A Very Naughty Girl

“I – I don’t want to get up,” murmured Evelyn.

“Come! I am waiting.”

Lady Frances sat down on a chair. Her eyes traveled slowly round the disorderly room; displeasure grew greater in her face.

“Get up, my dear – get up,” she said. “I am waiting.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“I am afraid your wanting to or not wanting to makes little or no difference, Evelyn. I stay here until you get up. You need not hurry yourself; I will give you until lunch-time if necessary, but until you get up I stay here.”

“And if,” said Evelyn in a tremulous voice, “I don’t get up until after lunch?”

“Then you do without food; you have nothing to eat until you get up. Now, do not let us discuss this point any longer; I want to be busy over my accounts.”

Lady Frances drew a small table towards her, took a note-book and a Letts’s Diary from a bag at her side, and became absorbed in the irritating task of counting up petty expenses. Lady Frances no more looked at Evelyn than if she had not existed. The angry little girl in the bed even ventured to make faces in the direction of the tyrannical lady; but the tyrannical lady saw nothing. Jasper outside the door found it no longer interesting to press her ear to the keyhole. She retired in some trepidation, and presently made herself busy in Evelyn’s boudoir. For half an hour the conflict went on; then, as might be expected, Evelyn gingerly and with intense dislike put one foot out of bed.

Lady Frances saw nothing. She was now murmuring softly to herself. She had long – very long – accounts to add up.

Evelyn drew the foot back again.

“Nasty, horrid, horrid thing!” she said to herself. “She shall not have the victory. But, oh, I am so hungry!” was her next thought; “and she does mean to conquer me. Oh, if only mothery were alive!”

At the thought of her mother Evelyn burst into loud sobs. Surely these would draw pity from that heart of stone! Not at all. Lady Frances went calmly on with her occupation.

Finally, Evelyn did get up. She was not accustomed to dressing herself, and she did so very badly. Lady Frances did not take the slightest notice. In about half an hour the untidy toilet was complete. Evelyn had once more donned her crimson velvet dress.

“I am ready,” she said then, and she came up to Lady Frances’s side.

Lady Frances dropped her pencil, raised her eyes, and fixed them on Evelyn’s face.

“Where do you keep your dresses?” she said.

“I don’t know. Jasper knows.”

“Is Jasper in the next room?”

“Yes.”

“Go and fetch her.”

Evelyn obeyed. She imagined her head was giddy and that her legs were too weak to enable her to walk steadily.

“Jasper, come,” she said in a tremulous voice.

“Poor darling! Poor pet!” muttered Jasper in an injudicious undertone to her afflicted charge.

Lady Frances was now standing up.

“Come here, Jasper,” she said. “In which wardrobe do you keep Miss Wynford’s dresses?”

“In this one, madam.”

“Open it and let me see.”

The maid obeyed. Lady Frances went to the wardrobe and felt amongst skirts of different colors, different materials, and different degrees of respectability. Without exception they were all unsuitable; but presently she chose the least objectionable, an ugly drab frieze, and lifting it herself from its hook, laid it on the bed.

“Is there a bodice for this dress?” she asked of the maid.

“Yes, madam. Miss Evelyn used to wear that on the ranch. She has outgrown it rather.”

“Put it on your young mistress and let me see her.”

“I won’t wear that horrid thing!” said Evelyn.

“You will wear what I choose.”

Again Evelyn submitted. The dress was put on. It was not becoming, but was at least quiet in appearance.

“You will wear that to-day,” said her aunt. “I will myself take you into town this afternoon to get some suitable clothes. – Jasper, I wish Miss Evelyn’s present wardrobe to be neatly packed in her trunks.”

“Yes, madam.”

“No, no, Aunt Frances; you cannot mean it,” said Evelyn.

“My dear, I do. – Before you go, Jasper, I have one thing to say. I am sorry, but I cannot help myself. Your late mistress wished you to remain with Miss Wynford. I grieve to say that you are not the kind of person I should wish to have the charge of her. I will myself get a suitable maid to look after the young lady, and you can go this afternoon. I will pay you well. I am sorry for this; it sounds cruel, but it is really cruel to be kind. – Now, Evelyn, what is the matter?”

“Only I hate you! Oh, how I hate you!” said Evelyn. “I wish mothery were alive that she might fight you! Oh, you are a horrid woman! How I hate you!”

