The Daughters of a Genius Part 2

"Come, come, my dear! there is such a thing as being too independent.

What is the use of relations if they can't help each other at a pinch?

If you are really determined to try this scheme we must help you all we can. You must come to see us when we are in town, and we may be able to give you useful introductions. Avice will be pleased to make your acquaintance, and so shall we all.--We must do what we can for Edgar's children, mustn't we, mamma?"

"I cannot promise anything which would be an encouragement to what appears to me a piece of preposterous folly," said Mrs Loftus coldly.

"It is flying in the face of Providence to leave a comfortable home and deliberately court danger in this fashion. With your inexperience you will be ruined before a year is over, and who is to pay your debts I don't know. You can't expect any help from us if you act in defiance of our wishes. If you had already made up your minds, as appears to be the case, I must say it was very inconsiderate to inflict this long journey upon your uncle and myself for the mere farce of asking our opinion.--We had better get back to the hotel now, Edward. I am tired, and shall be glad of a rest."

Mr Loftus rose obediently and followed his wife's lead to the door, but on his way he managed to whisper a few conciliatory words into Philippa's burning ear.

"Take no notice, my dear--no notice! Your aunt is hasty, but she will come round. I will see you again this evening when she has gone to bed, and to-morrow we will both come up again before we leave. Can't approve, you know--can't approve; but you are a brave girl. You mean well. Wish you good luck!"

Philippa's eyes swept over him with an expression of magnanimous superiority.

"Poor little down-trodden, trembling worm!" she was saying to herself.

"Afraid to a.s.sert yourself and be your natural self for fear of what a woman might say! Oh, if I were a man! Oh, if I were your husband, my dear! I'd keep you in order; I'd tell you straight out what I thought of you." Then aloud: "Good-afternoon, Aunt Gertrude! Mind the door-step. So awkward! _Hope_ you will not be too tired. _Good-bye_!"

The door closed, and brother and sister drew back and gazed at one another with bright, excited eyes. "Well?" queried one. "Well,"

answered the other. Then came the rush of feet on the floor, and down hurried the girls, one after the other, questioning, staring, agape with curiosity.

"Well--well--well--what did they say? Were they furious? Were they amiable? Did you stick to your point? Are they coming again? What is decided? Tell us quickly! Tell us at once!"

"It is quite decided," said Stephen gravely. "We are going to London."

He put his arm round his sister's waist, and looked down at her with admiration. "Phil, you were glorious! You convinced _me_, at least, if you failed with the others. My last lingering doubt has disappeared.

I'll begin preparations this very day."

"Here endeth the first volume!" chanted Madge shrilly. "Now for excitement; now for romance; now for the third volume, with its honour and glory!"

But Philippa shivered and was silent. The moment of reaction had come, and in her heart she said: "But the second volume lies between, and in the second volume are all the trials and difficulties. Oh, it may be a long, long fight before we get to the happy ending!"

CHAPTER FOUR.

THE REMOVAL.

Two months later the plunge was taken. The Charrington family said good-bye to their picturesque country home, and established themselves in the top flat of a ma.s.sive red building in the picturesque district of the Tottenham Court Road. With one exception the rooms were small; there was no pa.s.sage to speak of; the coal-cellar was in pleasing proximity to the drawing-room door; the view consisted of a forest of chimney-stacks, and the air was thick with s.m.u.ts. When Philippa made her first survey of the premises she felt that she was indeed coming down in the world; but when she heard the rent demanded she changed her mind with a shock of surprise. It was preposterous--incredible! The price of a palace rather than of a sooty tenement midway between earth and sky! For that price in the country one could have a tennis-lawn, and a stable, and a pretty flower and vegetable garden, to say nothing of a roomy and comfortable house. Off went Miss Charrington with her head in the air, but two long days of search brought her to the sad conviction that she would have to change her att.i.tude with regard to London prices, and that the agent had been right in speaking of the flat as unusually cheap. She did not dare to take it, however, without a family consultation; so she secured the option for a couple of days, and went home with the story of her wanderings. The girls howled in unison at the mention of the rent, but, like their sister, were obliged to come round to the conclusion that the money must be paid.

