The Daughters of a Genius Part 10

Now, Hope was a warm-hearted girl, and, as was only natural, had given many a thought to the lover of the future; but it never occurred to her that there was any danger in the interest which she felt in Ralph Merrilies, or in her intense consciousness of his presence. She deluded herself into the belief that she was less cordially disposed to him than to any other member of the party, for she had been warned that another girl considered him her individual property, and was by no means willing to share his attentions. So it came to pa.s.s that she kept quietly in the background, and had little or nothing to say to Truda's cavalier.

On the third evening of Hope's stay at The Shanty the sportsmen came home unusually tired, and for once Truda's after-dinner tricks failed to entertain. The men had no inclination to exert their minds or their muscles either, and turning to Hope, begged her for "a tune."

"The worst of Miss Charrington," sighed Reggie Blake regretfully, "is that she is so painfully cla.s.sical and superior. She never condescends to play a piece whose composer hasn't seven syllables to his name and a sneeze in the middle. They are very clever and all that sort of thing, don't you know, but I always wonder when the tune is going to begin.

Squeak, squeak! in the treble; bang, bang! in the ba.s.s; a rolling like heavy machinery, and all sorts of jerks and breaks when you are least expecting them: that is what you call a 'Gigue.' A bit of a scale repeated over and over again like the tune the old cow died of: that is a 'Fugue.' I've a musical sister at home, so I know. Now, I don't pretend to be cla.s.sical; I like a good, rousing air--something that makes you want to stamp your feet and beat time with your head. Look at Miss Charrington laughing at me! I suppose as a matter of fact you don't _know_ any airs, Miss Charrington?"

"I have a schoolboy brother," answered Hope demurely. She wheeled round on the music-stool and looked at him with dancing eyes; and when Hope looked mischievous, it was something very well worth seeing in those days of young womanhood. "I blush to say," she said slowly--though as a matter of fact she did not blush at all, but looked particularly beaming and complacent--"I blush to say that there is not a single tune at present performed upon the barrel-organs with which I am not intimately acquainted. I shall be happy to accompany you, and to coach you in the words, whenever you feel inclined to perform."

"Hurrah! Good business! Will you really!" cried Reggie, jumping to his feet and hurrying across to the piano, abeam with delight. "Can you manage 'Mrs 'Enry 'Awkins'? That is my stock song, and I sing it wherever I go.--Mrs Loftus, you are dying to hear me sing 'Mrs 'Enry 'Awkins'? I know you are.--Let's tune up at once, Miss Charrington; and a chorus, mind--a rousing old chorus!"

Every one was laughing, and looking of a sudden bright and animated; no one was sleepy any longer. There was a secondary accompaniment of chuckles as Reggie screwed up his thin, ugly face into the most comical of grimaces and half-sang, half-recited the celebrated coster love-song.

Hope's spirited playing made him sing his best, and her clear voice started the chorus with such spirit that presently every one was taking part, tentatively at first, then with quickly growing ardour, until at last the volume of sound became overpowering. Uncle Loftus bellowed himself hoa.r.s.e in his corner, and even his wife's lips moved in sympathetic echo. At the conclusion of the song there was an outburst of applause and laughter which made the performer beside himself with delight.

"To think," he cried, "that we have wasted our time over Wagner and Grieg, and all those foreign Johnnies, when we might have had music like this! I'll sing every night; and we must work up some more choruses.

Mrs Loftus, have you any Gilbert and Sullivan operas in the house?

Couldn't we have a try at them?"

Why not, indeed? No sooner said than done. Out came the operas from the music cabinet, and as half-a-dozen voices urged the claims of half-a-dozen favourites, there was plainly nothing to be done but take each in turn. The chorus was by way of being a scratch combination--one treble; one alto, who had to accompany as well as sing, and also to put in all the high notes, because the treble declared that she could not possibly "go" above F; two tenors, by no means as correct as they might have been; and an army of heavy, dragging ba.s.s--but what was lacking in ability was made up by fervour.

Mr Merrilies did not sing, but he volunteered to turn over the pages, and seating himself by Hope's side, watched her face for the signal which was to guide his inexperience. At first this signal was a quick glance at his face, but as time went on this was replaced by a nod of the head or an upward jerk of the hand--for there was something in the expression of those watchful eyes which was embarra.s.sing to meet at close quarters. They talked quietly together between the choruses, while the different parts were wrangling loudly, each laying the blame upon the other, and calling attention to his own superior performance: and it was not in girl nature to be ignorant of the fact that Ralph seemed far less concerned about the music than her own comfort. The lamp was moved because it dazzled her eyes; the book was raised to a more convenient angle; a door was closed to avoid a draught; and all in a quiet, un.o.btrusive manner that made the attention doubly acceptable.

