Robin Redbreast: A Story for Girls

'Will you kiss me, Jacinth?' Bessie had said. 'I have been so glad to know you.'

'I have not felt sorry enough for them perhaps,' Jacinth had allowed to herself. 'But really, there are so many sad things in the world, one would wear one's self out with being sorry for everybody.'

'How did you know about it?' Frances repeated.

'I heard something a good while ago from Honor Falmouth; don't you remember?' said Jacinth. 'And last week she told me more, only she said they didn't want any fuss made about it. She heard it from friends. But Frances, do try and cheer up. You've been as kind – at least as affectionate – as you could be to the Harpers. We hadn't it in our power to ask them here or anything like that. I'm sure you tried to get Aunt Alison to ask them, over and over again. And you won't do them any good by crying about their troubles, you know, dear. Perhaps they may come back to school some time or other, even if they're away next term.'

'Thank you, dear Jass,' said Frances, wiping her eyes. 'You're very kind. I'll try and not be dull.'

She would perhaps have been less grateful for Jacinth's sympathy had she understood the relief it was to her sister, notwithstanding her genuine pity for them, to know that the Harpers were not likely to be associated with them any more. Their presence at Ivy Lodge, ever since the acquaintance with Lady Myrtle – more especially since Jacinth herself had become fully informed as to the whole history – had been a perpetual irritation and almost a reproach to her. And the pertinacity with which she repeated to herself that it was not her business to take up the cudgels in the Harpers' behalf, of itself suggested a weak point somewhere – a touch of the self-excusing which tries to whiten over the unacknowledged self-blame.

Now, Jacinth could afford to let herself feel sorry for Bessie and Margaret and their family – could even picture to herself ways in which some day, in some vague future, she and Frances might show kindness to their former school-fellows.

'If I were rich,' thought Jacinth, 'they're just the sort of people I'd love to be good to; of course one would have to do it very carefully, so as not to offend them.'

Frances was still looking somewhat lugubrious when the door opened and Miss Mildmay senior came in. It was not very often that their aunt paid the girls a visit in their own little sitting-room, and they both looked up with some curiosity.

'I had a letter from Lady Myrtle this morning,' she said. 'I did not want to speak about it before Eugene' – for Eugene had lately been promoted to breakfast down-stairs – 'as I was not sure what you and Frances would wish about it. It is an invitation for you all – Eugene too – to spend Christmas at Robin Redbreast. Christmas time, I should say. Lady Myrtle invites you all three for a week, and Jacinth for a fortnight. What do you say?'

Frances said nothing, but Jacinth looked up quickly.

'I think it would be unnatural for us all to go away from you for Christmas, Aunt Alison,' she said.

Miss Mildmay smiled.

'A lonely Christmas would be nothing new to me, my dear child,' she said; but she spoke without any bitterness.

'I'll stay with you, Aunt Alison,' said Frances, eagerly. 'I really don't care about going to Robin Redbreast, and it's Jacinth Lady Myrtle wants. Do let me and Eugene stay here; Eugene needn't be told about it at all.'

'Thank you, my dear,' said their aunt. 'Thank you both. But – do not think me ungracious – when I spoke of a lonely Christmas, I only meant that I have not been used to a family party. I am always very happy and very busy on Christmas – and I think I should be missed if I were not here. I should have told you that Lady Myrtle very kindly invites me too – for Christmas Day – but that would not suit me at all. I must be here in the evening, and indeed I am wanted all day; but I was trying to arrange to do less, so as to be with you three in the afternoon at least.'

'Then – to put it plainly – it would be rather a relief to you for us all to be away?' asked Jacinth.

'Well, yes – in a sense it would. That is to say, if I knew you were happy and well looked after,' said Miss Mildmay, smiling again.

'There, Francie,' said Jacinth, 'you see it is much the best thing that could have happened. And of course you and Eugene must come. I suppose we shall take Phebe, Aunt Alison?'

'Certainly, my dear.'

The mention of Phebe seemed to cheer Frances. 'I shouldn't mind so much, if Eugene and I could go walks,' she said. 'But you know, Aunt Alison, Jass must be a great deal with Lady Myrtle, and I shouldn't know what to do all day, and Eugene wouldn't either.'

'It'll be all right, you'll see,' said Jacinth, who, now that she was satisfied as to her aunt, felt in high spirits. 'You can go about just as you like with Phebe, and it's only for a week. I don't think I should stay more than a week, Aunt Alison?'

'I cannot say,' her aunt replied. 'I almost think you should, if Lady Myrtle wishes it. That week – the week after Christmas week – I think I could help to amuse Frances and Eugene. We shall be having our children's feasts, and they could be very useful.'

'I should like that!' said Frances eagerly.