"It is really and truly the best thing I could find in a central position," said Philippa sadly. "The question is--ought we to give up the idea of living in town, and take a little house in the suburbs? If we went out in an unfashionable direction we could get one for half the cost. I asked the agent, and he said there were any number to be had.

They run them up in a few months--rows and rows of them--quite nice, compact little houses, with all modern conveniences--"

"I know! Thank you," interrupted Theo haughtily. "I've seen them from the train--hundreds of them--exactly alike, with sunflowers in the front garden, and the washing in the back, and such nice, sociable neighbours over the palings!"

"It's all very well, Theo, but can we afford to be sn.o.bbish? We shall have to pocket our pride, and save every penny-piece that is possible.

If the house would be cheaper--"

"I'm not so sure that it would. It is different for a man and his wife.

But you must remember that we should have four, perhaps five railway contracts to add to the rent. Our great object is to be near our work, and we might almost as well stay where we are as bury ourselves in an out-of-the-way suburb. If we go to the flat, Madge will be almost next door to the Slade School, the boys can come home for lunch, and Hope and I will be near libraries and concerts, and have some chance of picking up odd pieces of work. Suppose I go in for journalism? How am I to be in the hum of things when I live a dozen miles away, and have probably a bad service of trains?"

"Suppose I get accompanying to do at concerts? I intend to call on some of the lady professionals who sing father's songs and ask them to give me a chance. I shall have to get used to going about by myself at night, but it would be nice to be in a central position, and not have _too_ far to go," said Hope wistfully; and her eldest sister, looking at her golden locks and sweet pink-and-white face, came to a sudden determination.

"We will take the flat. It's no use doing things by halves. We must hope to save the money in travelling expenses and lunches. I will write to the agent and settle it to-night."

So the flat was taken, and the question of furniture was the next to come upon the tapis. For the larger articles there could be no accommodation; they must be sold for what they would bring; but even without them there was an incredible number of possessions with which it seemed impossible to part. Curtains were faded, carpets so darned and mended as to be incapable of removal, but Edgar Charrington had been picking up artistic treasures all his life, and the rooms were crowded with quaint, old-world furniture. There was a Chinese cabinet, shaped like a paG.o.da, with coloured Chinese figures standing in the niches. It would take up more room than could be spared, but who could bear to part with it, remembering the fascination of those figures to the infant mind, the later joy of turning over the contents of the daintily fitting drawers, and sniffing the sweet, musty odour? There was an oak-framed picture of a church, with a real clock fitted into the steeple. A place for that must be found somewhere, or life would be robbed of one of its oldest a.s.sociations. There was a black silhouette picture of Great-great-aunt Martha riding on a pillion; and another of Grandfather and Grandmother Charrington, with a family of six little Charringtons, clad in _decollete_ dresses, spencers, and pantaloons. What Goth or Vandal could find it in his heart to part with them? There was a collection of old china, of pewter, of old beaten silver; and such stacks of pictures, framed and unframed, as were quite alarming to count.

"What shall we do with them? Shall we pack half away in chests and ask the vicar to store them in his loft? He would be only too glad to keep them for us. It seems absurd to take such a collection. The place will look like a museum," cried Philippa, in despair; but the idea seemed to commend itself rather than otherwise to her ambitious young sisters.

"Just what it ought to look, as a temple of the Muses. No use pretending to be artistic against a commonplace background. Let us make our rooms as striking, and unusual, and 'ancestory' as we can. I hate a house that looks as if it had been furnished yesterday. When people come to call, they will: have a pretty good idea of what we are by looking round our rooms."

