The Third Miss St Quentin
“Beware, my child,” she said, as they walked down the drive, “of imagining causes of unhappiness. One is so apt to do so when one is young,” and she sighed.
“Ah, but I have some real troubles,” Ella replied, “troubles that no one could deny. I have no mother, you know, Fräulein, and only half-sisters who till lately were complete strangers to me.”
“Certainly the want of a mother is a great want,” her companion agreed. “But an elder sister may go far towards making up for it.”
“Ye-es, sometimes,” acquiesced Ella. But the tone was enough.
“Poor little girl,” thought Fräulein Braune when she left her, “she does seem lonely. And she is so lovable! Miss St Quentin must be of a cold nature.” Ella retraced her steps: it was cold, but she walked slowly. She felt sure Sir Philip would not be staying long; as he had come over so early, and she wandered about the grounds, choosing the side of the house from which she would not be visible to any one leaving it, in hopes of not re-entering it till he had gone.
But it grew too chilly at last. She determined to make her way in by the conservatory whence she could run up stairs to her own room without much risk of meeting any one. The conservatory felt pleasantly warm: she lingered in it for a moment or two, not observing at first that the door leading from it into the drawing-room was open, nor indeed attaching any consequence to the fact when she did observe it: the drawing-room was never used by the family in the earlier part of the day. Suddenly she heard voices. They were those of Madelene and her cousin.
“I can’t find it, Philip,” said the former. “Aunty must forgive my carelessness. I will send it back to-morrow before her Mudie box goes.”
“May not Ella know where it is?” Sir Philip suggested.
“Possibly. I think I saw her reading it. But she is at her German lesson and it is a pity to interrupt her.”
“Goodness, Madelene, you talk as if she were about twelve years old,” said Philip irritably. “When are you going to allow the poor girl to consider herself grown-up? At her age, you – ”
“It is no good going back upon what I was,” Miss St Quentin interrupted. “I was quite different, and circumstances were quite different. I do my best with Ella, though I fear I don’t succeed in making her happy. It has been a sore subject.”
“When – when Ermine goes, you must make more of a companion of her,” Sir Philip suggested. “And then – some day – if Ella goes in the same way – ”
“It would simplify matters of course; that is to say if it was for her happiness,” said Madelene, half reluctantly, it seemed to Ella.
“I should rather think it would. Why then Omar might take up his quarters here for good. He would be a perfect right-hand to Uncle Marcus. I can understand your feeling that with Ella here it might not be a pleasant or natural position for him. Uncle Marcus scarcely counts as a third person – he is so much in his own room.”
“Philip, don’t talk about it,” said Madelene decidedly. “You almost seem to want to tempt me into wishing Ella away. Very certainly with both her and my father in a sense on my hands I have no right to undertake other ties. And if both Ermine and I married, it would complicate matters financially, you know.”
“Yes, I do know,” said Philip, “and I repeat what I said. It would be a very good thing if Ella – ”
“Oh, do be quiet, Philip,” said Madelene in a tone almost of entreaty. “She is much too young, and – by the time there is any prospect of her being provided for, it will be too late for me.”
Sir Philip gave a sort of grunt, which did not express assent, but he said no more.
“It is cold in here,” said Madelene. “Come back to the library.”
“I must be going,” he replied. “You have letters to write I know, and if Ella is to be shut-up at her lessons all the afternoon, the prospect is not lively.” Then Ella heard them leave the room.
With a rush there came over her the realisation of what she had been doing – “Listening!” Her face grew scarlet with shame but not for long.
“I could not have helped it,” she thought with a kind of defiance. “Their very first words were about me: I should never have known the truth had I interrupted them. And at all costs it was best to know it. Now I need have no hesitation. I will not stay another night here – they shall never be troubled by me again.”
Her face glowed as she recalled some of the expressions she had overheard. Then again she felt perplexed at certain allusions she could not explain. What did Madelene mean by speaking of “financial” complications?
