Chapter VIII: A Princely Gift

"IS Miss Nan here?" asked Mr. Dicks, opening the door of the drawing-room, where I had been pouring out tea for Aunt Patty and such of her guests as liked the fragrant beverage. Josiah Dicks never drank tea; his daughter took it with a slice of lemon in Russian fashion.

"Yes, I am here," I responded. "What can I do for you, Mr. Dicks?"

"Just come this way, young lady, that is all," he said. "I have something to show you."

As I rose and went towards him, I saw a look of amusement on Alan Faulkner's face. Our eyes met, and we smiled at each other as I passed him. He and I got a little quiet fun sometimes out of the Americans. I could not help thinking that he wanted to come too and see whatever Mr. Dicks had to show me.

It was a lovely day towards the end of April, the first really warm day we had had. The hall door was open. Signing to me to follow him, Josiah Dicks led the way to the back of the house, where was the tool-house in which Pollie's bicycle was kept. She had already taken one or two rides with Jack Upsher, but there had been some little difficulty in hiring a bicycle for me, and I had not yet had a ride with her.

As I approached the tool-house I saw Paulina within, flushed with sundry exertions. She had just removed the last wrapping from a brand-new machine.

"What!" I exclaimed. "Another bicycle! What can you want with two?" Her beautiful machine had already moved me to admiration, if not to envy, and here she was with another first-class one!

"Pollie does not want two, but I guess you can do with one," said Mr. Dicks. "This is yours, Miss Nan."

I think I was never so taken aback in my life. I did not know what to say. It seemed impossible that I could accept so valuable a gift from one who was almost a stranger; yet I could see that both Josiah Dicks and his daughter would be dreadfully hurt if I refused it. I knew too that he did not like the idea of Paulina's riding about the country alone, and that this was his way of securing a companion for her. I tried to say that I would regard it as a loan; but that would not do. I had to accept it. I had heard mother say that it sometimes takes more grace to receive a gift than to bestow one, and I felt the truth of the words now. I fear I expressed my thanks very awkwardly, yet I was truly grateful in spite of my overwhelming sense of obligation.

"You must try it," cried Paulina eagerly. "Let us take it round to the front of the house, and I'll mount you."

In a few minutes I was riding up and down the short drive before the house. Mr. Faulkner caught sight of me from the drawing-room window, and he and aunt came out to see what it meant. Aunt Patty was as much astonished as I was by Josiah Dicks's munificence; but she had more presence of mind and thanked him very warmly for his kindness to me.

"That's all right," he said; "you've no need to thank me. It's just as it should be. I like to see young people enjoy themselves. They'll never be young but once."

Meanwhile Mr. Faulkner had been quietly examining my machine, and he told me, in an aside, that it had all the latest improvements, and was one of the best he had ever seen.

Certainly I found it an easy one to ride, and after a little practice I began to feel as if it were part of myself. It was too late for us to do much that day; but Paulina got out her machine, and we rode as far as the village. As we passed the Vicarage we caught sight of Jack in the garden. He shouted as he saw me spinning by, and I had to halt and show him my delightful gift. He seemed almost as pleased as I was. We arranged forthwith to ride with him on the following afternoon. After dinner, I managed to get away by myself for a time, and wrote a long letter to mother, for I felt that I must tell her about my present.

It would not be easy to say how much enjoyment I derived from Mr. Dicks's gift. As long as the weather continued fair, Paulina and I rode every day. Jack accompanied us as often as he could, and was sorely tempted to curtail the time he devoted to his studies. Then one morning, Mr. Faulkner went to London by an early train, and when he came back in the evening he brought a bicycle with him. After that he too was often our companion. If we rode out a party of four, Jack always elected to ride beside me, while Paulina seemed equally bent on securing Mr. Faulkner as her escort, so that I had little opportunity of talking with him. This vexed me somewhat, for Alan Faulkner had generally interesting things to tell one, whereas Jack's never-ceasing flow of small talk was apt to become a trifle wearisome. We had some delightful rides and visited most of the picturesque villages or fine old churches within twenty miles of "Gay Bowers." But after Miss Cottrell came to stay with us, I was less free to scour the country.

