CHAPTER IV

LEFT TO HERSELF

WHEN Justin reached home that evening, he found dinner in the dining-room. A bowl of pink tulips adorned the table. Anstice in a black lace gown with some early white roses at her breast sat opposite to him, and talked in her soft, happy voice of all that she had done and seen during the day.

"I had better warn you," said Justin in his hard, matter-of-fact tone, "that the lake is not safe sailing for you. I keep the boathouse locked. The children are absolutely forbidden to go on the water by themselves. You might take out the rowing boat on a very fine settled day with old Stephen. He knows the lake better than I do, but keep the boat away from the children."

"I don't want to curtail their pleasures. Do you let them drive about the roads by themselves? They went off in the trap after tea to-day."

"Josie is a good whip and is allowed to drive about the lanes, but the high road is tabooed. There is too much traffic with all these char-à-bancs and cars."

Then he gave a short laugh.

"The less restrictions you lay down, the better for you and them," he said. "As Josie once said to me: 'If you don't make rules we shan't break them!' And there's sound reason in that."

After dinner, he went off to his smoking-room.

Anstice sat on the terrace until dark. It was a still, warm evening. Just before ten o'clock he came out and joined her.

"Are you regretting our hasty step?" he asked her abruptly.

"Why should you think so?" Anstice inquired.

"I don't think about it. I asked out of mere curiosity."

"Well, if I did, and if I ever do, I shall never tell you," said Anstice quietly.

There was silence, then Justin said:

"I find I shall have to leave early to-morrow morning, for I have business to do in Carlisle before I sail; so this is our last opportunity for any conversation. You will find your cheque book in the writing-table drawer in my smoking-room. I have placed two thousand to the credit of your account at the Bank in Penrith. Make any improvements in the house and garden that you feel desirable—I give you carte blanche to do as you like in my absence. You can send me a letter every month if you like, and of course cable out if anything alarming occurs."

"To the high seas?" asked Anstice, smiling.

"Oh, well, I will give you the address of my first, landing-place. Is there anything you want to know?"

"I think not, thank you."

How entirely indifferent he was to her welfare! He did not seem to realize what a difficult time she might have. And yet, she reminded herself, that he might consider that matters were evenly balanced. She was being given a home, and enough money to make it thoroughly comfortable; also a certain position as mistress of the Manor. Would not that compensate for loneliness, and constant contentions with unmanageable children?

She shook her head with a smile, and then encountered a look from Justin; rather a searching look, as if he were trying to probe her thoughts.

"You are very capable," he said briefly, and she made no reply.

Presently she got up from her seat. "Good night," she said. "I suppose I shall see you in the morning before you go? What time do you start?"

"Nine o'clock. Good night."

He held open the door for her, and watched her graceful figure pass up the stairs, then he went back to his smoking-room.

At half-past eight the next morning, he was in the nursery holding his boy in his arms. And once again Anstice was called in to take part in a discussion.

"Ruffie wants to know whether he can have any boating this summer. Last year I was home, and we were on the water a good bit. I have told him he must ask you."

"Of course we'll go on the lake," said Anstice promptly; "I can row, and with Stephen, we'll have some lovely picnics."

Ruffie looked up at her with what she mentally dubbed his "Pucks" expression.

"Can you swim?" he asked.

"Yes."

He gave a little wriggle of disgust and muttered:

"I s'pect you're a kind of witch that can't be got rid of!"

She caught the words, but his father did not.

Then Ruffie glanced up at Justin.

"We're going to have a big talk with her to-night, all of us—dressed in feathers like Indians. Josie is making Hal kill two cocks, so that we can get their tail feathers."

"What are you going to talk about?" said his father idly.

"We're going to discuss the situation," explained Anstice.

"What situation?"

"That of a strange woman coming to take possession of a strange house, and make friends with its belongings. We're going thoroughly to thrash out the subject, and hear all sides of the question."

Then Justin smiled.

"I wish you good luck. Now, my boy, I must go."

"Oh, Dad!"

The little arms were flung round his neck tightly, and the golden head buried against his shoulder.

"Why do you leave us so much? Why can't you take me with you? Why do you bring this new person here and leave her? If she won't leave us, what shall we do? Oh, Dad, will you never come and live with us prop'ly?"

Anstice slipped away, leaving father and son together. There was no question of their affection for each other, but the little girls seemed supremely indifferent to their father's presence or absence. She heard them as she went into the dining-room to breakfast, calling to Hercules; and there were sounds of great disturbance in the poultry yard.