“We are all three sisters; it isn’t as if one of us were a son,” she thought. “Even if most is to go to Madelene as the eldest, papa is certainly rich enough to provide well for Ermine and me too. Not that I want their money – I shall let them see that. I don’t in the least mind earning my own living, and I am sure I am able to do so. I should thank papa, I suppose, for having made me work hard since I have been here. It is as if he had foreseen it.” Then her thoughts took another turn. Who was “Omar”? Some one that Madelene was to marry, or would have married already, it appeared, but for her, Ella’s, unlucky advent.
“Everything of course, everything unfortunate is put upon my shoulders,” she reflected bitterly. “Still Madelene means to be good and unselfish, I do believe. She shall not be sacrificed to me. And when she is married to this Mr Omar, whoever he is, and Ermine to Sir Philip, I don’t think they will have much to reproach me with, ‘sore subject’ though I am.”
She sat still for a moment or two till she felt a little more collected. Then she crept quietly up stairs to her own room, locked the door by way of precaution and set to work.
All her belongings were together and in neat order. “It will be quite easy for any one to pack everything up,” she thought. Then she dressed herself in her warmest clothes, put a few things into a bag not too heavy for her to carry, and when all was ready, sat down to write a few words, which, as is the fashion of heroines in such circumstances, she fastened conspicuously to her toilet pincushion. The note was addressed to Miss St Quentin and contained these words: —
“I overheard what you and Sir Philip were talking about in the drawing-room; I know it was dishonourable to listen, but I could not help it, after the first. It is not my fault that I have been such a sore trouble to you hitherto, but it would be if I stayed here, knowing better now. I will write to you when my plans are settled, but it isn’t any use sending after me, as I am not going anywhere you know. I hope you will be very happy – and I hope Ermine will be very happy too. Please tell papa I see now how wise it was to make me go on with my lessons.
“Your affectionate sister, —
“Ella Marcia St Quentin.”
Then Ella made her way quietly down stairs, and out by a side-door. She met no one, and keeping as long as possible in the shade of the shrubberies, she gained the lodge, then the outer gates, a quarter of a mile further off, finding herself finally on the high road to Coombe. She knew her way quite well, though it was now growing dusk. She knew too what she meant to do, so she walked on without hesitating.
“I have nearly three pounds in my purse,” she reflected. “That will do. But I must get on as fast as I can. I don’t suppose Madelene will miss me till about five o’clock; it must be almost that now, and if they sent along the road they might overtake me.”
She hastened her steps; there was a short cut to Coombe through the lanes, which she knew, and by walking very fast, she reached her destination without risk of being overtaken.
Chapter Eighteen
A Decided Step
Fräulein Braune was sitting in her modest lodging over the Coombe post-office when the door opened and the maid-servant announced a visitor. The good lady started up in surprise, but before she had time to greet the new-comer, the latter cautiously shut the door, and then hastened towards her exclaiming as she threw off her hat and veil.
“It is I, Fräulein, Ella St Quentin. I have come to ask you a great favour. Will you let me stay with you for to-night? I have left my home and I don’t want them to know where I am just yet. Next week – as soon as I am settled – I shall write to them, but not yet. I must first – ”
“You have run away from home,” interrupted the governess. “Oh, my dear Miss Ella, that is a sad step to take! Think how frightened they will all be.”
“No,” said Ella, “I have taken care of that. And I had the best reasons. There has been no quarrel, but I have found out that I am a great burden and trouble to them all. It will be an immense relief to them. I cannot explain all without telling you what I have no right to tell, but you must believe what I say. It is not as if I had been brought up at home. I have only been with them about eight months: they will soon forget I have been there at all and everything will get straight now I have left.”
Ella spoke so fast and decidedly that for a moment or two Fräulein Braune felt confused and bewildered. But though timid and gentle she was a woman of considerable common-sense. She saw that for the moment at least, there was no use in arguing with the girl.
“And what do you propose to do then, my dear?” she said. “Where will you go to-morrow when you leave this – if – if it is arranged for you to stay here to-night?”
Ella looked at her for a moment or two without speaking.
“Fräulein,” she said, “you must be candid with me. I came to you because I thought I could trust you. But if I am mistaken, if you intend to do anything towards making me go home again, or telling my people where I am, then I tell you plainly I will go away from this house at once leaving no trace of myself, and neither you nor any one will be able to find me again, I warn you.”
