The Daughters of a Genius Part 3

"Yes, I can. I can buy a self-coloured paper for next to nothing--a pretty soft blue, I think, to make a good background for the pictures-- and hang it myself, to save the expense of the workman."

"You can't possibly--"

"Nonsense! I did my own room at home, and there's no matching about a plain paper. I could not face Theo with that atrocity on the walls.

And besides, think of my _salon_!"

"Oh, well! have it your own way," Philippa cried, with affected disgust.

It was impossible not to feel more interest in the room now that it could be imagined in its pretty new dress, and the discussion of how it should be arranged and decorated occupied an hour out of a dreary wait.

The sisters had slept the night before at a boarding-house, and had hurried to the flat directly after breakfast, so as to be ready to receive the furniture at ten o'clock as agreed. At eleven o'clock there was no sign of the vans; but no one expects furniture-vans to be punctual within an hour or two, and until noon the girls managed to possess themselves in patience, and to find amus.e.m.e.nt in wandering from room to room. But when one o'clock drew near the matter became serious.

They had brought a tea-basket with them, but there were no chairs on which to sit, no table to hold the cups and saucers. They were growing tired, and were longing to get to work while daylight lasted, and to have a bed to sleep on before night fell. It was two o'clock before the first van arrived, and seven before the men departed, leaving the two young mistresses to thread their way between stacks of furniture, unopened crates, and boxes of luggage. There was no room for a servant to sleep in the flat, and the charwoman who was engaged to help could not come until the following day, so it was hopeless to try to do more than get one bedroom in tolerable order. By Hope's forethought the necessary blankets and linen had been packed in one box and plainly labelled, so preparations were soon made, and by eight o'clock the tired workers were already longing for bed. Downstairs in the bas.e.m.e.nt was a public dining-room where dinner could be obtained for a shilling a head; but they were too dishevelled and footsore to feel inclined to appear in public, so they refreshed themselves instead with more tea, more cakes, more dried-up sandwiches. Philippa leant back in her chair and sighed heavily as she looked first at her roughened hands, then at the hopeless disorder by which she was surrounded.

"I used to dream," she said slowly--"I used to dream of coming up to London. Father seemed so often on the eve of doing something great, and I used to imagine what it would be like if the book really turned out as he expected, or the picture made his name famous. He would have brought us to town, and we should have been rich, and every one would have wanted to know us--"

"I know! So have I. 'Beautiful Miss Charringtons--the rage of the London season.' That's the kind of thing, isn't it? I'm not beautiful, of course, but I'm vivacious--that's my point. I can _espiegle_ fifty times better than Hope, though she is such a darling. You are very handsome, Phil, when you look pleasant; and Theo has the air of a princess in disguise. We are an interesting family. It seems hard lines that the world should not know us. We do seem slightly--just a little--what you might call _cornered_ up here."

"We do indeed. Oh, it is different--so different from what I expected!"

faltered poor, tired Philippa, with a sob; and then of a sudden her fears and dreads caught her in a grip from which there was no escape.

She looked round the strange, unlovely room, through the bare window at the great city, lurid and threatening in the light of many lamps, and trembled at the thought of what she had done. She had been as a mother to these children, and she had brought them away from their peaceful home to face a thousand trials, a thousand difficulties: Stephen, const.i.tutionally despondent, to be burdened with fresh responsibilities; the girls, ardent and credulous, to be ready prey for unscrupulous acquaintances; Barney, pining for mischief, to a swift and certain ruin!

Her face blanched; she held out her hands to her sister with a gesture of terrified appeal.

"Madge, Madge, I'm frightened! Suppose it is all a mistake! Suppose we fail, and all the money goes, and we are left penniless and alone in this great wilderness! I have read of it so often: people come up hoping to make their fortunes, and the time pa.s.ses, and they move into smaller and smaller rooms--and no work comes--and they fall ill. It is my doing! I persuaded Stephen. Oh Madge, if it's all a mistake, you will believe I did it for the best, won't you? I was not thinking of myself. It would have been easier for me to stay where we were. You will not blame me if the money goes and there is none left? Promise that you will never blame me."

