CHAPTER XVII
SARAH'S OPPORTUNITY
A few days later they made the move to the little house at Fulham,which, in poor lavish Mrs. Stubbs's eyes, was but a degree better than aremoval to the workhouse.
But Sarah--who somehow seemed to have naturally the management ofeverything--worked like a slave to get everything into good order beforeher aunt should set foot in the place at all. She turned the house inJesamond Road out that she might take the prettiest and most suitablethings for the little Queen Anne box to which they were going, and, withthe help of Johnnie and the new servant, succeeded in having everythingin perfect order by the time of Mrs. Stubbs's arrival.
But it was very, very small. Mrs. Stubbs looked hopelessly at thenarrow passage and the narrower doorways when she entered, sobbed as sherecognised one article of furniture after another, or missed such asSarah had not thought it wise or in good taste to bring.
"Oh, dear, dear! I ought to think it all very pretty and nice," shewailed; "I left it all to you, Sarah, and I know you've done yourbest--I know it; but I _did_ think I should have been able to keep myown inlaid market writing-table that Stubbs gave me on my lastwedding-day--I did."
"Dear Auntie, you shall have it," Sarah explained, soothingly. "Icouldn't get you to choose just what you would have, and I had to beguided by size a good deal. But we can fetch the table easily enough;it will stand here in the window beautifully, and just finish off theroom nicely."
"Flossie says she'll not be able to come and see us very often." Mrs.Stubbs wandered off again. "She says it knocks the carriage about so,coming down these new neighbourhoods. Ah, _I_ never used to think of mycarriages before my relations, never!"
"Flossie will have more sense by-and-by," said Sarah, who had but smallpatience with Mrs. Jones's airs and graces.
Poor Sarah was so tired of Flossie and her airs! To her mind, she washardly worth a moment's consideration or regret; to her she was just anungenerous, self-sufficient, very vulgar and heartless young person, whowould have been more in her place had she been scrubbing floors orwashing dishes than she was, or ever would be, riding in her owncarriage behind a pair of high-stepping horses that had cost fourhundred guineas.
"Don't think about Flossie at all, dear," she said to her aunt. "Someday she'll be sorry for all that has happened lately; perhaps some dayshe may have trouble herself, and then she will understand how unkindshe has been to you. But May is always sweet and good, though she istied up by that horrid old man, and can't help you as she would like;and the little ones are different--they would never hurt your feelingswillingly."
Poor Mrs. Stubbs shook her head sadly. She had said nothing to Sarah,for a wonder--for as a rule she carried all her troubles to her--butonly that morning Tom had flung off to "his beastly office" in a rage,because she had not been able to give him a sovereign and had suggestedthat the pound a week he was receiving ought to be more than enough forhis personal expenses; and Minnie had pouted and cried because she couldnot have a pair of new gloves; and the little ones had looked at her inutter dismay because there was not a fresh pot of jam for theirbreakfast. Perhaps Mrs. Stubbs felt that Sarah was young, and must notbe disheartened when she was doing her best; I know not. Any way, shekept these things to herself, and after shaking her head as a sort oftribute to her troubles, promised that she would try to make herselfhappy in her new home.
And then Sarah felt herself at liberty to go and pay a visit to SignorCapri, her violin master, one she had been wishing to pay ever since heruncle's death. She went at a time when she knew he would be alone, andindeed she found him so.
"Ah, my little Sara!" he cried; "I was hoping to see you again soon.And tell me, you have lost the good uncle, eh?"
"Yes, Signor," she answered, and briefly told him all the story of heruncle's misfortune and death. "And now," she ended, "I want to makemoney. They have done everything for me; now I want to do something forthem. Can you help me?"
"They have done everything for me; now I want to dosomething for them. Can you help me?"]
"You are a brave child!" the violin-master cried; "and God has given youthe rarest of all good gifts--a grateful heart. I think I can help you;I think so. Only this morning I had a letter from a friend who isarranging a concert tour; he has first-rate _artistes_, and he wants alady violinist."
"Me!" cried Sarah excitedly.
"But," said the maestro, raising his hand, "he does not give muchmoney."
"But it would be a beginning," she broke in.
"He gives six pounds a week."
"I'll go!" Sarah cried.
"Then we will go and see him at once; I have an hour to spare," said theItalian kindly.
Well, before that hour was ended, Sarah had engaged herself to go on atwelve weeks' tour, at a salary of six pounds a week and her travellingexpenses; and before ten days more had gone over her head, she had setoff on her travels in search of fame and fortune.