The governess considered a moment. Ella looked resolute and probably meant what she said.
“What do you want me to promise you, my dear?” Fräulein Braune said quietly.
“That you will not – you must give me your word of honour that you will not – tell any of my people anything about me till or unless I give you leave.”
“Very well,” Fräulein Braune replied. “I give you my promise. There is little fear but that they will be able to find her at once if they think it best to set to work vigorously,” she reflected. “And anything is better than that she should be seen running about by herself, or that she should take some foolish step through her inexperience – I give you my promise,” she repeated.
Ella looked relieved.
“Then,” she said. “I will tell you my plan,” and she proceeded to do so.
When she had finished, she looked up at the German lady inquiringly.
“It is not a bad plan?” she asked. “There is nothing wild and silly about it.”
“No,” Fräulein Braune replied, “I don’t know that there is if, that is to say, your leaving your home is absolutely unavoidable. But, my dear Miss Ella, one thing I must insist upon. I will go to London with you to-morrow. I cannot let you travel alone.”
“I’m not the least afraid of travelling alone,” began Ella hastily, “and I have the exact address. And – it will cost a good deal, Fräulein, even if we go second-class and – I haven’t much money.”
“You shall repay me some day,” said the good governess, “but that I go with you is decided. It must be – on every account.”
Ella sighed.
“It is very kind of you,” she said, “but I wish you wouldn’t.”
There was determination however, as well as kindness in Fräulein Braune’s grey eyes. Ella had to give in.
She shared her friend’s evening meal, though not daring to eat as much as she was inclined to do, when she saw how very modest it was. She would not allow the governess to give up her bed to her, as she wished, but insisted on spending the night with the aid of a pillow or two, on the little hair-covered sofa in the sitting-room. It was not very comfortable, she owned to herself, when Fräulein Braune had left her, very much less so than the cosy bed in the despised “nursery” at Coombesthorpe. And she was hungry too, really hungry, for she had had no luncheon to speak of, no afternoon tea at all, a very long walk in the cold and only enough supper to whet her hearty girlish appetite!
“I must get used to it,” she said to herself. “I can’t expect more than the bare necessaries of life now.” But she was so tired that in spite of all, she fell asleep and slept soundly.
It was morning already when she awoke – some moments of bewilderment as to what had happened and where she was were followed by a gradual recollection of the painful events of the preceding day. Then Fräulein Braune in a curiously befrilled headgear which Ella supposed must be a German nightcap, peeped in, to see if her guest was awake. Ella started up nervously.
“It is time to be getting ready, I suppose?” she said. “I was forgetting.”
“Yes,” said the governess. “If you have really kept to your determination of – ”
“Of course I have,” said Ella sharply. “I shall be dressed in ten minutes; there will be time to catch the early train, will there not?”
“Oh, yes, if we are quick,” Fräulein Braune replied. Not that she would have been sorry if they had missed it, poor woman! But she was in secret hopes that Ella’s friends would have already communicated with the railway officials, and that her escapade would come to a premature ending at the station.
Nothing of the kind happened however, and the German was obliged to own to herself when fairly off on their journey, seated opposite Ella in a second-class compartment that it really did not look as if the poor girl’s family cared much about her. Still the more she thought it all over the more satisfied she became that she had acted not only kindly, but wisely in accompanying her pupil.
“She would never have got on without me,” the governess reflected, “though she is too childish to understand that. It will be easy to confide in Mrs Ward so far as is necessary to ensure her taking care of Ella in the meantime, without Ella’s in the least suspecting anything of the kind.”
And indeed though the girl’s heart and mind were very troubled and sore, she was feeling no special practical anxiety about her prospects. She had no misgiving as to the feasibility of the plan she had made, and was in no way surprised when things turned out pretty much in accordance with her own ideas.
Mrs Ward was the matron or superintendent of a small “Home” for governesses. Ella had once in past years, when little more than a child, called at this institution with her aunt to inquire for a young girl temporarily there, in whom Mrs Robertson took an interest. Ella had been struck by Mrs Ward’s kindly, capable manner and sensible advice, and the whole incident had been recalled to her memory recently by Fräulein Braune speaking of this very institution as her usual head-quarters when in London. And to go there and apply for a situation as governess in France or Germany had been the girl’s idea.
