The Palace Beautiful: A Story for Girls by L. T. Meade (e reader .TXT) 📖

for I know they are our friends, but let us be firm and keep together. These people want to divide us; I say, let us keep together."

"Of course," said Jasmine; "is that really what the letter means—separation? Here, give it to me—" She snatched it from her sister, and flung it with energy to the other end of the apartment. Daisy nestled her soft little face up close to her eldest sister's—Daisy was still feeling things incomprehensible, and was also a little frightened.

"Go on," continued Jasmine, "go on talking, Primrose—we are quite with you, Daisy and I—what nonsense the people must have in their heads if they think we three are going to part!"

"But we are in a very painful and difficult position," continued Primrose. "We have certainly got to earn our bread, and we don't at all know how to earn it. We are not educated enough to go anywhere as governesses, although Miss Martineau did say that I might perhaps get a little place in the nursery; but in any case people would not want three governesses in one family, and, of course, Daisy is too young to earn anything for many a long day. Jasmine, I have been thinking over all this most seriously—I have been thinking over it for some hours, and it seems to me there is nothing at all for us to do but to go to London."

"Where Poppy is going?" interrupted Jasmine; "delicious—lovely—my dream of dreams! Go on, Primrose darling; I could listen to you all night."

"But we mustn't go only for pleasure," continued Primrose; "indeed, we must not go at all for pleasure. We must go to work hard, and to learn, so that bye-and-bye we may be really able to support ourselves. Now, there is only one way in which we can do that. We must take that two hundred pounds which Mr. Danesfield has in the bank, and we must live on it while we are being educated. We can go to a cheap part of London, and find poor lodgings—we won't mind how poor they are, if only they are very clean, with white curtains, and dimity round the beds. We'll be quite happy there, and we'll make our two hundred pounds go very far. With great care, and with our thirty pounds a year, it might last for four or five years, and by that time Daisy will have grown big, and you, Jasmine, will have grown up, and—and—perhaps you will have found a magazine to take your poems."

"Oh! oh! I never heard of anything so delicious!" exclaimed Jasmine. "Long before the five years are out I'll be on the pinnacle of fame. London will inspire me; oh, it is the home of beauty and delight! Where is Mrs. Ellsworthy's letter?—we will never finish it? I am going to burn it on the spot rather than allow any other idea to be put into your head, Primrose?"

Primrose smiled again, and before she could prevent her, her impetuous sister had torn Mrs. Ellsworthy's letter into ribbons, and had set fire to it in the empty grate.

"We must not be too sanguine about London," she said; "only it does seem the only independent thing to do. Then, too, there is that letter of dear mamma's and all that sad account of the little baby brother who was lost so long ago. Hannah says that he was lost in London—he must be a man now; perhaps we shall meet him in London. It certainly does seem as if it were right for us to go."

CHAPTER XIV. QUITE CONTRARY.

"I have done it, my dear Joseph," said Mrs. Ellsworthy. "I went to see the children, and I wrote to that little proud princess Primrose. It will be really very nice if they all come here. We have such heaps and heaps of money, more than we know what to do with; money becomes uninteresting when you have so much. I think I have tried most of the pleasures that money can buy. I have heaps of dresses, and quantities of jewels, and my lovely country home, and my season in town, but what I have never yet had, and what I have earnestly longed for, was a daughter. A boy, after all, has to go to school, and to fight his way in the world—our boy is at school, and a very good place for him—but a woman wants a girl of her own to quite satisfy her heart.

"Now it seems to me that I may have three girls. We must keep up the fiction of Primrose being useful to you in your library, Joseph—you must give her letters to write, and you must be very patient with her when she makes mistakes, for the dear child has not been educated, and will probably make the worst of secretaries. Never mind, you must try to appear delighted, and to seem as if you never could have got on until Primrose Mainwaring came to help you.

"Then the little ones—of course they are coming under the supposition that they are only to stay until I have found them berths in one of those horrid charity schools for the orphan daughters of military men—but I promise you those berths shall be hard to find. The three will insensibly consider themselves our adopted children. Oh, what a delightful plan it is! and how picturesque I shall feel with my girls! Joseph, did you ever see a brighter or more bewitching little soul than our Jasmine?"

"Our Jasmine?" repeated Mr. Ellsworthy; "she is by no means ours yet, my love. Well, I trust your plan will succeed—they are nice girls, and I like to feel I am doing a kindness to poor Mainwaring's daughters. I shall be very pleased indeed if they make your life any happier, Kate."

Mrs. Ellsworthy stooped down and kissed her husband's brow—she was all impatience for the morning to arrive, for surely early then would come an answer to the letter she had written.

But Mrs. Ellsworthy was doomed to disappointment. The next day brought no answer from the Mainwaring girls. The good little lady bore her suspense as best she could until noon, then she ordered her carriage and drove into the village.

Jasmine herself opened the cottage door for her. Jasmine was looking excited, and there were red rings round her eyes as if she had been crying, and yet at the same time those bright eyes of hers were shining, and her lips were quivering between smiles and tears.

