CHAPTER XXIX
30 NEWBOLT SQUARE.
Mrs. Acheson, although a most kind-hearted woman and affectionatemother, would, if she had spoken her innermost thoughts, have confessedthat Belle was not at all to her mind. Being her daughter she thought ither duty to be as good as she could possibly be to Belle, but she wouldinfinitely have preferred a girl in the style of Lettie Chetwynd, asociable, agreeable, pleasant girl, who would have done credit to prettydresses, have won a desirable lover, and married comfortably. She wouldindeed have considered her cup of happiness complete had such a girl asLeslie Gilroy been hers; but Belle being the child allotted to her byProvidence, she was wise enough to make the best of her, not to attemptto turn her into any other groove, and to endeavor to counteract hereccentricities as far as possible.
When Belle mentioned to her mother that she had invited a St. Wode'sgirl to stay with her, Mrs. Acheson was pleased. She went happilyupstairs to see that Annie's room was neat and comfortable, the bed wellaired, and all the necessary accessories of a bedroom as they ought tobe.
When her young guest arrived, she hurried downstairs to welcome her; andseeing that the girl looked forlorn and tired, with a droop about herlips and an expression in her eyes which quite went to the good woman'sheart, she kissed her affectionately, bade her welcome, and took herinto the drawing room.
"You don't look well, dear," she said. "I am very pleased that Belle hasasked you to stay with us. May I ask if you and my daughter are greatfriends?"
"No," replied Annie; "in fact we scarcely know each other. We did notlive in the same house at St. Wode's, but we have met often. I happenedto be at the Chetwynds' this morning, where Leslie Gilroy was staying,when Miss Acheson arrived, and most kindly invited me here for a week. Iwas only too glad to accept the invitation," continued Annie, raisingher pathetic, half-starved eyes to Mrs. Acheson's face, "for I have nohome at present."
"Dear, dear, my poor child; that is truly sad," said the good lady. "Butyou must tell me all your story later on. I am deeply interested inyoung girls, and any friend of my Belle's has my kindest sympathy. Now,let me take you to your room."
Mrs. Acheson took Annie upstairs. She saw that the girl had hot water,said that Belle would be glad to lend her anything until her own trunkarrived, and left her.
"But I don't like the look on her face, all the same," thought the goodwoman as she trotted downstairs. Belle was standing in the hall.
"My dear," said Mrs. Acheson eagerly, "Miss Colchester has arrived."
Belle did not immediately reply. She was hanging her jacket on thehat-stand; she seldom troubled to take it upstairs.
"Yes, mother," she answered, putting her hand to her forehead andarranging her short locks into position; "but what about it? I thoughtnaturally she would arrive."
"She does not look very well, Belle. She seems so tired, and--I scarcelylike to say the word--so hungry."
"Oh, I dare say she is!" replied Belle in a careless tone. "She wasalways a good bit of an oddity, and in the pursuit of knowledgedoubtless neglected her food; but as to her being ill, I think she isall right. She has worked rather hard, that is all."
"Then we will give her a right good time; won't we, dear?" said Mrs.Acheson.
Belle stared at her mother through her glasses, and again did not reply.She went into the drawing room in her dusty boots.
"As we have a guest to-night, Belle, dear; and----"
"What in the world is it, mother? What are you fidgeting so dreadfullyabout?"
"Nothing, my love; only would you greatly mind going upstairs to washyour hands, tidy your hair, and take off your dusty boots beforedinner?"
"Oh, dear," replied Belle in an impatient voice. "If I had thought AnnieColchester's being here would mean all this sort of thing I would havethought twice before I invited her."
It was now Mrs. Acheson's turn to make no reply. She knew Belle quitewell enough to be certain that it was worse than useless to argue withher. If she left that eccentric young person to herself, things as arule turned out according to Mrs. Acheson's wish.
Belle hummed and hawed, and looked very cross, but finally did leave theroom.
When dinner was announced, the two girls entered the dining-roomtogether. Annie was only able to make a very scanty and imperfecttoilet; for her clothes, which she had telegraphed to her late landladyto forward, had not yet arrived.