Colonel Hyde and Miss Cottrell arrived about the same time, when spring was merging into summer, and we fondly hoped that cold winds were over. There was no other connection between these two individuals. The Colonel was an old friend of Mr. Upsher's. He was Jack's godfather, and being a widower and childless, the chief attraction "Gay Bowers" had for him was that it was so near Greentree Vicarage.

Miss Cottrell might have been fifty. She informed Aunt Patty that she was thirty-nine, and my aunt charitably believed her, though she certainly looked much older. She was fond of the country, and her coming was simply the result of seeing our advertisement. She furnished aunt with references to persons of good social standing, yet somehow she always struck us as not being exactly a gentlewoman. She said she had been a governess for many years, a fact which perhaps accounted for her worn and faded appearance, but had taught only in the "best families." As she occasionally let fall an "h" or made a slip in grammar, we came to the conclusion that the "best families" known to her had not a high standard of education. She was fond of talking of a certain Lady Mowbray, with whom she had lived in closest intimacy for many years. "Dear Lady Mowbray" was quoted on every possible occasion, till we grew rather weary of her name, and longed to suggest that she should be left to rest in her grave in peace. We knew she was dead, for Miss Cottrell had spoken of the "handsome legacy" which this friend had left her. This sum of money, together with some property she had inherited from an uncle, had rendered it unnecessary for her longer to "take a situation," a consummation for which she seemed devoutly thankful.

Yet Miss Cottrell was by no means of an indolent nature. She prided herself on her active habits, and was especially fond of gardening. Her love for this pursuit brought her into collision with old Hobbes, our gardener. He could not forgive her for presuming to instruct him on certain points, and when she offered to help him, he well-nigh resigned his post. In order to secure peace between them, aunt had to make over to her a tiny plot of ground, where she could grow what she liked, and make what experiments she pleased, Hobbes being strictly forbidden to interfere with it. The scorn with which he regarded her attempts at horticulture was sublime.

Unfortunately, though fond of exercise, Miss Cottrell did not care for solitary walks, and I often felt it incumbent on me to be her companion. Her society was far from agreeable to me. It was wonderful how little we had in common. Although she had been a governess, she seemed absolutely without literary tastes, and even devoid of all ideas that were not petty and trivial. Every attempt to hold an intelligent conversation with her brought me face to face with a dead wall.

All she cared for was to dwell on personal details of her own life or the lives of others. She had an insatiable curiosity, and was for ever asking me questions concerning my aunt or her guests, or my own home life, which I could not or would not answer. Her love of gossip led her to visit daily the one small shop the village could boast, and marvellous were the tales she brought us from thence. She was ready to talk to any one and every one whom she might encounter. She was fond of visiting the cottagers, and they appreciated her visits, for she listened attentively to the most garrulous, and told them what to do for their rheumatism or cramp, and how to treat the ailments of their children. I must say she was very kind-hearted; her good nature and her love of flowers were her redeeming qualities.

She professed to admire the Vicar's preaching, and she often found cause to visit the Vicarage. She paid both the Vicar and his friend the Colonel more attention than they could appreciate. And the worst of it was that she was slower to take a hint than any one I had ever known. How Aunt Patty bore with her irritating ways I cannot tell. Miss Cottrell certainly put a severe strain upon the politeness and forbearance of her hostess. She was not a bad sort of woman, but only insufferably vulgar, tactless and ill-bred.

Paulina made fun of her, yet neither she nor her father seemed to object to Miss Cottrell's cross-questioning, or to shun her society; but Colonel Hyde and Professor Faulkner would make their escape from the drawing-room whenever it was possible, if that lady entered it. Aunt confessed to me that she longed to dismiss this unwelcome guest, but had no sufficient excuse.

She had not been with us very long when Josiah Dicks had an attack of illness. Miss Cottrell, having wrung from me the statement that I believed him to be a millionaire, evinced the utmost interest in the American. She annoyed me very much by saying that she could see that Professor Faulkner was looking after his money by courting Paulina. Nothing could be farther from the truth. It was, of course, possible that Alan Faulkner might be attracted by Paulina, but he was not the man to woo her for the sake of her father's wealth. But it was absurd of me to mind what such a one as Miss Cottrell said.

Though he was very far from well, Mr. Dicks would not stay in his room, but hung about the house looking the colour of one of the sovereigns he spent so lavishly. Miss Cottrell was full of sympathy for him. She suggested various remedies, which he tried one after another, while he rejected Aunt Patty's sensible advice that he should send for a medical man from Chelmsford.

