THE ATTIC DESIRE CH:2

He was silent, looking straight across the room at his wife; his very lips were trembling. Christian pitied him so much that she almost prompted him. She very nearly said, "Go on about the school—the strict-discipline school, you know."

Mrs. Mitford in the interval rushed into the breach, and continued:

"You know, Christian, that we are going to the south of France to-morrow."

Christian did not answer. She gave a brief nod; her lips were firmly pressed together; her eyes were bright. She was saying to herself, "I won't cry. I won't let tears come; I won't—I won't—I won't!"

"Yes," said Mr. Mitford, "we are going to Marseilles; and on a longer journey."

Christian looked up at him. He took her hand. Once the ice was broken he continued more fluently:

"I am appointed Consul-General of Teheran in Persia. It is a very honorable position, and——"

Christian stirred restlessly. Mrs. Mitford looked at her.

"Why doesn't she speak?" she thought. "I quite expected her to say, 'And you will take me with you?'—to say those words very earnestly, and be passionate and troublesome about it."

But Christian did not say anything. She did not even express surprise.

"We go to-morrow morning," continued Mr. Mitford[Pg 53]—"your mother and I. Christian, child, why don't you speak?"

"I am listening, father," she said gravely.

"You are a good child," said her father, flinging his arm round her waist and squeezing her to him.

But she detached herself suddenly.

"I'd ever so much rather you didn't pet me while you are telling me."

"Oh, very well!" said Mrs. Mitford in a displeased tone. "I have always thought it, and I must say it: I don't think you have a scrap of heart, Christian. You are the only girl I have ever heard of who would submit to her parents leaving her for six years without even a murmur."

"You didn't say the number of years, mother," answered Christian.

"Stop, Mary," said her husband; "you must allow me to speak to the child. I am very pleased with you, Christian, for having control of your feelings. I don't for a moment think that you are heartless. Far from it," he added, putting his hand under her chin and looking into the deep eyes that could scarcely meet his gaze—"far from it," he continued, and he patted her on the shoulder. "You are a good girl, just like your grandmother, and you have got pluck and endurance. Now, do you know what we are going to do with you? You are our little girl, and very, very dear to us."

"Of course, Christian, you are our only child," said her mother. "We shall be very proud of you when we come back; you will be accomplished then. You will remember what I wish: you are to be a great musician and a great singer, and your French is to be——"

"My dear," said her husband, "had you not better let me explain to Christian what her position will be during our absence?"

[Pg 54]

"All right, Patrick; only I did think that the child would like her mother to talk to her."

"So I do, mother," said Christian.

She had a sudden wild impulse to rush up to that pretty little figure and fling herself into its arms; but she knew that her mother would not understand her. She had a sort of feeling that her father would, but she was not sure of him; so she sat still and held herself up for all she was worth, and thought at intervals under her breath, "I won't let the tears come—I won't!"

"We have considered this," said Mr. Mitford. "The thing has come suddenly, and there has been very little time. We could not take you with us, for the country is not suited for young people. No girl who is not grown up could go there. We shall be away for a long time, and during that time, Christian, you must be going on with your education in the best sense of the word. Threefold must that education be—don't forget that—body, soul, and spirit. When we return you will be—— How old are you now, Christian?"

"Thirteen," said Christian.

"Yes, dear, thirteen in August," interrupted Mrs. Mitford. "Can you not recall that hot August morning when we first saw our little Christian?"

"Yes, dear," replied her husband. "Well, Christian, you are thirteen. In six years you will be nineteen—a grown-up woman, ready to take up life seriously—a woman like your grandmother."

"You may as well turn Christian into a Quakeress at once," said the mother.

"The religious part of the question we need not discuss," said Mr. Mitford. "In six years' time Christian will be grown up. We shall return with pride and pleasure to embrace our dear daughter. Now, Christian, we have found a school for you—not an ordinary school by[Pg 55] any means. The lady who is the Principal is Miss Peacock. She is a splendid woman; her character is superb. She is a great favorite with the girls who live under her roof. There are only forty girls, so it is a comparatively small school. The house is a beautiful old mansion, and the end of the garden is washed by the waves of the wide Atlantic. The school is in Cornwall, in one of the most healthy spots possible. In the summer you will have boating and yachting, in the winter riding. The climate, compared with that of London, is temperate, and you, who are fond of flowers, will have them in plenty. Each holiday Miss Peacock has promised to take you somewhere."

Christian's eyes grew bright.

"You will love her, for she is worthy of love. You are to be treated with singular indulgence."

"What about the strict-discipline school?" said Christian to herself.

"You are to have your own pretty room, and you are to be allowed to write your letters without having them looked over—that is, to your parents. There are some charming girls at the school, and they are all prepared to love you and be good to you when you arrive. My own dear girl, you will be there by this time to-morrow night. You will leave here early in the morning, and—— Don't cry, child; you really have been very brave."

"Do let me just for a minute," said Christian, flinging her arms round her father's neck.

Her reserve was broken; she sobbed as though her heart would break.

"Come and kiss me too, Christian," said her mother.

Mrs. Mitford was crying also. Christian sobbed more and more uncontrollably. Mr. Mitford got up and left the room.

"I couldn't expect her to keep up all the time," he[Pg 56] thought. "She was very brave at first, but those tears are terrible. Mary at least might have controlled herself. Mary is pretty, adored by society, but, compared to Christian, heartless. Poor girl, what a face was hers! I could have stood those tears, but that face of tragedy hurt me. Poor Christian! I could almost wish I had not taken that brilliant appointment. But there! it may lead to many things, and when a man has a child he ought not to be selfish. I do what I do for Christian, after all. Poor darling! somehow I never seemed to quite understand her or to appreciate her until to-night."

