Blanche: A Story for Girls Page 7

ma'am--want a fly?" said several voices, as the three made theirway to the outside, where several vehicles were standing, and someamount of bustle going on.

  Mrs Derwent looked irresolutely at her daughters. "I had thought ofwalking to the house-agents'," she said; "but now I doubt if I shouldfind the way. It all seems so utterly changed."

  "We should need a carriage in any case to get to the place we have cometo see," said Blanche. "It is a mile or more from the station, theysaid."

  "Pinnerton Lodge," said Mrs Derwent to the foremost of the flymen; "doyou know where that is?"

  "Pinnerton Lodge," repeated the man. Then, his memory refreshed by someof the standers-by, he exclaimed: "Oh, to be sure--out Pinnerton Greenway. There's two or three houses out there."

  "Then I shall want you to drive us there; but go first to EnneslieStreet--Messrs Otterson and Bewley, the house-agents," said Mrs Derwent,as she got into the fly, followed by her daughters.

  "Pinnerton Green," she repeated as they were driving off. "Oh yes; Iremember now. That was what was in my mind. It was a sort of littlehamlet near Blissmore, with an old-world well in the middle of thegreen. They must have built houses about there. How they have beenbuilding!" she continued, as the fly turned into the High Street of thelittle town. "I know where I am now; but really--it is almostincredible."

  Blanche and Stasy were looking about them with interest. But incomparison with London and Paris, and even Bordeaux, Blissmore did notstrike them as anything but a small town. They had not their mother'sassociations with grass-grown streets, and but one thoroughfare worthythe name, and two or three sleepy shops, whose modest windows scarcelyallowed the goods for sale to be seen at all.

  "It is a nice, bright, little place, I think," said Blanche, as somerays of wintry sunshine lighted up the old church clock, which at thatmoment pealed out noon, sonorously enough, eliciting the exclamation,"Ah yes; there is a familiar sound," from Mrs Derwent.

  A moment later and they had turned into a side-street, to draw up, a fewyards farther on, in front of a very modern, spick-and-span-lookinghouse, half shop, half office, with the name they were in quest of,"Messrs Otterson and Bewley, House-agents, Auctioneers, etc," in largeblack-and-gold letters, on the plate-glass.

  "Enneslie Street," said Mrs Derwent. "Why, this used to be MarketCorner! There were only about half-a-dozen cottages, and, on marketdays, a few booths. Dear me! I feel like Rip Van Winkle."

  CHAPTER FOUR.

  PINNERTON LODGE.

  Mr Otterson received the strangers with formal and somewhat pompouscivility, and a somewhat exaggerated caution, not to say suspiciousnessof manner, which struck disagreeably on Mrs Derwent and Blanche,accustomed to have to do with people who knew as much about them as theydid themselves.

  The house could be seen at once, certainly; as to that there was nodifficulty. But before entering further into the matter, Mr Ottersonbegged to be excused, but might he remind the ladies that his clientempowered him to deal with no applicants whose references were notperfectly sufficient and satisfactory. Clear understanding in suchcases was, according to his experience, the best in the end, even if itshould cause a little delay at the outset.

  "No delay need be caused in _my_ case," said Mrs Derwent, with a touchof haughtiness which her daughters enjoyed. "My references will befound perfectly satisfactory. Is this--this ultra caution, _usual_ insuch transactions," she continued, flushing a little, "may I ask?"

  And as she spoke, she drew out of her bag and deposited on the table twoletters she had had the foresight to bring with her--one from the firmat Bordeaux, enclosing an acknowledgment to them of the money placed tothe credit of "Mrs Anastasia Derwent" with their London bankers.

  Mr Otterson's keen eyes took in the nature of their contents even whilescarcely seeming to glance at them. His manner grew a trifle lessstilted.

  "Cautious we have to be, madam," he replied, "though you will not findus exaggeratedly so, I trust. And in the interests of our clients, wenaturally feel it our duty to give the preference to the most desirableamong the constantly increasing applications for houses here. In yourcase, possibly, being foreigners, a little extra--"

  "We are _not_ foreigners," said Blanche; "and if we were? I certainlyam not surprised at the small number of upper-class `foreigners' whocome to England, if this is the sort of thing they have to go through."