Miss Cottrell's solicitude contrasted oddly with Paulina's apparent indifference. When she came downstairs the next morning she was wearing a hat, and carried a coat over her arm, and she said quite calmly as she took her place at the breakfast-table:

"Poppa says he is worse. He has been in awful pain all night, and has not slept a wink. He thinks he is dying."

"My dear," ejaculated Aunt Patty, "I am distressed to hear it. And are you going for the doctor?"

"Oh, no," said Paulina, opening her eyes widely. "He isn't dying, you know. I am going to London."

"On his account—to get him medicine perhaps?" suggested my aunt anxiously.

Paulina glanced across the table with amusement in her eyes.

"I am going to London to have a new gown fitted," she said, "and to do some shopping."

"But, my dear Miss Dicks, what will your father do without you? Is it well that you should leave him alone all day when he is suffering so?"

My aunt looked amazed as she put these queries.

"Oh, he says now that he will see a doctor," Paulina replied. "I can call and tell him to come if he lives near the station. I should do Poppa no good by staying at home. He has had these attacks before, and they will take their course. I knew he would be ill when I saw him eating that salmon."

"But would you not like to see the doctor yourself?" aunt said. "Cannot you put off going to London for a day or two?"

"That would inconvenience Madame Hortense," Paulina said gravely. "No, I had better keep my appointment. I know you will look after Poppa, Mrs. Lucas, and you will help her, will you not, Miss Cottrell?"

"Indeed, I shall be happy to do anything I can for him," said that spinster with indubitable sincerity. "I have had to do with sick people before now."

Having thus easily rid herself of responsibility, Paulina was soon off on her bicycle for Chelmsford. She found time to call at the doctor's, for he arrived at "Gay Bowers" a little later. He did not think seriously of his patient, but said he needed care. Aunt and Miss Cottrell were busy for some time carrying out the doctor's instructions. Aunt Patty told me afterwards that Miss Cottrell was most useful in a sickroom. All her little vanities and affectations vanished in the presence of a need which she could relieve, and she showed herself a sensible, capable, helpful woman.

When Paulina got back in the evening she found her father no longer in pain, and sound asleep.

"Say, didn't I tell you he would soon be better? He always thinks he is going to die when he gets these attacks."

"I must say that when I saw him this morning, I felt very uneasy," replied my aunt.

"Ah, you do not know him as well as I do," was her rejoinder. "I never let these attacks alarm me. See now, I called at the post-office, and found this letter for you."

The letter proved to be from my Aunt Clara, and interested me considerably. She wrote to ask if aunt could find room in her house for my cousin Agneta. Manchester did not suit her. She was out of health, suffering from general depression, and needed a thorough change. "I thought it would be nice for her to stay in your house while Annie is there," she wrote; "they are about the same age, and will enjoy being together."

I received this proposal with mingled emotions. I hardly knew my cousin, and was by no means sure that I should enjoy having her at "Gay Bowers." Her upbringing had been so different from mine, that I fancied we should have little in common. Aunt Clara had never before shown any desire that her children should become acquainted with her sister's family. I wondered that she should now deem it "nice" that I and Agneta should meet.

"There is one thing to be said about it, Nan," remarked my aunt. "I have no room to give her; if she comes she must share yours."

As soon as I heard that, I was certain that I did not wish Agneta to come. I hated the idea of having to share my pleasant room with another girl, and the fact that the girl in question was my cousin did not reconcile me to it. It seemed essential to my happiness that I should have some place, however small, for my very own, to which I could retreat when I wanted to possess my soul in peace.

"Oh, auntie," I said, "could you not tell Miss Cottrell that you will not longer have room for her?"

"Impossible, Nan; I could not treat her so unhandsomely, especially since she has been so kind and helpful with poor Mr. Dicks. Never mind, dear; you shall not share your room with your cousin if you would rather not."

"Oh, I do not mind if there is no other way," I felt constrained to say; but I did mind very much, and when Aunt Patty said that she would write to Mrs. Redmayne, and explain that this was the only arrangement she could make, I devoutly hoped that Aunt Clara would object to Agneta's sharing a room with me.