Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Fortunes of the Farrells
By Mrs George de Horne Vaizey________________________________________________________________________Old Mr Bernard Farrell is known to be immensely rich. No one in hisfamily has seen him for ages. Suddenly he turns up, and is invited tostay for a few days, as he isn't very well. His proposition is, that hewould like various of his nephews and nieces to come and stay with himfor quite a long time, so that he might gauge which of them shouldreceive the greater part of his wealth after he dies.
The house-part duly convenes, and they don't find him a very agreeablehost, but for the most part they persevere. He has made a preliminarywill "in case of accident". He is trying to keep this will secret, andof course the young people are all agog to know what is in it. One dayhe accidentally leaves his desk open, and realises that someone has beenat his desk, and has read the will. He calls all the young people tohis bed, and asks them point-blank who it was. Of course he getsvarious kinds of answer, from the offended, to the frightened and cowed.But by chance he finds out exactly who had peeked into his desk and readthe will. We won't spoil the story for you, but would say this: thatit is as good a Horne Vaizey story as any, even the earlier Pixie books.NH________________________________________________________________________
THE FORTUNES OF THE FARRELLS
BY MRS GEORGE DE HORNE VAIZEY
CHAPTER ONE.
FROM PRETENCE TO REALITY.
"Berengaria, what do you generally do with your old court trains? Howdo you use them up?"
The fire had died down to a dull red glow; only one tiny flame remained,which, flickering to and fro, showed a wide expanse of floor, and twoeasy-chairs drawn up before the fender, on which reclined vague,feminine figures. The voice which had asked the question was slow andlanguid, and breathed a wearied indifference to the world in general,which was more than equalled in the tone of the reply--
"Really, don't you know, I can't say! I put them away, meaning to usethem for cloaks or evening-dresses; but I forget, or they get mislaid,or the maid confiscates them for her own purposes. I expect, as amatter of fact, she makes them up into Sunday blouses."
"You spoil that woman, dear! You are so absurdly easy-going that sherobs you right and left. Do take my advice, and give her notice atonce!"
"I couldn't, darling, even to please you! It bores me so to deal withstrangers, and no one else could do my hair like Elsie. If it pleasesher to use up a few of my garments, why shouldn't the poor soul have herpleasure like the rest? That reminds me, Lucille--are you going to theduchess's ball to-night? I suppose it is superfluous to ask, since noentertainment is complete without you nowadays."
"Oh, I suppose so! If I am not too fagged, that is to say. But I havea dinner first, and two At-homes, and people make such a fuss if youdon't put in an appearance. One hardly feels up to dancing afterstruggling through two of the asphyxiating mobs dignified by the name ofentertainments; still, I promised Arthur the cotillion, and he will bedesolated if I play him false; and I have a new frock for the occasionwhich is really rather a dream. Silver tissue over satin, and shoulder-straps of diamonds. I had them reset on purpose. I spend quite afortune on resetting jewels nowadays; but one must be original, or die!"
"My dear, you will be too bewitching! Lord Arthur will be moredesperate than ever. My poor little self will be nowhere beside you!I'm going to be sweet and simple in chiffon and pearls. Paquin made thegown. Don't ask what it cost! I tore up the bill and threw it in thefire. Really, don't you know, it made me quite depressed! Soperishable, too! I expect I shall be in rags before the evening isover. But it's quite sweet at present--all frilly-willys from top totoe. I do love to be fluffy and feminine, and my pearls really areunique! The princess examined them quite carefully when I met her lastwinter, and said she had rarely seen finer specimens. I wouldn't wearthem at all unless they were good. I cannot endure inferior jewels!"
The speaker lolled still more luxuriously in her chair, then startedforward, as the door opened with a bang, and a harsh voice accosted herby name--
"Miss Mollie, your mother wants to know if you have finished darning thesocks? She is putting away the clean clothes, and wants to sort themwith the rest."
The Lady Lucille--otherwise Mollie Farrell, the penniless daughter of animpoverished house--jumped up from her chair, and clasped her hands indismay. In blissful contemplation of imagining chiffons and cotillions,the prosaic duties of reality had slipped from her mind, andrecollection brought with it a pang of remorse.
