Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England Flaming June By Mrs George de Horne Vaizey ________________________________________________________________________ This book is a little different from most of the others from this author. The cast of the story are just a shade older than we are used to in Vaizey books, and there is no one who is afflicted with a disabling disease, such as the author herself suffered from. I suppose you could describe the setting as the upper-class Mayfair set. The scene opens in the house of a tidy old spinster, living in a tidy little seaside town, in a row of large houses of similar people, sharing private access to a well-kept garden. A rather stable existence. There is also a nice young American girl, over in England as part of her education, no doubt. Her father has become very rich in America, but he is the brother of the tidy old spinster, on whom, and to whose dismay, he has imposed Cornelia's visit. Cornelia is simply not used to the standards of English behaviour, for instance chaperones, and not gadding about with young men. Cornelia has quite enough pocket-money to do as she pleases. But her aunt is proved right in the end, for among all these nice well-brought-up people there is a baddy, which is revealed only towards the end. NH ________________________________________________________________________ FLAMING JUNE BY MRS. GEORGE DE HORNE VAIZEY CHAPTER ONE. Somewhere on the West coast of England, about a hundred miles from the metropolis, there stands a sleepy little town, which possesses no special activity nor beauty to justify its existence. People live in it for reasons of their own. The people who do _not_ live in it wonder for _what_ reasons, but attain no better solution of the mystery than the statement that the air is very fine. "We have such bracing air!" says the resident, as proudly as if that said air were his special invention and property. Certain West-country doctors affect Norton-on-Sea for patients in need of restful change, and their melancholy advent justifies the existence of the great hotel on the esplanade, and the row of bath-chairs at the corner. There are ten bath-chairs in all, and on sunny days ten crumpled-looking old ladies can generally be seen sitting inside their canopies, trundling slowly along the esplanade, accompanied by a paid companion, dressed in black and looking sorry for herself. Occasionally on Saturdays and Sundays a pretty daughter, or a tall son takes the companion's place, but as sure as Monday arrives they disappear into space. One can imagine that one hears them bidding their farewells--"So glad to see you getting on so well, mother dear! I positively _must_ rush back to town to attend to a hundred duties. It's a comfort to feel that you are so well placed. Miss Biggs is a treasure, and this air is so bracing!..." The esplanade consists of four rows of lodging-houses and two hotels, in front of which is a strip of grass, on which a band plays twice a week during the summer months, and the school-children twice a day all the year long. The invalids in the hotel object to the children and make unsuccessful attempts to banish them from their pitch, and the children in their turn regard the invalids with frank disdain, and make audible and uncomplimentary surmises as to the nature of their complaints as the procession of chairs trundles by. In front of the green, and separating it from the steep, pebbly shore, are a number of fishermen's shanties, bathing machines, and hulks of old vessels stretched in a long, straggling row, while one larger shed stands back from the rest, labelled "Lifeboat" in large white letters. Parallel with the esplanade runs the High Street, a narrow thoroughfare showing shops crowded with the useless little articles which are supposed to prove irresistibly attractive to visitors to the seaside. At the bazaar a big white label proclaims that everything in the window is to be sold at the astounding price of "eleven-three," and the purchaser is free to make his choice from such treasures as work-boxes lined in crimson plush, and covered with a massed pattern in shells; desks fitted with all the implements for writing, scent bottles tied with blue ribbons; packets of stationery with local views, photograph frames in plush and gelatine, or to select more perishable trophies in glass and china, all solemnly guaranteed to be worth double the price. At the photographer's, a few yards farther along, a visitor can have his portrait taken a yard square, the size of a postage stamp, or on a postcard to send to his friends. Ingenious backgrounds are on hand, representing appropriate seaside scenes in which the sitter has nothing to do but to press his face against a hole on the canvas, and these are extensively patronised, for what can be more convenient than to stand on solid earth, attired in sober, everyday clothing, yet be portrayed splashing in the waves in the spandiest of French bathing costumes, riding a donkey along the sands, or manfully hauling down the sails of a yacht! Mr Photographer Sykes is a man of resource, and deserves the prosperity which is the envy of his neighbours. Mrs Sykes wears silk linings to her skirts on Sundays, and rustles like the highest in the land. She had three new hats in one summer, and the fishmonger's wife knows for a fact that not one of the number costs less than "twenty-five-six." The High Street and the esplanade constitute the new Norton-on-Sea which has sprung into being within the last ten years, but the real, original, aristocratic Norton lies a couple of miles inland, and consists of a wide, sloping street, lined with alternate shops and houses, branching off from which are a number of sleepy roads, in which detached and semi- detached villas hide themselves behind trees