Blanche: A Story for Girls Page 8

You will feel quite different when we are settled in a prettyhouse of our own. And think how interesting it will be to choose thefurnishing and everything. Do try, dear, to be more cheerful--for mysake, too."

  Stasy wiped off such of her tears as had found their way to the surface,and swallowed down the others, though the choking in her throatprevented her speaking for a moment or two. But she took hold of hermother's hand and stroked it.

  "I think," said Blanche, smiling a little at the remembrance, "the mangot as good as he gave. I hope that isn't a very vulgar expression,mamma? I have read it often, though I never heard it. Was I tooscornful to him? I did feel _so_ angry; perfectly boiling for a momentor two. I don't often feel like that."

  Stasy began to smile too.

  "You were splendid, Blanchie. He was _shaking_; he was, really. I amso glad I was there to see it. And he had begun to look ashamed whenmamma laid the letters on the table in that nice grand way. Oh yes, Ido hope the house will be pretty. Are we getting near it, do you think,mamma? The road seems quite country now."

  Mrs Derwent looked out of the window scrutinisingly.

  "I think we must be nearly there," she replied, "but I do not know thisside of Blissmore nearly as well as _our_ side. I am glad to see thereis not so much building hereabouts. Oh yes," as the fly rather suddenlyturned down a lane, "I know where we are now; it is all coming back tome. This lane comes out on to Pinnerton Green. There is an old well inthe centre, and five or six cottages, and the church, and a prettylittle vicarage. I will shut my eyes, and you girls tell me if I am notright. The church stands right opposite the side of the green, where wecome out--now, doesn't it?"

  Mrs Derwent was quite excited; the two girls scarcely less so. And asthe fly emerged on to the opener ground, for a moment or two no onespoke. Then Blanche exclaimed, half hesitatingly:

  "Yes, there is the church. A dear old church, just across the green,all covered with ivy. And the vicarage. But the cottages--where canthey be? And mamma, there are ever so many big, or _rather_ big houses,with gardens opening on to the green. Oh, you must open your eyes,dear. I can't make it out." Mrs Derwent did as she was told, andlooked about her.

  What a metamorphosis! There remained the church and the vicarage andthe old well as landmarks certainly, but beyond these, everything wasnew.

  The houses struck her herself less pleasantly than Blanche. They wereof the essentially English modern "villa" class, a class really unknownin France, in old-world France especially. She gave a little gasp ofsurprise and disappointment, but without speaking. And the next momentshe felt more than glad that she had not put her impression into words,when poor Stasy exclaimed brightly:

  "Oh, what nice cheerful houses; so fresh and new looking. And whatpretty, neat gardens. I do wonder which is Pinnerton Lodge! I feelquite happy again about living in England, mamma."

  Mrs Derwent smiled back at her, of course, though her own heart wasgoing down a little. Blanche's face expressed nothing but gentle andresigned expectancy.

  They were not long left in doubt as to "which" was their destination.The fly, after some fumbling on the part of Messrs Otterson and Bewley'sclerk at a rusty padlock on the chain, which fastened a gate, turned inat a short but shady drive, and Pinnerton Lodge in another moment stoodfull before them.

  Mrs Derwent's heart went up again. And glancing at her, Blanche's facetoo relaxed into less constrained, or restrained lines; her eyesbrightened, and looked ready for a smile.

  It was several degrees better than the obtrusively smart villas, though,very possibly, less materially convenient and complete. It was nothingmore nor less than an enlarged and transmogrified cottage. The gableend and deep-eaved roof were still to be seen at one side; the faithful,clinging, all-the-year-round ivy; the more fitful summer friends--old-fashioned climbing roses, honeysuckle, and the like--would reappearagain in due season, one felt instinctively. And the additions had notbeen badly managed; there was no glaring incongruity between the new andthe old, and already the busy, patient ivy was doing its utmost tosoften with its veiling green all offensive contrasts.