Members of large families are not accustomed to have their wishes gratified almost before they are realised, and are all the more ready to appreciate such consideration from a stranger.

Hope played, and sang, and instructed--gave leads, banged insistently upon notes which the singers rendered flat instead of sharp, and even finished a tenor solo which had hopelessly come to grief--until hand and voice and head alike ached with fatigue; but still the insatiable chorus clamoured for more, remembering another and another favourite which it would be a sin to leave untried.

"You are tired," said a low voice in her ear. "You shall not play any longer;" and before she had time to protest, Ralph Merrilies had risen from his seat and closed the book with a determined hand. "It is nearly eleven o'clock. Do you realise how long you have kept Miss Charrington?

She has surely earned a rest. Do come and sit down, Miss Charrington; your back must need support."

"Better come upstairs with me, Hope. I am just going," said Avice, rising from the sofa and slipping her hand through her cousin's arm.

The singers, contrite at their own lack of consideration, busied themselves putting away the music, and gathered into little groups round the piano, so that Mr Merrilies and the two girls were alone in their corner, and their conversation was not overheard. "I am afraid we have been very selfish," he said, looking at Hope's tired face; "but the music has been such a pleasure that we have gone on and on without noticing the time, and Miss Charrington was too good-natured to remind us that she was growing tired."

"Hope never thinks of herself," said Avice quietly; and the colour flamed into Hope's white cheeks and her blue eyes brightened with pleasure at this unexpected tribute. Avice--Avice the languid, the undemonstrative--to praise her aloud, and in company! She was too much taken aback to protest in the conventional way, but she noticed that Mr Merrilies looked even more pleased than herself. He smiled at Avice with a new interest in his eyes, and said quickly:

"In that case it is our duty to look after her. I should suggest fresh air in the first place. How is it that she never joins us at our out-of-door luncheons?"

"She stays at home to help mother; but she shall come to-morrow. I will bring her," replied Avice in a voice that for once was not languid, but quite brisk and decided. Wonders would never cease! Could it be that friends.h.i.+p for a girl of her own age was about to rouse the listless Avice to an active interest in the life which was going on around her!

CHAPTER TWELVE.

A SHOOTING LUNCHEON.

It was with the exultation of a child on a holiday that Hope prepared to start for the picnic lunch the next day. Hitherto she had watched the departure of the other ladies with a spasm of not unnatural envy, but now she was going herself. The day was bright and mild, and it was so pleasant to drive in the open behind Pipeclay, the little white pony which was Avice's special favourite. Truda had driven on ahead with the luncheon-baskets, accompanied by a young married lady who was the latest addition to the house-party, so the two cousins were alone, and could talk together without fear of interruption. Hope was all brightness and animation, for she was experiencing at that moment a mysterious lightness of heart which made her see everything through rose-coloured spectacles. She admired everything--the grey stretches of the landscape, the outline of the trees against the skies, the tumble-down cottages by the roadside--while Avice listened to her animated talk with a wistful smile on her face.

"You enjoy everything, Hope. How do you manage it? I wish I knew your secret, for to me it all seems so stale and uninteresting. I do not believe there is anything in the world which would make me so bright and happy as you seem this morning."

"Nothing?"

"No--nothing. I enjoy some things more than others, of course; but, honestly, for me the happiest moment of the day is when I lie down in bed and feel that for eight hours at least I need do nothing but rest."

"Poor darling!" cried Hope sympathetically--"poor darling! That is a matter of health, of course. But, Avice, don't you think that perhaps if you--"

"Yes; if I what?"

Hope knitted her brows and looked distressed and nervous.

"Oh, I don't want to preach, but perhaps if you had something to do--if you did not think quite so much of--I mean to say that if one is feeling weak and listless, and has nothing to do, one goes on feeling worse and worse. But if one gets interested--"

"Yes, I know what you mean; but how is one to get interested? That is the question. I am not clever like you, and have no hobbies to occupy my mind, and I get so bored with myself. Mother won't let me help her.

She thinks I am too delicate; and, apart from that, she is quick and I am slow, and it would fidget her to see me droning through what she could do in half the time. It is all very well to say, 'Have an interest.' Everything that seems new and exciting to you here is stale to me. I am sick to death of living in public as we do, entertaining one set of visitors after another, who all say the same things and amuse themselves in the same way. I am not strong enough to go out 'slumming'

or visiting hospitals, as some girls do. Where would _you_ find your interest if you were in my place, Hope?"