and hedges, and barricade their windows with stiff, white curtains. The one great longing actuating the Norton householder seems to be to see nothing, and to be seen by none. "Is the house overlooked?" they ask the agent anxiously on the occasion of the first application. "Does it overlook any other house?" "There _is_ another house across the road, madam!" the agent is sometimes regretfully obliged to admit, "but it has been very cleverly planted out." So it has! by means of a fir or an elm planted within a few yards of the windows, and blocking out something more important than another villa, but the Norton resident desires privacy above all things. The sun and the air have to creep in as best they may. The more aristocratic the position of a family, the more secluded becomes their position. Fences are raised by an arrangement of lattice- work on the top of boards; shrubs are planted thickly inside the hedges; even the railings of the gates are backed by discreetly concealing boards. If there happens to be a rise in the road from which a passer- by can catch a glimpse of white figures darting to and fro on the tennis courts, the owner promptly throws up a bank, and plants on the top one or two quickly growing limes. It is so disagreeable to be overlooked! At the date at which this history opens, there were several large places in the neighbourhood of Norton, foremost among them were the Manor House, occupied by the young squire, Geoffrey Greville, and Madame, his mother; Green Arbour, owned by Admiral Perry, who had married the widow of the late High Sheriff; and The Meads, the ofttime deserted seat of a rich London banker. With these exceptions, quite the most aristocratic dwellings were situated in what was known as "The Park," though perhaps "The Crescent" would have been the more appropriate name, for the twelve houses were built on one side of a curving road, looking out on a charming stretch of land, dipping down to a miniature lake, and rising again to a soft green knoll, surmounted by a bank of trees. The carefully-mowed grass looked like softest velvet, and might be seen, but not touched, being surrounded by tiny wire arches, and protected by wooden boards, requesting visitors to keep to the paths, and not trespass on the "verges." Impressive title! Visitors were likewise requested not to touch the flowering shrubs; not to pick the flowers; not to throw rubbish into the lake, or to inscribe their initials on the seats. These rules being carefully observed, the twelve householders who paid for the upkeep of these decorous gardens were free to enjoy such relaxations as could be derived from gravel paths, and wooden benches. The view from their windows the residents apparently did not wish to enjoy, for they planted their trees and heightened their fences as industriously as the owners of the fifty-pound villas in Hill Street. Mrs Garnett, at Buona Vista, having a garden deficient in foliage, had even erected a temporary trellis at the end of the lawn, and covered it with creepers, rather than face the indignity of an open view. It gave her such a "feeling of publicity" to see the neighbours pass to and fro! It was only the residents themselves who enjoyed the proud privilege of pacing the Park unmolested, for at either entrance stood small eaved lodges in which were housed the two gardeners and their wives. To be lodge-keeper to the Park was as great a guarantee of respectability in Norton as to be vicar of the parish church itself. Only middle-aged, married, teetotal, childless churchmen could apply for the posts, and among their scant ranks the most searching inquiries were instituted before an appointment was finally arranged. It is safe to affirm that no working couples on earth were more clean, industrious, and alive to their duty towards their betters, than the occupants of the North and South Lodges of Norton Park! All day long the two husbands mowed grass, clipped hedges, and swept up gravel paths; all day long the wives scrubbed and dusted their immaculate little houses, keeping a weather-eye on the door to see who passed to and fro. Their duty it was to pounce out on any stranger who dared attempt to force an entrance through the hallowed portals, and send them back discomfited. "You can't come this way, madam! This road is private!" "Can't I just walk straight through on the path? It is so much nearer than going all the way round!" "The park is private, madam; there is no thoroughfare." Occasionally some child of sin would endeavour to prevaricate. "I wish to pay a call!" "Which house did you wish to go to, madam?" "Er--Buona Vista!" "Buona Vistas is away from home. They won't be back till the end of the month." Foiled in her attempts the miscreant would have to retrace her steps, or make her way round by the narrow lane by means of which the tradesmen made their way to the back-doors of these secluded dwellings. Perhaps the most unpromisingly decorous house in the Park was christened "The Nook," with that appalling lack of humour which is nowhere portrayed more strikingly than in the naming of suburban residences. It stood fair and square in the middle of the crescent; and from garret to cellar there was not a nooky corner on which the eye could light. Two drawing-room windows flanked the front door on the left; two dining-room windows on the right. There was not even a gable or a dormer to break the square solidity of the whole. Fourteen windows in all, each chastely shrouded in Nottingham lace curtains, looped back by yellow silk bands, fastened, to a fraction of an inch, at the same height from the sill, while Aspidistra plants, mounted on small tables, were artfully placed so as to fill up the space necessarily left in the centre. They were handsome plants of venerable age, which Mason, the parlourmaid, watered