  "A nice little place of its kind," the boyish-looking clerk ventured toremark to the three strangers, gazing before them in silence. "What youcall `quaint;' but some admire that style. It's not up to the mark ofthe other houses on the green, but that's not to be expected. You seeit was the first start here, and the owner added on to the two oldcottages, instead of pulling them down and building all new, like therest;" and he jerked his thumb in the direction of the villas.

  "Thank Heaven he did nothing of the sort," ejaculated Mrs Derwent. Andthe clerk stared at her so, that she checked herself with a smile. "Ilike it just as it is," she said by way of explanation. "It is apicturesque-looking house; but it seems very small, I fear. From therent named, I expected a larger place."

  "Rents have gone up about Blissmore quite astonishing," said the youngman. "And these odd houses are sometimes roomier than you'd think.You'd like to see through it, no doubt. I have all the keys."

  He moved forward, as he spoke, to the front of the house.

  "Perhaps you wouldn't mind waiting in the porch for a minute or two," hesaid. "The quickest way for me to get in is by the back door; the frontone is barred inside."

  The porch was charming. Deep and shady, and with tiny lattice-windowshigh up at each side, through which the wintry sun was sending a fewrays. There were seats and a red-tiled floor. The two girls gave aquick exclamation of pleasure.

  "It is like a little room," said Stasy. The clerk's face brightened.He seemed to feel a personal interest in the matter.

  "There is no one living in the house, then, to take care of it?"inquired Mrs Derwent. "Is that not necessary?"

  "Not in the fine season," was the reply. "We were just thinking ofputting some one in against the winter, if nothing came of theadvertisement. But in the summer it's very dry--very dry, indeed."

  He turned away towards the back premises, and soon they heard hisfootsteps returning through the passages. Then some unbolting andunbarring ensued, and the door was thrown open.

  They all entered eagerly. It was rather dark, but this their guideexplained was partly the result of unnecessarily closed shutters anduntrimmed ivy round some of the upper windows, though partly owing, nodoubt, to the oak wainscoting of the small square hall itself.

  "It would look much cheerfuller with a nice paper--picked out with alittle gold, perhaps. But the woodwork has a style of its own; the lateowner was all for the antique."

  "The _late_ owner," repeated Mrs Derwent. "Is he dead, then? Has thehouse been long uninhabited?"

  "Only since last spring. Mr Bartleman scarce lived in it himself. Hefound the winters too cold. Then it was let to Major Frederic, and heand his family lived here five years, till the young gentlemen hadfinished their schooling. There were several after it in the summer,but they mostly objected to the distance from the school."

  "But how is it, then, that the villas are all let?" asked Blanche. "Atleast, I suppose they are."

  "They're not let, Miss. They're mostly lived in by their owners--parties from the town, who have moved out, finding they could get a goodrent for their houses near the school. There's Mr Belton, the principaldraper at Blissmore, lives next door; and Mr Wandle, junior partner inLuckworth and Wandle's brewery. The neighbours are highly respectable."

  Mrs Derwent did not speak. Stasy was smothering a laugh. Blanche ledthe way into the rooms opening on to the hall.

  They were nice--decidedly tempting, though not large. But they weredepressingly out of repair. The Frederic schoolboys had evidentlybestowed upon the house more than the legitimate "wear and tear" duringtheir five years' occupancy. The drawing-room, especially, was scarcelydeserving of the name: it looked as if it had been a playroom _pur etsimple_. The attentive clerk was ready with his explanations.

  "Major Frederic never furnished this room," he said. "It was kept emptyfor the young gentle
men."

  "It might be a very pretty room," said Blanche, "but it needs_everything_ doing to it."

  The dining-room, though it had been furnished and used in a nominallyorthodox way, was in not much better case. Still, a dining-room never,to ladies especially, seems such a serious matter. The library was thebest-cared-for room, and it opened into a small boudoir or study, whichwas really charming. There were great capabilities about the house,though hitherto these had but scantily been made available. Up-stairsit was brighter. There was a sufficient number of rooms, thougheverywhere the same story of needful repair and embellishment.

  Outside, to somewhat inexperienced eyes, it