“When you come to yourself, Evelyn, and you are inclined to apologize for your intemperate words, you can come down-stairs, where your belated breakfast awaits you.”

CHAPTER X. – JASPER WAS TO GO

What will not hunger – real, healthy hunger – effect? Lady Frances, after her last words, swept out of the room; and Jasper, her bosom heaving, her black eyes flashing angry fire, looked full at her little charge. What would Evelyn do now? The spoilt child, who could scarcely brook the smallest contradiction, who had declined to get up even to breakfast, to do without Jasper! To allow her friend Jasper to be torn from her arms – Jasper, who had been her mother’s dearest companion, who had sworn to that mother that she would not leave Evelyn come what might, that she would protect her against the tyrant aunt and the tyrant uncle, that if necessary she would fight for her with the power which the law bestows! Oh, what an awful moment had arrived! Jasper was to go. What would Evelyn do now?

Evelyn’s first impulse had been all that was satisfactory. Her fury had burst forth in wild, indignant words. But now, when the child and the maid found themselves alone, Jasper waited in expectancy which was almost certainty. Evelyn would not submit to this? She and her charge would leave Castle Wynford together that very day. If they were eventually parted, the law should part them.

Still Evelyn was silent.

“Oh Eve – my dear Miss Evelyn – my treasure!” said the afflicted woman.

“Yes, Jasper?” said Evelyn then. “It is an awful nuisance.”

“A nuisance! Is that all you have got to say?”

Evelyn rubbed her eyes.

“I won’t submit, of course,” she said. “No, I won’t submit for a minute. But, Jasper, I must have some breakfast; I am too hungry for anything. Perhaps you had better take all my darling, lovely clothes; and if you have to go, Jasper, I’ll – I’ll never forget you; but I’ll talk to you more about it when I have had something to eat.”

Evelyn turned and left the room. She was in an ugly dress, beyond doubt, but in her neat black shoes and stockings, and with her fair hair tied back according to Lady Frances’s directions, she looked rather more presentable than she had done the previous day. She entered the breakfast-room. The remains of a meal still lay upon the table. Evelyn looked impatiently round. Surely some one ought to appear – a servant at the very least! Hot tea she required, hot coffee, dishes nicely cooked and tempting and fresh. The little girl went to the bell and rang it. A footman appeared.

“Get my breakfast immediately,” said Evelyn.

The man withdrew, endeavoring to hide a smile. Evelyn’s conduct in daring to defy Lady Frances had been the amusement of the servants’ hall that morning. The man went to the kitchen premises now with the announcement that “miss” had come to her senses.

“She is as white as a sheet, and looks as mad as a hatter,” said the man; “but her spirit ain’t broke. My word! she ’ave got a will of her own. ‘My breakfast, immediate,’ says she, as though she were the lady of the manor.”

“Which she will be some day,” said cook; “and I ’ates to think of it. Our beautiful Miss Audrey supplanted by the like of her. There, Johnson! my missus said that Miss Wynford was to have quite a plain breakfast, so take it up – do.”

Toast, fresh tea, and one solitary new-laid egg were placed on a tray and brought up to the breakfast-room.

Evelyn sat down without a word, poured herself out some tea, ate every crumb of toast, finished her egg, and felt refreshed. She had just concluded her meal when Audrey, accompanied by Arthur Jervice, ran into the room.

“Oh, I say, Evelyn,” cried Audrey, “you are the very person that we want. We are getting up charades for to-night; will you join us?”

“Yes, do, please,” said Arthur. “And we are most anxious that Sylvia should join too.”

“I wish I knew her address,” said Audrey. “She is such a mystery! Mother is rather disturbed about her. I am afraid, Arthur, we cannot have her to-night; we must manage without. – But will you join us, Evelyn? Do you know anything about acting?”

“I have never acted, but I have seen plays,” said Evelyn. “I am sure I can manage all right. I’ll do my best if you will give me a big part. I won’t take a little part, for it would not be suitable.”

Audrey colored and laughed.

“Well, come, anyway, and we will do our best for you,” she said. “Have you finished your breakfast? The rest of us are in my schoolroom. You have not been introduced to it yet. Come if you are ready; we are all waiting.”

After her miserable morning, Evelyn considered this an agreeable change. She had intended to go up-stairs to comfort Jasper, but really and truly Jasper must wait. She accordingly went with her cousin, and was welcomed by all the children, who pitied her and wanted to make her as much at home as possible. A couple of charades were discussed, and Evelyn was thoroughly satisfied with the rôle assigned her. She was a clever child enough, and had some powers of mimicry. As the different arrangements were being made she suddenly remembered something, and uttered a cry.

