The Carroll Girls Part 7

Breakfast over, Miss Ashe was a little at a loss to know what to do with her charges; her life had suddenly become so changed and complicated, that the little lady had difficulty in grappling with it all at once.

"I think you may like to go out and look about you," she said at last.

"You can come to no harm, I am sure, if you keep away from the river.

You may play in the garden, or wander on the moor a little way. But if you go beyond the garden, take Guard with you; he will be a companion and protector. Don't go very far, dears; I want you all to come back at eleven for some milk and biscuits."

The children were enchanted. This was a happy life indeed! As quickly as ever they could they got on hats and boots and started. They had never a doubt as to where they would go. The garden was very nice, but the moor!

--a heaven-sent playground, miles of freedom, and all to themselves.

The thought of having to return at eleven was the only thing that marred their perfect joy; they felt they wanted to have the whole long day before them to cover all the ground and make all the discoveries they wanted to.

Guard, a proud and delighted protector, rushed about as excitedly as any of them. The new interest that had come into his life promised to be all that he could desire.

"I do want to get to the very top of that mountain," said Penelope, gazing earnestly at what was really a very modest hill, and apparently at no great distance from them.

"Well, let's," said Esther encouragingly, "it can't be very far away," and off they started. But the grey tor seemed to possess the power of gliding backwards, and the more the children walked, the further it seemed to recede; until at last, when, on scaling what they thought was the last height, they saw still a long stretch of moorland before them, with more deceptive dips and rises, they gave in and postponed their climb for another day. Moor air has a way of increasing the appet.i.te at an alarming rate.

"I am afraid it must be past eleven," said Esther as they gave up the quest, and sat down to rest before turning homewards. "I wish I had put on my watch; but I was afraid of losing it."

Esther had a silver watch of her very own, one she had earned for herself.

She had won it as a prize in a compet.i.tion offered by a magazine the children took in. Her success had come as a surprise to them all, but most of all to herself, and the proudest moment of her life had been that when a carefully sealed-up jeweller's box had come directed to 'Miss E. J. Carroll,' and she had lifted out her prize under the admiring eyes of Lydia and the children, and the astonished gaze of her mother.

Mrs. Carroll was doubly astonished, firstly because she had not considered Esther capable, secondly because she had not grasped the fact that Esther was really seriously competing; but when she saw this proof of her labours, she made her a present of a pretty silver chain, with two little silver ta.s.sels at the end, and Esther's cup of joy overflowed.

From that moment she would have bodices to her frocks that b.u.t.toned up in front, that she might pa.s.s the little silver bar through the b.u.t.tonhole; and she set herself to make watch-pockets in all her skirts, which she managed by cutting slits in them just below the waistband, and sewing to the slits on the inside little pockets like small bag purses. Lydia showed her how to do it; and if the work was somewhat rough, and not quite finished, the pocket answered very well, and we cannot all reach perfection at once.

But at this moment the precious watch stood on the mantelpiece in the blue bedroom, on the watch-stand which was another of Esther's treasures.

Lydia had given it to her on one of her birthdays; it was made of white wood, and had a little view on it of Blackpool, where Lydia had been spending her holidays. In her shabby, ugly bedroom at home Esther had not used her precious stand, it was all too dusty and ill-cared for; but here, where everything was so nice, it was to be given a prominent position.

When the children got home at last, tired and very hungry, they found four mugs of milk awaiting them, and a tin of biscuits; they found also that the postman had been with letters. There were none for them; but they never expected any, and postmen and posts held little interest for them as a rule. To-day, though, it had brought them something.

"I have heard from your mother, dears," said Cousin Charlotte, "and she sends you her love, and hopes you have arrived safely."

"Oh, we ought to let her know," cried Penelope, with sudden remorse that they had none of them thought of doing so before.

"It is all right," said Miss Charlotte consolingly. "I sent her a telegram last evening, after you came. She knew before Poppy went to bed.

Ephraim took it to Gorley for me. Oh, you don't know Ephraim yet, do you?

He is our handyman. He attends to the garden, and the poultry, and does all kinds of useful things. But, of course, you want to hear about your mother, more than about Ephraim. Well, dears, I cannot tell you much, for I have broken my gla.s.ses and cannot read very well. I was waiting for Esther to come home and be my eyes for me for once. I did make out, though, that she is very busy, and leaves Framley to-morrow. No, dear,"

to Esther, "I won't ask you to read it now. We will wait till you have had your lunch. I expect you are all hungry, and there is no great hurry."

Their milk and biscuits disposed of, Penelope and the two younger ones sauntered away to the garden. Esther waited. Miss Charlotte took Mrs.

Carroll's letter from a little pile, and handed it to her. Esther, who was burning with impatience to know if her mother wrote of those things that were troubling her, began to read at once:

"DEAREST COUSIN CHARLOTTE,

"It is _more_ than good of you to have my four poor children and give them a _home_. They will be as _happy_ as possible with you, I _know_. I expect by this time they have reached you. To come to the _business_ part of our plan, which I know _you dislike_ as much as _I_ do, I am _very_ thankful you can keep them, clothe and educate them, for the hundred and fifty pounds a year. Their clothes need cost but _very little_; after all, it does not much matter what _children_ wear in a country place."

"I have my friends here," Miss Charlotte was thinking, "and I cannot let my little cousins run about dressed like little tramps."

"While as for their _education_, we need only think of Esther and Penelope _yet_, and theirs must be of the _simplest_; it matters so much _less_ for_ girls_ than for _boys_."

"Oh dear, oh dear," thought Miss Charlotte, "what a mistaken notion!"

"Ronald _hopes_ to send more when the children are a little older.