"I'd find it somewhere," said Hope st.u.r.dily. "You have plenty of money and plenty of time, and there must be a hundred ways of putting them to account. I--I think I would try to help girls who are alone in the world and struggling to make their living. We are all together, and have enough money to keep us from actual want, but I can imagine how _awful_ it must be for girls who are all alone, with no one to help them if they fall ill; whose lives are one long, colourless struggle, with never a ray of brightness or pleasure from Monday morning until Sat.u.r.day night. Could you not think of some way of helping them? What could you do? I know; I have it! There is that sweet little lodge with no one living in it but old George and his wife, and she was lamenting to me only yesterday that her daughters were married, and there were no young folks left in the house. Why should you not furnish two rooms upstairs, and invite poor shop a.s.sistants and girl-clerks to come down for their holidays, two at a time, so that they would be companions for each other? It would be so easy to manage, for you need not think of expense; and Mrs Moss would wait upon them, while you provided their amus.e.m.e.nts. You could go round with Pipeclay and take them out for drives; you could lend them books and papers, and have them up to the house to tea. They would confide their joys and troubles to you, and tell you about their 'friends,' and write letters to you when they went home. When they married, you could help to provide the trousseaux. And when the first little girls were born they would be called after you, and you would knit their socks. They would be brought up to love you because you had been kind to their mothers, and it would be the dream of their lives to be asked down to see all the places of which they had heard so much. In a dozen homes all over the country people would be blessing you, and looking upon you as the good fairy who had brought them health and happiness. Oh Avice, you lucky girl! What would I give to have such a chance? I would begin to-morrow--to-day--this very afternoon!"

"Well," said Avice reflectively--"well!" It was not in her nature to be enthusiastic like her cousin, but she smiled as if the idea found favour in her sight, and her dull eyes brightened. "It _does_ sound nice. I suppose I could do it if I liked. Mother wouldn't mind, and Mrs Moss would be delighted. She is one of those women who are never so happy as when they are nursing some one; and she would coddle the girls from morning till night, and give them beaten-up eggs and black-currant Jelly for their throats, and her celebrated cough mixture made out of nine 'ingrediencies'! I really will think about it, Hope. I believe it would be interesting. Would you help me to furnish the rooms and make them pretty and artistic?"

"Rather! I adore buying things--when some one else has to pay. We would have one room blue, and one pink, with white paint and dear little white beds, and bookcases full of nice books, and comfy wicker chairs by the window, where the girls could sit and read, and rest their poor, tired backs. And I would be your town agent, and look out for likely subjects. If I were in a shop and saw a poor, anaemic-looking girl, I could find out her circ.u.mstances from the manager or head of the department; and if she had no one to look after her, and was living in the shop, or in poky little lodgings, I could send on her name to you, and you would invite her to come here for the holidays. Oh, you are going to do it, my dear! You'll _have_ to do it! I'll give you no peace till you do."

"I'll think about it. I can't decide things in a moment; but I would like to work with you, Hope, and it doesn't sound too formidable. I really think I could arrange a pleasant holiday for the girls."

"I really think you might," agreed Hope, laughing; and then suddenly came a halloa of welcome, and over the fence appeared one head after another as the shooting party rose to receive the new-comers.

Truda and Mrs Inglis had arrived some ten minutes earlier, and luncheon was laid on a cloth under the shelter of the hedge, mackintosh sheets being spread upon the ground, on which the guests could sit without fear of rheumatic consequences. A few yards away the beaters were already refres.h.i.+ng themselves with Irish stew and copious draughts of beer, while from the hampers had come forth all manner of tempting viands, to which the sportsmen did ample justice, the while they protested at such dainties.

"Mrs Loftus spoils us altogether. I don't approve of luxuries at a shooting lunch. We are getting too soft as a nation; that is what is the matter with us. It would be a lot better if we went back to simpler ways.--Cut me a chunk more of that galantine, that's a good fellow. A _chunk_, I said; cut it thicker, can't you?" and Reggie Blake bent forward to superintend the carver's movements with an anxiety of expression which evoked a hearty laugh from his companions.

Mrs Nash, the new-comer, was offering "a handsome wife and ten thousand a year," in the shape of the lost roll upon a plate, to an old bachelor of sixty, who appeared much delighted at the prospect. Truda was playing tunes on the rim of her tumbler; Avice had actually a tinge of colour in her checks; and Hope sat perched on a cus.h.i.+on, looking down on them all like a queen on her throne. Before the meal had begun she had found herself seated uncomfortably between two of the least interesting of the sportsmen; but she had hardly time to realise her disappointment before--presto! the scene was changed. Mr Merrilies had strolled towards the pony-cart, and returned with an armful of cus.h.i.+ons, which he placed on the ground close to where he himself had been sitting.