Yet Anstice felt thankful that her proposition had found favour in their eyes.

Justin made a hurried breakfast. Then the car arrived, and his luggage was taken out. He turned to his wife.

"Well, this is good-bye for about six months. I hope you won't regret the step you've taken."

He held her hand in his for a moment, and Anstice faced him with sweet, resolute eyes.

"I don't think I shall regret it," she said, "for I shall have plenty to do, and I am always happy when I am busy."

Then he surprised her by stooping, and giving her a swift kiss on her cheek.

"A husband's privilege," he said with a queer little smile about his lips.

Anstice's colour had risen.

"But not necessary," she said, "and I would rather say a partner—hardly a husband."

"Good-bye, Dad. Bring us some presents when you come back," sang out Georgie.

"And if you find the new person gone when you come back, don't be surprised," added Josie.

Their father stooped to kiss them, but tapped Josie sharply on the shoulder. "That is not the way to speak of your stepmother."

He was gone. Anstice waved a farewell to him, and his children imitated her example. Then they rushed away and Anstice saw them no more till luncheon time.

She was very busy herself looking over store and linen cupboards, and making lists of what was necessary for the comfort of the household.

In the afternoon she started out across the Fells at the back of the house to see Brenda's aunt. She lived with a sister, a farmer's wife, and the farm was a good three miles off. Anstice was a good walker, and she had decided to see her as soon as possible, and ask her if she would like to come to the Manor as cook.

She turned up a steep lane for about a mile between buttercup meadows and rich pasture land. Then she came to a gate which led directly on to the Fells. Meeting an old man, she asked him the way to Hockerdale Farm.

He rubbed the side of his head and looked at her doubtfully.

"Noo, wat be 'ee wantin' ower yon?" he demanded.

"I want a Mrs. Parkin," Anstice said.

"Then ye may taak her an' be kindly welcome to ha' 'er!" he said, rubbing his hands, and giving a little satisfied chuckle. "My Ja-ane an' she be sisters, an' M'ria be too maanagin'. She be wantin' to rule the hoose, an' we all togither—Ye be a straanger in these paarts, I reckon? Noo, list to me, an' keep yer weather eye open. Foller this shaap track, an' doan't 'ee turn aside, fur strangers have a way o' missin' the track, an' bleachin' their bones on the crags below. This 'ere path leadeth to Hockerdale. My missus wull giv' 'ee a dish o' tay, an' more beside, if ye win M'ria awae fra our fireside."

He went on his way with sturdy independence.

Anstice was amused by his speech and manner. And then she lightly sped along the little winding path in front of her. The young bracken was just beginning to uncurl. In some sheltered spots there were sheets of bluebells; then, as she mounted higher, the air grew keen and sharp. Rabbits scudded in and out of their holes, mountain sheep with lambs gave room to her as she passed. She seemed alone in Nature's wilds, and her passionate love for the country filled her heart now with complete satisfaction. Occasionally she would turn and look down at the blue lake beneath her. Then gaze over to the opposite Fells, and in the distance the long range of Helvellyn would stand out, as if guarding the green valleys from the storms that would sweep over his crest.

It was not all stiff climbing. The path led between steep crags at times, and round every turn fresh views would delight her eyes. Cottages and farmsteads were scattered here and there over the Fells, and before very long she came to her destination.

She knew it by Brenda's description: "'Tis facing down a dale, and has a fir wood of shelter behind it, and a couple of tilled fields on the fiat beside it."

It was a grey stone building with slated roof, and a deep square porch before the door.

A woman stood just outside the porch, shading her eyes with her hand, but watching Anstice approach with some interest.

"I am Mrs. Holme," said Anstice pleasantly. "I have only just come here to live, but Brenda has sent me up here to speak to her aunt, Mrs. Parkin. Is she at home?"

"I am herself," said the woman. "Come ye in an' I'll fetch my sister who's the rightfu' mistress of this house."

She led her into a most delightful kitchen, with a blazing fire. Shining copper and brass pans stood on shelves on either side of the wide hearth. Hams were suspended from the beams across the ceiling. Hot bread was just coming out of the oven, and Mrs. James, the farmer's wife, very deliberately set her loaves out on the old oak dresser, before she turned to speak to Anstice.

"Please take a seat, ma'am. 'Tis a pleasure to make acquaintance with you so soon. The Squire were up here yesterday, and did tell us the news. It be a gran' thing for those poor little lasses of his."