twice a week, sponging their leaves with milk before she replaced them in their pots. It was a typical early Victorian residence, inhabited by a spinster lady of early Victorian type and her four henchwomen--Heap the cook, Mary the housemaid, Mason the parlourmaid, and Jane the tweeny. Four women, plus a boot-boy, to wait upon the wants of one solitary person, yet in conclave with the domestic at The Croft to the right, and The Holt to the left, Miss Briskett's maids were wont to assert that they were worked off their feet. It was, as has been said, an early Victorian household, conducted on early Victorian lines. Other people might be content to buy half their supplies ready-made from the stores, but Miss Briskett insisted on home-made bread, home-made jams and cakes; home- made pickles and sauces; home-cured tongues and hams, and home-made liqueurs. Cook kept the tweeny busy in the kitchen, while Mary grumbled at having to keep half a dozen unused bedrooms in spick and span perfection, and Mason spent her existence in polishing, and sweeping invisible grains of dust from out-of-the-way-corners. As a rule the domestic wheel turned on oiled wheels and Miss Briskett's existence flowed on its even course, from one year's end to another, with little but the weather to differentiate one month from another, but on the day on which this history begins, a thunderbolt had fallen in the shape of a letter bearing a New York post-mark, which the postman handed in at the door of The Nook at the three o'clock delivery. Miss Briskett read its contents, and gasped; read them again, and trembled; read them a third time, and sat buried in thought for ten minutes by the clock, at the expiration of which time she opened her own desk, and penned a note to her friend and confidant, Mrs Ramsden, of The Holt-- "My dear Friend,--I have just received a communication from America which is causing me considerable perturbation. If your engagements will allow, I should be grateful if you will take tea with me this afternoon, and give me the benefit of your wise counsel. Pray send a verbal answer by bearer.--Yours sincerely,-- "Sophia A Briskett." The trim Mason took the note to its destination, and waited in the hall while Mrs Ramsden wrote her reply. The reference to a verbal answer was only a matter of form. Miss Briskett would have been surprised and affronted to receive so unceremonious a reply to her invitation-- "My dear Friend,--It will give me pleasure to take tea with you this afternoon, as you so kindly suggest. I trust that the anxiety under which you are labouring may be of a temporary nature, and shall be thankful indeed if I can in any way assist to bring about its solution.--Most truly yours,-- "Ellen Bean Ramsden." "The best china, Mason, and a teapot for two!" was Miss Briskett's order on receipt of this cordial response, and an hour later the two ladies sat in conclave over a daintily-spread table in the drawing-room of The Nook. Miss Briskett was a tall, thin woman of fifty-eight or sixty, wearing a white cap perched upon her grey hair, and an expression of frosty propriety on her thin, pointed features. Frosty is the adjective which most accurately describes her appearance. One felt a moral conviction that she would suffer from chilblains in winter, that the long, thin fingers must be cold to the touch, even on this bright May day; that the tip of her nose was colder still, that she could not go to sleep at night without a hot bottle to her feet. She was addicted to grey dresses, composed of stiff and shiny silk, and to grey bonnets glittering with steely beads. She creaked, as she moved, and her thin figure was whale-boned into an unnatural rigidity. Mrs Ramsden was, in appearance at least, a striking contrast to her friend, being a dumpy little woman, in whose demeanour good-nature vied with dignity. She was dressed in black, and affected an upright feather in front of her bonnets. "To give me height, my dear!" In looking at her one was irresistibly reminded of a pouter pigeon strutting along on its short little legs, preening its sleek little head to and fro above its protuberant breast. "Read that!" said Miss Briskett, tragically, handing the thin sheet of paper to her friend, and Mrs Ramsden put on her spectacles and read as follows-- "My dear Sister,--Business connected with mines makes it necessary for me to go out West for the next few months, and the question has arisen how to provide for Cornelia meantime. I had various notions, but she prefers her own (she generally does!), and reckons she can't fill in this gap better than by running over to pay you a visit in the Old Country. I can pick her up in the fall, and have a little trot round before returning. She has friends sailing in the _Lucania_ on the 15th, and intends crossing with them. You will just have time to cable to put her off if you are dead, or otherwise incapacitated; but I take it you will be glad to have a look at my girl. She's worth looking at! I shall feel satisfied to know she is with you. She might get up to mischief over here. "Looking forward to seeing you later on,--Your brother, Edward Briskett." "_P S_--Dear Aunt Soph, don't you worry to prepare! I'll just chip in, and take you as you are. We'll have some high old times!