Fifty-Two Stories For Girls 11 – Anonymous · Verses Across
Literature · Short Stories
Fifty-Two Stories For Girls 11Part 1 · Whichello Towers
18
Literature · Short Stories
Fifty-Two Stories For Girls 11
Part 1 · Whichello Towers
AnonymousEnglish
It was between the lights. I was looking down the dingy street from behind the curtains of my little window at the postman who was working his way slowly from side to side delivering his messages of hope and fear, and was wondering whether I was among those to whom he bore tidings of joy or sorrow. I had few correspondents, and no expectations, and so it was with surprise that I saw him ultimately turn in at our little garden gate and place a letter in our box.
I was not long in breaking the seal, and it was with real delight and surprise that I discovered that it was from my old schoolfellow, the generous and sometimes extravagant Maura. It ran thus:
"WHICHELLO TOWERS,
October 3rd.
"MY DEAR ABSURD LITTLE GLORIA,--
"Why have you hidden away from your friends so long? Was it pride, self-styled dignity? Never mind, I have found you out at last, and I want you to join our house-party here. We have some interesting people with us of whom you can make pencil sketches and pen pictures (they call them cameos or thumbnails, do they not?). Amongst them are the beautiful Princess Milontine, who wrote, 'Over the Steppes,' and the famous Russian General, Loris Trakoff.
"The change will do you good. Name the day and time of your arrival, and I will meet you at the station. There are surprises in store for you, but you must come if you would realise them.
"Your affectionate MAURA."
I put by the missive, and meditated over the pros and cons. My wardrobe would need replenishing, and I had none too much money to spend. I could manage this, however, but there arose another question.
I was a worker--would it do me harm to disport myself in the flowery mead with the butterflies? Should I feel a distaste for the bread earned by labour and pain after the honey placed, effortless, on my plate?
So much for the cons. The pros were these:
Black, being most inexpensive in a smoky town, was my wear, relieved by a few touches of blue. And I should not go as a butterfly, but as a quiet worker in my dark things. I need only buy a new walking costume, and a fresh dinner dress. The costume difficulty was disposed of. Then again, I had been without a day's change for five years; and here was the prospect of one I should enjoy. The pros had the victory, I went.
I arrived at the station in the gloaming, when twilight veiled the everlasting hills, and found two figures waiting on the narrow platform.
One of these had a fresh, fair, bonnie face, framed in hair of a golden brown, and I knew her for Maura Merle, my old schoolfellow, the lady of Whichello Towers. The other was darker, taller, and the very dark blue eyes had a pensive expression, she could have posed as a study for Milton's Il Pensoroso, and I did not recognise her for an instant, and then I exclaimed: "Not--not 'Stella."
"Yes, 'Stella," said Maura. Our own beautiful Estella and the miser's heiress came forward and kissed my first surprise away. As she did so I noticed that she was wearing the beautiful coral set which had wrought the tragedy of her school days.
We had naturally much to say to each other, and as we walked towards Whichello Towers together, Maura said:
"You have worked and suffered, Gloria, since we were last together. You look thoughtful, are graver, and there are violet circles under your eyes, which used to be so merry."
"Yes," I said, "I've had to fight the battle of life for myself since I left school, but it makes the more welcome this reunion with my old schoolfellows."
"Speaking of them," interposed Maura, "we have Princess Milontine staying with us--little Irene's sister--I left her doing the honours on my behalf when I came to meet you."
This then was the second surprise in store for me. Neither of my companions had the slightest idea how great a surprise it was.
Naturally, we had much to talk of during our walk up to the Towers, Miss Melford had passed away, and one or two of my old companions had followed her across the border. Irene was, of course, one of them, but I took the news of her death as though I had not heard it before.
I had not heard of Miss Melford's death previously, and the angel of memory came down and troubled the waters of my soul, so I was silent for a time.
The silence was broken by Maura, saying:
"There is something painful, if not tragical, connected with Irene's death, of which the princess refuses to speak; so the subject is never mentioned to her." And then, as if to change the subject, she added, "I have named my little daughter Cordelia after Miss Melford, but we call her Corrie."
