Charlotte M. Yonge
The Two Sides of the Shield
CHAPTER I. WHAT WILL BECOME OF ME?
A London dining-room was lighted with gas, which showed a table of small dimensions, with a vase of somewhat dirty and dilapidated grasses in the centre, and at one end a soup tureen, from which a gentleman had helped himself and a young girl of about thirteen, without much apparent consciousness of what he was about, being absorbed in a pile of papers, pamphlets, and letters, while she on her side kept a book pinned open by a gravy spoon. The elderly maid-servant, who set the dishes before them, handed the vegetables and changed the plates, really came as near to feeding the pair as was possible with people above three years old.
The one was a dark, thin man, with a good deal of white in his thick beard and scanty hair, the absence of which made the breadth of his forehead the more remarkable. The girl would have shown an equally remarkable brow, but that her dark hair was cut square over it, so as to take off from its height, and give a heavy over-hanging look to the upper part of the face, which below was tin and sallow, well-featured, but with a want of glow and colour. The thick masses of dark hair were plaited into a very long thick tail behind, hanging down over a black evening frock, whose white trimmings were, like everything else about the place, rather dingy. She was far less absorbed than her father, and raised a quick, wistful brown eye whenever he made the least sound, or shuffled his papers. Indeed, it seemed that she was reading in order to distract her anxiety rather than for the sake of occupation.
It was not till after the last pieces of cheese had been offered and refused, and the maid had retired, leaving some dull crackers and veteran biscuits, with two decanters and a claret-jug, that he spoke.
Dolores!
Yes, father.
But he only cleared his throat, and looked at his letter again, while she fixed her eager eyes upon him so earnestly that he let his fall again, and looked once more over his letters before he spoke again.
Dolores, and the tone was dry, as if all feeling were driven from it.
Yes, father.
You know that I have accepted this appointment?
Yes, father.
And that I shall be absent three years at the least?
Yes.
Then comes the question, how you are to be disposed of in the meantime?
Could not I go with you? she said, under her breath.
No, my dear. And somehow the tone had more tenderness in it, though it was so explicit. I shall have no fixed residence, no one with whom to leave you; and the climate is not fit for you. Your Aunt Lilias has kindly offered to take charge of you.
Oh, father!
Well?
If you would only let me stay here with Caroline and Fraulein. I like it so much better.
That cannot be, Dolly. I have this morning promised to let the house as it is to Mr. Smithson.
And Caroline?
If Caroline takes my advice, she will remain here as his housekeeper, and I think she will. Well, what is it? You do not mean that you would prefer going to your Aunts Jane and Ada?
Oh no, no; only if I might go to school.
This is nonsense, Dolores. It will be much better for you on all accounts to be with your aunt at Silverfold. I have no fear that she and her girls will not do their best to make you happy and good, and to give you what you have sadly wanted, my poor child. I have always wished you could have seen more of her.
There could be no doubt from the tone, in the mind of any one who knew Mr. Maurine Mohun, that the decision was final; but perhaps Dolores would have asked more if the door-bell had not rung at the moment and Mr. Smithson had not been announced. Fate was closing in on her. She retired into her book, and remained as long as she possibly could, for the sake of seeing her father and hearing his voice; but after a time she was desired to call Caroline, and to go to bed herself, for it was a good deal past nine oclock.
She had been aware, she could hardly tell how, that her father had been offered a government appointment connected with the Fiji Islands, and then that, glad to escape from the dreariness which had settled down on the house since his wifes death, about eighteen months previously, he had accepted it, and she had speculated much on her probable fate; but had never before been officially informed of his designs for himself or for her.
He was a barrister, who spent all his leisure time on scientific studies, and his wife had been equally devoted to the same pursuits. Dolores had been her constant companion; but after the mothers death, from an accident on a glacier, a strange barrier of throwing himself into the ways of a girl past the charms of infancy. It was as if they had lost their interpreter.
The German governess, chosen by Mrs. Mohun, was very German indeed, and greatly occupied in her own studies. When she found that the armes-liebes Madchen shrank from being wept over and caressed on the mournful return, she decided that the English had no feeling, and acquiesced in the routine of lessons and expeditions to classes. She was never unkind, but she did not try to be a companion; and old Caroline was excellent in the attention she paid to the comforts of her master and his daughter, but had no love of children, and would not have encouraged familiarities, even if Dolores had not been too entirely a drawing-room child to offer them.