"Misery me! I forgot the very existence of the wretched things! Nevermind. Tell mother, Annie, that I'll set to work this minute, and putthem away myself as soon as they are done. Tell her I'm sorry; tell herI'll be as quick as I possibly can!"
Annie stood for a moment in eloquent silence then shut the door anddescended the stairs; while Mollie groped her way across the room, andBerengaria lifted herself from her chair with a sigh, and slipped herhand along the mantelpiece.
"I'll light the gas. How horrid it is, being dragged back to earth bythese sordid interruptions! It's always the way--as soon as I begin toforget myself, and enjoy a taste of luxury, back I'm dragged to the samedull old life. I really saw that silver tissue, and felt the coldnessof the diamonds against my shoulder; and then--_socks_! Those wretched,thick, ugly socks, with the heels all out, and the toes in rags! Ithink schoolboys ought to be obliged to darn their own clothes, just toteach them a little care!"
"Well, be aisy; you haven't to darn them, anyway. It's my work, whichis the best of reasons why it is left undone. Hurry with the gas,there's a dear. There's no time for conundrums, if I am to finish to-night!"
Another sigh, the striking of a match, and the light sprang up, andshowed a tall, girlish figure, clad in a blue serge skirt, and a flannelblouse, faded from repeated washing, and showing signs of a decidedshortage of material.
Considered as a costume, it was a painful contrast to the silver anddiamonds of the fair Berengaria; but the shabby garments looked theirbest on Ruth Farrell's slight form, and the face reflected in the stripof mirror above the mantelpiece had a distinct charm of its own. A lowbrow below masses of brown hair; a flush of carmine on the cheeks; softlips, drooping pathetically at the corners; and--most striking featureof all--thickly marked eyebrows of almost jetty black, stretching inlong, straight lines above the grey eyes. A pretty, almost a beautifulface, full of character, full of thought, full of a restless,unsatisfied yearning.
She threw the burnt-out match on to the fire, and turned to survey theroom--surely the most motley and curious apartment that could beimagined! The sloping roof proved at a glance the position under theleads, and a peep at the outside of the door would have shown the word"Attica" painted in bold white letters on the top panel.
Attica--or the land of attic--constituted the boudoirs of the LadiesBerengaria and Lucille, the work-rooms and play-rooms, dens and havensof refuge, of Ruth and Mollie Farrell, and their young stepsisters, Trixand Betty Connor; for it was of generous proportions, measuring a squareeight yards or more, and the floor was divided into four equal sectionsby lines of white paint against the brown of the original staining.
Each sister held an exclusive right to her own domain, and for anotherto enter therein without special invitation was held as an outrageagainst decency and good taste.
In the beginning of things, Ruth, as the eldest, had claimed the rightof first choice, and, being a young woman who liked her comforts, hadinstantly and unhesitatingly appropriated the fireside.
Mollie, coming next in order, plumped for the window, it being her sunnyhabit to look forward to an endless summer;
Trix, grumbling vigorously,appropriated the angle made by the blank walls nearest the fire; andpoor Betty made her lair in the direct draught of the doorway, andenjoyed a permanent cold in the head from November to March.
A glance at the four corners of the room afforded a very fair idea ofthe characters of its inhabitants. Ruth's "Fireland" domain had an airof luxury of its own, though the draperies were of simple turkey-red,and the pictures mounted on home-made frames of brown paper. There wasa row of shelves against the wall, holding quite a goodly show ofvolumes, ranged neatly side by side, while a curtained recess at one endcontained tea-cups and canister, and a small metal kettle, asscrupulously bright as on the day when it had left the shop.
An old folding-chair had been painted green, and supplied with frilledcushions. There was a sensible little table, holding a hand-machine,and a work-basket--yawning apart, it is true, but neatly strapped toprevent accident; and on the mantelpiece a crowd of photographs, and afew oddments of blue china, all carefully dusted by the owner's hand,and set out with artistic effect.
Last, and crowning luxury of all, a screen stood behind the low chair,manufactured out of a clothes-horse flounced with turkey-red, which wasat once the comfort and distraction of Ruth's soul; for while, from herpoint of view, it was an indispensable comfort, shutting out draughtsfrom window and door, and giving to her little nook the last blessing ofprivacy, Trix denounced the innovation as the incarnation ofselfishness, Betty's teeth chattered with a noise like castanets, andMollie peered round the corner with her shoulders huddled in a shawl,and her face at once so cheerful, so unreproving, and so bleached withcold, that it was not in human nature to refuse the desired invitation.
