The Rectory Children
M >> Mrs Molesworth >> The Rectory ChildrenSo the morning passed delightfully.
'And won't it be nice?' said Biddy, as she stood at the gate, whither
she had accompanied Miss Neale and Celestina on their way home; 'the day
after to-morrow Miss Neale will come back to take us a walk in the
afternoon, and you may come too, mamma says, and stay to tea if your
mamma will let you.'
How Celestina's eyes sparkled! To be invited to tea at the Rectory
seemed to her far more enchanting than if she had received an invitation
from the Queen of the Fairies to be present at one of her grandest
festivals. She was _so_ delighted that she forgot to speak, and Miss
Neale had to answer for her, and say that she would not forget to ask
Mrs. Fairchild's consent.
'And some day, Celestina,' Biddy went on, 'I want you to ask your mamma
to ask _me_ to tea, for I want to see your dolls.'
Celestina looked rather grave.
'I'll ask mother,' she said, but there was a little hesitation in her
manner. This did not come from any false shame--Celestina did not know
what false shame was--but from very serious doubts as to what her father
and mother would think of it. She had never had any friend to tea in her
life; father was always tired in the evening, and she was far from sure
that a chattering child like Biddy would not annoy him and make his head
ache. So poor Celestina was rather silent and grave on the way home;
Biddy's thoughtless proposal had taken the edge off her happiness.
On her way back to the house Bridget met Rosalys.
'Well,' said Alie, 'and how did you get on, Biddy? How do you like your
new governess?'
'_Ever_ so much better than Miss Millet,' Biddy replied. Her superhuman
exertions had somewhat tired her; she felt rather cross now, and half
inclined to quarrel. She knew that Alie was particularly fond of Miss
Millet, and she glanced at her curiously as she made her speech. But
Alie was a wise little woman.
'I'm so glad,' she said. 'So glad you like Miss Neale, I mean. Of course
I knew you'd like Celestina.'
'I don't like her so very much as all that,' said Biddy contradictorily.
'I like her well enough to do lessons with, but she's not very nice
about my going there to tea.'
'Going there to tea,' Alie repeated. 'What do you mean, Biddy?'
'Mean what I say. She's coming here to tea two times every week if it's
fine, so I think they might 'avite me sometimes, and when I said to her
just now I'd like to come, she looked quite funny and only said she'd
ask her mother. Not a bit as if she'd like it.'
Rosalys felt very vexed.
'Really, Biddy, you might know how to behave,' she said. 'People don't
offer themselves to other people like that.'
'They do,' Bride retorted. 'I've heard papa say he was going to "offer
himself to luncheon" to Aunt Mary's, and----'
'She's a relation,' Alie interrupted.
'Well, and once mamma offered herself to tea to old Lady Butler--I know
she did--just before we went away at Christmas.'
'That's quite different; she knows old Lady Butler so
well--and--and--mamma's grown up and knows what's right, and you're a
little girl, and you shouldn't do things like that without asking
leave,' said Rosalys decidedly.
'You're a cross unkind thing,' said Biddy; 'and if you speak like that
I'll not go on being good any more.'
Then she turned away from her sister and ran down a side-path of the
garden, leaving Rosalys looking after her in distress, and half inclined
to blame herself for having spoken sharply to Biddy. 'It will vex mamma
so if this new plan doesn't do,' she thought regretfully. 'But perhaps
Biddy will be good again when she comes in.'
The path down which the little girl had run led to a low wall from which
you overlooked the sea. The tide was in, and though at some little
distance from the Rectory, Biddy could clearly see the water shining in
the morning sunshine, which was yellower and richer in colour now, for
the season was getting on; the cold thin wintry look was giving place in
this sheltered spot to the warmer feeling of spring. The little waves
came lapping in softly; by listening intently and fancying a little,
Biddy could almost hear the delicate sound they made as they kissed the
shore.
'I wish it was warm enough to bathe,' thought Biddy. 'But if it was
_they'd_ be sure to say I mustn't, or that I was naughty or something,'
and in her anger at the imaginary cruelty of 'they,' she kicked the
little stones of the gravel at her feet as if it was their fault! But
the little stones were too meek to complain, and Biddy got tired of
kicking them, and seating herself astride on the wall, sat staring out
at the sea. Somehow it reminded her of her good resolutions, though it
was a quite different-looking sea from the evening tide, with the red
sun sinking below the horizon, like that first time on the shore.