“Oh dear!” she said – “oh dear! What a pity!”

“What is it now, Evelyn?” asked her cousin.

“Why, your mother is so – I suppose I ought not to say it – your mother – I – There! I must not say that either. Your mother – ”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake speak out!” said Audrey. “What has poor, dear mother done?”

“She is sending Jasper away; she is – she is. Oh, can I bear it? Don’t you think it is awful of her?”

“I am sorry for you,” said Audrey.

“Jasper would be so useful,” continued Evelyn. “She is such a splendid actress; she could help me tremendously. I do wish she could stay even till to-morrow. Cannot you ask Aunt Frances – cannot you, Audrey? I wish you would.”

“I must not, Evelyn; mother cannot brook interference. She would not dream of altering her plans just for a play. – Well,” she added, looking round at the rest of her guests, “I think we have arranged everything now; we must meet here not later than three o’clock for rehearsal. Who would like to go out?” she added. “The morning is lovely.”

The boys and girls picked up hats and cloaks and ran out immediately into the grounds. Evelyn took the first covering she could find, and joined the others.

“They ought to consult me more,” she said to herself. “I see there is no help for it; I must live here for a bit and put Audrey down – that at least is due to me. But when next there are people here I shall be arranging the charades, and I shall invite them to go out into the grounds. It is a great bother about Jasper; but there! she must bear it, poor dear. She will be all right when I tell her that I will get her back when the Castle belongs to me.”

Meanwhile Arthur, remembering his promise to Sylvia, ran away from where the others were standing. The boy ran fast, hoping to see Sylvia. He had taken a great fancy to her bright, dark eyes and her vivacious ways.

“She promised to meet me,” he said to himself. “She is certain to keep her word.”

By and by he uttered a loud “Hullo!” and a slim young figure, in a shabby crimson cloak, turned and came towards him.

“Oh, it is you, Arthur!” said Sylvia. “Well, and how are they all?”

“Quite well,” replied the boy. “We are going to have charades to-night, and I am to be the doctor in one. It is rather a difficult part, and I hope I shall do it right. I never played in a charade before. That little monkey Evelyn is to be the patient. I do hope she will behave properly and not spoil everything. She is such an extraordinary child! And of course she ought to have had quite one of the most unimportant parts, but she would not hear of it. I wish you were going to play in the charade, Sylvia.”

“I have often played in charades,” said Sylvia, with a quick sigh.

“Have you? How strange! You seem to have done everything.”

“I have done most things that girls of my age have done.”

Arthur looked at her with curiosity. There was – he could not help noticing it, and he blushed very vividly as he did see – a very roughly executed patch on the side of her shoe. On the other shoe, too, the toes were worn white. They were shabby shoes, although the little feet they encased were neat enough, with high insteps and narrow, tapering toes. Sylvia knew quite well what was passing in Arthur’s mind. After a moment she spoke.

“You wonder why I look poor,” she said. “Sometimes, Arthur, appearances deceive. I am not poor. It is my pleasure to wear very simple clothes, and to eat very plain food, and – ”

“Not pleasure!” said Arthur. “You don’t look as if it were your pleasure. Why, Sylvia, I do believe you are hungry now!”

Poor Sylvia was groaning inwardly, so keen was her hunger.

“And I am as peckish as I can be,” said the boy, a rapid thought flashing through his mind. “The village is only a quarter of a mile from here, and I know there are tuck-shops. Why should we not go and have a lark all by ourselves? Who’s to know, and who’s to care? Will you come, Sylvia?”

“No, I cannot,” replied Sylvia; “it is impossible. Thank you very much indeed, Arthur. I am so glad to have seen you! I must go home, however, in a minute or two. I was out all day yesterday, and there is a great deal to be done.”

“But may I not come with you? Cannot I help you?”

“No, thank you; indeed I could not possibly have you. It is very good of you to offer, but I cannot have you, and I must not tell you why.”

“You do look so sad! Are you sure you cannot join the charades to-night?”

“Sure – certain,” said Sylvia, with a little gasp. “And I am not sad,” she added; “there never was any one more merry. Listen to me now; I am going to laugh the echoes up.”