So all seemed satisfactory, and Miss Mildmay left them, to write her answer to Lady Myrtle. Human nature is very inconsistent. The maiden lady of a certain age could not repress a sigh as she sat down at her desk: she had not realised till now that all was changed; how she had been looking forward to something like an orthodox Christmas for once, in her prim old house – how she had been planning about the plum-puddings and cakes, even while groaning a little over the reversal of her usual habits!

'But it is much better as it is,' she decided. 'They will be quite happy, and poor old Lady Myrtle will be less lonely than for many years. She may be a good friend to Eugenia and the children in the future. And as for me, I don't know how they would have managed without me at St Blaise's, after all.'

And the young Mildmays – Frances included —were very happy at Robin Redbreast.

Things settled themselves very much as Jacinth had foreseen. Under Phebe's care the two younger ones were left free to run about as they chose during such parts of the day as Jacinth found that their hostess liked to have her with herself. And the children were much more accustomed to this sort of life than if they had ever known thorough home care. For even at Stannesley Mrs Denison's age and fragile health had often made it impossible for them to be with her as much as she would have liked: they had early learned to be 'very good at amusing themselves.'

On Christmas Day the large landau, quite roomy enough for half a dozen instead of four, took them all to Elvedon church, where they sat with Lady Myrtle in the square, be-curtained pew – one of those appropriated to the Court, which was kept for the lady from Robin Redbreast.

'It felt very like Stannesley,' was the verdict of the two younger ones, who had not been at Elvedon before, which seemed to please Lady Myrtle.

'Yes,' she said. 'I think you will feel more at home than if you spent the day at Thetford.'

And the prettily decorated rooms, and the old folk who came in for dinner in the servants' hall, and the roast turkey and flaming plum-pudding and snapdragon afterwards – yes, though they were only such a very small party, just they three and the old lady instead of their own granny, and no Uncle Marmy to make his jokes – still it was much more homelike than No. 9 Market Square Place could possibly have been. And when Frances went to bed that night, glancing with pleasure at the pretty presents so thoughtfully provided for her – a dear little gold pencil-case in a bracelet from Lady Myrtle, a pair of gloves from Aunt Alison, and a handkerchief with a red embroidered border from Jacinth and Eugene – the child felt that she had indeed a great many 'good things' to be thankful for.

'If only' – she thought. 'Oh, how I would like to think that Bessie and Margaret are happy too! I am so afraid that they are very, very sad about their father.'

Christmas Day was a Thursday. It was always considered a lucky coincidence by the young Mildmays when letters from their far-off parents reached them on the very day of any anniversary. But this year the Christmas budget only arrived the morning before Frances and Eugene were returning to Thetford. Miss Mildmay sent it on by a special messenger, knowing how anxious her nieces would be to get their letters. And a mysterious allusion in the little note from her which accompanied them made Jacinth start and call out to Frances.

'Look at what Aunt Alison says, before you read your letter, Francie. What can she mean?'

This was what Jacinth pointed to: 'I have heard from your father and mother also,' wrote Miss Mildmay. 'The great piece of news will surprise you as much as it has surprised me. I shall be glad to have you back again to talk it all over.' The sisters stared at each other, their lips parted and their breath coming quickly.

Then said Jacinth at last: 'It can't be anything wrong, Francie. Aunt Alison never would have written of it like that, if it had been.'

'No,' said Frances, though her voice was rather tremulous; 'of course it can't be.'

'And,' continued Jacinth, 'how silly we are to sit here wondering about it, when we've only to look at our letters to know! Here goes, Francie!' and she tore open her own envelope; 'let's see which of us will get at it first.'

Frances unfastened her letter more deliberately. It was a much shorter one than Jacinth's, and she had scarcely glanced at the first few lines when she sprang from her seat with a sort of shriek.

'They're coming home, Jass! that's the secret. Oh Jass, Jass, listen: "As I may hope to see you before long, my darling, I won't attempt to write very much." That's it. Oh Jassie, sweet, they're coming home!'

Jacinth's face had grown pink, then white again, whiter than usual, as she rapidly ran through her own letter.

'Yes,' she said at last, 'it's – no, it's not quite so good as that. Mamma's coming first: she'll be here in the spring; but papa's not coming for some months later. He's got to go somewhere for some kind of inspection, where mamma couldn't go with him, and after that, he's got six months' leave, which may or may not – I don't quite understand. Listen, Francie: "During this leave your father will have time to decide as to the future. It is possible he may have the offer of an appointment in England, which would obviate the necessity of our returning to India. But even if he has this chance, there are fors and againsts to consider: the appointment is not in some ways a very desirable one; it would oblige us to live for some, perhaps for several years in a large manufacturing town in the north of England, and it would be very hard work for your father. Still, we might – we should be all together."'