What a pity it was that she had spoilt the fresh beginning of being so
nice and good at her new lessons by being cross to Alie! And in her
heart Biddy knew that her sister had not blamed her without reason--it
was her old fault of heedlessness; she _was_ quite old enough to
understand that she should not have asked Celestina to invite her, and
she knew too that Celestina had been right in answering as she did. But
all these 'knowings in her heart' did not make Biddy feel more amiable.
'It's no good trying,' she said to herself as she got slowly down off
the wall--Bridget was always deliberate in her movements--'I'll just not
bother. I'll do my lessons, 'cos I don't want them to say I'm stupid,
but I'm not going to try not to be cross and all that. I'm tired of
trying.'
Mrs. Vane noticed at luncheon that Biddy was quiet and silent and not
particularly amiable looking, but Alie whispered that it had nothing to
do with lessons, which had gone off well.
'Don't notice her, mamma; it was only that she was vexed with me for
something,' Alie added; so nothing was said to Biddy, and she was
allowed to nurse her grievances in silence.
She cheered up a little by tea-time, and told Randolph triumphantly that
she had done all her lessons for Miss Neale 'by myself, without asking
that nasty cross Alie or nobody to help me.' But she remained very surly
to her sister, though Alie tried to prevent her father and mother
noticing it.
Next day was rainy and blowy. Miss Neale and Celestina arrived smothered
up in waterproofs and goloshes, and there was quite a bustle to get them
unpacked from their wrappings and warmed at the schoolroom fire. Biddy
made herself very important, and forgot for the time about being vexed
with Rosalys.
Lessons went off well, thanks to Bridget's putting a good deal of
control on herself, though there _were_ moments that morning which made
the young governess say to herself that she could understand its being
_sometimes_ true that Biddy was tiresome and trying. When Celestina was
putting on her hat and jacket to go she gave Biddy a little touch on the
arm.
'I asked mother,' she whispered, 'about what you said, and mother says
perhaps some day you would come early in the afternoon, and we could
play with the dolls and have tea for ourselves out of mother's toy cups
that she had when she was a little girl. They are so pretty. It wouldn't
be quite a real tea, for we don't have real tea till past five, but I'm
sure mother would get us some little cakes, and we might make it a sort
of a feast.'
Biddy's eyes sparkled.
'Oh, that would be nice,' she exclaimed. 'Yes, please, tell your mother
I'd like to come very much. And just fancy, Celestina, that horrid Alie
said it was very rude of me to have asked you to ask me. I'm sure it
wasn't, now, was it?'
Celestina grew red and hesitated.
'I'm sure you didn't mean to be rude, Miss Biddy,' she said. 'Mother
said----' but here she stopped.
'What did she say?' demanded Biddy.
'I didn't mean to say that she said anything,' poor Celestina answered,
'only when you asked me----'
'_What_ did she say?' Biddy repeated, stamping her foot.
'She didn't say you were rude; she said you were only a child,'
Celestina answered quietly. Biddy's temper somehow calmed her. 'And
I think so too,' she added.
'Then, _I_ think you're very, very unkind, and I'll never come to your
house at all,' said Biddy.
And thus ended the second morning.
Bridget was a queer child. By the next day she seemed to have forgotten
all about it. She was just as usual with Rosalys, and met Celestina
quite graciously. But it was not that she was ashamed of her temper or
anxious to make amends for it. It was there still quite ready to break
out again. But she was lazy, and very often she seemed to give in when
it was really that keeping up any quarrel was too much trouble to her.
I think, however, that Celestina's perfect gentleness did make her a
little ashamed.
Lessons were on the whole satisfactory. Celestina worked so steadily
that she would soon have left Biddy behind had Biddy been as idle as had
often been the case under Miss Millet. And Mrs. Vane was pleased to
think that the plan had turned out so well.
One day, about a week after Miss Neale had begun to teach the children,
just as they were finishing lessons, Rosalys made her appearance in the
schoolroom. It was one of the days on which Miss Neale and Celestina
came back in the afternoon to take the girls a walk and to stay to tea
afterwards. Rosalys looked pleased and eager.
'Celestina,' she said, 'mamma has a little message for you. Please come
into the drawing-room before you go home this morning.'
Up started Biddy.
'What is it, Alie? Do tell me. Mayn't I come into the drawing-room with
Celestina?'
Alie shook her head, though smilingly.
'No,' she said; 'it's something quite private for Celestina.'
'I'll come,' said the little girl, but Bridget's face darkened.
'It's not fair,' she muttered, as Celestina, after carefully putting her
books away, left the room.
