Part 12 (2/2)
”I shall speak as I like to my own mother,” Flossie cried furiously.
Sarah opened her eyes wide.
”If I do put you out of the house, Mrs. Jones,” she said, speaking with ominous calmness, ”I may be a little rough with you.” And then the door opened, and May came languidly in.
”What _is_ the matter?” she cried. ”Flossie, is that you--at it again?
Do go away, please. I am not well. I came to have a little talk to Ma, and I can't bear quarrelling. Do go away, Flossie, I beg.”
”That Sarah has insulted me,” Flossie gasped--but May was remarkably unsympathetic.
”Oh, I've no doubt--a very good thing, too, for you've insulted her ever since you first saw her. Do go away. I'm sure I shall faint. I never could bear wrangling and fighting; and poor Pa's going off like that has upset me so--I just feel as if I could burst out crying if any one speaks to me.”
On this, Flossie, finding that May was unmistakably preparing herself for a nice comfortable faint, went stormily away, and rolled off in her grand carriage, looking like a thunder-cloud. May recovered immediately.
”I really don't envy Flossie's husband the rest of his life,” she remarked. ”What a comfort she has gone away! Well, Ma, dear, I came in to have a quiet talk with you, and that tiresome girl has upset you. I would not take any notice if I were you, dear. I don't suppose Flossie means it. But she is so impetuous, and she's so jealous of Sarah. I'm sure I don't know what you ever did to upset her, Sarah; but you and I were always the best of friends.”
”The best of friends, May,” said Sarah; then bent down and kissed her cousin's soft ungloved hand. ”I didn't mean to speak, not to say a word--but she was so unkind to poor Auntie--and, May, it is hard on Auntie after all this”--looking round the room--”and her beautiful carriages and horses, and her kind husband who was so fond of her, to have just three hundred a year to keep five children on. It is hard.”
Poor Mrs. Stubbs broke down and began to sob instantly. ”Sarah puts it all so beautifully,” she said. ”That's just as it was--your poor Pa--and----” but then she stopped, unable to go on, choked by her tears.
”Now, Ma, dear, don't,” May entreated; ”we don't know why everything is.
It might have been worse, you know, dear; just think, if you'd had Flossie at home.”
”Ah! it is a comfort to me to think Flossie is married,” said Mrs.
Stubbs, drying her eyes; ”she's never been like a child to me.”
”And there might have been nothing, you know; after all there is something, and you'll be able to keep them all together. I shall help you all I can, Ma, dear; you know I shall do that! And if I can't do much else, I can take you for drives, and see if I can't help Minnie to get married. You'll think it queer, Ma, dear, that I'm not just able to say 'I'll give you a cheque for a hundred now and then.' But I can't.
Life isn't all roses for me either. Of course I have a grand house in Palace Gardens, and diamonds, and carriages, and all that; but Mr. Giath doesn't give me much money; he isn't like poor dear Pa. Of course he made a very big settlement--Pa insisted on that--but only at his death.
I don't get it now, and he pays my dress bills himself; and,” with a sob, ”I don't find it all roses to be an old man's darling. But I don't want to trouble you with all that, Ma, dear; you've got enough troubles and worries of your own. But you'll understand just how it is, won't you, dear? And, of course, there'll be many little ways that I shall be able to help you.”
”Well, I have got my troubles,” said Mrs. Stubbs, drying her eyes, and looking at her daughter's pretty flushed face; ”but others has them as well. You were always my right 'and, May, from the time you was a little girl in short petticoats; and you're more comfort to me now than all my other children put together, all of them. Flossie's been 'ere turning up her nose at her mother and insulting Sarah shameful; and Tom's grumbling all day long at what he calls his 'beggarly screw'; and saying it won't pay for 'is cigars and cabs and such-like; and Minnie's been crying all this morning because it's her birthday and n.o.body's remembered it; and, really, altogether I feel as if it wouldn't take much more to send me off my head altogether.”
”But I did remember it,” cried May; ”I've brought her a birthday present, poor child.”
”I'm sure it is good of you, May,” poor Mrs. Stubbs cried. ”Minnie 'll be a bit comforted now. You know it is 'ard on her, for we used to make so much of birthdays. But neither she nor the little ones ever seem to think of what they've 'ad--and no more I do myself for that matter--only of what they 'aven't got. 'Pon my word, there is but one in the 'ouse to-day who hasn' 'ad their grumble over something or other, and that's Sarah.”
Sarah laughed as she patted her aunt's fat hand. ”I've got something else to do just now, Auntie,” she said bravely. ”I've got to put my shoulder to the wheel now. I've been riding on the top of the wagon all along.”
CHAPTER XVII
SARAH'S OPPORTUNITY
A few days later they made the move to the little house at Fulham, which, in poor lavish Mrs. Stubbs's eyes, was but a degree better than a removal to the workhouse.
But Sarah--who somehow seemed to have naturally the management of everything--worked like a slave to get everything into good order before her aunt should set foot in the place at all. She turned the house in Jesamond Road out that she might take the prettiest and most suitable things for the little Queen Anne box to which they were going, and, with the help of Johnnie and the new servant, succeeded in having everything in perfect order by the time of Mrs. Stubbs's arrival.
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