"But who is to come, you dear little sn.o.b? We know n.o.body. I'm afraid the arrival of the Charrington family won't make much stir in the great Metropolis. I can tell you I felt a lone, lorn creature, walking about those crowded streets, and thinking that not a single soul knew me or cared whether I lived or died. As for Aunt Loftus, she may come once, perhaps, to pay a formal call, but we sha'n't be troubled with her after that; and I should be sorry to count upon uncle's promised introductions. We shall be left severely to ourselves."

"I am going up to London to know and be known, and I am not going to be left alone for anybody," cried Madge, tossing her head with a consequential air. "Seclusion may suit some people, but not this child.

I'm going to make friends, and have a real good time. I think I shall start a _salon_, like that Madame de Thingummy in Paris, and make our house the resort of all the learned and celebrated people of the day.

I've read about her in magazines, and it sounds quite easy. You don't need to be pretty, nor rich, nor to live in a big house; all you have to do is to announce that you are at home on certain evenings, and give cups of coffee, and be very vivacious, and talk, and make people laugh.

_You_ can give the coffee, and I'll talk! There's never any difficulty in that; the trouble is to be quiet. Wait until you see Cabinet Ministers, and Presidents of the Academy, and celebrated authors all driving up to our door, and toiling up hundreds of steps on purpose to enjoy the fascinations of my society!"

"Very well; I'll wait. It will be good exercise for my patience. For my own part, I have resigned myself to single blessedness, staying at home cooking dinners and darning stockings while you are out making your fortunes. I shall be too busy to be lonely; and if you earn money, I shall save it. We can't _all_ be fascinating society leaders," said Philippa cruelly. She was so devoted to Madge, so tempted to applaud all that she said and did, that as a pure matter of conscience she felt bound to snub her now and then, just to show her impartiality! It had very little effect, however, for Miss Madge was too sharp not to see through the pretence, and refused to be in the least impressed by her strictures.

What a comfort the girl was in the weeks which followed, when the burden of responsibility seemed to weigh ever more and more heavily on the shoulders of the two young heads of the family! Hope was always ready with sympathy, Theo with dramatic invectives against the cruelty of fate, but Madge met difficulties with a laugh and a jest, and the sound thereof was as sunshine in the house. In some respects fortune favoured the adventurers at the start, for Stephen's firm made no difficulty about his removal, while Mr Matthews snapped at the offer of the house, and even promised to buy the fixtures "at a valuation." But here the disappointments began. Philippa instantly made a valuation on her own account, and added generously to the total in consideration of those manifold odds and ends which acc.u.mulate in households of thirty years'

standing, but which are hardly worth the cost of cartage to pastures new: oddments of gla.s.s and china, of tin and iron and earthenware; mouldy volumes which no one will read; chairs minus a leg, rusty fire-irons, and damaged ornaments.

"With a little glue and patching you might make good things of them yet.

Five pounds at the least! No; say seven pounds. Seven pounds added to forty-five--over fifty pounds in all! That ought to pay for the removal and leave something over for carpets and blinds. Thank goodness, I can mark _that_ expense off the list!" sighed Philippa.

But alas for the frailty of human hopes! The valuer's estimate came to exactly a third of the sum expected, while one and all the dealers refused to bid for the valuable collection of antiquities, so that in the end a cart had to be hired to convey the whole to the village schoolroom, to be sold at a coming rummage sale!

Scarcely had poor Philippa recovered from this blow than the estimate from the furniture remover arrived to cast her down once more. She screamed aloud when her eye lighted on the horrible total. But what could one do? The things must be moved, and the firm in question had been recommended for its economy. It was appalling to think of the inroads into capital which would be made before the real life in town could begin; and Philippa needed all her courage when the hour came to say good-bye to the old home, and go forth to prepare the flat for its inmates. Madge was to accompany her, as a matter of course. It had been so certain that she would be chosen as helper that the matter was not even discussed. Hope and Theo took refuge at the vicarage, Steve with a bachelor friend; Barney was to remain at school until the half-term; and Madge decreed that no one was to approach the flat until all preparations were finished, and the artistic beauty of the whole ready to burst upon the enraptured sight. Philippa thought of the chimney-pots, and the soot, and the narrow pa.s.sages, and the weary flight of stairs, coldly clean, with bottles of fire-extinguisher ranged on the wall at each landing, to remind the dwellers on the top story of the peril in which they lived! She thought of the narrow, begrimed windows, of the cheap fireplaces, and the saffron paper in the sitting-room, and felt it her painful duty to undeceive the young enthusiast lest the blow might fall too heavily upon her. But Madge refused to be cast down, and went through the ordeal of the first inspection with an undaunted smile.