They were standing where a defile of rocks stretched away to their left. The stream ran straight between the narrow opening. The girl slightly changed her position, raised her hand, and called out a clear “Hullo!” It was echoed back from many points, growing fainter and fainter as it died away.

“And now you say I am not merry!” she exclaimed. “Listen.”

She laughed a ringing laugh. There never was anything more musical than the way that laughter was taken up, as if there were a thousand sprites laughing too. Sylvia turned her white face and looked full at Arthur.

“Oh, I am such a merry girl!” she said, “and such a glad one! and such a thankful one! And I am rich – not poor – but I like simple things. Good-by, Arthur, for the present.”

“I will come and see you again. You are quite wonderful!” he said. “I wish mother knew you. And I wish my sister Moss were here; I wish she knew you.”

“Moss! What a curious name!” said Sylvia.

“We have always called her that. She is just like moss, so soft and yet so springy; so comfortable, and yet you dare not take too much liberty with her. She is fragile, too, and mother had to take great care of her. I should like you to see her; she would – ”

“What would she do?” asked Sylvia.

“She would understand you; she would draw part at least of the trouble away.”

“Oh! don’t, Arthur – don’t, don’t read me like that,” said the girl.

The tears just dimmed her eyes. She dashed them away, laughed again merrily, and the next moment had turned the corner and was lost to view.

CHAPTER XI. – “I CANNOT ALTER MY PLANS.”

Immediately after lunch Lady Frances beckoned Evelyn to her side.

“Go up-stairs and ask Jasper to dress you,” she said. “The carriage will be round in a few minutes.”

Evelyn wanted to expostulate. She looked full at Audrey. Surely Audrey would protect her from the terrible infliction of a long drive alone with Lady Frances! Audrey did catch Evelyn’s beseeching glance; she took a step forward.

“Do you particularly want Evelyn this afternoon, mother?” she asked.

“Yes, dear; if I did not want her I should not ask her to come with me.”

Lady Frances’s words were very impressive; Audrey stood silent.

“Please tell her – please tell her!” interrupted Evelyn in a voice tremulous with passion.

“We are going to have charades to-night, mother, and Evelyn’s part is somewhat important; we are all to rehearse in the schoolroom at three o’clock.”

“And my part is very important,” interrupted Evelyn again.

“I am sorry,” said Lady Frances, “but Evelyn must come with me. Is there no one else to take the part, Audrey?”

“Yes, mother; Sophie could do it. She has a very small part, and she is a good actress, and Evelyn could easily do Sophie’s part; but, all the same, it will disappoint Eve.”

“I am sorry for that,” said Lady Frances; “but I cannot alter my plans. Give Sophie the part that Evelyn would have taken; Evelyn can take her part. – You will have plenty of time, Evelyn, when you return to coach for the small part.”

“Yes, you will, Evelyn; but I am sorry, all the same,” said Audrey, and she turned away.

Evelyn’s lips trembled. She stood motionless; then she slowly revolved round, intending to fire some very angry words into Lady Frances’s face; but, lo and behold! there was no Lady Frances there. She had gone up-stairs while Evelyn was lost in thought.

Very quietly the little girl went up to her own room. Jasper, her eyes almost swollen out of her head with crying, was there to wait on her.

“I have been packing up, Miss Evelyn,” she said. “I am to go this afternoon. Her ladyship has made all arrangements, and a cab is to come from the ‘Green Man’ in the village to fetch me and my luggage at half-past three. It is almost past belief, Miss Eve, that you and me should be parted like this.”

“You look horrid, Jasper, when you cry so hard!” said Evelyn. “Oh, of course I am awfully sorry; I do not know how I shall live without you.”

“You will miss me a good bit,” said the woman. “I am surprised, though, that you should take it as you do. If you raised your voice and started the whole place in an uproar you would be bound to have your own way. But as it is, you are mum as you please; never a word out of you either of sorrow or anything else, but off you go larking with those children and forgetting the one who has made you, mended you, and done everything on earth for you since long before your mother died.”

“Don’t remind me of mothery now,” said the girl, and her lips trembled; then she added in a changed voice: “I cannot help it, Jasper. I have been fighting ever since I came here, and I want to fight – oh, most badly, most desperately! – but somehow the courage has gone out of me. I am ever so sorry for you, Jasper, but I cannot help myself; I really cannot.”

Jasper was silent. After a time she said slowly:

“And your mother wrote a letter on her deathbed asking Lady Frances to let me stay with you whatever happened.”