But Madge lay back in her chair and folded her arms out of reach of the trembling hands.

"I will, though!" she replied bluntly. "I'll make an awful row; and quite right, too, for it _will_ be your fault. If you lose heart the very first night, and fall to crying and groaning, how do you expect to get on? If _you_ get low in your mind, Steve will be indigo, and Hope and Theo will have no spirit left in them. As for me, I'm not _going_ to fail, nor fall ill, nor starve, nor throw myself over London Bridge, nor anything else interesting or melodramatic I've always longed to come up to town, and now that I am here I am going to enjoy myself in the best way I can. It is ripping to work hard when you feel you are getting on, and a little taste of success now and then will be a wonderful fillip. There must be some compensations for being poor, and I mean to find them out, and see if I can't get as much fun for sixpence as Avice Loftus does for a sovereign."

"I--I believe you will," said Philippa, with a feeble laugh. "You mustn't think me a coward, Madge; I could be brave for myself; but it is the awful feeling of responsibility that weighs upon me. All this day I have been saying to myself, 'Now we are here. What is the next step?

What ought we to do next?'"

"Go to bed, I should say. You look as if you needed it," came the curt rejoinder; and at that Philippa was obliged to laugh outright.

"Oh, Mr d.i.c.k, Mr d.i.c.k! your common-sense is invaluable. Come along, then; let us go. We shall need all the rest we can get to prepare us for our hard work to-morrow."

CHAPTER FIVE.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

A week after the girls had taken possession of the flat Stephen joined them, and spent his evenings carpentering, hanging up pictures, and laying carpets, as a pleasant relaxation after a day's work in the City.

He had been unpleasantly surprised to discover that, though the firm for which he worked was of long standing and first-cla.s.s position, its offices were by no means so large or so comfortable as those which he had left behind in the little country town. The room in which he worked was so dark that the gas seemed to be burning all day long; the windows looked out on a narrow side-street; there was a continual roar of traffic, a rumbling from the trains underground. His head ached, and he found it impossible to concentrate his thoughts. But when the long day came to an end, there was a certain exhilaration in walking home through the crowded streets, in looking at historic scenes, and feeling that one was an inmate of the greatest city, of the capital of the world!

Every evening, too, the flat looked more home-like, as suitable resting-places were discovered for the old furniture, and the familiar pictures smiled a welcome from the walls. Madge's paper-hanging had been a success of which she was justly proud, and the little dining-room looked both pretty and cosy when the curtains were drawn and the lamps lighted. The girls were tired but cheerful, and had always amusing little anecdotes to relate as gleanings from the day's work; the workmen, the charwoman, the porter at the door downstairs, were all so different from the country-folk to whom they had been accustomed; and imitation of the c.o.c.kney accent proved an unfailing source of delight.

Madge cultivated special sentences with a view to impressing her sisters on their arrival, and when they drove up to the door, insisted upon "p'ying the keb" with a vehemence which left them speechless with consternation.

Hope and Theo were conveyed upstairs flight after flight--for the lift had not yet been introduced into these unfashionable mansions--and when at last they could go no farther, lo! there was an open door, a blaze of light sending forth a welcome, and the new home all ready to receive them, even to the very tea on the table, and hot water in the basins in the bedrooms. It was delightful to meet again, to have the first meal in the new home, to feel that the step so long contemplated was an accomplished fact; and if a certain amount of disillusion had to be endured, the new-comers had enough good feeling to notice only what they could admire. Dark though it was, it was scarcely seven o'clock when the evening meal was finished; and in the state of pent-up excitement in which the travellers found themselves, it seemed impossible to stay quietly indoors.

"Couldn't we _do_ something?" asked Hope wistfully. "I feel like a caged lion shut up here, knowing that London lies outside. We need not go to bed for three hours at least. Oh Steve! the top of an omnibus--a drive along the streets, with all the lights--past Saint Paul's and the Abbey, and along the Embankment. Could we do it? Oh, do you think we might do it?"