"Oh, you have come!" she exclaimed; "Primrose is in the village—she has gone to Mr. Danesfield about our money. Please come into the drawing-room. We are rather upset, for we are beginning to pack, and Hannah is washing out the anti-macassars and the white muslin curtains, for we think the muslin curtains will look so nice in our cheap lodgings. We are very busy, awfully busy, but do come in and sit down. Eyebright, here is Mrs. Ellsworthy. Mrs. Ellsworthy, isn't Eyebright a silly?—she is quite fretting because she won't see those last seeds of hers come up in the garden. Now, if she was asked to leave the Pink I would say nothing, but of course the Pink comes too."

"Yes, dear, and Daisy shall have plenty of garden ground for fresh seeds. Oh! my dear children," continued Mrs. Ellsworthy, "I shall be so delighted to welcome you all to Shortlands, only I think you might have replied to my letter."

Mrs. Ellsworthy was by this time seated in a low arm-chair by the window, and Jasmine was standing before her, while Daisy sat demurely on the floor, and folded up the anti-macassars.

"We might have answered your letter?" repeated Jasmine. "Well now, do you know, to be quite frank and open, your letter was a little bit of a lecture. You did give it to darling old Primrose, and somehow or other you made Daisy cry. You spoke about a plan, and you said it was a delightful plan, but—but before we read that part of your letter Primrose thought of another plan of her own, and it was so exquisite, so perfect, that we tore up your plan for fear we should be tempted by it. We don't know your plan, Mrs. Ellsworthy, and we don't want it, for we have made our own, and ours is—yes, ours is lovely!"

Mrs. Ellsworthy had an expressive face, and while Jasmine was talking it changed and grew anxious; her husband's words, "She is not our Jasmine yet," returned to her. Like many rich and pretty women, she was unaccustomed to opposition, and when it came it but whetted her desire, and made her also feel irritable.

"It is rude to tear up the letters of kind friends," she said. "I made a proposal which would have been in every way suitable to you girls, and you did not even trouble yourselves to read it. No, my loves, I am not angry. Daisy, come and give me a kiss; Jasmine, hold my hand. Now shall I tell you the little plan which you would not read about last night?"

"Oh, we would not be rude to you for the world," said Jasmine. "Daisy, come here, and give Mrs. Ellsworthy one of your sweetest kisses. Of course I will hold your hand—I love you, and so does Daisy, and so does—"

"No, so does not Primrose," answered Mrs. Ellsworthy. "Primrose is the opposing element—still I trust I may conquer her. Now, my children, may I tell the plan?"

"Oh yes, do tell us," they both answered; but Jasmine added, "It will not be of the slightest use, for we have made our own."

"Well, dear, plans of girls as young as you are made to be altered. Now listen to my scheme.

"Mr. Ellsworthy writes for the papers and for one or two magazines. He has scientific tastes, and writing in this way gives interest to his life; but his eyes are not very strong, and he has for some time been wishing for some nice girl to whom he can dictate his thoughts. It seems to him, and to me too, that Primrose is just the sort of girl he wants, and if she will come and live with us at Shortlands, he will pay her something for giving him a couple of her hours daily—thus, you see, she will be earning her living and will be quite independent. You and Daisy, Jasmine, are to come to us on a visit, until we can find a school where, for your father's sake, your education may be finished."

"You mean a school for the orphan daughters of army men," said Jasmine, "I know. Well, thank you very much, but I'm afraid your plan won't answer. Neither Daisy nor I would at all like to go to a school for orphans. We don't fancy the idea of school, and dear mamma once said that she would never allow her girls to be taught at school, so, of course, that point is settled. Then you know we could not always remain with you on a visit, for we are no relations of yours—you never heard of us at all until a few days ago, although we have lived here most of our lives. Of course you don't mean to keep us always on a visit, so it would be very silly to begin a thing which could not go on. Then about Primrose—may I be quite honest with you about Primrose?"

"Oh yes, my dear."

"Well now, she doesn't write well—not really—her hand moves so slowly, and I have seen some spelling mistakes now and then in her letters—I fly over the page myself, but then I only can read my own writing. I am greatly afraid that poor Mr. Ellsworthy would find Primrose a bad secretary. No, no, no; ours is a much, much better plan. You see, Mrs. Ellsworthy, you must not be angry with us—we love you very much—we are greatly obliged to you, but we have quite made up our minds—we will not be separated. Ah! here comes Primrose. Primrose, darling, here is Mrs. Ellsworthy—she is just going to listen to our plan—she has told us hers, and I have been explaining to her that it will not answer, for Daisy and I are determined not to go to school, and you know, Primrose, you are really stupid with your pen."

"How do you do, Mrs. Ellsworthy?" said Primrose—she came in looking fagged and tired, and with a worried expression between her eyebrows. "Mrs. Ellsworthy," she said, "I am most grateful to you for being so kind to us. I know you won't approve at all of our plan—you will agree with Mr. Danesfield, who said he thought we had taken leave of our senses, but I think we have made up our minds, and as we have no guardian, there is no one to prevent us doing as we please."

"Oh,