"My hat!" she exclaimed as she peered out of the first window and beheld the roof-scape in all the beauty of a drizzling autumn rain; and though the expression was neither lady-like nor elegant, nor in the least degree appropriate, it yet had a quaint, whimsical sound which made Philippa laugh and draw a breath of relief.

"Yes! I told you so. I didn't exaggerate, you see. Cheerful and comprehensive, isn't it? This is the dining-room. Not much room to spare when you have the table in the middle. I don't know if we can get it in at all."

"If we can't we'll dine at small tables like a restaurant--far more _chic_. Not a bad little den when it is dressed up. Jolly cosy in winter. When summer comes I shall live up on the leads and make a roof-garden. Is there any way out?"

"Don't know, I'm sure. Come and look at the bedrooms. We can have first choice, I suppose, as I'm the eldest; but if you don't mind, I'd like the girls to be at the front. You could hardly imagine that the one at the side could be smaller and more dreary, but it is; and Theo would be so wretched! Do you think we could possibly get our things in here?"

Madge stood prospecting the small square box with a ruminating gaze.

"Bed there--dressing-table there--wash-stand there--chest of--No; can't be done. We shall have to do without a dressing-table, and use the top of the bureau. We can manage all right that way; but you will always have to get up first, and make way for me while I have my last little snooze. It will be good practice for our tempers, for we really daren't quarrel in such very close quarters. Let's look at the sitting-room for a change. You said that was a decent size."

"Oh yes--quite; and a pretty shape, too. Don't you like the shape!

Don't you think that rounded window is sweet in the corner? It would make a dear, quiet little nook if it were curtained off; wouldn't it dear?" cried the eldest sister, anxious to divert the artist's eyes from the saffron paper, with the aggressive roses and the gilded leaves, which was in such disastrously good condition that the company could not really be expected to replace it.

"Yes; I'll sit in there when I'm engaged, and let the cord go free. A very good room, with plenty of possibilities. Nothing square and stiff about it. That corner would do charmingly for the cabinet; and we will fit in shelves for the china in that funny little niche. We must keep the middle of the floor as clear as possible, for I shall want s.p.a.ce for my receptions. _Philippa Charrington_! Do you mean to look me in the face and say that you are responsible for this paper?"

"No, no--of course not. The last tenant left it. I begged hard for another, but it was no use. Make the best of it just now, there's a dear, and perhaps in a year or so we may get another."

"We are going to have another before the week is out," declared Madge; and when her sister protested, "Look here," she said st.u.r.dily, "let us come to a clear understanding. We made up our minds to make this move and to face the cost, and we are not going to spoil the house for the sake of a few pounds. Before we have done with putting things in order we shall have a dozen unexpected expenses. Things won't fit and will have to be altered; we shall have to buy little fixings, and have workmen in and out. If you are going to groan over every sixpence we shall have a dismal old time. Make up your mind to pay and be cheerful, since you've got to pay whether you like it or not. About this wall-paper! I suppose there are some families who could live in peace and happiness staring at yellow cabbages, but we are not one of them.

We inherit artistic fastidiousness, and should hate them worse every day of our lives. When we can't afford to go out for amus.e.m.e.nts, isn't it our duty to make home as attractive as possible? When we shall spend a round hundred over the removal, is it worth while to spoil our best room for the sake of an extra sovereign?"

"You can't possibly--"