Red Rose and Tiger Lily Part 39

"So you could, you sweet," said Annie, bending down and kissing him, "and the day I marry you I faithfully promise to join the feud; but I must run off now to find Molly."

"She's somewhere in the tower packing books," screamed Kitty after her.

Accordingly Annie pursued her way round to that part of the house.

The tower was at least two hundred years older than the rest of the mansion, and, as Annie ran up the spiral stairs, she had to feel her way through thick darkness, for the Lorrimers never thought of spending money on illuminating the stairs and pa.s.sages of this ancient building.

A dim light in the distance presently guided her steps, and she soon found herself standing, out of breath and a good deal blown, in the presence of Molly and Jane Macalister. They were both clothed from head to foot in long brown-holland ap.r.o.ns. Jane was vigorously dusting and brushing a heap of dilapidated books, which Molly was arranging in orderly piles on the floor. Jane looked up when she saw Annie and uttered a little scream.

"Now, what have you come about?" she said; "you see we are quite up to our eyes in work."

"Delightful," said Annie; "I'll help. Toss me an ap.r.o.n, Molly, do."

Off went Annie's hat, on went the brown-holland ap.r.o.n, and Jane found that she had secured a valuable a.s.sistant in the matter of dusting and brushing.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PACKING THE BOOKS (_p._ 240).]

The work went on for two or three minutes in silence, then Molly said, "I hope there's nothing the matter with Nora, Annie? It seems so very late for you to come to pay us a visit."

"I have come here to stay for the night, if I may," replied Annie.

"Hoots! I don't know if that will be possible," interrupted Jane.

"Oh, I'll sleep anywhere; I'm not a bit particular. I want to talk to you, Molly; I've a great deal to say."

"There's no use in girls wasting their time with silly havering when work has to be done," snapped Jane. "I'm willing to grant that a heavy misfortune has come to this house, but come rain or sunshine the daily round _must_ go on. Pa.s.s me that clean duster, Molly. These books have to be sorted and put in boxes before we either of us lie down to-night."

"But three pairs of hands make lighter work than two," rejoined Annie.

"I'm willing to help; I mean to help; I am helping. Molly, pa.s.s me a duster, too. I'll talk to you, Molly, when the work is over."

"That's the time for sleep," said Jane.

"Oh, come, Jane, if Annie wants to talk to me, she must," said Molly in an almost fretful tone. "There's plenty of room for you in my bed, Annie, so that matter is settled; now let us fly along with the books."

Jane did not utter another word of remonstrance. In her inmost heart she had a great admiration for Annie, whom she always spoke of as a "bonny, capable la.s.sie." The books were all sorted and packed in a little over an hour, and then the girls went downstairs to supper in the great hall.

Supper consisted of porridge and milk, followed by great dishes of stewed fruit. The children all sat round a table, and Mrs. Lorrimer, with the air of a royal matron, dispensed the simple food.

Immediately afterwards, Annie slipped her hand through Molly's arm, and drew her out of doors on to the moonlit lawn.

"I can't wait another moment," she said. "I've oceans of things to ask you."

"I suppose you have come over on some special business," replied Molly.

"Has Hester sent me a message?"

"No; Hester has had nothing to do with it. I came over because I really want a talk with you all by myself. I cannot tell you what I thought to-day when that dreadful Susy Drummond came with her sort of 'take possession' style into the house."

"And do you really imagine," answered Molly, "that Miss Drummond annoyed us in any way? for if you do you are greatly mistaken. We are in great trouble just now about father, and about dear Guy being cut out of his rightful inheritance, and naturally we shall all feel leaving the Towers, but if you think that girl makes any difference one way or other, you are quite wrong."

Annie was silent for a moment. Then she said in a low voice, "I'm glad you don't mind her; she would try me a good bit. How soon have you got to leave, Molly?"

"Mother would like us to be out in a month," replied Molly. "Mr.

Drummond does not take possession for over five weeks, but mother thinks that when a very painful thing has to be done, the sooner it is over the better. And she has almost taken a roomy old cottage on the edge of Sharsted Common. She says the children must not be cooped up in a town house, and they will have plenty of room to run about on the common, and as Nortonbury is only a mile away, Guy and Harry can still go to school there."

"And will you still stay at home, Molly?"

"I don't know, all the future is a complete blank. I am not educated according to modern ideas, and I love my own people so deeply that it would be agony to leave them. At the same time, I know some of us must go away, for we shall be very poor; we'll have no money at all except the income from mother's little fortune, and that will go a small way. I have asked mother to let us do without a servant, for I quite love housework. But really, Annie, everything at present is simply in chaos."

"It is good of you to tell me," said Annie, in her caressing voice. "You know I am poor myself, and I dearly love poor people; they are fifty times more interesting than rich ones. Fancy what zest is added to life when you have to contrive and sc.r.a.pe, and patch and fit every one of your dresses."

"As to that," replied Molly, "I don't in the least care what I wear; but I must frankly say that patched and contrived dresses are, as a rule, very ugly. Now shall we come into the house?"

"Not yet," replied Annie; "it is lovely out. Let us take another turn just here in the moonlight. Have you heard anything about the Squire lately, Molly? Is he likely to come back to the Towers soon?"

"No; I'm afraid he won't come at all. The sudden necessity which obliged him to sell the old home has had the strangest effect upon him. We are very anxious about him--very, very unhappy. The state of his health is our keenest grief."

"And do you know where he is?"

"Oh, yes, in London. Mother writes to him to his club."

"It seems a great pity that he should be alone there," said Annie. "I wonder your mother likes to leave him."

"Mother is only carrying out his wishes. He has absolutely refused to come back to the Towers. He says he may come after we have all gone, but not before. I cannot tell you, Annie, how miserable we are about him. He is completely altered. He used to be the tenderest, the most unselfish of fathers, and now the whole burden of everything is put on poor mother's shoulders."

"What is the name of his club?" asked Annie.

"The Carlton."

"Have none of you any influence over him?"

"Nell has the most. She is a strange child, and has a way of seeing down into the very heart of things. Where her interests are aroused, she has such intense sympathy that it gives her wonderful tact. If father were at home, I believe Nell could manage him; but where is the use of talking? He is away, and we none of us can move him by letter or otherwise. Mother hopes that when we are really settled at the cottage, he will return; but oh, dear--oh, dear--I believe the changed life will shorten his days. There, Annie, I never thought to confide in you, but you see I have done so. Now let us come indoors."

CHAPTER XXVI.

PLOT THICKENS.

"Mother," said Antonia, two days after the events mentioned in the last chapter, "I think we have been quite long enough at the Grange."

Mrs. Bernard Temple was taking a walk by herself round one of the lawns when Antonia swept up to her and made this remark.

"I thought you would be saying something erratic of this sort," replied her parent, a good deal of annoyance in her tone. "We have not been at the Grange a week yet and, as it is to be the future home of both of us, it does not seem at all inconsistent to spend a fortnight here now, particularly when we are enjoying ourselves so much."

"Pray speak for yourself with regard to the enjoyment, mother,"

responded Miss Bernard Temple. "I must say that dreariness is no word for this place as far as I am concerned. These trim _parterres_, those undulating velvet lawns are abhorrence to me; but I am not thinking of myself at all when I say that I think it would be well for us to return to our rooms in town. I wish to do so for quite another motive. In the first place, I have got to take care of you, mother; you must not make yourself too cheap."

"Oh, my dear Antonia, what a horrid expression! I hope I understand what is due to my own dignity."