away. Meg felt bewildered. If Mr. Fullbloomdid not come for her, what was she to do? She had no money with which topay her fare back. She did not know the name of the place to which todirect the porter to take her luggage after she had identified hermodest trunk. The old sense of isolation so familiar to her in herschooldays paralyzed Meg, and her eyelids smarted, as if she were aboutto cry.

  Suddenly a carriage drove up, the gate of the station was pushed open,and the dandified figure of Mr. Fullbloom came gayly forward.

  "So, you have found your way," he said airily.

  "I was afraid you had forgotten your appointment," Meg answered withdignity.

  "I always associate this train and ladies with unpunctuality," thesolicitor replied with unruffled equanimity.

  Offering Meg his arm he led her out. Nervousness conquered every otherfeeling, even curiosity. She asked no questions as she perceived acarriage with two horses and liveried servants awaiting her. She steppedinside, sank back into the cushioned seat, with Mr. Fullbloom by herside. As she felt herself bowled along she gave a little gasp.

  The solicitor was very chatty. He inquired after her journey. He askeddetails of the parting with schoolfellows. He pointed out pretty bits inthe landscape. Meg could not follow what he said; a longing for silencewas upon her. She wished with all her heart her companion would hold histongue and let her think and realize.

  Presently the carriage drove through gates, thrown open to let it passin. The way lay under an avenue of trees. A park stretched to right andleft. As Meg looked round she felt sure this stately domain could notbelong to William Standish.

  "This is Greywolds Manor," said Mr. Fullbloom with a chuckle, pointingto a solid gray pile flanked with turrets at either end. "What do youthink of your new home?"

  Meg did not answer. Now that she knew for certain it was not the friendof her childhood who would welcome her when she alighted she was awareof an inconsistent disappointment. There came a sudden chill in the air.The owner of this lordly place would not understand her. Everythingseemed gigantic, repellent. The trees threw too much shadow, thesunshine was too bright, the massive house too large for homeliness.

  "Sir Malcolm Loftdale is the proprietor of this place. Now the mysteryis out. You know the name of your benefactor," chuckled Mr. Fullbloom,the signals of mischievous enjoyment alight in his eyes.

  The carriage had drawn up before the door of the mansion. Meg descended;she was aware of a discreet-looking elderly man helping to gathertogether her loose traps, of a respectable-looking dame in animpressive black silk gown coming forward to meet her.

  "This is Mrs. Jarvis, Sir Malcolm's trusty housekeeper. I cannot leaveyou in better hands. Good-by, my dear," said Mr. Fullbloom. Kissing hisfinger tips and spreading them in the air, he disappeared through a sidedoor.

  Meg followed the housekeeper up a softly-carpeted staircase, fragrantwith the perfume of flowers. She was vaguely aware of statues in niches,of limpid pictures dreaming on the walls. A knight of old entering anenchanted castle could not have felt more strange and bewildered, orcould not have summoned more desperate courage than did Meg as she movedup that grand staircase.

  She was ushered into a pretty bedroom, hexagon shaped. Through thewindows looking out on the park at different angles poured the mellowlight of the late afternoon. Meg, at the request of a trim maid in adark gown and dainty muslin cap and apron, gave up the key of her trunk,painfully realizing as she did so the slenderness and shabbiness of thewardrobe that would be exposed to this smart young woman's gaze. Withbrusque shyness she answered the housekeeper's bland expressions ofhospitality and exhortations to rest. In a trice the deft-handed,nimble-footed attendant had disposed of the modest stock of wearingapparel in wardrobes and drawers, and arranged on the tables the books,desk, and cheap knickknacks--parting presents from some of Meg's schoolfriends; after which she disappeared with the housekeeper, to returnafter a few moments carrying a delicate porcelain and silver fiveo'clock solitaire tea-service, which she deposited on a table by Meg'sside. Then the trim attendant, in tones as respectful as if Meg'sbelongings had revealed her to be a duchess, asked if she could doanything more for Miss Beecham. On receiving a timorous negative sheannounced that dinner was served at seven-thirty; that the dressing bellwould sound at seven. Could she help Miss Beecham to dress? "No, thankyou," replied Meg hastily; "I am accustomed to dress myself."

  With a sense of relief Meg heard the door close, and reflected thatprobably until dinner-time she would be left alone.

  She poured herself out a cup of tea and looked round the room. It was acharming little chamber. Its shape showed that it was placed in a tower.On all sides she was surrounded by sky and trees. After awhile she setabout making a journey of discovery. One of the windows was over themantelpiece; she tried to find how the flue of the chimney went toallow of this quaint arrangement. A bookcase stood in a corner; itsshelves held a delightful selection of books. A water-color drawingrepresenting a stormy sea, another of a peaceful and Arcadian scene,hung on the walls. Two miniatures--one of Queen Elizabeth in an immenseruffle, another of Mary, Queen of Scots--adorned a recess. The bed waslarge, with two pillows; the coverlid and hangings, of delicate sea-bluedamask, matched the curtains at the windows. An electric bell was placednear the bed. Meg thought it was the prettiest, coziest little chambershe had ever seen, and her spirits rose.

  She was still in a kind of half reverie when the gong sounded, andlooking at the clock, she perceived that the short hand pointed toseven.

  Taking out her white muslin gown, Meg began to array herself with care.She had never devoted much thought to her toilet before, but she waseager to please her benefactor. She coiled her brown hair smoothly roundher head, and fastened a red rose in her bodice. Then she waited tillthe gong sounded again.

  Timidity once more overcame her as she descended the grand staircase;realizing at every step more keenly that the moment had come when shewould be ushered into the presence of her benefactor. Two footmen inplush and gold lace stood on either side of an open door; this was theroom in which her host awaited her.