Frances heaved a deep sigh of intense longing.

'Oh yes,' she said, 'that would be everything.'

'No, I don't see that it would be,' said Jacinth. 'I should hate living in a place like that; and then think of the hard work for papa. When he does come home I want him to be quite his own master, and, and – to be rather grand, you know. I should not mind his having an appointment in London, or some county thing that wouldn't give him much to do, about here perhaps. But to go and slave in some horrid dirty place where there would be no one we could speak to; that would be a come-down after the position he has had in India.'

'Oh Jass,' said Frances, 'don't let us spoil this beautiful news by thinking of anything disagreeable. Papa must know best, far better than we can. Do go on reading the letter. Mamma says I'm to ask you everything.'

Jacinth's eyes returned to the sheets in her hand. Her face cleared a little.

'There's something else,' she said. 'Oh, I should like that far better. Listen, Frances: "Your father has also the certainty of a good – as to position and agreeableness – appointment in London; but the pay would be much, much less, so he is not taking this into consideration. So the chances are that we may have to return to India after his leave is over, and be joined by you, dear Jass, a year later; though at worst I hope we shall be settled in England before my little Francie would be ready to come out. But I don't mean to think of anything at present but the unexpected joy of seeing you all three again so soon. I am writing to your aunt, to know if she can find a little house at Thetford where we can be together. You will just have been one year with her, and I do thank her for her care of you. It all seems to have fitted in so well. When you see Lady Myrtle Goodacre, thank her again from me for her kindness to you, and tell her what a pleasure it has been to me to think of it. Tell her, too, how much I am looking forward to meeting again my mother's dearest friend."'

'You will tell Lady Myrtle at once,' said Frances.

'Yes, of course,' said Jacinth, but she spoke half absently. Her eyes were still fixed on her mother's letter.

'I don't see why he shouldn't even "take it into consideration,"' she repeated to herself. 'We can't be so desperately poor as all that. I shall take it into consideration, any way, my dear mother;' and she smiled a little. 'Yes, Frances,' she went on, looking up, and speaking more decidedly; 'of course I'll tell Lady Myrtle. I think I'll go and tell her now. I know she is alone in the boudoir. And, Francie, you may tell Eugene.'

'May I?' exclaimed Frances, jumping up. 'Oh, thank you, Jass. I'm not sure,' she went on, 'I'm not sure that Eugene can feel quite so – so wild with happiness as I do. Oh Jass, it is almost too much. It takes my breath away.' She was running out of the room, when she looked back for a moment.

'Jass,' she began with a little hesitation, 'does mamma say anything more about Mrs Lyle, their aunt, you know? I wonder if she has seen her again?'

'She is sure to have seen her again. They are living close together,' said Jacinth. 'But she doesn't say anything about her in this letter. Why should she?' Jacinth's tone was growing a little acrid. 'May she not for once be taken up with our own affairs? what can be more important than all she has to tell us? I do wish, Frances, you wouldn't drag these Harpers into everything; it is really bad taste.'

Frances was not very clear as to what 'bad taste' meant, but she was very sorry to have vexed Jacinth.

'It was only,' she said, 'only that it seems as if all the happiness were coming to us, and all the troubles to them. And I was so glad mamma was sorry for them.'

'You speak as if they were our nearest relations,' said Jacinth, 'instead of being, as they are, actual strangers.'

But she was not sure if Frances heard her. She had already run off.

Jacinth followed her down-stairs more slowly. They had been sitting in the elder girl's bedroom, which, with its cheerful outlook and pleasant arrangements of writing-table and bookcases and sofa, and fire burning brightly, was rather a favourite resort of theirs in the morning, before Lady Myrtle was free from her various occupations. For she was a busy and methodical old lady.

The staircase was one of the pretty features of Robin Redbreast: though a spiral one, the steps were pleasantly shallow, and every here and there it was lighted by quaintly shaped windows.

'How I love this house!' said Jacinth to herself, as she passed out round the gallery, already described, on into the conservatory, even at that mid-winter season a blaze of lovely brilliant colour. 'If – oh, if it were going to be our home some time or other, how beautiful it would be to look forward to! how delightful it would make mamma's coming back! I can't bear to think of papa's having that horrid appointment up in the north. I'd rather keep on as we are, and go out to India when I'm old enough.'

She had loitered a moment among the flowers; the door of Lady Myrtle's boudoir was slightly ajar; the old lady's ears were quick; she heard even the slight rustle of Jacinth's skirts, and called out to her.

'Is that you, dear Jacinth? Come in – I have finished my letters and accounts, and was just going to send for you.'

And as the girl hastened in, Lady Myrtle looked up with a bright smile of welcome. It was pleasant to be thus greeted: a change from Aunt Alison's calm unimpassioned placidity.