Mollie's domain of "Bellevue" comprised the square-shaped window, on thesill of which she cultivated nasturtiums and mignonette in summer, andin the embrasure stood a window-seat covered with blue cloth, that wasreally the remains of an old winter skirt.
Visitors to "Bellevue" always paused to admire the sprays of flowerswhich were embroidered here and there on this blue background; and thenMollie "dissembled," as she called it, smiling sweet recognition of thepraise, but never once breathing the secret that the whole being andintent of these flowers was to hide the joins beneath.
She also possessed a table and a work-basket; but the former wasdecidedly ancient and insecure as to legs, while the basket made nopretence of shutting, but looked on unabashed while its contents layscattered over the rug.
A dressmaker's stand stood in the corner, on which a blouse, more orless complete, was invariably pinned, waiting for the moment when Molliehad time to devote to her favourite occupation. There were no book-shelves, but a litter of magazines behind a cushion on the window-seat,and innumerable photographs were secured to the wall by black-headedpins, to fade slowly but surely into unrecognition in the unbroken glareof light.
Mollie herself pined for curtains to mitigate the draught during thewinter months, but the three other inmates of Attica loudly declaredthat they could not spare a fraction of light, so she gave way smiling,as her custom was. Mollie never grumbled; it was so dull, as she said,and she loved to be gay. An invincible cheeriness of heart carried hergallantly over the quicksands in which Ruth was submerged by reason ofher moodiness, and Trix by her quick temper, and made it a physicalimpossibility to repine over the inevitable.
Fifteen-year-old Trix was in that stage when the Oxford examinationseems the end-all and be-all of existence. Her section of Attica wasproudly dubbed "The Study," and had its walls covered with maps, classlists, and "memos" of great variety. The desk was strewn with papersand exercise-books, and there lingered in the air that indescribablescent of sponge, slate, indiarubber, and freshly sharpened pencils whichseem inseparable from youthful study.
Trix confessed to one weakness,--only one!--an overwhelming greed forpencil-boxes and sharpeners, and the contents of the wooden shelf abovethe desk testified to her indulgence in this craving. "The girls gavethem to me!" she used to say when strangers exclaimed at the number ofthe piled-up boxes, but she blushed even as she spoke, knowing well thatto keep sixpence in her pocket and pass a pencil-box of a new design,was a feat of self-denial beyond imagination.
Dear, chubby, placid Betty was only thirteen, and cared for nothing inthe world but her relations, chocolate-creams, and scrambling throughthe day's classes with as little exertion as possible. She shivered inher corner, poor mite, sucking audibly, to the distraction of herelders, the while she skimmed over her lessons, and looked forward tothe time when she would be free to devote herself to the hobby of thehour.
Sometimes it was postcards; sometimes it was stamps; sometimes it waspenny toys collected from street vendors. It had once soared as high asautographs, and a promising beginning of three signatures were alreadypasted into the remaining leaves of an exercise-book. Whatever thecollection might be, it lived in heaps on the uncarpeted floor; and whenBetty had a tidy fit, was covered with a crochet antimacassar which hadknown better days, and had grown decidedly mellow in tint.
On this particular afternoon, the two younger sisters were taking teawith school friends, while their elders enjoyed an uninterrupted _tete-a-tete_, when they could indulge in a favourite game. When life wasunusually flat and prosaic, when the weather was wet, invitationsconspicuous by their absence, and the want of pocket-money particularlypoignant, Mollie would cry ardently: "Let's be Berengaria and Lucille!"and, presto! the two girls were transplanted to another world--a worldwith the magic letter W added to its address, where empty purses anddyed dresses existed not, and all was joy, jewellery, and junketing.
Lucille had lately become the bride of a millionaire and adoring duke;the peerless Berengaria wrought havoc with the peace of Lord Arthur, andhad more suitors than she could count on the fingers of both hands. Itwas a fascinating make-believe; but, as Ruth plaintively remarked, itdid come with somewhat of a shock to be dragged back to earth by--socks!
She stood leaning against the mantelpiece, looking on with frowningbrows while her sister collected together scattered materials, andcarried them and the yawning basket back to the cosy corner in Fireland,where, for the hour, she was an invited guest.
