CHAPTER VIII
THE FLOUR IN THE CAKE
"Put on the least becoming dress you have got, Westenra," said mother.
"And what is that?" I asked, pausing with my hand on the handle ofmother's door.
"Well," said my mother, considering, "it is a little difficult, forall your dresses are perfectly sweet; but I think if there is one thatsuits you rather less than another it is that cloudy blue with thesilver gauze over it."
"O mother! that is a great deal too dressy," I exclaimed.
"Well, there is the pale primrose."
"Too dressy again."
"One of your many white dresses--but then you look exquisite in white,darling."
"You had better leave it to me, mother," I said. "I promise to makemyself look as plain and uninteresting and unpretentious as possible."And then I shut the door quickly and left her.
The stepping down had been exciting, but the first firm footfall onour new _terra firma_ was more exciting still. The boarders and I wereto meet at dinner. For the first time I was to be known to the worldas Miss Wickham, who kept a boarding-house in company with her motherand a certain Miss Jane Mullins. It was not a high position accordingto that set in which I was born. But never mind. Just because myfather had won the Victoria Cross would his daughter think nothingdegrading which meant an honourable and honest livelihood. So Ihastily donned a black net dress which was not too fashionable, andwithout any ornament whatsoever, not even a string of pearls round myneck, ran downstairs. But the dress was low and the sleeves wereshort, and I could not keep the crimson of excitement out of mycheeks, nor the fire of excitement out of my eyes. I ran into thedrawing-room, exclaiming "Mother! mother!" and forgot for the momentthat the drawing-room no longer belonged to mother and me, but was theproperty of our paying guests, and our house was no longer ours.
Mrs. and Miss Armstrong were standing near the hearth. Mrs. Armstrongwas a thin, meagre little woman, of about forty years of age. Countrywas written all over her--provincial country. She had faded hair and afaded complexion, and at times, and when not greatly excited, a fadedmanner. When she was thinking of herself she was painfully affected;when she was not thinking of herself she was hopelessly vulgar. Herdaughter was a downright buxom young person, who quite held her own.Neither Mrs. nor Miss Armstrong were in evening dress, and they staredwith amazement and indignation at me. Miss Armstrong's cheeks becameflushed with an ugly red, but I tripped up to them just as if therewere no such thing as dress in the world, and held out my hand.
"How do you do?" I said. "I am glad to see you. Won't you both sitdown? I hope you have found everything comfortable in your room."
Then, as Mrs. Armstrong still stared at me, her eyes growing big withamazement, I said in a low voice--
"My name is Wickham. I am one of the owners of this house."
"Oh, Miss Wickham," said Mrs. Armstrong, and there was a perceptibletone of relief in her voice. It did not matter how stylish MissWickham looked, she was still only Miss Wickham, a person of noimportance whatsoever.
"Come here, Marion," said Mrs. Armstrong, relapsing at once into hercommonest manner. "You must not sit too near the fire, for you willget your nose red, and that is not becoming."
Marion, however, drew nearer to the fire, and did not take the leastnotice of her mother's remark.
"So you keep this boarding-house," said Mrs. Armstrong, turning to meagain. "Well, I am surprised. Do you mind my making a blunt remark?"
I did not answer, but I looked quietly back at her. I think somethingin my steady gaze disquieted her, for she uttered a nervous laugh, andthen said abruptly--
"You don't look the thing, you know. You're one of the most stylishyoung ladies I have ever seen. Isn't she, Marion?"
"She is indeed," answered Miss Marion. "I thought she was a duchess atleast when she came into the room."
"Come over here, Marion, and don't stare into the flames," was Mrs.Armstrong's next remark. "I didn't know," she added, "we were comingto a place of this kind. It is very gratifying to me. I suppose thebulk of the guests here will be quite up to your standard, MissWickham?"
"I hope so," I replied. I was spared any more of my new boarders'intolerable remarks, for at that moment Mrs. and Captain Furlongappeared. He was a gentleman, and she was a lady. She was an everydaysort of little body to look at, but had the kindest heart in theworld. She was neither young nor old, neither handsome nor thereverse. She was just like thousands of other women, but there was arest and peace about her very refreshing. She was dressed suitably,and her husband wore semi-evening dress.
I went up to them, talked a little, and showed them some of the mostcomfortable chairs in the room. We chatted on everyday matters, andthen mother appeared. Dear, dear mother! Had I done right to put herin this position? She looked nervous, and yet she looked stately as Ihad never seen her look before. I introduced her not only to theFurlongs, who knew instinctively how to treat her, but also to Mrs.and Miss Armstrong, and then to a Mr. and Mrs. Cousins who appeared,and the three Miss Frosts, and some other people, who were all takingpossession of us and our house. Oh, it was confusing on that firstnight. I could scarcely bear it myself. I had never guessed that thevery boarders would look down on us, that just because we were ladiesthey would consider our position an equivocal one, and treat usaccordingly. I hoped that by-and-by it might be all right, but now Iknew that mother and I were passing through the most trying period ofthis undertaking. Some of our guests were people of refinement, whowould know how to act and what to do under any circumstances, and someagain were of the Armstrong type, who would be pushing anddisagreeable wherever they went. Marion Armstrong, in particular,intended to make her presence felt. She had a short conversation withher mother, and then pushed her way across the room to where my ownmother sat, and stood before her and began to talk in a loud, brusque,penetrating voice.
"I have not been introduced to you, Madam; my name is MarionArmstrong. I have come up to London to study Art. I was rather takenaback when I saw you. You and Miss Wickham are the people who are ourlandladies, so to speak, and you are so different from most landladiesthat mother and I feel a little confused about it. Oh, thank you; youwish to know if we are comfortable. We are fairly so, all thingsconsidered; we don't _mind_ our attic room, but it's likely we'll haveto say a few words to your housekeeper--Miss Mullins, I think you callher--in the morning. You doubtless, Madam, do not care to interferewith the more sordid part of your duties."
At that moment, and before my really angry mother could answer, thedoor was opened, and there entered Jane Mullins in her usual sensible,downright silken gown, and a tall man. I glanced at him for a puzzledmoment, feeling sure that I had seen him before, and yet not beingquite certain. He had good features, was above the medium height, hada quiet manner and a sort of distant bearing which would make itimpossible for any one to take liberties with him.
Miss Mullins brought him straight across the room to mother andintroduced him. I caught the name, Randolph. Mother bowed, and so didhe, and then he stood close to her, talking very quietly, but soeffectively, that Miss Armstrong, after staring for a moment, had tovanish nonplussed into a distant corner of the drawing-room. I saw bythe way that young lady's eyes blazed that she was now intenselyexcited. Mother and I had startled and confused her a good deal, andMr. Randolph finished the dazzling impression her new home was givingher. Certainly she had not expected to see a person of his type here.She admired him, I saw at a glance, immensely, and now stood near herown mother, shaking her head now and then in an ominous manner, andwhispering audibly.
Suddenly Jane, who was here, there, and everywhere, whisked sharplyround.
"Don't you know Mr. Randolph, Miss Wickham?" she said.
I shook my head. She took my hand and brought me up to mother's side.
"Mr. Randolph," she said, "this is our youngest hostess, Miss WestenraWickham."
Mr. Randolph bowed, said something in a cold, courteous tone, scarcelyglanced at me, and then resumed h
is conversation with mother.