They went down to dinner. The meal was a good one, and nicely served.Annie ate heartily, and felt considerably refreshed afterwards. She wastired too; there was a sort of stunned feeling over her. If Mrs. Achesononly knew the truth, if she could guess even for a single moment thatbetween Annie and starvation were only four shillings, would she notimmediately think that she, Annie, had come into her house on falsepretenses. People as a rule, do not ask starving girls to partake of thecomforts of their luxurious homes. There is the workhouse for such asthem. Annie shivered. The idea of confiding in Mrs. Acheson neveroccurred to her.
Meanwhile, that good and excellent woman had taken a fancy to theforlorn girl. She determined to give her a right good time, and to getat that secret which knitted her dark brows, and made her beautifulred-brown eyes so full of indescribable melancholy. Annie could not helpcheering up after a little, in the sunshine of this rare kindness. Thelittle week which lay before her was an oasis in the desert; she wouldenjoy it while she could. She might gather some strength during thesefew days for the solitary and miserable time which lay before her. But,after all, her poverty was scarcely her worst trouble now. It was thethought of Rupert, the terrible and awful thought that he had once morebeen guilty, that he had broken his solemn word, that the police evennow were at his heels.
"What is to be done?" thought the wretched girl. "How am I to help him?"
Presently Mrs. Acheson suggested that they should go to bed.
"You can scarcely keep your eyes open," she said, looking at Annie. "Dogo up to your room at once, dear, and have a long, good sleep."
"Not quite yet, mother," said Belle, looking up from her book. "I wantAnnie Colchester to help me with this translation. I know she has goneright through the sixth book of Herodotus, and I have not. I want her tohelp me with the translation of the story which gave rise to the saying'What does Hippocleides care?'"
Mrs. Acheson sighed, and made no answer: a moment later she left theroom.
"You are not dead tired? You are willing to help me?" said Belle,looking at Annie when they found themselves alone.
"I will help you of course, Belle, if I can. I have read Herodotus, andthought it splendid; but I do not know the story to which you allude."
"Well, you can help me, anyhow. Dear, dear, it does seem a pity thatmother should have taken to you in this extraordinary manner. I knowmother's ways so well. She will begin to fuss over you, and then youwill imagine all sorts of things; but now, if you will take my advice,you won't consider yourself an ill-used martyr simply because mother hastaken a fancy to you."
"Oh, I have never thought myself a martyr," said Annie.
"Then, for goodness' sake, don't wear that pensive air. I wish, too, youwould not open your eyes so wide. It gives you a sort of starved look."
"Starved? Really, Belle--I mean Miss Acheson."
"You can call me Belle while you are here; it is shorter and moreconvenient. I could not possibly 'Miss Colchester' you; the name is agreat deal too long for everyday use. You shall be Anne, or Ann, whileyou are here. And now, pray, Ann, take this chair and let us get throughour work."
They did so. Annie soon became interested. She had considerableintellectual power, and between them the girls worked out the problemwith regard to Hippocleides. Belle, the first to recognize genius whenshe saw it, clapped her hands with pleasure.
"This is quite splendid," she said. "I never could get at the bottom ofthat stiff rendering before. I am delighted you are here. We can becomethe very closest friends. Some day, Annie, you shall come and live withme in my hostel. Mother does not yet know of my darling sche
me. Poormother herself must be excluded, and she will feel it, poor thing; but Ishall have quite money enough of my own to pay the rent of the house fora couple of years after I leave college. Let me see; if you don't mind,I'll get the money-box now, and count my savings. I declare I am gettingquite miserly over this matter."
Belle went to the other end of the drawing room, and from a desk, whereher own special treasures were kept, took a square deal box. From herpocket she extracted a little key, fitted it into the box, and openedit.
"Is it safe to leave so much money about in that careless way?" saidAnnie, who thought of her own four shillings, and quite shivered asBelle lifted out three canvas bags.