--Your niece, Cornelia." Letter and eye-glasses fell together upon Mrs Ramsden's knee. She raised startled eyes, and blinked dumbly at her friend. Miss Briskett wagged her head from side to side, and heaved a sepulchral sigh. The halcyon days of peace were over! CHAPTER TWO. "My dear," said Mrs Ramsden, solemnly, "this is indeed great news. I don't wonder that you feel unnerved!" "I do, indeed. The three o'clock post came in, and I was quite surprised when Mary came in with the salver. I was not expecting any letters. I have so few correspondents, and I am mostly in their debt, I am afraid. Still, of course, there are always the circulars. I looked for nothing more exciting, and then--_this_ arrived! I really felt that I could not sit alone and think it out by myself all day long. I hope you will forgive me for asking you to come over on such short notice." "Indeed, I am flattered that you should wish to have me. Do tell me all about this brother. He has lived abroad a long time, I think? It is the eldest, is it not? The rich one--in America?" "I believe he is rich for the moment. Goodness knows how long it may last," sighed Miss Briskett, dolefully. "He speculates in mines, my dear, and you know what _that_ means! Half the time he is a pauper, and the other half a millionaire, and so far as I can gather from his letters he seems just as well satisfied one way as another. He was always a flighty, irresponsible creature, and I fear Cornelia has taken after him." "She is the only child?" "Yes! She had an English mother, I'm thankful to say; but poor Sybil died at her birth, and Edward never married again. He was devoted to Sybil, and said he would never give another woman the charge of her child. Such nonsense! As if any man on earth could look after a growing girl, without a woman's help. Instead of a wise, judicious stepmother, she has been left to nurses and governesses, and from what I can hear, has ruled _them_, instead of the other way about. You can see by the tone of her father's letter that he is absurdly prejudiced." "That is natural, perhaps, with an only child, left to him in such peculiarly sad circumstances. We must not judge him hardly for that," said little Mrs Ramsden, kindly. "Has the girl herself ever written to you before, may I ask, or is this her first communication?" Miss Briskett's back stiffened, and her thin lips set in a straight line. "She has addressed little notes to me from time to time; on birthdays, and Christmases, and so on; but to tell you the truth, my dear, I have not encouraged their continuance. They were unduly familiar, and I object to being addressed by abbreviations of my name. Ideas as to what is right and fitting seem to differ on different sides of the Atlantic!" "They do, indeed. I have always understood that young people are brought into quite undue prominence in American households. And their manners, too! One sees in that postscript--you don't mind my saying so, just between ourselves--a--a _broadness_--" "Quite so! I feel it myself. I am most grieved, about it. Cornelia is my niece, and Edward is the head of the family. Her position as his only child is one of importance, and I feel distressed that she is so little qualified to adorn it. She has been well educated, I believe; has `graduated,' as they call it; but she has evidently none of our English polish. Quite in confidence, Mrs Ramsden, I feel that she may be somewhat of a shock to the neighbourhood!" "You think of receiving her, then? Your brother leaves you the option of refusing, and I should think things over very seriously before incurring such a responsibility. A three-months' visit! I doubt you could not stand the strain! If you excused yourself on the ground of health, no offence could possibly be taken." But at that Miss Briskett protested strongly. "Oh, my dear, I could not refuse! Edward wishes to find a home for the girl, and says he would be relieved to have her with me. I could not possibly refuse! I think I may say that I have never yet shirked a duty, distasteful though it might be, and I must not do so now. I shall cable to say that I will be pleased to receive Cornelia, when it suits her to arrive." Mrs Ramsden crumbled her seed-cake and wondered why--that being the case--she had been summoned to give advice, but being a good-natured soul, smiled assent, and deftly shifted the conversation to the consideration of details. "Well, dear, I only trust you may be rewarded. Miss Cornelia is fortunate to have such a home waiting to receive her. What room do you propose to dedicate to her use?" Miss Briskett's face clouded, and she drew a long, despairing sigh. "That's another thing I am troubled about. I had the best spare room done up only this spring. The carpet had faded, and when I was renewing it I took the opportunity to have in the painters and paperhangers. It is _all_ fresh, even the curtains and bed-hangings. They have not once been used." Mrs Ramsden purred in sympathetic understanding. "Poor dear! When one has just made a room all fresh and clean, it is _most_ trying to have it taken into use! But why give her that room at all, dear? You have several others. A young, unmarried girl should be satisfied with a room at the back, or even on the third storey. You have a nice little guest room over your own bedroom, have you not?" "No!" Miss Briskett again manifested a noble determination to do her duty. "I should like Edward to feel, when he comes over, that I have paid his daughter all due honour. She must have the spare room, and if she spills things over the new carpet, I must pray for grace to bear it. She has been accustomed to a very luxurious style of living for the last few years, and I daresay even my best room will not be as handsome as her own apartment. In the present state of Edward's finances, she is, I suppose, a very great heiress." Little Mrs Ramsden stared into her cup with a kindly thoughtfulness. "I should keep that fact secret, if I were you," she said earnestly. "Poor lassie! it's always a handicap to a girl to be received for what she has, rather than what she is. And there are two or three idle, worthless young men hanging about, who might be only too glad to pick up a rich wife. I should simply announce that I was expecting a niece from the United States of America, to pay me a visit of some months' duration, and offer no