  Meg paused on the threshold. A somewhat short elderly man in eveningdress stood near the table. This was no familiar figu
re; but sheremained where she was, overwhelmed with emotion, looking dumbly at thisprotector of her forlorn youth. She could not speak for her beatingheart. Her shyness was enhanced by the silence of her host. He did notadvance to greet her; he did not stretch out a hand of welcome. He stoodclose to a chair in a somewhat deferential attitude. Then suddenly Megrecognized him to be the butler who had received her in the hall on herarrival. She had not identified him in her fright.

  With a painful sense of the absurdity of her mistake she took the seathe placed for her and looked hurriedly round the table. The flower andfruit-decked expanse, the white cloth, the plate and delicate glass,glowed rosily under the crimson-shaded suspension lamp; no second coverwas laid, no other chairs near the board. She was to dine alone.

  Meg had scarcely realized this when a plateful of soup was placed beforeher, and she felt the two magnificent lackeys standing on either side ofher chair, watching as she dipped the spoon and raised it to her lips.The thought that she was to eat her dinner under the inspection of thisfrigid and observant gaze struck her with palsied nervousness. She upseta tumbler as she stretched her hand for the salt-cellar; she helpedherself to everything that was offered to her by her attendants; sheallowed the butler without protest to fill the glasses at her side withclaret, hock, and champagne, and let the beverages stand there untasted.In the awful silence she started when the door opened. After awhile thetension of her nervousness was relieved by a freakish fancy. What a goodstory it would make to tell the girls in the dormitory! How she had satin a skimpy muslin dress in this splendid room, hung round with familyportraits which seemed to be watching her; of the sumptuous repastserved to her alone; of the obsequiousness of the servant men; howterrified she had been; with what clumsiness she had behaved, and withwhat attempts at dignity!

  There came a moment at last when, every trace of heavier diet havingbeen removed, the servants retired, after having placed the dessert andthree decanters of wine before Meg. She drew a breath of relief as shemade sure that she was alone. A girlish love of fruit came over her, andshe helped herself to a bunch of grapes. She remembered she had onceheard the story of a girl who for a day had been mistaken for a queen.The people cheered her, the courtiers obeyed her slightest wish. Megsmiled as she thought this girl must have felt as she felt to-night.

  She glanced around as she ate her grapes. The table made a patch ofbrilliancy in the long room, the corners of which remained dusky.Gleaming frames caught the light of the suspension lamp, and here andthere revealed the superb apparel of the dignified full-length men andwomen gazing down upon her from the walls. As Meg's eyes traveled slowlyround this stately company she was vaguely revolving in her mind how shewould summon up courage to leave this room and make her way back to herown.

  Presently her eyes rested on what looked like a blank framed space atthe furthest end of the apartment. She could not distinguish the causeof this effect. It puzzled her, so she rose from her chair and drewnearer. She found it was a picture with its face turned to the wall.

  The discovery affected her like the touch of a spectral hand. Thatdisgraced canvas riveted her attention. What did it mean? She lookedaway; but the spell continued to work, and once more she drew near. Thesight of its disgrace brought a piteous feeling. It looked like anoutcast in the midst of this painted pageantry of splendid men andwomen.

  Whose face was it thus turned away? Was it that of a man or of a woman?Meg felt as if she would give anything to know. Everything else faded ininterest near the story of that picture. She tried vainly to discover atrace of revealing outline. The fascination grew too strong. She got upon a chair and tried with all her strength to turn the picture round andget a glimpse. She had succeeded in moving it slightly when she heardbehind her the door open.

  Meg dropped her hold of the frame and turned round.

  The housekeeper was standing on the threshold looking at her aghast.

  "Miss Beecham, what are you doing?"

  "I was trying to get a peep at this picture," said Meg, jumping down."Why is its face turned to the wall?"

  Mrs. Jarvis shook her head. "Why, miss, it would be worth a servant'splace in this house to turn that picture round. Sir Malcolm Loftdale hasforbidden the name of the person whose portrait that is to be mentioned.He never comes into this room. I am sure it is because of thatpicture."

  "Indeed; I am sorry," said Meg in some confusion.

  "I could tell you all about that picture, Miss Beecham. I have been inthis house these thirty years, and I was there the day it was turned tothe wall. It was a day I'll never forget--not so long as I live; butit's laid upon me not to tell," went on the housekeeper, who lookedpacked with mystery.

  "Do not think I would wish you to tell me," exclaimed Meg hurriedly. "Iwould not--not on any account." Then she asked with abrupt transition:"Shall I see Sir Malcolm Loftdale to-night?"

  "No, Miss Beecham, not to-night. Sir Malcolm sent me down to ask you toexcuse him. He is old, miss, and not strong. He hopes that you willforgive his not welcoming you himself, and that you will make yourselfat home."

  "Thank Sir Malcolm Loftdale for me, and say that I feel very grateful tohim for his hospitality," Meg replied, relieved yet vaguely nettled byher host's neglect.

  "Coffee is served in the drawing-room, Miss Beecham."

  "Thank you; but I think I shall return to my room," said Meg.

  She hurried up the staircase. A confused pain seemed to haunt thesurrounding splendor. It oppressed her as might the scent of flowers ina room of death.

  When she opened the door of her pretty room, the sea-green silk curtainsof which had been drawn, the daintiness and comfort contrastedpleasantly with the alien magnificence outside, saddened as it was by ajarring note of brooding grief. A black cat had found its way in, andcame forward to meet Meg with tail uplifted and a welcoming purr. Thehomeliness of the scene revived her drooping spirits.