  The house-agent glanced at her with a mixture of annoyance andadmiration. She looked beautiful at that moment. Her fair faceflushed, her usually gentle eyes sparkling.

  "You--you misunderstand, madam," he was beginning, when Mrs Derwent inher turn interrupted him.

  "On the contrary, sir," she said very quietly, "I think, it isdistinctly you who have misunderstood us. As my daughter says, we arenot foreigners. Beyond the statement of that fact, which you seem toconsider important, I do not think we need waste time by entering intofurther particulars. The matter is a purely business one. If you donot find my references satisfactory, be so good as to say so at once,and I will apply to London agents about a house."

  In his heart Mr Otterson had no wish to let these really very promisingapplicants for the honour of inhabiting Pinnerton Lodge escape him. Onthe contrary, they struck him as just the sort of people its owner wouldapprove of--not unwilling to lay out a little money on repairs andimprovements, etc.

  "I have in no way implied, madam, that the names you have submitted tome are unsatisfactory references," he said, not without a touch ofdignity. "As you observe, it is a matter of business, and if youapprove, I will send a clerk at once to the house to have it all openfor you."

  "He can go on the box of our fly," said Mrs Derwent, with a glance outof the window; "I understand it is some little way off." And as MrOtterson touched a hand-bell standing beside him on the table, MrsDerwent addressed him again.

  "What has caused this increased demand for houses here?" she said."What has led to the many changes in the place--the sudden growth ofit?"

  Mr Otterson raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  "Naturally, of course, in the first instance, the school," he replied."And the breweries--the two large companies of brewers have brought agreat many working men to the place, and the school even more. It hasled to an immense amount of building--private houses of all classes, asthe advantages and cheapness of the education to be got here are nowalmost unparalleled."

  Mrs Derwent looked surprised.

  "I do not remember any school here in the old days," she said. "Atleast--there was a small old school--but--"

  "That is the same, no doubt," said the house-agent. "The foundation hasbeen altered, by Act of Parliament, of course. The accumulated fundswere very large: it is now a first-rate school for middle-class, indeedfor upper-class boys, where economy is a consideration. Families havebeen in consequence flocking to Blissmore. But the last year or two hascooled down the rush a little. At one time it was almost alarming; butthings are settling themselves now."

  Just then the clerk appeared. Mr Otterson opened the door, speeding theparting guests with more urbanity than he had received them.

  "I will look in here on my return," said Mrs Derwent, with asufficiently courteous bow, "and tell you what we think of the house."

  "Oh mamma," exclaimed Stasy, as soon as the three found themselves againin the privacy of the fly, "how _horrid_ England is--how horrid Englishpeople are! How dared that common man speak to you like that, when youthink how Monsieur Bergeret, who was far, _far_ more a gentleman thanhe, used to treat you, as if you were a queen! Why, he used to look asproud as anything if you shook hands with him! Oh Blanchie, do let usgo back--go home again. I have been feeling it ever since we arrived,that first night with the dreadful fog, though I didn't like to say so."

  And poor Stasy looked up with tearful and beseeching eyes as sherepeated:

  "Oh, do let us go home again."

  Mrs Derwent was sorry and distressed. But, on the whole, Blanche tookit more seriously. For her mother was
still to some extent under theglamour of her old associations, and "After all," thought the elder girlto herself, "she must know better than we can. Perhaps it will comeright in the end."

  So she said nothing, resolutely crushing back the strong inclination shefelt to join in the cry, "Oh, do, mamma, do let us go home," while shelistened to her mother's expostulations with poor Stasy.

  "There are vulgar-minded and disagreeable people everywhere, my dearchild. And perhaps, after all, the man only meant to do his duty. Idaresay now, if we were going over to France for the first time,inexperienced and strange, we should find just as much to complain ofthere.