"There!" he said; "those are for you, Miss Charrington. You have evidently not mastered the art of lunching comfortably on the ground, and we shall have to break you in by degrees. Let me take your plate."

Thus in the most open and natural fas.h.i.+on the change was effected which was fraught with so much satisfaction to the two people most concerned.

It was so much pleasanter than the old position, thought innocent Hope-- the view was more extended, more beautiful, more sunny and cheerful; and to judge from his unusual animation, Ralph Merrilies was of the same mind as herself. There was no chance of private conversation; but there are occasions when the most commonplace phrases become interesting and the very pa.s.sing of the mustard is a thrilling incident!

When lunch was over the ladies agreed to walk a little way with the men, leaving the carts to pick them up at another point. Once again Hope found herself carried off by Ralph Merrilies, and guided by such a circuitous path that the other members of the party were soon ahead and safely out of hearing. For a time they talked of matters connected with the day's sport, but gradually the conversation took a more personal tone, and Hope found Mr Merrilies confiding details of his life to her attentive ears. It appeared that his parents were dead, and that he owned an estate in Hamps.h.i.+re, where he lived in much luxury, and greater boredom, during such portions of the year as he was not visiting or risking his life abroad in search of adventure; that he was, in short, one of those wealthy, idle men of whom she had often read, but whom she had never met. As for him, he was charmed by her naive interest and curiosity concerning himself and his doings. She asked for a description of the house, of his housekeeper-aunt's appearance, character, and attainments; she wondered how he employed himself all day, suggested improvements in his grounds, and was much concerned to hear of a fire among the stacks at the home farm. Then he adroitly led the conversation to herself, beginning with a reference to the subject in which she appeared most deeply interested.

"I suppose you amuse yourself with music. As you sing and play and compose, you have plenty of variety to keep you going. The worst of possessing so many talents is, that they are so much appreciated by other people that they want to work you to death for their amus.e.m.e.nt.

Last night, for instance! It was too bad to keep you at the piano all evening, and treat you as though you were a professional accompanist."

"I wish I was," sighed Hope wistfully; and when her companion looked at her with a start of surprise, "That is what I want to be," she added simply. "I have to earn my living in some way, and neither my voice nor my playing is good enough for public performances; but I _can_ accompany. I should be thankful if any one _would_ hire me for the purpose."

Ralph Merrilies looked at her in silent astonishment. He had taken for granted that, as the niece of the wealthy Mr Loftus, Hope Charrington occupied the same position in society. Man-like, he had noticed none of the signs of poverty in her attire which were plain as print to feminine eyes. What if her attire was always of the simplest description? She invariably looked better than any other girl in the room. If one solitary dress did duty every evening, a new arrangement of laces transformed it in his eyes; and if she wore no jewels, the round white throat and arms looked all the better for their lack of adornment. It gave him a shock of surprise to hear her speak of making her own livelihood.

"Do you really mean that?" he asked gravely; and in reply Hope gave him a short biographical sketch, which explained the present position of the family. "So you see I am responsible for a share of our expenses," she said in conclusion, "and it is not so easy to earn as I expected. I thought I should have little difficulty in getting songs published, but I find it is very difficult indeed; and even if I sold one or two in the year, they would bring in very little, so I must find something that is more certain. I should make a good accompanist, for I can read at sight and transpose as I go, and know when to humour a singer and when to pull him up. But the difficulty is to find an opening. I do hope that I may not be reduced to giving lessons! That would be a real trial of patience, and the prospect is so hopelessly limited."

"Oh, you must not give lessons! That would never do," said Ralph, drawing his brows together in a disapproving frown. That she should need to work at all was an idea still disagreeably new. "You speak of becoming an accompanist. What does that mean exactly! Is there an opening for accompaniment playing, apart from taking a more prominent place in a programme?"

"Oh yes. Professionals often insist upon having their own accompanists, for it is so easy for a stranger to spoil their effects. Even among amateurs they are occasionally required. Suppose a lady gets up a concert for charity, or gives a musical 'At Home,' or has private theatricals, it is an immense help to have some one who can play for all the performers alike, improvise a few bars if things go wrong, and fill up awkward gaps by appropriate 'selections.' That is the work which would suit me best, if I could make a start and become fairly well-known."

"I see. Yes, as you explain it, there certainly is an opening in that direction; but forgive me for saying that the position seems too subordinate for your talent. Why should you not sing yourself? You would be better paid, and it seems to me that you are very well fitted to do so."