Flossie's remarks were very pious. "I'm sure, Sarah," she said, settingher rich folds of crape and silk straight, "I am heartily glad to findthat you have so much good feeling as to wish to relieve poor Ma of theexpense of keeping you. How much happier you will be to feel you are nolonger a burden on anybody! There's nothing like independence. I'msure every time I think of poor Ma, I say to myself, 'Thank Heaven,_I'm_ no burden upon her!"
"That must be a great comfort to you, I'm sure, Flossie," said Sarahgravely.
"Yes; I often tell Mr. Jones so. And what salary are you going to have,Sarah?"
"Enough to help my aunt a little," replied Sarah coldly.
"Well, really, I can't see why you need be so close about it," Flossieobserved, "nor why you should want to help Ma. I'm sure she'll haveenough to live very comfortably, only, of course, she must be content tolive a little less extravagantly than she did before. I do believe,"she added, with a superb air, "in people being content and happy withwhat they have; it's so much more sensible than always pining after whatthey haven't got. By the bye, Sarah, we are going to have adinner-party to-morrow night; I couldn't ask Ma because of her mourning,but if you like to come in in the evening, and bring your violin, weshall be very pleased, I'm sure."
"If you like to ask me as a professional, and pay my fee," began Sarahmischievously.
"Pay your fee! Well, I never! To your own cousin, and when you owe usso much!" Flossie exclaimed.
"I don't think I owe _you_ anything, Flossie, not even civility orkindness," said Sarah coldly; but Mrs. Jones had flounced away in ahuff.
"Such impudence!" as she said to her husband afterwards.
Well, Sarah went off on her tour, and won a fair amount ofsuccess--enough to make her manager anxious to secure her for thefollowing winter on the same terms. But Sarah had promised Signor Caprito do nothing without his knowledge, and he wrote back, "Wait! Beforenext winter you may be famous."
But the months passed over, and still fame had not come, except in amoderate degree. The manager was very glad to take Sarah on tour againat a salary advanced to seven pounds a week instead of six, and Sarahwas equally glad to go.
In the meantime, she had made a good deal of money by playing at privatehouses and at concerts. She had taken a well-earned holiday to theChannel Islands, and had given her aunt and the little ones a very goodtime there, all out of her own pocket, and had added a very liberal sumto the housekeeping purse of the little Queen Anne house at Fulham.
Twice she had dined with the Giaths in Palace Gardens, and had taken herviolin because May had not asked her to do so. And more than once shehad been asked to go in the evening to grace the rooms of Mrs. Jones--anhonour which she persistently declined.
So time went on, and Sarah worked late and early, hoping, longing,praying to be one day a great woman.
Thus several years went by, and at last there came a glad and joyous daywhen she received a command to play at a State concert--a day when shewoke to find herself loo
ked upon as one of the first violinists of theage. It was wonderful, then, how engagements crowded in upon her; howshe was sought out, flattered, and made much of; how even theredoubtable Flossie was proud to go about saying that she was MissGray's cousin.
Not that she ever owned it to Sarah; but Sarah heard from time to timethat Mrs. Jones had spread the fact of the relationship abroad. Theobject of Flossie's life now seemed to be to get Sarah to play at herhouse; for, as she explained to her mother and May--now a rich youngwidow--"Of course it looks odd to other people that they never see Sarahat my house, and I don't wish to do Sarah harm by saying that I don'tcare to have her there. But sometimes when she's staying with you, May,you might bring her."
"I don't think she would come," laughed May. "You see, you sat uponSarah so frightfully when she wasn't anybody in particular, that now,when she is somebody of more consequence than all the lot of us puttogether, she naturally doesn't feel inclined to have anything to dowith you. I know I shouldn't."
"And Lady Bright asked particularly if she was going to play on the9th," said Flossie, with a rueful face, and not attempting to deny thepast in any way.
"And what did you say?"
"I said I hoped so."
"Oh, well, that will be all the same. Lady Bright will understand aftera time that 'Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.'" May laughed. "Andperhaps it will be as well to remember in future that ugly ducklings mayturn out swans some day, and that if they do, they are sometimespainfully aware of the fact that some people would have kept themducklings for ever. You see, you and Tom, who is more horrid now eventhan he was as a boy--yes, I see you agree with me--gave her the name ofPrincess Sarah! She has grown up to the name, that is all."
THE END