Blanche: A Story for Girls

“If you don’t mind, mamma dear,” she began, “I think I’d rather tell it to Blanchie alone first, and see what she thinks. You might be a little vexed with me. It may have a little to do with what Mr Bracy says to-morrow.”

“Very well, dear,” said Mrs Derwent. “I’m quite content to wait, and not to hear it at all, if you’d rather not tell me after consulting with Blanchie.”

She had not, perhaps, any very great faith in the practicability of Stasy’s inspirations, but she was delighted to see the girl rising with such unselfish cheerfulness to meet their difficulties.

“After all,” she said to herself, “troubles are often blessings in disguise. This may be the making of Stasy, and give her the stability she needs.”

Mr Bracy called the next morning, behaving with so much tact and consideration as to make it easy to forget his somewhat rough and ready manner, and his frequent oblivion of the letter “h.”

The terms he proposed, and which he felt sure his brother would endorse, seemed to Mrs Derwent fair and, indeed, liberal. But before committing herself to accept them, she wished to consult Mr Mapleson, a proposal which Mr Bracy at once agreed to. He was full of admiration of the house, more than once exclaiming that, as far as his brother was concerned, it was a wonderfully good chance.

“And I hope,” said Mrs Derwent, “indeed, I feel almost sure that I shall have cause to congratulate myself on meeting so readily with such an unexceptionable tenant.”

She spoke in the gracious and graceful way habitual to her, and the retired tradesman left her with feelings of warm sympathy and respect. Mrs Derwent had gained a friend.

Blanche and Stasy had not fallen asleep the night before without having fully discussed the younger girl’s idea.

Chapter Sixteen

Stasy’s Inspiration

Blanche did not speak for a minute or two. Then she looked up with a rather peculiar expression.

“Well, Stasy?” she said, as if expecting her sister to continue speaking.

But Stasy hesitated.

“What has all this to do with your inspiration?” said Blanche.

“I’m half afraid of telling you,” said Stasy. “You’re rather snubby too, to-night, Blanche, in your manner, somehow.”

“I don’t mean to be,” said Blanche gently. “Do tell me all about it.”

“Well, you see,” began Stasy, “it just came into my head with a flash. Supposing we were to join Miss Halliday, and be milliners in real earnest. Of course it would be more you than I. I should still have to go on doing some lessons. But I could help a good deal, and we could have the same rooms in her house that we had before. We were very comfortable there. It would be better than going away to some horrid, strange place, into stuffy lodgings, where mamma would be miserable.”

“You didn’t say anything of this to Miss Halliday, did you?” inquired Blanche.

“Oh no,” said Stasy; “of course not. But do tell me what you think of it, Blanche.”

Blanche sighed.

“It is almost impossible to say all at once,” she answered. “It is rather difficult to take it in – the idea of our really having to work for our daily bread, to be actually shopkeepers.”

“I don’t feel it that way,” said Stasy eagerly.

“You are hardly old enough to realise it,” said her sister.

“Yes, I think I do,” said Stasy; “but it seems to me that anything would be better than being separated – being governesses or companions, or anything like that. What would mamma do without us?”

“Mr Mapleson proposed our beginning a small school,” said Blanche.

Stasy made a face.

“Oh, that would be quite horrid, I think. We should be far more independent if we were milliners. And do you know, Blanchie,” she went on, her eyes sparkling, “it’s quite different nowadays in England. Miss Milward has a cousin who’s a milliner in London, and people don’t look down upon her for it in the very least. Not even regular – worldly sort of people, you know.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Blanche replied; “but in London it’s different. Miss Milwards cousin probably has her own friends and relations who know her and back her up. It wouldn’t be the same thing at all in a little country town, and in a neighbourhood where people have not been too kind to us as it is. And living ‘on the premises,’ as people say – oh no, it would be quite different.”

Stasy’s face fell.

“I was afraid,” she said, rather dejectedly, “that you wouldn’t like the idea of it at all. But, oh Blanchie, a school would be detestable! We should never feel free, morning, noon, or night; and just fancy mamma having to hear all sorts of horrid fault-findings from vulgar parents.”

