The Maidens' Lodge Part 12

"Never mind, if you don't want to tell," said Rhoda, graciously, now that her object was attained. "I wonder what new clothes Madam will give you. A camlet for best, I dare say, and duffel for every day.

Don't you want to know?"

"No, not very much."

"I should, if I were you. I like to go fine. Not that she'll give _you_ fine things, you know--not likely. There! put my shoes out to clean, and tuck me up nicely, and then if you like you can go to bed. I shan't want anything more."

Phoebe did as she was requested, and then knelt down.

"I vow!" exclaimed her cousin, when she rose. "Do you say your prayers on Sunday nights? I never do. Why, we've only just been at it downstairs. And what a time you are! I'm never more than five minutes with mine!"

"I couldn't say all I want in five minutes," replied Phoebe.

"Want! why, what do you want?" said Rhoda. "I want nothing. I've got to do it--that's all."

"Well, I dare say five minutes is enough for that," was the quiet reply from Phoebe. "But when people get into trouble, then they do want things."

"Trouble! Oh, you don't know!" said Rhoda, loftily. "I've had heaps of trouble."

"Have you?" innocently demanded Phoebe, in an interested tone.

"Well, I should think so! More than ever you had."

"What were they?" said Phoebe, in the same manner.

"Why, first, my mother died when I was only a week old," explained Rhoda. "I suppose, you call that a trouble?"

"Not when you were a week old," said Phoebe; "it would be afterwards-- with some people. But I should not think it was, much, with you. You have had Madam."

"Well, then my father went off to London, and spent all his estate, that I should have had, and there was nothing left for me. That was a trouble, I suppose?"

"If you had plenty beside, I should not think it was."

"'Plenty beside!' Phoebe, you are the silliest creature! Why, don't you see that I should have been a great fortune, if I had had Peveril as well as White-Ladies? I should have set my cap at a lord, I can tell you. Only think, Phoebe, I should have had sixty thousand pounds. What do you say to that? Sixty thousand pounds!"

"I should think it is more than you could ever spend."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Rhoda. "When White-Ladies is mine, I shall have a riding-horse and a gla.s.s coach; and I will have a splendid set of diamonds, and pearls too. They cost something, I can tell you. Oh, 'tis easy spending money. You'll see, when it comes to me."

"Are you sure it will come to you?"

"Why, of course it will!" exclaimed Rhoda, sitting up, and leaning on her elbow. "To whom else would Madam leave it, I should like to know!

Why, you never expect her to give it to _you_, poor little white-faced thing? I vow, but that is a good jest!"

Rhoda's laugh had more bitterness than mirth in it. Phoebe's smile was one of more unmixed amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Pray make yourself easy," said Phoebe. "I never expect anything, and then I am not disappointed."

"Well, I'll just tell you what!" rejoined her cousin. "If I catch you making up to Madam, trying to please all her whims, and chime in with her vapours, and that--fancying she'll leave you White-Ladies--I tell you, Phoebe Latrobe, I'll never forgive you as long as I live! There!"

Rhoda was very nearly, if not quite, in a pa.s.sion. Phoebe turned and looked at her.

"Cousin," she said, gently, "you will see me try to please Madam, since 'tis my duty: but if you suppose 'tis with any further object, such as what she might give me, you very ill know Phoebe Latrobe."

"Well, mind your business!" said Rhoda, rather fiercely.

A few minutes later she was asleep. But sleep did not visit Phoebe's eyes that night.

When the morning came, Rhoda seemed quite to have forgotten her vexation. She chattered away while she was dressing, on various topics, but chiefly respecting the new clothes which Madam had promised to Phoebe. If words might be considered a criterion, Rhoda appeared to take far more interest in these than Phoebe herself.

Breakfast was a solemn and silent ceremony. When it was over, Madam desired Phoebe to attend her in her own chamber, and to bring her wardrobe with her. Rhoda followed, unasked, and sat down on the form at the foot of the bed to await her cousin. Phoebe came in with her arms full of dresses and cloaks. She was haunted by a secret apprehension which she would not on any account have put into words--that she might no longer be allowed to wear mourning for her dead father. But Phoebe's fears were superfluous. Madam thought far too much of the proprieties of life to commit such an indecorum. However little she had liked or respected the Rev. Charles Latrobe, she would never have thought of requiring his child to lay aside her mourning until the conventional two years had elapsed from the period of his decease.

Phoebe's common attire was very quickly discarded, as past further wear; and she was desired to wear her best clothes every day, until new ones were ready for her. This decided, Rhoda was ordered to ring for Betty, Madam's own maid, and Betty was in her turn required to fetch those stuffs which she had been bidden to lay aside till needed. Betty accordingly brought a piece of black camlet, another of black bombazine, and a third of black satin, with various tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. The two girls alike watched in silence, while Betty measured lengths and cut off pieces of camlet and bombazine, from which it appeared that Phoebe was to have two new dresses, and a mantua and hood of the camlet: but when Rhoda heard Betty desired to cut off satin for another mantua, her hitherto concealed chagrin broke forth.

"Why, Madam!--she'll be as fine as me!"

"My dear, she will be as I choose," answered Madam, in a tone which would have silenced any one but Rhoda. "And now, satin for a hood, Betty--"

"'Tis a shame!" said Rhoda, under her breath, which was as much as she dared venture; but Madam took no notice.

"You will line the hoods and mantuas warm, Betty," pursued Madam, in her most amiable tone. "Guard the satin with fur, and the camlet with that strong gimp. And a m.u.f.f she must have, Betty."

"A m.u.f.f!" came in a vexed whisper from Rhoda.

"And when the time comes, one of the broidered India scarves that were had of Staveley, for summer wear; but that anon. Then--"

"But, Madam!" put in Rhoda, in a troubled voice, "you have never given me one of those scarves yet! I asked you for one a year ago." To judge from her tone, Rhoda was very near tears.

"My dear!" replied Madam, "'tis becoming in maids to wait till they are spoken to. Had you listened with proper respect, you would have heard me bid Betty lay out one also for you. You cannot use them at this season."

Rhoda subsided, somewhat discontentedly.

"Two pairs of black Spanish gloves, Betty; and a black fan, and black velvet stays. (When the year is out she must have a silver lace.) And bid Dobbins send up shoes to fit on, with black buckles--two pairs; and lay out black stockings--two pairs of silk, and two of worsted; and plain cambric ap.r.o.ns--they may be laced when the year is out. I think that is all. Oh!--a fur tippet, Betty."

And with this last order Madam marched away.

"Oh, shocking!" cried Rhoda, the instant she thought her grandmother out of hearing. "I vow, but she's going to have you as fine as me. Every bit of it. Betty, isn't it a shame?"

"Well, no, Mrs Rhoda, I don't see as how 'tis," returned Betty, bluntly. "Mrs Phoebe, she's just the same to Madam as you are."

"But she isn't!" exclaimed Rhoda, blazing up. "I'm her eldest daughter's child, and she's only the youngest. And she hasn't done it before, neither. Last night she didn't let her kiss her hand. I say, Betty, 'tis a crying shame!"

"Maybe Madam thought better of it this morning," suggested Betty, speaking with a pin in her mouth.

"Well, 'tis a burning shame!" growled Rhoda.

"Perhaps, Mrs Betty," said Phoebe's low voice, "you could leave the satin things for a little while?"

"Mrs Phoebe, I durstn't, my dear!" rejoined Betty; "nay, not if 'twas ever so! Madam, she's used to have folk do as she bids 'em; and she'll make 'em, too! Never you lay Mrs Rhoda's black looks to heart, my dear, she'll have forgot all about it by this time to-morrow."