The winter afternoon was fast closing in, it was dusk, almost dark when the cab containing Ella and her escort drew up at 29 Percival Terrace. As had been agreed between the two during their railway journey, Fräulein Braune got out first, leaving Ella alone to await the result of her interview with Mrs Ward. It had been raining, a cold sleety regular London winter rain. Ella shivered as she gazed out at the sloppy pavement, glistening in the light of an adjacent gas lamp.
“I had no idea London could look so dreary,” she thought. Then her fancy pictured the spacious comfortable library at Coombesthorpe as it must be looking at that moment – the fire burning brightly, throwing warm reflections on the crimson carpet and the dull rich bindings of the books, while Madelene made tea at the pretty table with its sparkling silver “equipage,” and Colonel St Quentin lay back in his chair talking to her as she did so.
“And,” went on Ella to herself, “very likely Sir Philip is there too, unless he has gone off to Ermine again. They are none of them troubling themselves about me – that’s plain. But it’s better so. I could not stand it – no I could not go back again.”
Just then the door of the house opened and Fräulein Braune came out. She smiled at Ella.
“It is all right,” she said. “Mrs Ward insists on my staying the night, though I had intended going back at once.”
“Oh no, no, that would never have done, dear Fräulein,” said Ella, as she sprang out.
Then the governess paid the cabman and they went in.
“What did Mrs Ward say?” asked Ella, when they were in the hall.
“She will tell you herself,” Fräulein Braune replied. “I – I thought it right to tell her your name, Ella.”
“Of course. I have no intention of concealing it,” Ella replied haughtily. “But you made her promise not to write home or anything of that kind, Fräulein? You know I shall do so myself as soon as ever I am settled.”
“Yes,” said the German lady calmly, as she opened the door of the room where Mrs Ward was waiting for them.
Ella at once stated her wishes. Mrs Ward listened quietly, though now and then a quiet smile lighted up her face.
“You don’t think it would be difficult to get a situation such as I should be fit for?” said the young lady in conclusion.
Mrs Ward hesitated.
“No,” she said, “I think I might put you in the way of something of the kind. But it would be only a modest beginning, particularly as you want to leave England. You would have no salary at your age, or if any, very little. Your best chance would be a situation au pair, as it is called. I have one or two on my books.”
“What does that mean?” asked Ella, whose countenance had fallen a little.
“You would have to teach English and in return for that you would have board and lodging and certain facilities for acquiring French or German, or both. I have an application at this moment from a school in Germany of this kind.” And she turned to a large ledger on the table.
Ella’s face for the first time expressed perplexity and misgiving. “No salary,” she said to herself. “Well, after all I have clothes enough to last a good while and the great thing is to get something settled.” She turned abruptly to Mrs Ward.
“I will accept that situation,” she said. “I am eager to be settled. Can I go at once?”
Fräulein Braune gave an exclamation.
“My dear Miss Ella!” she said.
“Things of this kind are not settled quite so quickly, my dear young lady,” said Mrs Ward with a smile. “However I will write about it at once, and you can stay here till I get an answer. But – you in the meantime must get your parents’ leave. You are not of age and I could not take the responsibility of sending you away anywhere unauthorised by them.”
Ella looked very blank.
“I mean to tell them when I am settled,” she said. “I – I did not want to do so before.”
“You must think it over,” said Mrs Ward. “In the meantime I will write the letter. Now, Fräulein Braune, you know the house. Tea will be ready in a few minutes. Will you take Miss St Quentin up stairs to Number 5: it is the only unoccupied room, and when you hear the bell ring please come down to the dining-room for tea.”
Ella followed Fräulein Braune up stairs in silence; she looked grave and perplexed and the kind woman’s heart was touched. But she thought it best and wisest to leave the girl to her own reflections. It was not till the next morning, when her friend was about to leave, that anything was said.
“I have been thinking it all over,” Ella began.