The eager voice and pleading eyes raised a general laugh of amus.e.m.e.nt, and even the prudent Stephen could find no objection to so innocent a request.

"Well, really, I think we might rise to that. Put on warm coats, and we will lock the door behind us and sally forth. An omnibus to Saint Paul's, and another to Victoria Station, and back the best way we can.

I don't know the ropes yet, but we shall easily find out. It will do Phil and Madge good, too, for they have hardly stirred out of the flat this last fortnight."

No sooner said than done. It was astonishing how quickly hats and jackets were donned, and in a quarter of an hour's time the four girls were fearfully clambering up the narrow steps leading to the top of a "City" 'bus, and taking their seats on the foremost benches. Hope took an outside place, but begged to change seats before she had driven a hundred yards; at every turn and crossing her heart died within her, and she seemed to look death in the face. She hung on to Philippa's arm and groaned incessantly, but when asked if she would like to return home, "Oh no, no! I love it," she cried, and groaned again, more fearfully than before.

The other occupants of the benches stared with curious gaze at the five young people, whose animation was in such marked contrast to their own phlegmatic calm; and Theo studied them in her turn, making up little romances concerning them, as her nature was. "That fat dark man is married to the little woman in blue. She was left an orphan, and he was a friend of her father's. He offered to marry her, and she was lonely and sad, and didn't care very much what she did. He is very kind to her; he is carrying all the parcels; but her heart isn't satisfied. She stares before her all the time, and never speaks... The girl with the pearl beads serves in a shop. She is going home to a suburb, and her 'young man' will meet her at the station. They are going to have a little shop together, and she is thinking how she will manage it. How she does turn and twist! Her hair is like a great turban round her head. She would be pretty if she would not spoil herself so... That poor, sad-looking young fellow has just had notice to leave his situation. He is thinking how he can tell his wife. He will put his arms round her, and they will cry together. She will kiss him and say, 'For better, for worse, dear; for richer, for poorer.' Her voice will be like music. He will look at her, and his face will shine. Oh dear!

I am crying myself. How stupid! I'll write an article--'On a City 'Bus'--a character sketch, short and strong and dramatic. Where shall I send it?"

She went off into a reverie, turning over in her mind the names of different papers and magazines, planning, wondering, weaving dreams, while the omnibus made its way down Holborn towards the Viaduct. Madge and Steve were chattering gaily together. Hope sat with clasped hands, gazing eagerly ahead for the first glimpse of the majestic dome. Tired Philippa blinked at the rows of lamps, the flaring advertis.e.m.e.nts, and gaily lighted saloons, and wished that the drive would last for hours, so that she might sit still and feel the refreshing night-air play upon her brow. She groaned when the stoppage came and Madge pulled her impatiently by the arm; and had nothing but yawns to mingle with her sisters' ecstasies as they stood at the corner of the Churchyard, and gazed and gazed until it seemed that they would never tear themselves away. Hope was hearing in imagination the swell of the great organ, the reed-like sweetness of the voices of the white-robed choristers. Madge was already painting a picture of the great edifice by night, the twinkling lights beneath, the vast outline losing itself mysteriously in the clouds.

Theo was trembling, and biting her lips to keep back the tears. To her it was not a building at all; it was a sign--a symbol! The wide steps were not empty--she saw on them the blaze of great national pageants; the wide nave was filled with happy faces, with black-robed women who wept and wrung their hands; in her ears was the tramp of armed men. She shivered and drew her cloak closely round her. When the next omnibus for Victoria came along she took a surrept.i.tious opportunity of flicking the drops from her eyelashes. Some day she would write about this too!

Oh, what wealth of subjects, what capital, what inspiration in this wonderful, throbbing world! And then Stephen tapped her on the shoulder and cried a well-known name:

"Fleet Street, Theo! Allow me to introduce you. Your special beat, my dear."

"My publishers! Where are my publishers!" cried Theo loudly, as though she expected to see the heads of the great firms ranged in a body to greet her.