enlightenment as to her circumstances. You will have enough responsibility as it is, without embarrassing entanglements." "Yes, indeed. Thank you so much. I feel sure that your advice is wise, and I shall certainly follow it. There's that soldier nephew of Mrs Mott's, who is constantly running down on short visits. I object intensely to that dashing style! He is just the type of man to run after a girl for her money. I shall take special care that they do not meet. One thing I am determined upon," said Miss Briskett, sternly, "and that is that there shall be no love-making, nor philandering of any kind under my roof. I could not be troubled with such nonsense, nor with the responsibility of it. I am accustomed to a quiet, regular life, and if Cornelia comes to me, she must conform to the regulations of the household. At my age I cannot be expected to alter my ways for the sake of a girl." "Certainly not. She is a mere girl, I suppose! How old may she be?" Miss Briskett considered. "She was born in the winter! I distinctly remember coming in and seeing the cable, and taking off my fur gloves to open it.--It was the year I bought the dining-room carpet. It was just down, I remember, and as we drank the baby's health, the cork flew out of the bottle, and some of the champagne was spilt, and there was a great fuss wiping it up-- Twenty-two years ago! Who would have thought it could be so long?" "Ah, it always pays to get a good thing while you are about it. It costs a great deal at the start, but you have such satisfaction afterwards. It's not a bit faded!" Mrs Ramsden affirmed, alluding, be it understood, to the Turkey carpet, and not to Miss Cornelia Briskett. "Twenty-two. Just a year younger than my Elma! Elma will be glad to have a companion." "It is kind of you to say so. Nothing would please me better than to see Cornelia become intimate with your daughter. Poor child, she has not had the advantages of an English upbringing; but we must hope that this visit will be productive of much good. She could not have a better example than Elma. She is a type of a sweet, guileless, English girl." "Ye-es!" asserted the sweet girl's mother, doubtfully; "but you know, dear Miss Briskett, that at times even Elma..." She shook her head, sighed, and continued with a struggling smile: "We must remember--must we not--that we have been young ourselves, and try not to be too hard on little eccentricities!" Mrs Ramsden spoke with feeling, for memory, though slumbering, was not dead. She had not always been a well-conducted widow lady, who expressed herself with decorum, and wore black cashmere and bugles. Thirty odd years ago she had been a plump little girl, with a lively capacity for mischief. On one occasion she had danced two-thirds of the programme at a ball with an officer even more dashing than the objectionable nephew of Mrs Mott, and in a corner of the conservatory had given him a flower from her bouquet. He had kissed the flower before pressing it in his pocket- book, and had looked as if he would have liked to kiss something else into the bargain. ... After twenty-five years of life at Norton, it was astonishing how vividly the prim little widow recalled the guilty thrill of that moment! On yet another occasion she had carried on a clandestine correspondence with the brother of a friend, and had awakened to tardy pangs of conscience only when a more attractive suitor came upon the scene! Mrs Ramsden blushed at the remembrance, and felt a kindly softening of the heart towards the absent Cornelia but Miss Briskett remained coldly unmoved. She had been an old maid in her cradle, and had gone on steadily growing old maidier ever since. Never had she so forgotten herself as to dally with the affections of any young man, which was perhaps the less to her credit, as no young man had exhibited any inclination to tempt her from the paths of single blessedness. She looked down her nose at her friend's remark, and replied that she trusted she might be enabled to do her duty, without either prejudice or indulgence, and soon afterwards Mrs Ramsden took her leave, and returned to her own domain. At one of the windows of the over-furnished sitting-room of The Holt, a girl was standing gazing dreamily through the spotted net curtains, with a weary little droop in the lines of the figure which bespoke fatigue, rather mental, than physical. She was badly dressed, in an ill-cut skirt, and an ill-cut blouse, and masses of light brown hair were twisted heavily together at the back of her head; but the face, which she turned to welcome her mother reminded one instinctively of a bunch of flowers--of white, smooth-leaved narcissi; of fragrant pink roses; of pansies--deep, purple-blue pansies, soft as velvet. Given the right circumstances and accessories, this might have been a beauty, an historical beauty, whose name would be handed down from one generation to another; a Georgina of Devonshire, a beautiful Miss Gunning, a witching Nell Gwynne; but alas! beauty is by no means independent of external aid! The poets who declaim to the contrary are men, poor things, who know no better; every woman in the world will plump for a good dressmaker, when she wishes to appear at her best. Elma Ramsden, with the makings of a beauty, was just a pretty, dowdy girl, at whom a passer-by would hardly cast a second glance. She looked bored too, and a trifle discontented, and her voice had a flat, uninterested tone. "Well, mother, back again! Have you enjoyed your call?" "Thank you, dear, it was hardly a case of enjoyment. I was invited to give my opinion of a matter of importance." "Yes, I know!--Should she have the sweep this week, or the week after next?--Should she have new covers for the drawing-room?