"Safe. Of course it's safe," answered Belle. "Do you think our servantswould touch my money? Besides, they do not know it is here; even motherdoes not know what this box contains. She likes to dust the drawing roomherself, and, a few days ago, she lifted the box and said: 'Whatever isin here, Belle? It is so heavy?' I made no reply; and she said, 'Isuppose, love, you are collecting coins.' I said, 'Yes, mother; I amcollecting coins.' It was perfectly true, wasn't it. Clever of me--eh?"
"Very clever," answered Annie, with the ghost of a smile.
"Well, now, let us count. You shall help me by and by with my dearhostel. How happy we shall be! The world quite out of sight, we delvingin the riches of the past. Oh, happy, happy maidens! We will eschewmarriage; we will be nuns in the true sense of the word. How silent youare; are you not glad?"
"I cannot quite realize it," said Annie.
"You will when you come to live with me. We won't need much furniture,will we, dear? Just the plainest rooms. Any spare cash we have will gofor books--first editions, original manuscripts. Oh, lovely, lovely,bewitching, intoxicating! I see myself as I shall be during all thecoming years on to the decline of life, absorbing more and moreknowledge, living above the world; in it, but not of it."
"But you won't be in it when you are in your hostel," said Annie, with agleam of humor in her sad eyes; "you will be apart from it, and that isnot according to Leslie Gilroy's ideas."
"Dear, pretty Leslie!" said Belle with sudden enthusiasm. "But the caresof the world have her in their grip. I admire her more than any worldlygirl I have ever come across; but the world has her in its grip. Someday she will see her folly. I hope to convert her to my views in thelong run."
"That you never will," said Annie.
"Think so? Well, I don't agree with you. Now, let us count."
The canvas bags were opened, and they did count, or rather, Belle did.The money in the bags amounted to nearly ninety pounds.
"How glad I am I did not buy that new summer dress," said Belle; "my oldserge does capitally." She held out the dusty, fusty garment as shespoke. "That economy added three pounds ten shillings to my hoard. See,I will write down the exact amount."
She took a sheet of paper, scribbled the sum in rough writing, andthrust it into the box.
"Eighty-nine pounds, seven shillings, and tenpence," she said. "Even thepence are not to be despised. I shall be at St. Wode's until next June.During that time I hope to save, by the strictest economy, quite fiftypounds more. We can then start our hostel almost immediately."
"But what about food and furniture and all the rest of the things?"
"Well, each girl, of course, must bring her own share. Wherever we arewe must live."
"Must we?" said Annie in a very pathetic voice.
"Why, of course; it is absolutely essential that each human being shouldhave his or her modicum of food. Now, don't let us talk of anything sovery elemental. Let us consider the charming picture which lies beforeus. A charming little cottage in the country--we shall get it for twentypounds a year; the rest of the money will buy the furniture. There,Annie, you need not stay up any longer; you look as if you wished tosleep. Do sleep--enjoy it--look like an ordinary mortal to-morrow; for, ifyou don't, mother will begin to take to you more than ever, and thatwill not suit my plans at all."
Annie went to her room. She was so weary that she could not even thinkany longer. The box which held her few possessions had arrived. She tookout her nightdress and, soon afterward, got into bed. She slept heavilyall night, but toward morning she began to have confused and troubleddreams with regard to Belle's wooden box. She wished she had not beenwith Belle when she counted her money. The thought of that money becamean oppression and a dreadful nightmare to her.
At seven o'clock the servant appeared with a daintily prepared traycontaining tea.
"Mrs. Acheson hopes you are quite rested, miss. She says if you are atall tired she would like you to stay in bed for breakfast."
"Oh, no, I am quite refreshed. Tell her I thank her very much," saidpoor Annie.
The girl bustled about the room preparing Annie's bath. She then lefther to enjoy her tea.
Annie sat up and stirred the cream into the fragrant cup.
"How queer and dreamlike and wonderful all this is," she said toherself. "I enjoying tea at this hour in bed, and drinking it out ofsuch delicate china; and, oh, what a sweet little silver spoon! Howpretty the room is and everything belonging to it; and yet I possessonly four shillings in the world. Mrs. Acheson is quite the sweetestwoman I ever met. Oh, if my own mother had only lived. I should not bethe miserable, hopeless creature I am to-day!"