“I know,” said Evelyn. “It is awful of her; it really is.”

“And do you think,” continued the woman, “I am going to submit?”

“Why, you must, Jasper. You cannot stay if they do not wish for you. And you have got all your wages, have you not?”

“I have, my dear; I have. Yes,” continued the woman; “she thinks, of course, that I am satisfied, and that I am going as mum as a mouse and as quiet as the grave, but she is fine and mistook; I ain’t doing nothing of the sort. Go I must, but not far. I have a plan in my head. It may come to nothing; but if it does come to something, as I hope to goodness it will, then you will hear of me again, my pet, and I won’t be far off to protect you if the time should come that you need me. And now, what do you want of me, my little lamb, for your face is piteous to see?”

“I am a miserable girl,” said Evelyn. “I could cry for hours, but there is no time. Dress me, then, for the last time, Jasper. Oh, Jasper darling, I am fond of you!”

Evelyn’s stoical, hard sort of nature seemed to give way at this juncture; she flung her arms round her maid’s neck and kissed her many times passionately. The woman kissed her, too, in a hungry sort of way.

“You are really not going far away, Jasper?” said Evelyn when, dressed in her coat and hat, she was ready to start.

“My plans are laid but not made yet,” said the woman. “You will hear from me likely to-morrow, my love. And now, good-by. I have packed all your things in the trunks they came in, and the wardrobe is empty. Oh, my pet, my pet, good-by! Who will look after you to-night, and who will sleep in the little white bed alongside of you? Oh, my darling, the spirit of your Jasper is broke, that it is!”

“Evelyn!” called her aunt, who was passing her room at that moment, “the carriage is at the door. Come at once.”

Evelyn ran down-stairs. She wore a showy, unsuitable hat and a showy, unsuitable jacket. She got quickly into the carriage, and flopped down by the side of the stately Lady Frances.

Lady Frances was a very judicious woman in her way. She reprimanded whenever in her opinion it was necessary to reprimand, but she never nagged. It needed but a glance to show her that Evelyn required to be educated in every form of good-breeding, and that education the good woman fully intended to take in hand without a moment’s delay, but she did not intend to find fault moment by moment. She said nothing, therefore, either in praise or blame to the small, awkward, conceited little girl by her side; but she gave orders to stop at Simpson’s in the High Street, and the carriage started briskly forward. Wynford Castle was within half a mile of the village which was called after it, and five miles away from a large and very important cathedral town – the cathedral town of Easterly. During the drive Lady Frances chatted in the sort of tone she would use to a small girl, and Evelyn gave short and sulky replies. Finding that her conversation was not interesting to her small guest, the good lady became silent and wrapped up in her own thoughts. Presently they arrived at Simpson’s, and there the lady and the child got out and entered the shop. Evelyn was absolutely bewildered by the amount of things which her aunt ordered for her. It is true that she had had, as Jasper expressed it, quite a small trousseau when in Paris; but during her mother’s lifetime her dresses had come to her slowly and with long intervals between. Mrs. Wynford had been a showy but by no means a good dresser; she loved the gayest, most bizarre colors, and she delighted in adorning her child with bits of feathers, scraps of shabby lace, beads, and such-like decorations. After her mother’s death, when Evelyn, considered herself rich, she and Jasper purchased the same sort of things, only using better materials. Thus the thin silk was exchanged for thick silk, cotton-back satin for the real article, velveteen for velvet, cheap lace for real lace, and the gaily colored beads for gold chains and strings of pearls. Nothing in Evelyn’s opinion and nothing in Jasper’s opinion could be more exquisitely beautiful than the toilet which Evelyn brought to Castle Wynford; but Lady Frances evidently thought otherwise. She ordered a dark-blue serge, with a jacket to match, to be put in hand immediately for the little girl; she bought a dark-gray dress, ready made, which was to be sent home that same evening. She got a neat black hat to wear with the dress, and a thick black pilot-cloth jacket to cover the small person of the heiress. As to her evening-dresses, she chose them of fine, soft white silk and fine, soft muslin; and then, having added a large store of underclothing, all of the best quality, and one or two pale-pink and pale-blue evening-frocks, all severely plain, she got once more into her carriage, and, accompanied by Evelyn, drove home. On the seat in front of the pair reposed a box which contained a very simple white muslin frock for Evelyn to wear that evening.

“I suppose Jasper will have gone when I get back?” said the little girl to Lady Frances.