--Would you advise slate-grey, or grey-slate for the new dress? ... I hope you brought the weight of your intellect to bear on the great problems, and solved them to your mutual satisfaction!" Mrs Ramsden seated herself on a deeply-cushioned arm-chair, and began pulling off her tight kid gloves. A touch of offence was visible in her demeanour, and the feather in the front of her bonnet reared itself at an aggressive angle. "It is not in good taste, my dear, to talk in that tone to your mother. Matters of domestic interest may not appeal to you in your present irresponsible position, but they are not without their own importance. The subject of to-day's discussion, however, was something quite different. You will be interested to hear that Miss Briskett is expecting a young American niece to pay her a visit at an early date." "How young?" inquired Elma, tentatively. Her mother had a habit of alluding to "girls" of thirty-five, which did not commend itself to her youthful judgment. She reserved her interest until assured on this important point. "About your own age or slightly younger. The only daughter of Mr Edward Briskett, the head of the family. His business takes him away from home for several months, and his daughter is anxious to avail herself of the opportunity of visiting her aunt." "Oh!" said Elma; no more and no less, but as she turned her pansy-like eyes once more to the window, she grimaced expressively. She was sorry for the delusion of the American daughter who was willing to cross a whole ocean for the privilege of beholding Miss Sophia Briskett! "What is she like?" she asked presently. "Did you hear anything about her?" Mrs Ramsden shook her head dolefully. "I fear, dear--strictly between ourselves--that she is not precisely what we should call a _nice_ girl! The tone of her letter was decidedly flippant. Miss Briskett is hoping much from your influence. You two girls will naturally come a good deal into contact, and I hope you will do your utmost to set her an example of ladylike demeanour." Elma stared steadily through the window. "_Flippant_" she repeated to herself in a breathless whisper. "_Flippant_!" The pansy eyes widened. She heaved a sigh of deep, incredulous delight. CHAPTER THREE. The _Lucania_ was due to arrive in the Mersey early on a Tuesday forenoon, and Miss Briskett expected to welcome her niece on the evening of the same day. The best spare room was already swept and garnished, and nothing remained but to take counsel with Heap the cook, and draw out a menu of a dinner which could most successfully combat the strain of waiting. The spinster's own appetite, though sparse, was fastidious, and Heap was a mistress of her art, so that between the two a dainty little meal was arranged, while Mason, not to be outdone, endeavoured to impart an extra polish to her already highly-burnished silver. In the seclusion of the pantry she hummed a joyful air. "Praise the pigs! we shall have something young in the house, at last," said she to herself. "I don't mind the extra work, if she'll only make a bit of a stir!" By six o'clock the dinner-table was laid, and Miss Briskett was sitting in state, clad in her newest grey silk gown, though a reference to Bradshaw made it seem improbable that the traveller could arrive before seven o'clock. At half-past six hot water was carried up to the bedroom; ten minutes later Miss Briskett left her seat to move another few yards nearer the window. Streaks of colour showed in her cheeks, her fingers clasped and unclasped in nervous fashion. She was conscious of a quick thud-thud at the left side of the thickly-boned bodice, and realised with surprise that it came from that almost forgotten organ, her heart. She had never experienced this agitation before when awaiting the arrival of her own friends. The old adage was right after all--blood was thicker than water! What would the child be like? Edward was a big fair man, with no special beauty of feature. Sybil had been slight and dainty. It did not seem likely that Cornelia would be specially pretty, her aunt prayed above all things that she was unnoticeable--to be unnoticeable was regarded as the climax of elegance in Norton society!--then with a sudden softening of expression found herself hoping that there would be something of Edward in looks or manner! She was a lonely woman, living apart from her kin. To have someone of her own would be a new and delightful experience. She felt glad, actually _glad_ that Cornelia was coming! Seven o'clock! At any moment now a cab might appear bearing the expected guest from the station. Miss Briskett crossed the room to alter the arrangement of a vase of flowers, and as she did so, the door opened, and Mason entered carrying a telegram upon a silver salver. Miss Briskett tore it open, and read the following message:-- "Safe and sound. Staying night in London with friends. Sight-seeing to-morrow morning. Be with you at five. God save the Queen!-- Cornelia." Miss Briskett's lips tightened. She folded the orange-coloured paper and returned it to its envelope, cleared her throat and said coldly-- "Inform Heap that my niece will not arrive until to-morrow evening, and be good enough to serve dinner at once." Mason's face clouded with disappointment. In the kitchen Heap banged the saucepan-lids, and wanted to know what was the use of doing your best in a despicable world where you never got nothing for your pains! Mary repaired dolefully upstairs to take away the hot water, and shroud the furniture in dust-sheets; even the tweeny felt a sudden dampening of spirits, while in the dining-room the mistress of her house sat at her solitary meal with anger smouldering in her heart! A delay to the boat would, of course, have been inevitable; if Cornelia had been so fatigued that she felt it necessary to break her journey half-way, that would have been a disappointment pure and simple, but that the girl had _chosen_ to delay her arrival for her own amusement and gratification, this was an offence indeed--a want of respect and consideration well-nigh unforgivable. Staying in town with friends!