As she spoke we came in sight of The Towers--a large, four-winged mansion, with pepper box turrets, oriel windows, a square lawn, and many tree-lined walks.
"Home," said Maura, and in a few minutes I found myself in the large warm hall, bright with firelight, and sweet with autumn flowers.
Standing by a table, and turning over the leaves of a book, stood a graceful woman in fawn and cream, who turned round upon our entrance, saying:
"There is tea on the way, you will take some?"
"Thank you, princess, yes, directly we come down," said Maura, and then she added: "See, I have brought an old friend to see you, Gloria, Princess Milontine."
The foreign lady held out her hand, and as I took it I found myself almost involuntarily murmuring, "Nadine." For the dark pathetic eyes of the Russian princess were those of the mysterious foreigner who had lodged in Cherry-Tree Avenue. She kissed me (foreign fashion) on both cheeks, and as she did so whispered: "Hush! let the dead past sleep."
Wondering much, I held my peace and went to inspect the sunshine of Whichello Towers, the pretty dimpled Corrie; and though I forgot the incident during the evening, I remembered it when I found myself in my own room.
Why had Nadine lived in the mean street with the so-called woodcarver and his wife? She was a widow, true, but widows of rank do not usually lodge in such humble places for pleasure. Then again, what was the mystery attaching to Irene? Would the tangled skein ever be unravelled? Time would show.
Whichello Towers was more than a great house, it was a home, a northern liberty hall, surrounded by woods and big breezy moors. There was something for every one in this broad domain. A fine library full of rare editions of rare books, a museum of natural history specimens, a gallery of antiquities, a lake on which to skate or row, preserves in which to shoot, a grand ball-room with an old-world polished floor, a long corridor full of pictures and articles of vertu, and a beautiful music-room.
Princess Nadine and I were much together, we talked of her little sister's school-days, but never of her latter ones, the subject was evidently tabooed.
General Trakoff (a stern, military man who had once been governor of the penal settlement of O----) was evidently devoted to the beautiful Russ, and I found myself hoping that she would not become "Madame la Generale," for though the general was the very pink of politeness, I could not like him.
I had spent a happy fortnight at the Towers when the incident occurred which will always remain the most vivid in my memory. A sudden and severe frost had set in. All the trees turned to white coral, the lake was frozen stone hard. There were naturally many skating parties organised, and in these Nadine and I generally joined. One morning, after we had been skating for nearly half an hour, the princess averred herself tired, and said she would stand out for a time. The general declared that he would also rest awhile, and the two left the lake together, and stood watching the skaters at the edge of the pine wood.
By-and-by I too grew a little weary, and thought I would go for a stroll by myself through the woods I loved so much. The air was fresh and keen, squirrels jumped about in the trees, and the storm-cock sang blithely. Through an opening in the glade I saw the princess and the general chatting en tete-a-tete.
As I came up the former was saying, in a tone of earnest raillery:
"Now, tell me, general, is there nothing you regret doing, or having allowed to be done, when you were administrator of O----?"
She spoke with a strange, almost tragic, earnestness, and when her companion replied:
"No, on my honour, princess."
She bowed gravely. A moment later, with a careless laugh, she opened a gold bonbonniere full of chocolate caramels, and held it temptingly towards him.
He hesitated, and as he did so I put my arm through the branches, and with a playful:
"By your leave, princess," attempted to help myself.
Nadine started, and closed the box with a snap, a strange pallor coming over her white, set face. The general looked gravely at her, and then, raising his hat, with a "Till we meet again," walked leisurely away.
I must own to being slightly offended, I was childishly fond of chocolate, and the act seemed so inexplicably discourteous. We walked to the house in silence, neither of us speaking, until we reached the side entrance. Here the princess paused by the nail-studded oaken door, and said:
"There will come a day when things done in secret will be declared upon the housetops, then (if not before) you will know the secret of the gold bonbonniere. Say, 'Forgiven, Nadine.'"