'Come now, my dear,' said Miss Neale, not very wisely, perhaps--she
scarcely knew Biddy as yet--'you shouldn't be jealous. It's a very
little thing for Celestina to have a message to do for your mamma. Some
other time there will be one for you to do, I have no doubt.'
Biddy wriggled impatiently.
'They've no business not to tell me,' she said, taking not the least
notice of Miss Neale's words. Then she banged down her books and ran out
of the room without saying good-morning to her governess.
Miss Neale did not see anything more of her till she and Celestina
returned that afternoon. It was a lovely day, and so as not to lose any
of the pleasant brightness of the afternoon, Mrs. Vane had made the
girls get ready early and go a little way down the sandy lane to meet
the two coming from Seacove. Bridget was gloomy, but Alie was
particularly cheerful, and after a while the younger sister's gloom gave
way before the sunshine and the fresh air and Alie's sweetness.
'There they are,' she exclaimed, as two figures came in sight; 'shall we
run, Biddy?' and almost without waiting for a reply off she set, Bridget
following more slowly.
When she got up to them Celestina and Alie were talking together
eagerly. They stopped short as Biddy ran up, but she heard Celestina's
last words, 'Mother says she'll be sure to get it by to-morrow or the
day after.'
'What are you talking about?' asked Bridget.
Celestina grew red but did not speak. Rosalys turned frankly to her
sister--
'It's a message of mamma's we can't tell you about,' she said, 'but
you'll know some time.'
Alas, the brightness of the afternoon was over, as far as Biddy was
concerned. She turned away scowling.
'Why should you know if I don't?' she said; 'and what business has
Celestina to know--she's as little as me nearly?'
[Illustration: A SECRET. P. 148.]
'Oh, Biddy,' said Alie reproachfully.
But that was all. She knew that argument or persuasion was lost on her
sister once she was started on her hobby-horse, ill-temper. She could
only hope that she would forget about it by degrees. And after a while
it almost seemed so. They went down to the shore, where it was so bright
and pleasant that it did not seem possible for the crossest person in
the world to resist the soft yet fresh breeze, the sunshine glancing on
the sands, the sparkling water in the distance. And Miss Neale was full
of such good ideas. She taught them a new play of trying to walk
blindfold, or at least with their eyes shut, in a straight line, which
_sounds_ very easy, does it not? but is, I assure you, very difficult;
then they had a capital game of puss-in-the-corner, though the corners
of course were only marks in the sand; and with all this it was time
to go home to tea almost before they knew where they were.
'How pretty it must be up in the lighthouse to-day,' said Celestina as
they were turning away.
This was the signal for Bridget's quarrelsomeness again.
'Miss Neale,' she said, shading her eyes from the sun, as she gazed out
towards the sea, 'Celestina does talk such nonsense. She says you can't
walk over the sands to the lighthouse. Now _can't_ you? I can _see_ sand
all the way.'
Miss Neale was anxious not to contradict Biddy just as she seemed to be
coming round again, and she was really not quite sure on the point.
'I can't say, my dear,' she replied. 'It does look as if you could--but
still----'
'There now,' said Biddy to Celestina contemptuously, 'Miss Neale's
bigger than you, and she thinks you _can_; don't you, Miss Neale?'
'Yes, yes, my dear,' Miss Neale, who was on some little way in front
with Alie, replied hastily; 'but come on--what does it matter?'
But Biddy's tone had roused Celestina, gentle as she was.
'I know you _can't_,' she said, 'and whether a big or a little person
says you can, I just _know_ you can't,' and she turned from Biddy and
walked on fast to join the others. Seeing her coming, Rosalys called to
her.
'Celestina, I want to ask you something,' and in a moment the two were
talking together busily.
'It's only the secret, Biddy,' said Alie laughingly; she did not know of
Biddy's new ill-humour. 'You mustn't mind.'
Down came the black curtain thicker and thicker over Bridget's rosy
face; firmly she settled herself on her unmanageable steed.
'I don't care,' she said to herself as she trudged along in silence
beside Miss Neale; 'they're horrid to me--_horrid_. And I'll be as
horrid as I can be to them. But I'll let that nasty Celestina see I'm
right and she's wrong. I _will_.'
CHAPTER X
BIDDY'S ESCAPADE
'And Dick, though pale as any ghost,
Had only said to me,
"We're all right now, old lad."'
_Author of 'John Halifax.'_
Miss Neale was rather in a hurry to get home that afternoon, so she and
Celestina did not linger at the tea-table as they sometimes did. By
half-past four they had gone, for on Miss Neale's account tea had been
ordered half an hour earlier than usual.