The morning came, and everything went on as usual; Dolores poured out the coffee, Mr. Mohun read his Times, Fraulein ate as usual, but afterwards he asked for a few minutes conversation with Fraulein. All that Dolores heard of the result of it was So, and then lessons went on until twelve oclock, when it was the custom that the girl should have an hours recreation, which was, in any tolerable weather, spent in the gardens of the far west Crescent, where she lived. There she was nearly certain of meeting her one great friend, Maude Sefton, who was always sent out for her airing at the same time.
They spied each other issuing from their doors, met, linked their arms, and entered together. Maude was a tall, rosy girl, with a great yellow bush down her back, half a year older than Dolores, and a great deal bigger.
My dearest Doll!
Oh yes, it is come.
Then he is really going? I heard the pater and mater talking about it yesterday, and they said it would be an excellent thing for him.
Oh, Maude! Then they did not say anything about what we hoped?
What, the maters offering for you to come and live with us, darling? Oh no; and Is afraid it is of no use to ask her, for she said of herself, that she knew Mr. Mohun had sisters, and
And what? Tell me, Maude. You must!
Well, then, you know you made me, and I think it is a shame. She said she was glad she wasnt one of them, for you were such a peculiar child.
Dear me, Maude, you neednt mind telling me that! Im sure I dont want to be like everybody else.
And are you going to one of your aunts?
Yes, to Aunt Lilias. Oh, Maude, he would not hear a word against it, and I know it will be so horrid! Aunts are always nasty!
Kate is very fond of her aunt, said Maude, who did not happen to have any personal experiences to oppose to this sweeping assertion.
Oh, I dont mean proper aunts, but aunts that have orphans left to them.
But you are not an orphan, darling.
I dare say I shall be. Tis a horrible climate, and there are no end of cannibals there, so that he would not take me out for anything,and sharks, and volcanoes, and hurricanes.
I dont think they eat people there now.
Its bad enough if they dont! And you know those aunts begin pretty well, while they are in fear of the father, but then they get worse.
There was Ada Morton, said Maude, in a tone of conviction, and Anna Ross.
Oh yes, and another book, Rose Turquand. It was a grown-up book, that I read oncelong ago, said Dolores, who had in her mothers time been allowed a pretty free range of book-box.
And theres Under the Shield, but that was a boy.
There are lots and lots, said Dolores. They are ever so much worse than the stepmothers! Not that there is any fear of that! she added quickly.
But isnt this Aunt Lilias nice? Its a pretty name. Which is she? You have one aunt a Lady Something, havent you?
Yes, it is this one, Lady Merrifield. Her husband is a general, Sir Jasper Merrifield, and he is gone out to command in some place in India; but she cannot stand the climate, and is living at home at a place called Silverfold, with a whole lot of children. I think two are gone out with their father, but there are a great many more.
Dont you know them at all?
No, and dont want to! I think my aunts were unkind to mother!
Oh! exclaimed Maude.
I am sure of it. They were horrid, stuck-up, fine ladies, and looked down on her, though she was ever so much nicer, and cleverer, and more intellectual than they; and she looked down on them.
Are you sure? asked Maude, to whom it was as good as a story.
Yes, indeed. She was civil, of course, because they were fathers sisters, but I know she couldnt bear them. If any of them came to London, there was a calling, but all very stupid, and a dining at Lord Rotherwoods; but she never would, except once, when I can hardly remember, go to stay at their slow places in the country. Ive heard father try to persuade her when they didnt think I understood. You know we always went abroad, or to the sea or something, except last year, when we were at Beechcroft. That wasnt so bad, for there were lots of books, and Uncle Reginald was there, and he is jolly.
Cant you get Mr. Mohun to send you there?
No, I dont think they would have me, for every body there is grown up, and father seems to have a wish for me to be with this Aunt Lilias, because she has a schoolroom.
I wonder he should wish it, if she was unkind to Mrs. Mohun.
Well, she was out of the way most of the time. They have lived at Malta and Gibraltar, and Belfast, and all sorts of places, so they will all have regular garrison frivolous manner, and think of nothing but officers and balls. I know she was a beauty, and wants to be one still.