-- Staying _where_?--With what friends? Doing the sights to-morrow morning! Miss Briskett's lip curled in disdain. Then that ridiculous ending! What would Miss Brewster, the telegraph clerk at the post- office, think of such frivolity! In this tiny township, everyone was as well acquainted with their neighbour's business as with their own, and while Emily Brewster at the post-office was keenly interested in the advent of the American visitor, Miss Briskett, in her turn, knew all about Emily's parentage and education, the nature and peculiarities of the diseases which she had enjoyed, and vouchsafed a patronising interest in her prospects. It was gall and wormwood to feel sure that Emily had laughed and made merry over a message addressed to a Briskett, from a member of her own house! Everyone has experienced the flatness which ensues when an expected excitement is postponed at the last moment, leaving the hours to drag along a slow, uneventful course. It was long since Miss Briskett had felt so consciously lonely and depressed as at her solitary dinner that evening. In the drawing-room, even Patience lost its wonted charm, and she was thankful when the time arrived to sip her tumbler of hot water, and retire to bed. Next day it seemed somewhat flat to make the same preparations a second time over, but as no contradictory message had been received, it did not appear possible that a second disappointment could supervene. The tea- table was set out with special care, and a supply of home-made cakes placed on the three-storied brass stand. Once more Miss Briskett donned her best gown, and sat gazing through the lace window curtains. At last! A cab drove up to the gate; two cabs, laden with enough luggage for a family journeying to the seaside. The door of the first was thrown open and there jumped out--a _man_! a tall, alert young man clad in a suit of light-checked tweed, who turned and gave his hand to a girl in blue serge, carefully assisting her to alight. They sauntered up the path together, laughing and chattering in leisurely enjoyment; half-way to the house the girl turned round, and stood for a moment to stare at the view, pointing, as she did so, in frank, unabashed fashion. Then they approached the door, held hospitably open in Mason's hand. "Why, Aunt Soph, is that you?" cried a high, clear voice, with a pronounced American accent, which rang strangely in the unaccustomed ears. "This is me, anyhow, and I'm real glad to see you. I've had a lovely ride! This is Mr Eustace C Ross, who crossed with us in the _Lucania_. He's brought me right here in case I got lost, or fell over the edge. England's sweet! I've been all over London this morning, and we did a theatre last night. ... Aunt Soph, you have a look of father about the nose! Makes me feel kinder homesick to see your nose. I'm going to kiss it right away?" And kiss it she did, on its thin, chilly tip, with Mason sniggering with delight in the background, and the strange young man chuckling in the foreground. Miss Briskett retreated hastily into the drawing-room, and her niece followed, casting curious glances to right and to left. "You've got a real cosy little house, Aunt Soph. It looks real English--not a mite like our place at home. Is that tea? I'm just about dying for a cup of tea, and so's Mr Ross. Don't you want a cup of tea more than anything in the world, Mr Ross? I see you do by the way you look!" She sank into an easy chair, and flashed a mischievous glance at the young man by her side. He was a tall, well-built young fellow, with the square shoulders and aggressive chin which to the English eye are the leading characteristics of American men. He had the air of being exceedingly well able to look after himself, but even his self- possession wavered before the frosty nature of his reception. He stood irresolutely, hat in hand, waiting for a repetition of Cornelia's invitation, but none came, and with an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders, he resigned himself to the inevitable, and announced that it was imperative that he should hasten back to the station to catch a return train to town. He proceeded, therefore, to take leave of his travelling companion, a proceeding characterised on his side by transparent regret, on hers by an equally transparent indifference. "You'll be sure to let me know when you come home!" "Yes, indeed! I'll write when I start, and you shall come down to meet the boat. Good-bye! You've been real kind! I'm ever so much obliged!" "Oh, I've enjoyed it enormously. You must be sure to let me know if there is anything I can do--at any time--anywhere!" repeated the young fellow, ardently. He bowed to Miss Briskett, who extended her hand in patronising farewell, accompanying him to the door of the room, less, it appeared, from motives of kindliness, than to satisfy herself that he had really departed. On her return she found that her niece had taken off her hat, and was leaning back in her chair, sticking hat-pins through the crown with smiling complacence. Miss Briskett surveyed her with not unnatural curiosity, and came to the swift conclusion that she was not at all pretty, but most objectionably remarkable in appearance. The sort of girl whom people would stare at in the street; the sort of girl whom Norton would emphatically disapprove! Her hair in itself was arresting. Miss Briskett had never seen such hair. It was not red, it was not gold, it was not brown; but rather a blending of all three colours. It was, moreover, extraordinarily thick, and stood out from the head in a crisp mass, rippling into big natural