Rosalys disappeared--mamma wanted her, she said. So Bridget was left
alone, for Rough had begun school some time ago. He rode over every
morning, and got home again about six.
'I wonder if papa is in,' thought Biddy idly, for a moment or two half
inclined to see if she might pay him a visit in the study. But then she
remembered that he had been out all day, and that he was not expected
home till dinner-time. There were not many very poor people at Seacove,
but there were a great many young men and boys always about the wharf,
and some fishermen and their families living half-way between the little
town and a fishing village called Portscale, some way along the coast.
At Portscale there was a beautiful old church, and a vicar younger and
much more active than Dr. Bunton. Mr. Vane and he had made friends at
once, and to-day they had arranged to visit some of these outlying
neighbours together, for even though Mr. Vane was not at all strong and
had come to Seacove for a rest, he was far too good and energetic not to
do all he possibly could.
Biddy felt very cross when she remembered that her father was out. She
strolled to the window; it was still bright and sunny--a sudden thought
struck her. She hurried upstairs to the room where her hat and jacket
were lying as she had just taken them off--her boots were still on her
feet, and in less time than it takes me to tell, for Biddy _could_ be
quick if she chose, a sturdy little figure might have been seen trotting
down the sandy path which led to the shore.
'If they leave me alone I'm forced to amuse myself and do things
alone,' she said to herself, as a sort of excuse to her own conscience,
which _was_ trying, poor thing, to make itself heard, reminding her too
that there were plenty of things she could have done comfortably at home
in the nursery, where Jane Dodson was not bad company when allowed to
talk in her own slow way. There were to-morrow's lessons in the first
place--pleasant, easy lessons to do alone, and not too much of them; and
there was the kettle-holder she was making for grandmamma's birthday!
But no, Biddy refused to listen. She was determined to carry out the
wild scheme she had got in her head--'It _will_ be nice to put Celestina
down,' she said to herself.
A very few minutes' quick walking, or running rather, for Biddy could
run too when she chose, brought her to the end, or the beginning,
whichever you like to call it, of the long rough road, so to speak, of
stones, stretching far out to sea. Biddy had gone some way along it two
or three times when out with the others; it was a very interesting place
to walk along, as the outgoing tide left dear little pools, which held
all sorts of treasures in the way of seaweed and tiny crabs and
jellyfish, besides which, the scrambling over the pools and picking
one's way was very exciting, especially when there was a merry party of
three or four together. Biddy found it amusing enough even by herself,
for some little time, that is to say. But after a while she got rather
tired of not being able to walk straight on, and once or twice sharp
stones cut and bruised her feet, and she wished she had some one's hand
to take to steady her. She was very eager to get to the other end of the
tongue, or ridge of stones, for once there she felt sure it would be but
easy walking over sand to the lighthouse. For the lighthouse as you will
have guessed, was her destination!
'I daresay the sand'll be rather wet,' she thought; 'it must be the
wetness that Celestina thought was water, for it shines just like water
sometimes. I'll run over it very quick and my boots are thick. What fun
it'll be to tell Celestina I've been to the lighthouse all by myself!'
But the stones grew rougher and rougher. The tongue was not really more
than half a mile long, but it seemed much more. Several times before she
got to the end of it Biddy looked back with a half acknowledged thought
that perhaps it would be best to give up the expedition after all--no
one need know she had tried it. But behind her by this time the rough
stones seemed a dreary way, and in front it did not now look far. She
felt as if she _could_ not go back, and she had a sort of vague hope
that somehow or other the nice old man Celestina had told her of would
help her to get home an easier way. Perhaps he would take her round in a
boat!
At last she got to the end of the stones, and then, oh joy! there lay
before her a beautiful smooth stretch of ripple-marked sand--how
delightful it was to run along it, so firm and pleasant it felt to her
tired little feet. The lighthouse seemed still a good way off--farther
than she had expected, but at first, in the relief of having got off the
stones, she almost felt as if she could fly. She did get over the ground
pretty quickly for some minutes, and even when she began to go more
slowly she kept up a pretty good pace. And at last she saw the queer
building--it reminded her a little of an old pigeon-house at
grandmamma's, for it was not a very high lighthouse--almost close to
her. But, Celestina had spoken truly, between it and her there lay a
good-sized piece of water, stretching up to the rocks, or great rough
stones round the base of the lighthouse--a sort of lake which evidently
was always there, filled up afresh by each visit of the tide.