At breakfast Belle was in the best of spirits. She also had dreamedabout her hostel, and the thought of the money she had saved wasreflected in her face. After breakfast she proposed to Annie that theyshould spend the morning at the British Museum.
"I can easily get you a day's ticket for the reading room," she said."You shall sit near me, and we can have a good time."
"But perhaps Annie would rather not go to the Museum to-day," said Mrs.Acheson. "She looks very tired, as if she had been overdoing it."
"I assure you, mother," said Belle, "that most of the St. Wode'sstudents have that sort of look; there is nothing whatever in it. Therosy cheek, the bright eye which sparkles with no soul beneath, thepouting lips full of rude health, do not belong to the earnest student.Don't be alarmed about either of us, pray; we like our life, and we meanto cling to it."
"Oh, I am not at all anxious about you, dear," said Mrs. Acheson. "Youare always somewhat sallow, but you look well. Now, this poor child--howvery thin she is!"
Belle prepared to leave the room.
"You will excuse me," she said, turning to Annie. "I have to get back tomy work. Do you mean to come with me or not?"
"I should like to come," said Annie.
"Well, that is all right," said Belle, slightly mollified; "you meet mein the hall in half-an-hour."
She dashed away, and Mrs. Acheson began to ask Annie some impossiblequestions with regard to her health.
"If I could but tell her the truth," thought the poor girl. "If I couldsay: 'Will you tell me how long four shillings--that means forty-eightpence--will keep any girl in food and raiment, I should be greatlyobliged to you. If you can solve that problem you would indeed be mygreatest friend on earth.' But no, no," thought Annie, "I cannot confidein her; that would be quite the worst of all."
Presently Belle appeared, and the girls set off for the Museum. On theirway home Belle went for a moment into a stationer's.
"You need not come in," she said to Annie; "just walk slowly on and I'llsoon overtake you."
Annie had not gone a dozen yards before Rupert came up to her.
"I just thought I would meet you on the road home," he said. "I havemade up my mind; I shall call on you at Mrs. Acheson's this evening."
"Oh, Rupert, surely you wouldn't dare?"
"Dare?" said Rupert; "why shouldn't I dare? You are to introduce me tothe Achesons as your brother. As to that girl you are staying with,anyone can take her in. I shall be at 30 Newbolt Square between eightand nine to-night. Look out for me, and don't fail."
He nodded and walked away. The next instant Belle came up.
"I saw you talking to a man," said Belle. "Who was he? Do you know manymen? Are you de
ceiving me, Annie Colchester?"
"Deceiving you? What do you mean?" said Annie.
"If you contemplate marriage you had better tell me so at once."
Notwithstanding all her misery, Annie could not help laughing.
"The man I was speaking to is my brother," she said.
"Your brother? I thought you were an orphan and alone."
"I have one brother; his name is Rupert."
"And that was he? Why in the world didn't you ask him to come home withus; I am sure mother would be delighted to see him."
"He is coming to see me this evening," said Annie, her heart in hermouth. "Do you suppose that your mother will think that it is----"
"Think what?"
"That he is taking a liberty?"
"Of course not. It is quite natural that a sister should like to talk toa brother: and mother will be full of sympathy. Yes, he is welcome,provided he does not come more than once. Give him to understand,please, Annie, that we have no time to waste in idle conversation withhim. Yes, I will say it frankly, if there is a creature in the wideworld I thoroughly despise, it is man in his first adolescence."
At lunch Belle mentioned to her mother that Annie Colchester had abrother, and that he proposed to call that evening.
"I shall give him a hearty welcome for your sake, my dear," said Mrs.Acheson. "What a pity I did not know, and I would have asked him toshare our dinner."
"It is very kind of you to see him at all," said Annie, who felt morewretched each moment. If Mrs. Acheson really knew the sort of man shewas receiving into her house would she ever forgive Annie?