The other occupants of the benches overheard her words, and gazed upon her with becoming awe. This was evidently a distinguished author! Note her well--consider her features, so that she may be recognised by the portraits in the shop windows! Philippa smiled whimsically at the thought that already Theo had made an impression. What further triumphs or humiliations had this Fleet Street in store for her?

Well, it was a wonderful drive! If Saint Paul's had been impressive, what about that glorious pile of buildings at Westminster, and the first glimpse of the river by night! It was like a dream--a wonderful dream-- in which the imagined glories of the world pa.s.sed in review before the eyes.

That night the girls were in the clouds, lifted far above mercenary anxieties; but they came back to earth again next morning when their boxes had been unpacked and stored away, and they were confronted with the all-important question of the next move. When lunch was over silence fell suddenly upon the little room, and four pairs of eyes met in solemn conclave.

"I--er--I shall go round to the Slade School and make inquiries," said Madge quickly. "We are settled down now, and must lose no more time. I shall ask what is the very first day I can join."

"I shall write to Mr Hammond, the editor of the _Casket_. His firm publish books as well as the magazine, and he took most of father's things. I shall ask him if he can see me for ten minutes, as I am thinking of devoting myself to literature as a profession, and should be grateful for his advice."

"I--er--I am going to pay a call at Hampstead," said Hope, trying to look confident and self-possessed, but flushing a tell-tale pink all over her delicate face. "You remember the name of Miss Minnie Caldecott, who sings some of father's songs? I found one of her cards, and she is at home every Tuesday afternoon. I thought if I went early I might see her before any one else arrived. I have been working at that new song ever since you left, Phil, and it _is_ pretty! It's the best thing I have written, and if she took a fancy to it, and promised to sing it at concerts, it would be so much easier to find a publisher. If I can summon courage I shall ask her to let me accompany her as well.

If I could sell a few songs, and make a little money by playing accompaniments, it would help to pay for my lessons."

Poor Hope! She looked at once so frightened, so eager, and so pretty that her sisters broke into a simultaneous murmur of sympathy.

"I'll go with you," said Philippa quickly. "You must have some one to support you, poor dear! And how--oh, how are we going to find our way?"

"Ask the porter downstairs. We shall have to go about alone, so the sooner we puzzle it out the better. Yes, do come, Phil! If you don't, I shall probably run away as soon as I've rung the bell. Will she be very formidable, do you think?"

Philippa did not know, could not conjecture. Professional singers existed for her only on the programmes of concerts. She had never heard one more celebrated than Miss James, the singing-mistress from Coventry.

Sometimes, she believed, they were paid fabulous prices for singing; but Minnie Caldecott did not seem to come in the first rank. Perhaps she, like themselves, was struggling to make her name.

The girls found their way to Hampstead with wonderfully little trouble; but it was more difficult to find Mayfield Rood, and they wandered about for half-an-hour before discovering its whereabouts. It was not an attractive situation; neither was the house a palatial residence; and though Miss Caldecott was "at home" as usual, the costume of the servant-maid left much to be desired. She led the way down a narrow entrance-hall, and showed the visitors into a room at the back of the house, saying that Miss Caldecott would be with them in a few minutes'

time.

It was barely half-past three, yet two lamps were already burning under elaborate pink shades, and there was a profusion of flowers on the mantelpiece and on the small tables with which the floor was crowded.

The piano stood open, with a litter of torn sheets on the top, and there were photographs--photographs everywhere--of extraordinary-looking people, who all seemed to write their names underneath with fat quill-pens and many dashes. The lady with the little ring in the middle of her forehead was "Mabs;" the one swinging in a hammock was "Bella;"

"f.a.n.n.y" smirked from a bower of palms, and wore ropes and ropes of pearls round her neck. There was a framed photograph on the wall with a signature like the rest. From across the room Hope recognised a familiar name, and was about to rise to study it close at hand, when swish-swish came the rustle of silken skirts, the door opened, and Miss Caldecott herself made her appearance.