CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
HARD AT WORK.
Preparations for Mrs Thornton's garden-party went on uninterruptedlyduring the next week, and grew in fervour as the great day approached.Everybody had accepted, as the hostess announced with a groan and alaugh; and the vicar threatened to be called abroad on urgent business,so alarmed was he at the prospect of the fashionable throng which was toinvade his shabby precincts. When, however, Mrs Thornton made up hermind to carry out a plan, she was not easily damped; and aided by Mollieand the younger members of her brood, she weeded, and forked, andclipped at the over-grown garden, until it really began to assume quitea presentable appearance.
"I daren't weed," Mollie explained, "for I'm a poor town thing, whowould probably pull up your most cherished seedlings; but my arms are sostrong that I can mow with the best, so I'll take the grass in hand, ifsomeone else will trim the borders."
"But your face, my dear--your face!" cried Mrs Thornton, staring withdismay at the crimsoned countenance beneath the straw hat. "I'm ashamedto let you work so hard! What would your uncle say if he saw you now?"
"Something uncomplimentary, no doubt. I know I am magenta, butfortunately it isn't lasting. I asked Mr Druce if he would help methis morning, and do a little rolling into the bargain, but he would notgive up his ride."
Mrs Thornton pursed up her lips, stared first at the ground, then atthe sky, then across into Mollie's face.
"He is very fond of riding!" she said mysteriously. "I see him passevery morning, going in the same direction, and always alone. How is itthat none of you ever go with him?"
"Jack Melland is still lame, and Ruth and I are only beginners. We havelittle canters together in the afternoons sometimes, but in the morningshe prefers to be free to go longer distances. He goes ever so far--miles and miles. One morning last week he met Lady Margot Blountsomewhere near the Moat."
"And one morning this week also, for my husband saw them together, andif I were inclined to gossip, I should say it was oftener than once. Mydear Mollie, how charming! Are we going to have a love-story to enliventhe summer? Nobody ever gets engaged or married in this sleepy place,and this would be truly exciting! But I thought at one time--excuse mysaying so, won't you, dear?--I quite thought he admired your sister, andthat there might be a match there!"
"Of course, he admired her--no one could help it; but please never hintat anything of the sort to Ruth. She is very reserved, and would hateto be talked about!" cried Mollie hastily.
Across the lawn Ruth's graceful figure could be seen kneeling in frontof a bed of flowers which she was fastening to supporting sticks in herusual neat, methodical fashion. No one could have recognised that bedas the same confused broken-down mass of blossom which it had been anhour earlier.
"There! now they do look as if someone loved them," said Ruth toherself, straightening her weary back, and brushing the soil off herfingers.
After the Thorntons' more casual work was over, she had made a carefulround of the beds, giving those dainty finishing touches which add solargely to the effect. Now her work was finished, and, seeing MrsThornton and Mollie standing together, she rose stiffly, and walkedacross the lawn to meet them.
"Have you finished? I think I have really come to the end of the beds,and everything looks delightfully `cared for'! I shall bring my cameradown on Thursday, Mrs Thornton, and take some snapshots of your guestsin pretty corners of the garden. Did you know I had taken thephotographic fever? I bought myself a really, really nice camera, and Iwant to take mother a collection of views of the Court when we go home.She will value it more than anything else, for I shall snap all herfavourite bits in the grounds, and take the interiors with time-exposures. They will be nice to look at when we are away, and someoneelse reigns in our stead!"
She shrugged her shoulders as she spoke, and Mrs Thornton patted herarm with kindly encouragement.
"Nonsense--nonsense! You are tired, dear, and that makes you look atthings through blue spectacles. Come into the house, and we will havetea, and discuss the great question of where my guests are to sit, ifanything so dreadful as a shower should happen! Two armchairs, you see,half a dozen small ones, more or less unstable (if anyone over sevenstone attempts the green plush there'll be a catastrophe!), and onesofa. Now, put your inventive brains together, and tell me what I cando. There is plenty of room for more furniture, but no money to buy it,alas!"
