Blanche: A Story for Girls

“Seven years in the first place,” replied Mrs Derwent. “You might let it furnished,” the lawyer went on; “that would give you fifty or sixty pounds a year more – not much. Furnished houses in the country don’t let for the rents they used to do, or you might have a sale, thus realising a little capital, till you have, as they say, time to turn round, and make some plan for the future. And” – he went on, with a little hesitation – “should you be short of funds at the present moment, pray do not hesitate to draw upon me. I wish with all my heart I could be of more use to you.”

“You are very kind, very kind and good,” said Mrs Derwent. “But I think I shall be able to manage for a little while. I will see the local house-agent at once, and put the house in his hands. I think I should prefer to be free from it altogether, if possible, and to have a sale.”

“Perhaps it would be best,” said Mr Mapleson. “Refer the agent to me in case of need. Furniture sometimes sells very well in the country.”

“We have some very pretty things,” said Blanche – “uncommon things, too; some good china that we brought from Bordeaux, and things like that.”

Her voice faltered a little as she spoke, and the old man glanced at her sympathisingly.

“What a charming girl!” he thought to himself. “Too pretty to be a governess or companion or anything of that kind.”

“I hope,” he said aloud, “that you will be able to keep your daughters with you, Mrs Derwent. I will talk it over with my wife; she has plenty of good sense, and if any idea strikes us, I will write to you. A school – a small, select school, for instance. Your daughters must have been well educated, though, no doubt, private schools do not succeed nowadays as they used to do.”

“Thank you,” said Mrs Derwent; “we must think it over.”

Then they said good-bye, and made their way back to the station again, feeling perhaps a trifle less depressed than on their arrival.

“Shall we stop at the agent’s on our way through Blissmore, do you think, Blanche?” said Mrs Derwent, as they were nearing the end of their railway journey. “We must drive out, I suppose,” she went on, with a rather wan smile, “though I want to begin those small economies at once.”

Blanche glanced at her. It was a hot, close day, and Mrs Derwent seemed very tired.

“It would be poor economy to begin by making ourselves ill,” said Blanche. “Of course we must drive. I will write to the house-agent to-night, if you will tell me exactly what to say, mamma. It will do quite as well as seeing him, and be far less disagreeable.”

Stasy was watching for them at their own gate as they drove up. She looked bright and eager.

“Tell the man not to drive in,” said Mrs Derwent; “we will get out here, poor Stasy looks so anxious to hear what we have got to say.”

“She looks as if she had something to tell us, I think,” said Blanche. “I must say her good spirits – for she is never low-spirited now – are a great blessing.”

“She doesn’t realise it,” said Mrs Derwent, with a little sigh. “But at sixteen what would you have? That in itself is a blessing.”

“Have you any news?” was Stasy’s first question? “You don’t look so – at least, not any worse than when you went away, except that you’re tired, of course, poor dears.”

“We have certainly nothing worse to tell you,” said Blanche cheerfully. “And one or two things are just a little better than we feared.” And she gave Stasy a rapid summary of their interview with Mr Mapleson.

“That’s all right,” said Stasy. “Come in: I have tea all ready for you in the library. I have some news for you; at least, something to tell you – two things. In the first place,” she went on, as she began pouring out tea, “I’ve had a visitor to-day. Nobody very exciting, but it may be a good thing. My visitor was Adela Bracy.”

“What did she come about?” said Blanche. “I hope they’re not beginning to think they may – well, take freedoms with us, just because we’ve lost our money.”

Blanche’s tone was a trifle bitter. She was tired, and she could not bear to see her mother’s pale face. For the moment, she and Stasy seemed to have changed characters.

“Take freedoms with us!” Stasy repeated. “Oh dear no! Poor Adela! if you had seen how she blushed and stammered over her errand.”

“And what was it?” asked Mrs Derwent, reviving a little, thanks to Stasy’s good cup of tea.

“She wanted to know,” said Stasy, “if her father might call to see you to-morrow morning, mamma, on business. They have heard, you know, about our trouble, because Blanche had to tell them that we couldn’t give the other guild treat that we had promised. You said it was best to be frank about it.”

“Yes, I remember,” said Mrs Derwent. “But both she and her cousin have been very good,” continued Stasy. “They have told no one at all till this morning, and then Adela thought it would be only right to let her father know, for our sake, and it was that that she was in such a fright about. She thought we might be vexed.”

“It doesn’t in the least matter who knows and who doesn’t, it seems to me,” said Blanche. “Besides, I have written to Lady Hebe, to tell her I should probably have to give up the guild work, and I made no secret of our troubles. But you’re so mysterious, Stasy: I wish you’d explain! What can it matter about old Mr Bracy knowing?”

“I’m coming to it,” said Stasy, “as fast as I can, if you wouldn’t interrupt. It’s about this house. You know, mamma, you said one day you thought we’d have to sell all our things, and I think anything would be better than that.”

“I’m afraid it will be the wisest thing to do, however,” said Mrs Derwent, rather dejectedly.

“No, mamma, perhaps not,” said Stasy. “What Adela’s father wants to see you about is this. He has a brother who has been out in India for a good many years – a rich man, Adela says – and he’s coming home almost immediately, with his wife and daughter, for a long holiday; and he wants Mr Bracy to find a furnished house close to theirs for a year, and it struck Adela that this might just do. She says they would take great care of everything, and, oh mamma! think how nice it would be to feel it was still ours, in case, you know, of some good luck turning up!”

Her mother smiled.

“My dear child, we mustn’t begin to hope for anything of that kind, I’m afraid,” she said. “It is better to face the reality. Still, no doubt, it would be very nice not to have to part with our things at once. A year from now, we should better know which of these we could keep. It was very kind and sensible of Adela Bracy to think of it, and I shall certainly be very glad to see her father. Can you send him a note to say so, Blanche? It seems to have been a very good thing that we have said nothing yet to the agent.”

“I will write at once,” said Blanche, rousing herself, for she felt that she had been yielding too much to her unusual depression.

She got up from her place and went towards the writing-table as she spoke.

“What’s the name of the Bracys’ house, Stasy – Green? – ”

“Green Nest,” replied Stasy.

“And will eleven o’clock be the best time, mamma?”

“Say any time that suits him, after ten,” Mrs Derwent replied.

She spoke more cheerfully. It really seemed as if this new proposal had come in the nick of time, and there was something infectious in Stasy’s hopefulness, little ground as there might appear for it.

“I suppose Miss Bracy said nothing about the rent her uncle would be likely to give?” asked Mrs Derwent.

Stasy shook her head.

“No,” she replied, “and I didn’t like to ask her, indeed I don’t think I should have understood about it; but she did say he was liberal and kind, as well as rich.”

“Of course I should not expect more than a fair sum,” said Mrs Derwent; “the fact of its being of great consequence to us cannot be taken into consideration. Still, it is much better to have to do with people of that character, and no doubt the house is now unusually attractive in many ways, all being in such perfect order.”

Blanche rang the bell, and gave orders for the note to be sent at once. Then she came back and sat down again.

“And what’s your second piece of news, Stasy?” she said. “You spoke of two.”

Stasy reddened a little.

“It wasn’t a piece of news,” she said. “It was an – an – ” And she hesitated.

“What?” asked her mother.

“I’m not quite sure,” Stasy replied. “I’m not quite sure but that it was an inspiration!”

Both Mrs Derwent and Blanche looked up.

“Do tell us,” said Blanche, but Stasy still hesitated.