"Quick's the word and sharp's the action!" cried Mollie cheerily. "Nowfor a grand old cobble; and if there are any heels out to-day, my fineyoung gentlemen, don't blame _me_ if you have to tread on knots for therest of the week! It's the strangest thing on earth that I can remembernice things year after year without an effort, and yet forget thishorrid mending every Saturday as regularly as the day comes round."
"Carelessness!" replied Ruth shortly, and with the candour of nearrelations. "I couldn't forget if I tried. First thing when I wake inthe morning I think of all the bothersome duties I have to do in theday, and the last thing at night I am thinking of them still. But youare so frivolous, Mollie!"
"And you are so morbid, my dear! You don't offer to help me, I observe;and since you are so conscientious as all that, I should think you mightlend me a hand in my extremity. There! I'll give you Ransome's for atreat; he breaks out at the toes, but his heels are intact. It'splaywork mending for him compared with the other boys."
She tossed a collection of brown woollen stockings into her sister'slap, and Ruth took them up, frowning heavily with her black brows, butnever dreaming of refusing the request, though her own share of thehousehold mending had kept her employed during the earlier part of theafternoon, while Mollie was amusing herself elsewhere. She took adarning-egg out of her basket, threaded a needle daintily, and set towork in the painstaking manner which characterised all her efforts; butshe sighed as she worked, and Mollie sang, and that was the differencebetween them.
"Don't make such a noise, Mollie; you make my head ache. Another time,I wish you would do your mending when I do mine, and then we should geta chance of a rest. Just to-day, too, when the girls are out! I hate alarge family, where there is never any privacy or repose. I wish thepater could afford to send the boys to a boarding-school. It wou
ld bethe making of them, and such a blessing to us."
Mollie pursed her lips disapprovingly.
"I'd miss them horribly. They are naughty, of course, and noisy andtiresome, and make no end of work, but that's the nature of boys; on theother hand, they are full of fun and good-humour, if you take them theright way. And they are affectionate little ruffians, too; and so good-looking. I'm proud of them on Sundays, in their Eton suits."
"But there's only one Sunday, and six long days of shabbiness andpatches! Bruce ought to have a new school suit; the one he is wearinghas descended from the other two, and is disgracefully shabby. I spoketo mother about it to-day, and she said she had intended to buy one thismonth, but business was bad, and there was the coal bill to pay. Theold story! Business always _is_ bad, and the coal bill is ever withus!"
Mollie crinkled her brows, and for a fraction of a second her faceclouded.
"There's no hope for me, then! I was going to plead for an extrasovereign to carry me to the end of the quarter, for I've spent my lastcent, and there are one or two absolute necessities which I shall haveto get by hook or by crook, or stay in bed until the next allowance isdue. Well; something will turn up, I suppose! It's always the darkestthe hour before the dawn, and, financially speaking, it's pitch black atthe present moment. Let's pretend Uncle Bernard suddenly appeared uponthe scene, and presented us each with a handsome cheque."
"I'm tired of Uncle Bernard! Ever since I was a child I have heardabout him and his eccentricities, and his house, and his wealth, andthat we were his nearest relatives, and that some day he would surelyremember us, and break his silence; but he never has, so now I look uponhim as a sort of mythological figure who has no real existence. If hecared anything about us he would have written long ago. I expect he hasforgotten our very existence, and left all his money to charities."
"I expect he has, but it's fun to pretend. Suppose he remembered mybirthday and sent me a ten-pound note! Fancy me, my dear, with a wholeten pounds to spend as I liked. What fun we'd have! Most of it wouldhave to go in useful things, but we'd take a sovereign or two and have areckless burst just to see what it was like. A hansom to town, lunch ata real swagger restaurant; and, after that, good seats at a _matinee_,ices between the acts, and another hansom home, instead of shivering atthe corner waiting for omnibuses. Oh, bliss! Oh, rapture! If it couldonly come true! If uncle would once come to see us, he couldn't helpliking us; could he?"
"He'd like me best, because I am pretty," said Ruth calmly.
"He'd like me best, because I am so nice!" contradicted Mollie. Andthen they looked at each other, and each made a little grimace, supposedto express scorn and contempt, but in reality there was so complete anunderstanding beneath the pretence that it was almost as expressive as acaress.