Anstice sat down on a cushioned seat near a window, where musks and early geraniums stood on its wide sill. She smiled.

"I have come to ask Mrs. Parkin whether she will come and help me to make a comfortable home at the Manor."

Then she unfolded her errand. Mrs. Parkin, a stout, pleasant-faced woman, listened to her in silence and appeared to be pondering over the matter. Then after a long pause she said:

"I'll come to you and give it a trial, ma'am. Brenda has been at me times without number, but I'm a lover of order and method, and could not face the loneliness and shiftless muddle there."

"I will give you help in the kitchen as soon as I can. I am going to get several maids. But it will take time. When can you come to us?"

"Right off if you like, ma'am. I seem to be out of place here, and my room wanted more'n my company."

"Now, M'ria, don't get in such havers! You'll stay an' have a cup of tea with us, ma'am? I have some fresh-baked scones and a currant loaf."

Mrs. James was bustling about, laying a spotless cloth on a spotless table, so Anstice, seeing she would be hurt if she hurried away, stayed and chatted on with them both, learning much about the neighbourhood and its ways. Her husband's continued long absences from home were deplored.

"There be a certain set of the landlords hereabouts that only come down to enjoy themselves in the summer, but there be those which doan't, and our Squire's feyther were the mon who bided at hoame an' tended to his land hisself. Squire Justin 'ave all the qualities o' his feyther, but he be terrible fearful of living a lone life up there, wi' his children. Noo that he be wedded, we'll look fur better times. He telled us, he be bound by praaperty to go out this voyage, but we'll hope 'twill be the laast. I told him 'twere a shockin' way to traate a bride."

Anstice laughed happily.

"When his home is made comfortable for him, you think it will be a different story, Mrs. James? With Mrs. Parkin coming to me, I am not afraid to face the future."

The women struck her as not inquisitive and gossipy, but profoundly interested in the life of their Squire and his children.

"My niece Brenda be just wrapped up in the poor little lad," Mrs. James asserted, "but the little lasses be limbs of mischief, and I'll dare say that ye'll have a terrible time wi' them."

"I hope we shall be great friends," said Anstice.

"Ah well, ye'll not be a guv'ness. They've had a feckless set down there, wi' no authority nor grit o' purpose, an' the lasses have driven them away wi' their tricks."

Anstice left the farm a little later, feeling light-hearted. She was convinced that Mrs. Parkin would be the first step towards bringing order and comfort to her new home. Brenda, however willing, was not equal to the demands made upon her. Her path back across the Fells was a sheer enjoyment to her. She faced the lake the whole way. The woods and trees overhanging it were in their freshest green. One or two boats were out upon the water; on the opposite side the distant Fells were a deep purple against the sky.

"Oh, it is a lovely country," she exclaimed. "I am glad I came."

When she reached home, Brenda came forward eagerly to hear the result of her visit. She drew a long breath of relief when she heard that her aunt was coming.

"You'll find her all you need, ma'am. 'Tis what the maaster has needed for these many year. A body who'll be head o' the kitchen, and not only cook but keep an eye on his interests."

Then she added:

"I've laid your tea in the library, ma'am, but the children are having theirs in the nursery, and I am to ask you not to go near them. They have locked themselves in and are making great preparations for this evening. Some game with you, they say 'tis."

"Something more than a game, I hope, Brenda. You tell them that six o'clock is the time for our meeting."

At six o'clock punctually Anstice walked into the nursery robed in a red and white silk rug she had taken off an ottoman in her room. She had tied her hair up in a coloured handkerchief, and considered herself sufficiently dressed for the occasion.

[Illustration: Anstice had arranged them . . . in a circle round the fire. _Her Kingdom_ Book I, Chapter IV.]

But when she came into the nursery, she found some startling little apparitions awaiting her. Josie and Georgie were a mass of feathers and paint. They had liberally spotted their faces and arms with red and blue paint, and had decorated Ruffie in the same way. Some of the feathers had been coloured, and hung in strings round their necks. Their heads were in caps with cock's feathers sticking up in all directions.

In a few minutes Anstice had arranged them according to their satisfaction, sitting cross-legged on the carpet in a circle round the fire. Ruffie was made comfortable in a nest of cushions. He refused to stay on his couch.

"My name is Chief Baggwanda," he said, "and I've come through black forests to talk in this pow-wow."

"And I am Chief Rattleskunk," said Josie, lifting a stick and brandishing it aloft as if it were a sword. "I am for war."