waves, while behind each ear was a broad streak of a lighter shade, almost flaxen in colour. No artificial means could have produced such an effect; it was obviously the work of nature. "American nature!" Miss Briskett told herself with a sniff. A respectably brought-up English girl could never have possessed such a head! Underneath this glorious mass of hair was a pale, little face, lighted up by a pair of golden-brown eyes. The eyebrows were well- marked and remarkably flexible; the nose was thin and pointed, a youthful replica of Miss Briskett's own. The only really good feature was the mouth, and that was adorable, with coral red lips curling up at the corners; tempting, kissable lips, made for love and laughter. For the rest, it was difficult to understand how a plain blue serge gown could possibly contrive to look so smart, or how those tiniest of tiny brown boots had managed to keep so dazzlingly free from dust throughout a railway journey. Miss Briskett sat herself down by the tea-table, and cleared her throat ominously. Her niece had not been ten minutes in the house, yet already an occasion had arisen for a serious rebuke. "Are you engaged to that young man, may I ask, Cornelia?" Cornelia gave a little jump upon her seat, and opened her golden eyes in a stare of amazement. "Mussy, no! What in the land put such an idea in your head?" "Your tone and manner, my dear, and the fact of his accompanying you all the way from town. It is not usual for young men to put themselves to so much trouble for a mere acquaintance." "He don't think it a trouble. He loves flying around! He's a sweet thing," said Miss Cornelia, with smiling recollection, "but he's not my Chubb! I'm sorry he couldn't stay to tea, for he's real amusing when he once gets started. He'd have made you screech with laughter." Miss Briskett looked down her nose, in her most dignified and rebuking fashion. "I am not accustomed to `screech' about anything, and in this country, my dear, it is not considered convenable for young girls to accept the escort of a gentleman to whom they are not engaged. No English girl would think of doing such a thing!" "They must have a middling dull time of it," retorted Cornelia, calmly, "I must teach them a thing or two while I'm over." She rose to take the teacup from her aunt's hand, and to help herself to a couple of sandwiches from a dainty heart-shaped dish. "Well--aren't you pleased to have me, Aunt Soph? I've wanted years to come over and see you. It seemed too bad that I knew none of Poppar's people. And now I'm here!" She wheeled round, teacup in hand, staring curiously around the handsome, over-furnished room; at the big ebony console table, ornamented with bunches of fruit manufactured out of coloured pebbles; at the grand piano in its walnut case; the piano which was never opened, but which served as a stand for innumerable photographs and ornaments; at the old-fashioned sofas and chairs in their glazey chintz covers; at the glass-shaded vases on the marble mantelshelf. "I'm here, and it's too quaint for words! Everything's--_different_! I suppose England _is_ different, isn't it, Aunt Soph?" "Very different!" Miss Briskett's tones fairly bubbled with innuendoes. She put down her rolled slice of bread and butter, and added frostily, "Before we go any further, Cornelia, I must really beg you to address me by my proper name. My name is Sophia. You have no intention of being disrespectful, I feel sure, but I am not accustomed to abbreviations. I have never had a nickname in my life, and I have no wish to begin at this late date." "My! you poor sufferer, how lonesome for you! Nicknames are so homely and cosy. I have about as many as I have toes. One of my friends calls me `Corney.' He's a bit of a wag--(`He,' indeed!)--Another one calls me `Nelia,'--`Neel-ya!'" She threw a lingering sentiment into the repetition, and chuckled reminiscently. "To most of my chums I'm just `Neely.' Life's too short for three syllables every day of the week!" "Over here in England we are not too hurried to address people in a proper manner. I shall call you by your full name, and expect you to do the same by me." "All right, Aunt Sophia Ann, just as you please," cried Cornelia, naughtily. She was standing up, cup in hand, but even as she spoke she subsided on to a footstool by Miss Briskett's side, with a sudden lithe collapse of the body, which made that good lady gasp in dismay. She had never seen anybody but a professional acrobat move so quickly or unexpectedly, and felt convinced that the tea must have been spilt, and crumbs scattered wholesale over the carpet. But no! not even a drop had fallen into the saucer, and there sat Cornelia nibbling at an undamaged sandwich with little, strong, white teeth, as cool and composed as if such feats were of everyday occurrence. "This is how I sit by Poppar at home; it's more sociable than right across the room. Poppar and I are just the greatest chums, and I hate it when he's away. There was a real nice woman wanted to come and keep house, and take me around--Mrs Van Dusen, widow of Henry P Van Dusen, who made a boom in cheese. Maybe you've heard of him. He made a pile, and lost it all, trying to do it again. Then he got tired of himself and took the _grippe_ and died, and it was pretty dull for Mrs Van. She visits round, and puts in her time the best way she can. She'd have liked quite well to settle down at our place for three or four months, and I'd have liked it too, if it hadn't been for you. I wanted to see you Aunt Soph--ia Ann!" She put up a thin little hand, and rubbed it ingratiatingly up and down the shiny silk lap, to the stupefaction of Mason, who came in at that moment bearing a plate of hot scones, and retired to give
{'title': 'Flaming June by Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}