Blanche: A Story for Girls

“I can quite believe that she cheats herself,” said Mrs Derwent. “I was always finding out things she had forgotten to put down in our weekly account. That reminds me, Blanche, of some things that came into my mind in the night – I didn’t sleep very well – about the arrangements we should have to make with Miss Halliday, if – if,” with a little hesitation – “this idea really goes farther. We should have to guarantee Miss Halliday against any risk to a certain extent; for, you see, she would have to give up ever having any lodgers if we went to live there.”

“Yes,” said Blanche thoughtfully; “and yet we could not now afford to pay as much as when we were her lodgers.”

“Perhaps we should pay half the house rent,” said Mrs Derwent, “and, of course, a larger proportion of the housekeeping. All that, I could guarantee out of capital for a time – the first year or so – till we saw how we got on. Miss Halliday is such an unsuspicious creature that I should be doubly anxious to be fair to her.”

“Perhaps it would be best to consult Mr Mapleson,” said Blanche.

“Yes, I think it would be quite necessary,” her mother agreed. “I should like to have a talk with Miss Halliday before doing so, however, so that we might know our ground a little; and then, again, I can’t say anything definite till I hear more from Mr Bracy.”

She got up from her seat as she spoke, and crossed the room to the window, where she stood looking out.

It was a perfectly lovely, early summer morning. The grounds at Pinnerton Lodge were now beginning to reward the care that had been bestowed on them when the Derwents first took the house. The view from the window across the neat lawn, its borders already gay with flowers, was charming.

No wonder that poor Mrs Derwent sighed a little.

“I think almost the worst part of this sort of trouble,” she said, “is waiting to see what one should do; though in some cases, no doubt, this goes on for months.”

At that moment the click of the gate was heard.

“I don’t think we are going to be kept very long waiting,” said Blanche cheerfully – she too had left her seat, and was standing beside her mother – “that’s the Bracys’ page coming up the path; he must be bringing a note.”

Her conjecture was correct. Two minutes later the note was in Mrs Derwent’s hand.

“They are really very kind and considerate,” she said, looking up after she had read it. “This is to ask if Mrs Bracy may come to look through the house more particularly, as they have quite made up their minds about it. Fancy, Blanche, he has actually telegraphed to India, and has got a reply. I do believe he has done it more for our sake than for their own, for I said to him we wanted to know as soon as possible. They are very rich, I suppose, but they are certainly also very kind.”

“And how horrid I was to Adela Bracy the first time I saw her,” said Stasy, contritely. “Well, never mind, I’ll make up for it by fabricating the loveliest hats that ever were seen, for her, if she patronises our millinery establishment.”

“Stasy,” said Blanche softly, “I wouldn’t joke about it if I were you; and you know it isn’t the least settled yet. At least not before mamma,” she went on, in a lower voice, seeing that her mother was not listening, as she was again reading Mr Bracy’s note.

An answer was sent, arranging for Mrs Bracy to see the house that same morning, and by that afternoon the negotiation was virtually concluded. The rent Mr Bracy proposed to pay would in itself have been a sufficient income for the mother and daughters to have lived upon very modestly, had Pinnerton Lodge been their own; but deducting the amount Mrs Derwent was responsible for, as the tenant of the house unfurnished, a very small income was to be counted on, and that but for one year.

“We may feel sure of two hundred,” said Mrs Derwent, “for I have still a good balance in the bank, and I have almost paid everything we owe, up to this.”

“You are counting, of course, the eighty pounds a year that Mr Mapleson spoke of as quite certain,” said Blanche.

“Oh dear, yes,” her mother replied; “it is indeed our only certainty in the future, except what we would realise by selling the furniture and plate, and so on.”

“And I’m sure it is better not to do that in a hurry,” said Blanche. “Don’t you think, mamma,” she went on, “that we know enough now to justify us in having a talk with Miss Halliday?”

Mrs Derwent considered.

“Yes,” she said, “I think that is the first thing to be done now, for I have practically promised to give possession of the house early next month.”

“Would you like me to see her first, mamma?” Blanche proposed. “Could it make it any less disagreeable for you if I were to sound her, as it were?”

“Oh no, dear,” said her mother. “I shall not feel it disagreeable, and even if I did, why should I not take my share when you and Stasy are so good about it all? You would hardly be able to go into it definitely without me. I must make a rough calculation as to what ready money I could promise her at once, subject, of course, to Mr Maplesons approval.”

“And he should be written to without delay,” said Blanche. “Yes, mamma, if you’re able for the walk, I think we should certainly see Miss Halliday to-day. If we go rather late in the afternoon, she would be better able to speak to us uninterruptedly.”

They found the milliner in rather low spirits, though the flutter of nervousness at the honour of Mrs Derwent’s visit made her forget her own troubles for a little. She was full of sympathy, yet afraid of presumption if she expressed it. But before long Blanche and her mother managed to put her at her ease.

But the calm was only of a few minutes’ duration. When Mrs Derwent laid before her with quiet composure the object with which they had sought her, Miss Halliday’s excitement grew uncontrollable. She cried and laughed, thanked them and apologised to them, all in a breath, till Mrs Derwent at last made her see that the proposal was for their interest as well as for hers, and managed to calm her down by matter-of-fact discussion of ways and means, and pounds, shillings, and pence.