"Let them sit on the floor in rows; it would be ever so sociable!" saidnaughty Mollie.
Ruth knitted her brows thoughtfully.
"Have you any chair-beds? We could make quite elegant lounges of them,pushed up against the wall, covered with rugs and banked up withcushions; or even out of two boards propped up at the sides, if theworst came to the worst!"
"Oh-oh! Chair-beds! What an inspiration! I have two stored away inthe attic. They are old and decrepit, but that doesn't matter a bit.They will look quite luxurious when the mattresses are covered withsofa-blankets; but I don't know where the cushions are to come from. Ionly possess these three, and they must stay where they are to hide thepatches in the chintz. I might perhaps borrow--"
"No, don't do anything of the kind. Use your pillows, and Ruth and Iwill make frilled covers out of art-muslin, at threepence a yard. Theywill look charming, and lighten up the dark corners. We are used tothat sort of work at home. We made a cosy corner for the drawing-roomout of old packing-cases and a Liberty curtain, and it is easier andmore comfortable than any professional one I ever saw. The sillyupholsterers always make the seats too high and narrow. We made a musicottoman of the inside, and broke our backs lining it, and our nailshammering in the tacks; but, dear me, how we did enjoy it, and how proudwe were when it was accomplished for seventeen-and-six!
"I'm beginning to doubt," repeated Mollie solemnly, "whether it is halfso amusing to be rich as it is to be poor. When you can get everythingyou want the moment you want it, you don't appreciate it half so much aswhen you have pined for it, and saved up your pennies for it, for monthsbeforehand. When we get a new thing at home, the whole family payvisits to it like a shrine, and we open the door and go into the roomwhere it is, one after the other, to study the effect, and gloat overit. It _is_ fun; isn't it, now? Confess that it is!"
"Ye-es," agreed Mrs Thornton doubtfully. "But where you have to waittoo long, the sense of humour gets a little bit blunted, especially asone grows older, Mollie dear!"
She sighed as she spoke, and her eyes roved pensively round thediscoloured walls, those same walls whose condition had fired Mollie tomake her unsuccessful appeal. The girl's thoughts went back to thatembarrassing interview, not altogether regretfully, since it had endedin bringing about a better understanding between her uncle and herself.Perhaps, though he had refused her request, it would linger in his mind,and lead to good results. Nothing but the unexpected was certain aboutUncle Bernard.
The next afternoon the vicarage drawing-room presented a rather chaoticappearance, as Mrs Thornton and her assistants prepared the importantcouches. Ruth sat in the middle of the floor running up lengths ofbrightly coloured muslins on a sewing-machine, while the other twowrestled with the difficulties which attend all make-shifts. With thegreatest regard for ease and luxury, the beds were pronounced decidedlytoo low to look genuine, and the rickety legs had to be propped up withfoundations manufactured out of old bound volumes of magazines, bricksfrom the garden, and an odd weight or two from the kitchen scales. Thesofa-blankets also turned out to be too narrow, and persisted indisclosing the iron legs, until, in desperation, one end was sewn to themattress, allowing the full width to hang down in front.
At last the work was finished, and the hot and dishevelled workersretired to the hall, and, re-entering the room to study the effect, intrue Farrell manner, pronounced the "divans" to look professional beyondall fear of detection.
The next achievement was to place a tapering bank of plants against adiscoloured patch of wallpaper, and many and varied were
the strugglesbefore the necessary stand was arranged. Eventually an old desk formedthe bottom tier, a stool the second, and the baby's high chair the thirdand last. Draped with an old piece of green baize, with small pots oftrailing _Tradescantia_ fitted into the crossbars of the chair, and thegood old family _Aspidistras_ ("as old as Mabel!" explained MrsThornton, stroking one of the long green leaves affectionately) takingthe place of honour, the effect was so superior and luxurious that thevicar had to be dragged from his study to exclaim and admire.