"And so is Chief Wallajinks," cried Georgie, "which is me. I am for the scalp of our bitter enemy!"

"My brothers," said Anstice, falling into the game at once, "I, the oldest Chief in our country, must speak first. I, Hiamona-stagabrokkin, know not whether we are for peace or for war. That cannot be settled by one or two, it must be settled by us all. And now let us start. Give me your ears."

She paused, then she fell into her natural tones.

"I have come up here at your father's wish to make this house a happy home for us. I am not going to teach you, or give you lessons. I am not clever enough to be a governess. Brenda has tried her utmost to provide you with clothes and food; your father has provided the money, but it is too big a house for Brenda to run by herself. I am here to help her."

Josie had listened so far with impatience. Here she broke in:

"We don't mean to be managed; Georgie and I manage ourselves. We won't have anybody ordering us about, and if you're going to start telling us what to do, we shall get rid of you. We've got rid of six governesses already. We know how to do it."

"You see," said Georgie, putting in her word eagerly, "we're the new race, that's what Mrs. Penfold, the clergyman's wife who went away, was always saying. She said modern girls were awful, and couldn't be managed anyhow. That's Josie and me. We're awful, and we'll show you how awful we can be!"

"I don't doubt that," said Anstice, nodding her head gravely. "But the trouble is that you won't be able to turn me out. I have come to stay. I am not a governess, and this is my home, and everything in this house belongs to your father and me, and of course you go shares! You can treat me like your governesses, but you will find I can't be frightened or threatened or driven away. The only thing you could do would be to poison me or drown me or kill me in some way; but if you did that, it would of course, be found out, and you would be taken away by the police."

"Would they be hung?" asked Ruffie excitedly.

"I think most likely they'd be sent to a children's prison, a reformatory, where instead of managing themselves, they would be ruled up all day long and kept continuously at work. They would never be able to come home. Ruffie would be so lonely that he would die of a broken heart. Your father would feel the disgrace and shame of it so much that he would sell the house and the grounds and everything that was in it, and go away to foreign lands and live and die there and never come home again. DO you think that would be a happy thing for all of us?"

The little girls were much impressed, though it was difficult to tell beneath their paint and powder how they were taking it.

Anstice turned to Josie politely.

"Brother Rattleskunk, will you speak now?"

For a moment Josie hesitated.

"If you let us alone, and let us do what we like, and just do things in the house without interfering, we might be friends."

"We might be, but we'll promise nothing," said Georgie.

"Well, now we're going into the matter thoroughly. What do you mean to do with yourselves? No lessons, of course. You know how to read and write, but you don't want anything more. You have been born into the world with brains which you don't intend to use. You will grow up, not troubling to open the wonderful treasure chests of knowledge."

"Let me tell you of a spoilt child I knew some years ago. She would do no lessons, and her mother gave way to her. I met her at a dinner-party once. She was a pretty girl, but we had some clever people round the table. She was taken in by a French Count, and she couldn't speak a word of French to him. She could take no part in the conversation lest she should show how ignorant she was. When they talked of England as it was in olden times, she knew nothing about it. She asked if the Coliseum at Rome was a play, and whether Whigs and Tories were savages over the seas. Before the evening was over, she was left in a corner by herself. Nobody cared to talk to her, for they thought she must be an idiot, some one who hadn't sense or understanding. I suppose, Brothers Rattleskunk and Wallajinks, you will decide to grow up like that poor girl?"

There was a pause, and Anstice, wishing her words to have weight, now turned to Ruffie.

"And what does Brother Baggwanda say?"

Ruffie's eyes twinkled; he looked from his sisters to Anstice, and from Anstice to his sisters.

"Brother Baggwanda is opening his ears, but not his tongue. He will speak when all have spoken."

"But he's with us, he's with us, and not with you!" cried the little girls almost simultaneously.

Anstice laughed her rippling merry laugh. Then she became grave again.

"Now I'll give you my idea of this beautiful home of yours as it ought to be. And then you'll give me your idea of it. It must have a beautiful drawing-room with flowers and pretty things about, but not too grand for everyday use. In the evening, Brother Baggwanda may rest amongst the soft cushions on the big couch by the window. He can look out upon the still blue lake, and the rosy sunset sky. And from his couch, he will be singing joyously some lovely little songs which his brother chiefs are joining in. Brother Hiamona-stagabrokkin will be playing on the grand piano, and Brothers Rattleskunk and Wallajinks will be dancing as they sing."