“I see it is no use trying to keep my plans a secret, and after all it will not make much difference, as I always meant to write home eventually. But I don’t want to write myself, just yet. If it is not asking too much, Fräulein, will you be so kind as to see my father or my sister as soon as you go back to Coombe and tell them where I am, what I intend, so that they can write to Mrs Ward and satisfy her? I don’t think there will be any difficulty; certainly not with my sister, and my father will probably be so angry, that he won’t care what I do. You can see for yourself that they are not anxious about me, or they would have done something.”
Fräulein Braune could scarcely gainsay this. She was too experienced not to know that nothing would have been easier than to trace Ella by this time had her friends cared to do so.
“Will you see them for me, dear Fräulein?” Ella repeated.
Fräulein Braune was only too delighted to do so, and to free herself from the responsibility which was very heavy upon her. But to Ella she felt it was wiser not to express her satisfaction too strongly; any approach to “crowing over” the girl might still be fatal in its results.
“Certainly I will see them. I shall go out to Coombesthorpe to-morrow morning. I would go this evening but I fear it will be too late.”
“Oh I wouldn’t think of going to-night,” said Ella, with a little smile. “They are not uneasy. It is for my own sake I ask you to go soon. I am so anxious to have it all settled about this place in Germany.” Mrs Ward was well pleased to learn from Fräulein Braune what had been arranged between her and Ella.
“They will never let her go to Germany,” said the matron. “It would be almost a scandal – people in such a position as theirs.”
Fräulein Braune shook her head.
“I don’t know I’m sure,” she replied. “It does not seem as if they cared for her. I do not know much of the private relations of the family – Ella is not an indiscreet girl and has not told me more than was necessary. But I do not think they can care for her, and perhaps they will let her go as a sort of punishment.”
“Ah, well, we shall see,” said Mrs Ward. Her position had brought her in contact with many curious phases of family life.
The day dragged on slowly for Ella. She had nothing to do and for a great part of the time no one to speak to, for of the dozen or so governesses, young or old, at present domiciled in the “Home,” a proportion was engaged as daily teachers and the rest were busy running about to see or be seen with a view to finding situations. It was not till the afternoon that Ella, on re-entering the neat chilly-looking drawing-room found a temporary companion. This was a girl of two or three-and-twenty, whose pleasant, sensible face had already struck Ella agreeably. She was knitting busily, but looked up with a smile when the young stranger appeared.
“You must be rather dull, here,” she said. “It is all very well when one is busy, but I could not stand it for long if I were not so. It is weeks since I have had a quiet, lazy afternoon.”
“Then have you been here long?” Ella inquired. “Some months. I was fortunate in getting a daily engagement which has enabled me to save a little. So now I am going to Switzerland. I have never had a chance of speaking French, but I could not have gone without any money, you see.”
“Won’t you get a salary then?” said Ella.
The girl shook her head.
“Not the first year, and I’m not sure that I shall want to stay a second. A friend of mine has a girls’ school, and if I can speak French well she may be able to find work for me with her.”
“But should you like that as well as being abroad?” said Ella, opening her eyes. “I think Switzerland is so charming. I’ve been there a good deal.”
“Ah, yes – travelling or visiting there is charming no doubt. But to be a governess is very different. One has to put up with a good deal in such cases, but of course when it is a question of acquiring the language, one doesn’t mind anything, does one?”
“I can’t say,” replied Ella rather loftily. “I can speak French quite well. I don’t care about going abroad on that account.”
She rather resented the “rowing in the same boat” tone of her new acquaintance.
“Oh, I thought some one said you were going to Germany – to Wahlbrunn, I know about the place —au pair, as they say.”
“Perhaps I am,” said Ella dryly. Her companion glanced at her half curiously. She could not quite “make her out.”
“I wonder you go abroad if you don’t care about the language,” she said. “You’ll have to rough it you may be sure, and I don’t fancy you’ll like that.”
“I dare say not, but that part of it can’t be helped,” said Ella smiling a little. “But it won’t be worse for me than for others.”
“I don’t know that,” the girl replied. “You look as if you had had a nice home and all that kind of thing. I’ve never had a home; I was an orphan as a baby – that makes a difference.”