"There, just look at our divans! Did you ever see anything look moreluxurious? Who could ever suspect they were only a make-up? Sit downand see how comfortable this is!" cried Mrs Thornton volubly; whereuponthe vicar sat down heavily in the centre of the seat, and promptlydescended to the floor amidst a heaped-up pile of bedding, pillows,_Sunday at Homes_, and broken bricks.
He gasped and groped wildly with his hands, and the sight of him sittingprone among the ruins was so comical that both girls went off into pealsof laughter. The humorous side of the accident was not, however, quiteso apparent to the mistress of the ceremonies.
"That tiresome, tiresome bed! I might have known as much! It used tocollapse with me regularly when I was nursing Mabel with scarlet-fever!"she cried impatiently. "Now we shall have to begin from the beginning,and make it up again. How tiresome of you, Arthur, to be so heavy!"
"I will spare you the obvious retort, dear. Let us be thankful that Iwas the victim, and not Lady Elstree, whom you would certainly haveescorted to the seat of honour to-morrow. If you will allow me to help,I think I could manage to make things fast."
At this critical moment a loud rat-tat sounded at the door, and MrsThornton rushed to peep out of the window.
"Horrors, a visitor! Mary will show her into the room, I know she will!That girl has no more sense than a doll! Ruth--Mollie--Wallace! pickup the things on the floor; throw them behind the sofa! Pull thesewing-machine to the wall! There's no room for anyone to tread! Ofall the tiresome, aggravating--"
"Nonsense, dear--nonsense!" cried the vicar, laughing. "Leave things asthey are. You have quite sufficient excuse in the fact of expecting ahundred people to-morrow. There will be no room to tread then, if youlike!"
He turned towards the door as he spoke, and Mrs Thornton hastilysmoothed her hair as it opened wide, and Mary's eager voice announced--
"If you please, mum, a 'amper!"
"A _what_?"
The vicar and his wife pressed forward eagerly, and, lo! on the well-worn oilcloth of the passage lay a large wicker hamper, addressed to"Mrs Thornton, The Vicarage, Raby," and bearing on the label the nameof a well-known London fruiterer. To cut the string and tear it openwas the work of a moment, when inside was revealed such treasures ofhothouse fruits as left the beholders dumb and gasping with admiration.
There in profusion were grapes, peaches, giant strawberries of thedeepest red, pineapples,--each one more perfect and tempting than thelast, in their dainty, padded cases.
The vicar stood looking on, stroking his chin, and smiling withenjoyment at his wife's delight, as she bent over her treasures,exclaiming and rapturising like a girl in her teens.
"How lovely! How charming! How delightful! My fruit-table will be atriumph! This is exactly what I needed to give the finishing touch tomy preparations! I've never seen finer fruit--never! Wallace, Wallace,won't we be grand?"
"So grand that I am afraid the churchwardens will have serious doubts asto the school funds," said the vicar, laughing. "I have twenty poundsin hand at the present moment, and really--"
"Oh, don't be a goose! Of course, everyone will guess that it is apresent. I shall say so myself on every opportunity. But who from?Who can have thought of such a thing?" Her eyes turned with suddenquestioning to the two girls. "Ruth, Mollie--did you?"
"Indeed, no! I didn't think of it, I am sorry to say!" said Ruth; andadded honestly, "I am too hard up to pay for all those lovely things!"
"And you know nothing about it, really?"
"Really and truly, not a thing!"
"You don't think that perhaps the squire--"
Mollie recalled the snubbing which she had received on suggesting theimprovements to the vicarage, coupled with the various cynical remarksto which Mr Farrell had given utterance on the subject of this verygarden-party, and felt convinced that he was not the anonymous donor;but these things were not to be repeated, so she remained silent, whileRuth and Mrs Thornton wondered and speculated.
No one could be thought of more likely than the squire, for theparishioners, as a rule, were not overburdened with money, nor the fewwho were, with generosity.
"I have never had such a thing done for me all the years I have beenhere--never once!" cried Mrs Thornton, waxing almost tearful in herexcess of gratitude. "And to send it anonymously, too--so modest andunassuming! The dear, kind, thoughtful creature. I shall never restuntil I know who it is?"