“They needn’t be vulgar,” remarked Blanche; “at least not all of them.”

“They would be at Blissmore,” said Stasy.

“I should never dream of beginning a school at Blissmore,” said Blanche quickly. “The high school would spoil all chance of success.”

“Where would we go, then?” said Stasy. “We are such strangers in England; and, of course, it would be madness to think of returning to France. No, Blanchie, I won’t give up my idea yet, till you have something better to propose.”

“I don’t mean to snub you about it,” said Blanche. “Possibly it was an inspiration. I will speak about it to mamma to-morrow, and see how it strikes her. Of course there would be a great deal to talk about to Miss Halliday. She may require more money than we should be able to give.”

“I don’t think so,” said Stasy, “but she would tell you. Good-night then, dear. I can see you’re very tired; but I’m so glad you haven’t squashed the idea altogether. I think it would be capital fun! Just fancy all the people coming in and ordering their bonnets and hats. I used to long to go into the shop to take orders, when we were helping Miss Halliday.”

She kissed her sister lovingly and ran off, with the light-heartedness of her age, to dream of fabricating a marvellous cap for Mrs Burgess, or some bewitching hats for Lady Hebe’s trousseau.

Blanche said nothing of Stasy’s scheme to her mother till after Mr Bracy’s visit the next morning. But when she found that the negotiations for letting their house at once seemed so likely to go through, she thought it well to tell her mother of this new idea.

At first, there is no denying, it was very startling to Mrs Derwent. She was almost astonished at Blanche’s entertaining it for a moment. But a few days passed, and gradually, as often happens in such cases, she grew to some extent familiarised with the possibility. There came two letters from Mr Mapleson, the effect of which was indirectly favourable to the realisation of Stasy’s scheme.

“I have consulted my good wife,” wrote the old lawyer, “as I said I would. I am sorry to say she rather shakes her head over the idea of a school. There is so much less opening for private establishments of the kind nowadays, and this applies, I fear, to some extent to governesses too, unless they have been trained in the orthodox modern way. It would, no doubt, add greatly to your troubles to be separated from your charming daughters. If you will pardon the suggestion, and not consider it impertinent, what would you say to beginning some sort of dressmaking or millinery business in which you could all keep together? This kind of thing has become rather a fashion of late years, even for women of first-rate position.”

This letter arrived at breakfast-time one morning. Mrs Derwent read it and handed it to Blanche, remarking as she did so: “It is rather curious that the same idea should have struck him, isn’t it?”

Stasy looked up eagerly.

“What is it? Oh, do tell me! Do read it quickly, Blanchie.” And when she had got the letter in her own hands, and mastered its contents, she turned round triumphantly. “There now,” she said, “I hope you’ll allow in the future that I’m not a silly child. When a wise old lawyer of nearly a hundred proposes the very same thing, I should say it’s worth listening to.”

“I never thought it was not worth listening to, practically speaking,” said Mrs Derwent. “My hesitation was simply that I didn’t like the idea, and one of my reasons for disliking it is, that it would be so entirely you two, my darlings, working for me, for I am not at all clever at millinery.”

“And I am not a genius at it, mamma,” said Blanche. “Nothing like Stasy. It is she who has the ideas.”

“But I am not nearly so neat as you, Blanche,” said Stasy. “I would never have done so well without you to fasten off my threads, and that sort of thing.”

Blanche smiled.

“What I was going to say, mamma,” said Blanche, “is that there would be a great deal to do besides the actual millinery. All the business part of it – ordering things and keeping accounts, the sort of thing you’re so clever at. You know grandpapa used always to say that you were as good as a head-clerk or private secretary any day. And if the business were extended, as Miss Halliday hopes, there would be a great deal more of that side of it.”

“Yes,” said Stasy. “She told me the last time I saw her that that is one of her difficulties. She’s not very well educated, you know, poor little woman, and her accounts, such as they are, are rather a trouble to her. Indeed,” she went on, looking preternaturally wise, “I’ve a great idea that she is cheated sometimes.”