Part 6 (1/2)
”Maroon,” answered Mollie. ”Oh!” with a little shuddering breath of desperate delight, ”how I wish I could have a maroon silk!”
Dolly shook her head doubtfully.
”It wouldn't be serviceable, because you could only have the one, and you could n't wear it on wet days,” she said.
”I should n't care about its being serviceable,” burst forth innocent Vagabondia, rebelling against the trammels of prudence. ”I want something pretty. I do so detest serviceable things. I would stay in the house all the wet days if I might have a maroon silk to wear when it was fine.”
”She is beginning to long for purple and fine linen,” sighed Dolly, as she ran up to her bedroom afterward. ”The saints forefend! It is a bad sign. She will fall in love the next thing. Poor, indiscreet little damsel!”
But, despite her sage lamentations, there was even at that moment a plan maturing in her mind which was an inconsistent mixture of Vagabondia's goodnature and whim. Mollie's fancy for the maroon silk had struck her as being artistic, and there was not a Crewe among them who had not a weakness for the artistic in effect. Tod himself was imaginatively supposed to share it and exhibit preternatural intelligence upon the subject. In Dolly it amounted to a pa.s.sion which she found it impossible to resist. By it she was prompted to divers small extravagances at times, and by it she was a.s.sisted in the arranging of all her personal adornments. It was impossible to slight the mental picture of Mollie with maroon drapery falling about her feet, with her cheeks tinted with excited color, and with that marvel of delight in her eyes. She could not help thinking about it.
”She would be simply incomparable,” she found herself soliloquizing.
”Just give her that dress, put a white flower in her hair and set her down in a ballroom, or in the dress circle of a theatre, and she would set the whole place astir. Oh, she must have it.”
It was very foolish and extravagant of course; even the people who are weakly tolerant enough to rather lean toward Dorothea Crewe, will admit this. The money that would purchase the maroon garment would have purchased a dozen minor articles far more necessary to the dilapidated household; but while straining at such domestic gnats as these articles were, she was quite willing and even a trifle anxious to swallow Mollie's gorgeous camel. Such impulsive inconsistency was characteristic, however, and she betook herself to her bedroom with the intention of working out the problem of accommodating supply to demand.
She took out her purse and emptied its contents on to her dressing-table. Two or three crushed bills, a sc.r.a.p or so of poetry presented by Griffith upon various tender occasions, and a discouragingly small banknote, the sole remains of her last quarter's salary The supply was not equal to the demand, it was evident. But she was by no means overpowered. She was dashed, but not despairing. Of course, she had not expected to launch into such a reckless piece of expenditure all at once, she had only thought she might attain her modest ambition in the due course of time, and she thought so yet. She crammed bills and bank-note back into the purse with serene cheerfulness and shut it with a little snap of the clasp.
”I will begin to save up,” she said, ”and I will persuade Phil to help me. We can surely do it between us, and then we will take her somewhere and let her have her first experience of modern society. What a sensation she would create in the camps of the Philistines!”
She descended into the kitchen after this, appearing in those lower regions in the full glory of ap.r.o.n and rolled-up sleeves, greatly to the delight of the youthful maid-of-all-work, who, being feeble of intellect and fond of society, regarded the prospect of spending the afternoon with her as a source of absolute rejoicing. The ”Sepoy,” as she was familiarly designated by the family, was strongly attached to Dolly, as, indeed, she was to every other member of the household. The truth was, that the usefulness of the Sepoy (whose baptismal name was Belinda) was rather an agreeable fiction than a well-established fact. She had been adopted as a matter of charity, and it was charity rather than any recognized brilliance of parts which caused her to be retained. Phil had picked her up on the streets one night in time gone by, and had brought her home princ.i.p.ally because her rags were soaked and she had a.s.serted that she had nowhere to go for shelter, and partly, it must be confessed, because she was a curiosity. Having taken her in, n.o.body was stern enough to turn her out to face her fate again, and so she stayed.
n.o.body taught her anything in particular about household economy, because n.o.body knew anything particular to teach her. It was understood that she was to do what she could, and that what she could not do should be shared among them. She could fetch and carry, execute small commissions, manage the drudgery and answer the door-bell, when she was presentable, which was not often; indeed, this last duty had ceased to devolve upon her, after she had once confronted Lady Augusta with personal adornments so remarkable as to strike that august lady dumb and rigid with indignation upon the threshold, and cause her, when she recovered herself, to stonily, but irately demand an explanation of the gratuitous insult she considered had been offered her. Belinda's place was in the kitchen, after this, and to these regions she usually confined herself, happily vigorous in the discharge of her daily duties.