"Shall we describe a happy day? In the morning every one very busy. It is the time for work of all sorts, and every one has their own particular business to do. But in the afternoon there will be picnics on the lake, and drives and tea with gipsy fires on the Fells, and as the winter comes on, there will be games and stories told in the firelight, and sometimes some of us will have shopping at Penrith or Carlisle, and then there will be surprise packets for the ones at home. Every one will go singing about the house, for every one will be happy."

"And then when Dad comes home, he will look round with wonder. He will see new curtains and carpets and there will be no dusty unused rooms, except perhaps some unwanted bedrooms. I fancy in the distance, I can see a charming little sitting-room made for Brothers Rattleskunk and Wallajinks, with perhaps a small cooking stove in it, on which they will cook some delicious scones and cakes when they ask Brother Baggwanda to tea with them. And no one but themselves will have a right to enter that room unless they receive an invitation to do so. Dad will see new things—many of them—when he comes home. He will think he has new children, but though different, they will be the same, and joy and happiness and peace will be in Dad's home, and that is what Brother Hiamona-stagabrokkin sees, as he looks out into the future."

Again a long pause.

Anstice produced some long clay pipes out of the folds of her gown.

"Brothers, shall we smoke the pipe of peace together?"

But the little girls shook their heads.

"Not yet, we haven't talked half as much as you have. What about governesses and lessons? That is what we want to know. You've made it sound nice, but will it be true?"

"If we all work together to make it true, it will. The morning will be the time for lessons, but we won't have them dragging on all day. The afternoons will be free."

"And who's the governess going to be?"

"Ah, that we must leave for the present. She must be as different from your young governesses as chalk is from cheese. If a governess and pupils do not like each other, no good will be done. There is going to be no dislike in this new home of ours."

"We'd like the sitting-room of our own, if we can furnish it as we like, and we shall like the picnics and fire in the afternoons, but it's the lessons in the mornings that we don't want."

"That will have to be thought about. The best thing will be to call a truce between us, and have pax for a month. Give the new system a trial. Then we'll have another pow-wow and see if it is to be stopped, or go on."

"How will it be stopped?"

"I suppose school must be tried again."

The little girls' faces wrinkled up in disgust.

Then Anstice leant forward with a flash in her eyes, and great earnestness in her voice.

"Oh, don't be weak inefficients! Have grit and purpose and determination in your lives. Does anyone get to the top of the Fells here and enjoy the lovely views without the trouble or toil of climbing? Can't you endure anything that may be a little hard and dull at first? Do you mean to go through life wrapped in rose-leaves and letting others carry you over the stony places? Won't you prove yourselves men, my brothers, men of courage, of heroic patience and determination? Won't you brace your shoulders and prove yourselves men of mettle? And scorn to be afraid of the necessary difficulties that come before you? You are no longer infants in the nursery, to play with toys all day and be lulled to sleep after you are fed. You are no animals to eat, and drink, and go your own way like the cows and the sheep feeding and wandering to and fro in the Park with no one to hinder their movements."

Three pairs of eyes were staring hard now at Anstice.

Then she smiled.

"I forget. I think of you as older, more reasonable than perhaps you are. I have been talking over your heads."

But she had not. Never in their lives had the children been talked to like this, but they liked it. And being intelligent, perhaps precocious for their age, they understood, and their hearts had responded quickly, as an instrument might respond to the skilled hand which with a touch knows how to draw out its beauty.

Another pause followed Anstice's words.

"Shall we have a month's trial of my plan?" she said.

The little girls were silent. They looked at Ruffie, and then very quietly, he pointed his two thumbs upwards.

"Yes, we'll try. It's a truce remember, only a truce."

"But it will be pax for a month," said Anstice quietly, "and I give you notice that I'm going to try hard for 'Pax' altogether. Now let us smoke the pipe of peace, my brothers, and we'll have a drink of 'Honeybunny.'"

She rang the bell. Her delicious concoction had been made, and Brenda brought it in on a tray. Four glasses were handed round and filled with some golden fizzy drink. The children sipped and pretended to smoke.

"It's like honey and wine and sherbet and lemon," said Ruffie appreciatively.

"If Ruffie had held his thumbs down, you'd have been done for," said Josie, turning to Anstice confidentially.

"Then I have only just escaped by the skin of my teeth," said Anstice. "I must be thankful."

The "pow-wow" was over. Anstice felt in her heart that she had made a good beginning.