Maude, whose father was a professor, looked quite appalled and said
You will be the one to infuse better things. She felt quite proud of the word.
Perhaps, returned Dolores; they always do that in time, but not till theyve been awfully bullied. All the cousins are jealous, and the aunt spites them because they are nicer and prettier than her own.
Yes, said Maude, but then theres always some tremendously nice boy-cousin, or uncle, or something, that makes up for it all. Will Sir Jasper Merrifields eldest son be a Sir?
Oh no; hes not a baronet, but a G.C.B., Knight Grand Cross of the Bath, that is. Besides, I dont care for love, and titles, and all that nonsense, though father is first cousin to Lord Rotherwood.
And you never saw any of them?
Yes, Aunt Lilias was at the Charing Cross Hotel with Uncle Jasper and the two eldest daughters, Alethea and Phyllis, and some more of them, just before they sailed; and father took me there on Sunday to luncheon; but there were so many people, and such a talk, and such a bustle, that I hardly knew which was which. Aunt Jane and Aunt Ada were a talking that it made my head turn round; but I saw how affected Aunt Lilias is, and I knew that whenever they looked at me they said poor child, and I always hate any one who does that! All I was afraid of then was that father would let Aunt Jane and Aunt Ada come and live with us; but this is ever so much worse.
You have such a lot of aunts and uncles! said Maude, and I have not got anything but one old uncle.
Uncles are all very well, said Dolores, said Maude. There are the two Miss Mohuns
Oh, thats beginning at the wrong end. Aunt Ada is the youngest of them all, and she thinks she is a young lady still, and wears little curls on her forehead, and a tennis pinafore, and makes her waist just like a wasp. She and Aunt Jane live together at Rockquay, because she has bad healthat least she has whenever she likes; and Aunt Jane does all sorts of charities and worries, and sets everybody to rights, said Dolly, in a very grown-up voice, speaking partly from her own observation, and partly repeating what she had caught from her elders.
Oh yes, I know her, said Maude. She asked me questions about all I did, and she did bother mamma so about a maid she recommended that we are never going to take another from her.
Aunt Phyllis comes between them, I believe; but she has married a sailor captain and gone to settle in New Zealand, and I have not seen her since I was a very little girl. Then theres Aunt Emily, who is a very great swell indeed. Her husband was a canon, Lord Henry Grey; but he is dead, and she lives at Brighton, a regular fat, comfortable down-pillow of a woman, who isnt bad to lunch with, only she sends one out to the Parade with her maid, as if one was a baby. Mother used to laugh at her. And I think there was an older one who went to India and died long ago.
I have seen your two uncles. Theres Major Mohun. Oh! he is fun!
Yes, dear old Uncle Regie! I wish he was not in Ireland. He will be so sorry to miss seeing father off, but he cant get leave. And there was a clergyman who is dead, and father grieved for very much. I think he did something to make them all nicer to mother, for it was just after that we went to stay at Beechcroft with Uncle William. You know him, and how mother used to call him the very model of a country squire; and I like his wife, Aunt Alethea. Only it is very pokey and slow down there, and they are always after flannel petticoats and soup kitchens, and all the old fads that are exploded. I should get awfully tired of it before a year was out, only I should not be teased with strange children, and there would be no one to be jealous of me.
Cant you get your father to change and send you there?
Not a chance. You see Aunt Lilias had offered, and they havent, and I must go on with my education. I hope, though I shall have no advantages, I shall still be able to go up for the Cambridge examination, if Aunt Lilias has not prejudices, as I dare say she has, since of course none of her own will be able to try.
Youll come up to us for the examination, Dolly dear, and we shall do it together, and that will be nice!
If they will let me; but I dont expect to be allowed to do anything that I wish. Only perhaps father may be come home by that time.
Is it three years?
Yes. It is a terrible time, isnt it? However, when Im seventeen perhaps he will talk to me, and I can really keep house.
And then youll come back here?
Do you know, MaudielistenIve another uncle, belonging to mother.
Oh, Dolly! I thought she had no one!
He told me he was my Uncle Alfred once when he met me in the park with Fraulein, and gave me a note for mother. He is called Mr. Flinders.