Bridget gasped. But she was determined enough once she had made up her
mind. She went close up to the water; it did not look at all deep and
her skirts were very short. Down she sat on the sand, less dry than it
looked, and pulled off her shoes and stockings, tying them up into a
bundle as she had seen tramps do in the country. Then lifting her frock
as high as she could, in she plunged. _Oh_, how cold it was! But the
water did not come up very high, not over her knees, though now and then
a false step wetted her pretty badly. She was shivering all over, but on
she waded, till within a few yards only of the sort of little shore
surrounding the lighthouse, when--what was the matter with the sand,
what made it seem to go away from her all at once? She plunged about,
but on all sides it seemed to be sloping downwards; higher and higher
rose the water, till it was above her waist, and still every movement
made it rise.
'I'm drowning,' screamed Biddy. 'Oh, help me, help me! Man in the
lighthouse, can't you hear me? Oh, oh, oh!'
Biddy fortunately had good lungs and her screams carried well. But the
water kept rising, or rather she kept slipping farther down. She was
losing her head now, and had not the sense to stand still, and she was
partly stupefied by cold. It would have gone badly with her but
for--what I must now tell you about.
It was what would be called, I suppose, a curious coincidence, the sort
of chance, so to say--though 'chance' is a word without real
meaning--that many people think only happens in story-books, in which
I do not at all agree, for I have known in real life far stranger
coincidences than I ever read of--well, it was by a very fortunate
coincidence that that very afternoon Bridget's father happened to be at
the lighthouse. He had gone out there by a sudden thought of Mr.
Mildmay's, the Portscale clergyman I told you of, who had mentioned in
talking that he had not been there for some time.
'And it is a very fine mild day,' he said. 'It doesn't take twenty
minutes in a boat. If you don't think it would hurt you, Mr. Vane?'
Mr. Vane was delighted. There was a good deal of the boy about him
still; he loved anything in the shape of a bit of fun, and he loved
boating. So off the two came, and were most pleasantly welcomed by old
Tobias and his second-in-command at the lighthouse. And by another happy
chance, just as Biddy began to wade, Mr. Vane had come to the side of
the lantern-room looking over in her direction.
'What can that be, moving slowly through that bit of water?' he said to
Tobias. 'I am rather near-sighted. Is it a porpoise?'
'Nay, nay, sir, not at this season,' replied the old man; 'besides it's
far too shallow for anything like that, though there is a deepish hole
near the middle.'
He strolled across to where Mr. Vane was standing as he spoke, and
stared out where his visitor pointed to. Then suddenly he flung open one
of the glazed doors and stepped on to the round balcony--perhaps that is
not the right word to use for a lighthouse, but I do not know any
other--outside, followed by Mr. Vane. Just then Biddy's screams came
shrilly through the clear afternoon air, for it was a still day, and out
at the lighthouse, when there was no noise of wind and waves, there was
certainly nothing else to disturb the silence except perhaps the cry of
a sea-gull overhead, or now and then the sound of the fishermen's voices
as they passed by in their boats. And just now the waves were a long way
out and the winds were off I know not where--all the better for the poor
silly child, who, having got herself into this trouble, could do nothing
but scream shrilly and yet more shrilly in her terror.
Old Tobias turned and looked at Mr. Vane.
'It's a child, 'pon my soul, it's a child,' he exclaimed, and he sprang
inside again and made for the ladder leading downstairs. But quick as he
was, his visitor was before him. People talk of the miraculous quickness
of a mother's ears; a father's, I think, are sometimes quite as acute,
and Bridget's father loved dearly his self-willed, tiresome,
queer-tempered little girl. Long before he got to the top of the ladder
he knew more than old Tobias, more than any of them--Mr. Mildmay or
young Williams, the other lighthouse man--had any idea of. He knew that
the voice which had reached him was that of his own Biddy, and before
Tobias could give him a hint, or ever a word had been said as to what
was best to do, he had pulled off his coat, tossed away his hat, and was
up to his waist in the water. For though not _so_ deep close round the
lighthouse as at the dangerous place where Biddy had lost her head, this
salt-water lake even at low tide was never less than two or three feet
in depth at the farther side.
'I can swim,' was all Mr. Vane called out to the three hurrying after
him. But so could Mr. Mildmay, and so could, of course, Tobias and
Williams. And it was not so much the fear of his friend's drowning as
the thought of the mischief that might come to him, delicate as he was,
from the chill and exposure, that made Mr. Mildmay shout after him,
'Come back, I entreat you, Vane; you are not fit for it,' while he
struggled to drag off a very heavy pair of boots he had on--boots he had
on purpose for rough shingly walking, but which he knew would weight him
terribly in the water.