After this came a few minutes' silence, while the two needles were wovendiligently to and fro; then--
"Mollie!" said Ruth suddenly, "I've come to a decision. I've beenthinking it over for ages, so don't imagine it's a whim, or that I don'tmean what I say. It's time that one of us turned out and earned somemoney on our own account, and, as I'm the eldest, I'm the one to go.Business gets worse and worse, and expenses increase, and must go onincreasing, as the children grow up. Trix will be sixteen in summer; inless than two years she will leave school, and three grown-up daughtersare not needed in any house when the mother is well and strong. I oncethought of waiting until then; but I am twenty-two now, and, if I am todo any good, there is no time to waste. You could get along without meeven now."
The half-darned sock fell on Mollie's knee, and for once the sunny facelooked thoroughly shocked and startled.
"I couldn't--I couldn't! None of us could! What would happen ifeverything depended on me? You remind me, and keep me up to the mark,and help me out of scrapes. I should be at my wit's end without you.Mother consults you about everything, and the girls obey you, and theboys pay more attention to you than they do to anyone else. Ruth,_everybody_ needs you?"
"They love you best," Ruth said quietly. And the dark brows wrinkled inwistful fashion.
It was the truth that she was speaking, no empty striving forcompliments; but why was it the truth? She worked hard; Mollie idled.She was conscientious, self-sacrificing, and methodical; Mollie knew notthe meaning of method, and was frankly selfish on occasions. Sheworried herself ill about ways and means, and kept sedulously within thebounds of her small allowance; Mollie took no heed for the morrow, andwas in a chronic condition of penury or debt.
Despite these striking contrasts, the fact remained, however, that ifany member of the household were ill, or had a secret to confide, or afavour to request, they betook themselves to the heedless Mollie, ratherthan to herself. Dearly as she loved her sister, Ruth felt a littlerankling of soreness mingling with her mystification. She did not yetrealise the magic power which cheerfulness wields in this world, or thecharm of a sunny face and a ready rippling laugh. Hearts turn to thesun as instinctively as plants, and forgive much for the sake of thewarmth and glow.
"They love you best," said Ruth, and honest Mollie did not contradict,but stretched out her hand, and laid it caressingly on her sister's arm.
"But I love you, and I can't do without you, Ruth! I couldn't livealone, for you and I belong to each other. The others are dears intheir way; but they are only `steps,' and we two seem so close together.Imagine Attica without you! Imagine going to bed alone, with no one totalk to about the events of the day! What does the horrid old moneymatter? We always have been poor, and we always shall be. As long as Ican remember mother has been in despair about the bills; but we wrigglethrough somehow, and we shall go on wriggling. It's horrid of you totalk of going away! Think of me!"
"That's selfish, Mollie. You are the last person I ought to think ofjust now. Mother comes first, and the poor old pater, and all thosechildren. It comes to this, that I can't stand the present state ofaffairs any longer. I feel ashamed of taking even the pittance we have;and I'm tired of the pittance, too, and want to make money for myself,and not have to think a dozen times over before spending a penny!"
Mollie laughed--a pert, derisive little laugh.
"Sounds well, my dear; but, if it comes to that, what _can_ you do? Youcan't teach, for you are not accomplished enough for advanced pupils,nor patient enough for children. Do you remember trying to teachDrummond to read, and rapping his poor little knuckles till they wereblue? Besides, talking of pittances, you'd get less than nothing if youdid try it. I don't see what you could do to earn a living."
"I could be a hospital nurse!"
"Perhaps you might--a bad one--for you don't like nursing, and wouldonly do it for the sake of the pay. I should have no respect for you ifyou did that, Ruth. It would be too hard on the unfortunate patients?"
"I could be a companion--"
"People who want companions are old, or gouty, or mad; invariablydisagreeable, or why have they to advertise for a friend? I think I seeyou shut up with a trying old lady, combing the lap-dog's hair, andwinding wool! You wouldn't be a very agreeable companion, Ruthans dear.Better make the best of things, and stay where you are."
Ruth made no further protest, but her lips tightened with an expressionof determination. Her mind being made up, she was not easily swayedfrom her purpose. She decided to talk to her mother on the subject onthe following morning.