“It is too good to be true,” said Miss Halliday. “I have got silly lately with brooding over things all by myself. Since the day Miss Stasy talked to me, I have not said a word of my troubles to any one, and knowing, of course, how much worse anxieties you dear ladies had to bear, I couldn’t have troubled you by asking for advice.”

Her confidence in Mrs Derwent was touching. She would have agreed to almost anything proposed, so that Blanche and her mother left her, empowered to tell Mr Mapleson that the milliner was ready to accept any arrangement he thought fair and equitable.

Chapter Seventeen

A Visitor

Two months later. A sunny day towards the end of July, the sort of day on which one longs to have nothing to do but to saunter about a garden, or lounge under trees with the lightest of light literature in his hands. It was rather hot in the milliner’s shop in the Blissmore High Street, though the sun-blinds had been down since the early morning to protect the few, though pretty, bonnets and hats tastefully displayed in the window. These sun-blinds were a new addition to Miss Halliday’s frontage, and she was very proud of them.

“Such a convenience,” she said, “making such a nice shade, and yet not stopping passers-by seeing what was to be seen. Not that that would matter,” she went on, complacently. “If we had nothing but a plain front door, customers would come in plenty, I feel sure, now that we’re getting such a name.”

It was quite true. Even during the few weeks that had passed since the Derwents had joined her, Miss Halliday’s connection had steadily increased, though just at this season it consisted mainly of the residents at Blissmore itself.

Some came out of curiosity, no doubt, for no secret had been made of the change in the Derwents’ position and the courageous step they had taken. It was a new sensation, in a provincial town, at least, to be waited upon by “ladies,” and very charming ladies too; though, to tell the truth, the adjective was chiefly drawn forth by Blanche, whose sweet grave face and perfect patience and courtesy of manner rarely failed to win her customers’ hearts. But if curiosity brought several of these in the first place, real satisfaction at the way in which their orders were executed was pretty sure to lead to repeated visits. And added to the increasing conviction that not many milliners out of Paris had prettier wares, and “so moderate too,” was a sensation, agreeable to the Blissmore ladies, that somehow or other they were acting in a praiseworthy fashion by lending a helping hand to the “poor things.”

Yes, as far as the town was concerned, there was no doubt that the new departure was a decided success, though the very success brought certain difficulties in its train, the management of which called for considerable tact.

“You mustn’t let yourselves be patronised, dear young ladies,” said Miss Halliday, when an invitation to a small evening party was left one day for “Miss Derwent” by Mrs Burgess’s parlour-maid. “She wouldn’t have dared do it, if you had been at Pinnerton Lodge; and, to my mind, it’s a greater freedom now than it would have been then.”

“She counts herself an old acquaintance, I suppose, as she called upon us at first,” said Blanche; “and Dr Burgess was very good to Stasy when she was ill, you know, Miss Halliday. Still, of course, I would never dream of accepting this. Only we must not risk offending any one, and I believe, in her way, Mrs Burgess has done her best to help us by recommending us.”

Miss Halliday gave a little snort, Mrs Burgess being no very great favourite of hers.

“I will answer her note quite civilly,” said Blanche, “and just say we do not intend to go out at all. To begin with, mamma would certainly not let me go alone.”

“And they’d scarcely venture to ask her,” said Miss Halliday with satisfaction. “But I wish you wouldn’t say you don’t mean ever to go anywhere, for when the county ladies are home again, there’s no saying but that you may have invitations of quite a different kind.”

Blanche smiled.

“The county ladies didn’t trouble themselves about us much before,” she said. “I can scarcely think it likely they will now, though I certainly hope they will come to us for their bonnets.”

“I’ve not much fear but what they’ll do that,” said Miss Halliday, whose impressionable nature now saw everything on its bright side. “And even more than that, my dear Miss Blanchie, people are ‘funny’ – you can’t count upon them. Anything that makes a sensation is the thing nowadays;” for the milliner was, in her way, a shrewd observer of human nature. “And there’s many nice ladies among them too – real ladies – who’d feel with you more truly than such as Mrs Burgess. There’s that sweet Lady Hebe, now!”

A deep sigh from the farther corner of the shop seemed to come in appropriate response to her last words.

“Stasy!” exclaimed Blanche. “What are you sighing so about? I thought you were working up-stairs beside mamma. What is the matter?”

“Oh, a lot of things,” replied Stasy dolefully. “I’m so hot, and I can’t get these beastly flowers to go the way I want them. My fingers seem all thumbs this afternoon.”

“Stasy!” said Blanche again, this time in a tone of reproof. “Is that the way Blissmore young women talk?”

“I’m a Blissmore young woman myself, now,” said Stasy. “So what can you expect?”

“You’re overworking yourself,” said Blanche. “Instead of doing less, now that your classes are over for the holidays, you’re fagging yourself out; and it is really not necessary just now. We got on very well when you only helped us part of the day, didn’t we, Miss Halliday?”