'Dear Lady Myrtle,' said Jacinth, 'I don't know how to tell you our news. We have got our Christmas letters from papa and mamma; Aunt Alison sent out a messenger on purpose with them. And Francie and I have just read them. And – what do you think?'

She sat down on a stool at Lady Myrtle's feet and looked up in her face. The old lady laid her hand fondly on the girl's soft hair.

'Nothing wrong, dear; I can see by your face. What can it be? Not – it can't be that they are coming home?'

Jacinth's eyes sparkled.

'Yes, indeed,' she said; 'that's just what it is. At least it's not quite that they're coming home for good; I wish it were. But if you like, if it won't bother you, I'll read you mamma's letter.'

'Yes, do, dear,' said the old lady.

And Jacinth did so, congratulating herself on what had disappointed Frances, that there was no mention at all in this letter of the Harper family or Mrs Lyle.

Lady Myrtle listened with evidently extreme interest. When Jacinth had finished, there was a moment or two's silence. Then Lady Myrtle said quietly but decidedly: 'She must come straight here – your mother, I mean. I shall write to her myself. Don't you think that will be best? It will be the greatest satisfaction to me to see her – little Eugenia – how proud your dear grandmother was of her! A fair-haired, brown-eyed little creature. Not so like my Jacinth as you are, child. But that, one could not expect. It is not often that one sees such a likeness as yours to your grandmother. But I am so thankful to know I may hope to see your mother. Sometimes I have feared' – But here Lady Myrtle broke off without finishing her sentence. 'Jacinth, I want you to talk about it. What can I say to ensure her coming to me? I want to make her feel that it will be really like coming home?'

'Say that to her, dear Lady Myrtle,' Jacinth replied. 'Nothing could touch her more. And I am sure she will love to come here, at any rate for a while, at first. You see she speaks of living at Thetford till papa comes – of having a little house there and us with her. There would not be room in Aunt Alison's house, and besides, I think mamma would like to feel more independent with us three.'

'Of course. I would not at all advise her living in Market Square Place, even if there were room,' said Lady Myrtle. 'In a small house, and with your aunt being accustomed to be the authority – no, it would not do. But there would be no such difficulties here. Your mother must come to me first, and you three must be here, too, to meet her. And then, later on, if she thinks it better to take a little house – well, I shall not oppose her. I am not an unreasonable old woman, am I, my child?'

'No, indeed,' said Jacinth warmly. 'And' – with a little smile – 'I know mamma is very sensible. I can tell it by her letters, and even by what I remember of her. She is eager and hearty – sometimes Francie reminds me of her – but she is never fanciful or obstinate. It sounds impertinent of me talking like that of her, but I think you will understand. And I am sure you and mamma will suit each other.'

'I am sure we shall, dear, though, in a sense, you will always seem the most of your grandmother to me, Jacinth. You see my most vivid memory of her is about your age; it is really as if she had come back to me, sometimes.'

'I do so love you to say that,' said Jacinth.

'But I want to speak of all your mother writes,' the old lady went on. 'I – there can be no harm in my talking to you quite frankly, for I see your mother confides in you, and she is quite right to do so. Jacinth – I don't like the idea of that post, whatever it is, at Barmettle.'

Jacinth drew a deep breath of relief.

'Oh, I am so glad you think so,' she said. 'I scarcely liked to say it – it seems selfish – if it would save papa's going out again, and he has had so much of India; but it would be rather horrid, wouldn't it? And almost a come-down, it seems to me. The other appointment in London would be so much nicer, only living at all nicely in London is so dear, and the pay is smaller. Perhaps it will end after all in papa and mamma going back to India, and my joining them in two or three years.'

Lady Myrtle put out her hand, and clasped Jacinth's firmly in hers.

'No, my child,' she said. 'That must not be. I think when one gets as old as I am, one may be a little selfish; that is to say, if one's selfishness does no one any harm. And your parents have had enough of India; there can be no necessity for their return there, nor for your joining them. No, I could not consent to lose you again – the one thing that has been sent to cheer me! Put all such possibilities out of your mind, my Jacinth. I will write to your mother.'

'And what shall I say to her?' asked Jacinth. 'About all you have said, I mean.'

'Refer her to me. But tell her how you are all —we are all – counting on her coming first to Robin Redbreast, and that then we shall be able to talk over everything. Tell her I cannot consent to giving you up; tell her, as I hope you can, that this place is beginning to feel like home to you.'

'You know I feel it so, dear Lady Myrtle,' said Jacinth simply. 'I think I have been happier here already than I have ever been anywhere else. And I am so glad this news has come while we were here. It makes it doubly delightful. And we shall remember that it came to us here – this Christmas week.'