Oh, this _dreadful_ want of money! I have been nearly _distracted_ to know what to do. _Do_ you mind, dear Cousin Charlotte, if I do not send you the cheque for this quarter till later on, but keep it for my own needs, which are _so_ urgent? I _have_ to get _so_ much for my outfit, and so _many_ things besides, I find I have not nearly enough money for it all. I _hope_ you do not mind. I am up to _my eyes_ in work, turning out the house and packing; and to-morrow I go to stay with friends in the North. I think the change will _brace_ me up for the journey; _I sadly need_ it.

"My love to the chicks and to yourself.

"Your affectionate cousin,"

"MAUDE CARROLL."

For a moment Esther could not lift her eyes from the sheet, they were too full of bitter tears of mortification. "Oh, why does mother always act like this," she was crying to herself, "and make people think unkind things of her? It is cruel of her, too, to leave us like this with a stranger, and not a penny to pay for it all."

Esther's heart burnt hot with shame as well as anger, for she knew instinctively that Miss Charlotte Ashe would never see one penny of that money. She knew, oh, she knew only too well! She had had six years'

experience of debt and trouble and shame, of money being diverted from its destined use and frittered away and wasted, of tradesmen and servants continually asking for their money, their threatenings, and all the shifts and contrivances that had to be resorted to to get a little to satisfy them for the moment.

The cheque her father had intended for their needs would, she knew, be frittered away on useless, foolish things; and never, never would her mother be able to get together so large a sum again, for she would never tell her husband of the debt; she would not have the courage; it would mean 'a scene,' and she hated to be scolded. If Miss Charlotte worried and made continual demands, a sovereign or a few shillings might be sent to her now and again; but if she were too proud or too kind to ask, she would never have a penny of it. Esther knew, oh, how well she knew and understood it all; and how it hurt and humiliated and maddened her, as she realised their position! Helpless, penniless, homeless, four of them, and dependent on this gentle little lady, who was neither rich nor young, and could have no great love for them. They had no claim on her whatever. Esther could scarcely summon courage sufficient to look up; her shame and trouble burnt in her eyes and wrung her young heart.

It was a bitter, bitter moment, how bitter Miss Charlotte had no conception, for she did not know all. But never, throughout the whole of her life, did Esther lose the memory of that scene, and the shame and misery which swamped her.

But, though she did not realise Esther's trouble, Miss Charlotte was greatly troubled too, for she had but a limited income, and to make it provide for six where it had only been expected to suffice for two was a matter that required some consideration, and when the extra four were but scantily supplied with clothes, and had to be provided with education too, the matter became very serious indeed.

But Miss Charlotte was not one to worry unduly. In the first place she had been accustomed all her life to facing difficulties, and in the second, she had too much faith to worry about things.

"The dear Lord has His own plans for us," she would say, "and He will guide us through if we only have faith and hope." She said it to herself now, as she tried to put troublesome thoughts into the background.

But poor Esther had as yet none of Miss Charlotte's faith. Troubles to the young appear so much more appalling than they do in later life, for they have no experience to look back upon and learn from.

Cousin Charlotte began to perceive, though, that Esther was very troubled too, seriously troubled. With quick intuition she divined something of what she was feeling, and her whole heart flew out in sympathy to the child.

"It will be all right, dear," she said, smiling cheerfully. "We shall do.

Don't let the matter trouble you. We grown-ups will see to it all.

Don't upset yourself, Esther dearest."

The kindness of her words and tone broke down Esther's last powers of restraint. "But--I can't help it--you didn't want us, you couldn't have, and--and here we are--so many, filling up your house, and--and costing so much, and--and--oh, Cousin Charlotte, I am so sorry. We must go away, go back, we can't stay here--" Esther's voice and manner grew almost hysterical.

"Oh, but, dear, you must stay, _please_," pleaded Cousin Charlotte gently.

"You would not go away and leave me lonely again, would you, and upset all my plans and my pleasure, would you? Don't you know that it is a very great pleasure to me to have you? It is," seeing Esther's look of incredulity, "I a.s.sure you. I love girls of all ages, and I have missed them terribly here. Never let such a thought trouble you again.

After all, dear, I could not expect to have the money in advance.

I might, you know," smiling, "take it and spend it on myself, and pack you all up and set you adrift if I had it beforehand. Every one has to earn their money before they get it. It is about your education and Penelope's that I am troubled most. Your mother does not mention it. I wanted to send you to a good school, but if I did it would cost the whole of the money your father is able to spare for you all, and I think I am hardly justified in running him into so much expense. I would gladly put out the money--"

"Oh no, please, you mustn't," cried Esther eagerly. "Please don't, Cousin Charlotte, you mustn't think of it." Again Cousin Charlotte was perplexed by her very real distress. "I will teach myself and the others if I can only have some books, but it mustn't cost you anything."

Miss Ashe would not allow a glimmer of a smile to show in her face or eyes. "Well, dear," she said gravely, "we will think about it and have another talk. We cannot settle such a big question in a moment, can we?

At any rate, if you cannot manage the teaching you can help me in other ways."

"How?" asked Esther eagerly, her whole face brightening. "Oh, I do so want to help."

But at that moment Anna came in to say Miss Ashe was wanted, and the conversation had to end.

"Run out and amuse yourself now, dear, and keep an eye on the others,"

said Miss Charlotte, laying a gentle hand on Esther's shoulder with a little caressing touch. "I am afraid I am leaving the care of them very much to you, but we shall settle down in time. I hoped to have got another maid; but well, Anna has lived so long alone now it is a little difficult to find any one she would live with happily. I want a girl, too, who would not require high wages. Now run along, dear. I hear Poppy calling to you," and with the same Miss Charlotte bustled away, and Esther was left alone.