She was very fond of Dolly, and hailed the approach of her days of freedom with secret demonstrations of joy. She h.o.a.rded the simple presents of finery given her by that young person with care, and regarded them in the light of sacred talismans. A subtle something in her dwarfed, feeble, starved-out nature was stirred, it may be, by the sight of the girl's life and brightness; and, apart from this, it would not have been like Dolly Crewe if she had not sympathized, half unconsciously, half because she was const.i.tutionally sympathetic, with even this poor stray. If she had been of a more practical turn of mind, in all probability she would have taken Belinda in hand and attacked the work of training her with laudable persistence; but, as it was, private misgivings as to the strength of her own domestic accomplishments caused her to confine herself to more modest achievements. She could encourage her, at least, and encourage her she did with divers good-natured speeches and a leniency of demeanor which took the admiring Sepoy by storm.
Sat.u.r.day became a white day in the eyes of Belinda, because, being a holiday, it left Dolly at liberty to descend into the kitchen and apply herself to the study of cookery as a science, with much agreeable bustle and a pleasant display of high spirit and enjoyment of the novelty of her position. She had her own innocent reasons for wis.h.i.+ng to become a proficient in the art, and if her efforts were not always crowned with success, the appearance of her handiwork upon the table on the occasion of the Sunday's dinner never disturbed the family equilibrium, princ.i.p.ally, perhaps, because the family digestion was unimpaired. They might be jocose, they had been ironical, but they were never severe, and they always addressed themselves to the occasionally arduous task of disposing of the viands with an indifference to consequences which nothing could disturb.
”One cannot possibly be married without knowing something of cookery,”
Dolly had announced oracularly; ”and one cannot gain a knowledge of it without practising, so I am going to practise. None of you are dyspeptic, thank goodness, so you can stand it. The only risk we run is that Tod might get hold of a piece of the pastry and be cut off in the bloom of his youth; but we must keep a strict watch upon him.”
And she purchased a cookery book and commenced operations, and held to her resolve with Spartan firmness, encouraged by private but enthusiastic bursts of commendation from Griffith, who, finding her out, read the tender meaning of the fanciful seeming whim, and was so touched thereby that the mere sight of her in her nonsensical little affectation of working paraphernalia raised him to a seventh heaven of bliss.
When she made her entrance into the kitchen on this occasion, and began to bustle about in search for her ap.r.o.n, Belinda, who was on her knees polis.h.i.+ng the grate, amidst a formidable display of rags and brushes, paused to take breath and look at her admiringly.
”Are yer goin' to make yer pies 'n things, Miss Dolly?” she asked.
”Which, if ye are, yer apern 's in the left 'and dror.”
”So it is,” said Dolly. ”Thank you. Now where is the cookery book?”
”Left 'and dror agin,” announced Belinda, with a faint grin. ”I allus puts it there.”
Whereupon Dolly, making industrious search for it, found it, and applied herself to a deep study of it, resting her white elbows on the dresser, and looking as if she had been suddenly called upon to master its contents or be led to the stake. She could not help being intense and in earnest even over this every-day problem of pies and puddings.
”Frica.s.see?” she murmured. ”Frica.s.see was a failure, so was mock-turtle soup; it looked discouraging, and the fat _would_ swim about in a way that attracted attention. Croquettes were not so bad, though they were a little stringy; but beef _a la mode_ was positively unpleasant. Jugged hare did very well, but oyster _pates_ were dubious. Veal pie Griffith liked.”
”There's somebody a-ringin' at the door-bell,” said Belinda, breaking in upon her. ”He's rung twict, which I can go, mum, if I ain't got no s.m.u.ts.”