[Pg 57]

CHAPTER VII

"THE REFORMATORY SCHOOL IS THE PUNISHMENT FOR ME"

Rosy, who was in some ways so very much wiser than Christian herself, had assured the young girl that her parents would not be at all frightened by her running away.

"They won't know anything about it," argued Rosy, "until they get a letter from your own self; and when you tell them, and they see it in your handwriting, that you are well and happy, they will be as pleased as Punch. I know it," continued Rosy, with emphasis, "for when I am real happy, even if it aint the very thing mother might have liked beforehand, she can't help getting a sort of delighted look on her face. It's the way of mothers, even if they are harsh ones; so think what it will mean to your father and mother, Christian, who love you like anything."

Christian was so much interested, and her mind was so fully made up, that she listened to Rosy's specious words, and even composed in her own mind the little letter she would presently write; a passionate letter, full of love, but at the same time with a beseeching tone running through its depths; the letter in which she would assure her father and mother that she would be the straightest, most upright, most unselfish, noble sort of tambourine-girl in the world.

After her father had left the room Christian lay still on the sofa, her arms around her mother's neck and her head[Pg 58] buried against Mrs. Mitford's soft white neck. She had ceased to sob. She had almost ceased to feel.

By and by Mrs. Mitford roused the child.

"The years will pass quickly; your father and I will think of you, and the years will go by with lightning speed. Soon we shall be together again."

"Oh, no, mother," answered Christian; "it will be a long time—a long time!"

"You think so, dearest, but you are mistaken. Now, go to bed, darling; I daren't allow you to trouble yourself any longer. You must sleep, Christian, for my sake, or we shall both be ill to-morrow when we most want to be fresh and bright."

"Suppose, mother, I were to write you; when would you get the letter?"

"You had better write straight to Bombay. Your father and I will spend some weeks there before we proceed to Persia. You can write when you are settled at school. Here is the address."

Mrs. Mitford opened her desk, took out an envelope carefully addressed and stamped, and put it into the young girl's hand.

"Now, good-night, dearest. You will soon sleep sound. The worst will be over before long."

Christian left the room without another word. She scarcely kissed her mother as she parted from her. All of a sudden her conscience began to prick her. She dared not listen to it, however; there were others involved in the mad game she was playing. Whatever happened, she must go on with it. She got quickly into bed, covered her face with the clothes, and pretended to sleep. She was alone in the dark; even nurse had left her.

The house quieted down. Mr. and Mrs. Mitford were to leave at seven in the morning. Christian would not leave until nine, her train not going from Paddington[Pg 59] until a few minutes to ten. Just before she dropped asleep she resolved, whatever happened, to be up in time to rush down to kiss her father and mother; but, what with her distress and the fatigue which her excitement had caused her, she slept heavily until nurse called her. She started up then with a cry. All that was to take place flashed upon her. There would be no nurse to-morrow morning; only a little room in the slums, and Rosy her companion. Well, even that was better than a strict-discipline school.

"Nursey," she cried, "what is the time?"

"Twenty minutes to eight, deary. You will have to leave soon after nine. I didn't want to wake you a minute before the time."

"But have they gone—have they gone?"

"Of course, darling; they left at seven. They came up, both of them, and kissed you. It went hard to see them, particularly my master. Ah! he's a good man, but maybe stern and a bit absent-minded; but he is a good man when all is said and told."

Christian did not say a word. The knowledge that her father and mother were really gone lay on her spirits as a crushing weight. Then she began quite wonderfully to cheer up. The worst was over. The pain of leaving the old house, the wonderful dream-attic where the happiest time of her childhood had been spent, nurse, the servants, Miss Thompson, was all as nothing.

She got up and dressed. She thought with a smile, how to-morrow she would be wearing very different clothes. She was not at all nervous; she was sure that Rosy's and her great plan would succeed.

Breakfast was over in a short space of time. Christian's private money had been put into a little bag under her skirt. Nurse had made the bag for her; it had a[Pg 60] string attached to it, and nurse had shown the young girl how she ought to tie it round her waist.

"You are to get more money from time to time," said nurse; "and once a year I am to come down to Cornwall to see you. The place is called Penwerne, and is near to the town of Tregellick. They say the house is that beautiful! But there, darling, do eat something!"

Christian ate and drank. She then bade the servants good-by; she hugged Miss Thompson, but her last most fervent embrace was for nurse. Nurse cried, but Christian did not shed a tear. She had said good-by to her attic the night before, and had determined not to visit it again.

At last she was seated in the cab. Nurse and Miss Thompson promised to write to her, and Miss Neil, looking stiff and somewhat severe, desired the cabman to proceed, and they were off. The house in Russell Square seemed to vanish like a dream; they turned a corner and went rapidly in the direction of Paddington.

Christian scarcely spoke. There was a cold sensation round her heart; she wondered if Miss Neil would give her a chance to escape. She was soon relieved on that score.

"As soon as we get to the station, Christian," said her companion, "I will have your luggage registered. You have still a great deal of luggage, although one large box was sent off last week. I will see it registered, and you will stand by me. But we must get our tickets first."

Christian longed to ask a question or two, but her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth. She was so terribly afraid of betraying herself that she was silent.

They reached the great station, and Miss Neil, accompanied by her young charge, approached the ticket-office. A string of people were waiting their turn. Miss Neil bought a single first-class ticket for Christian and a [Pg 61]return for herself. A porter was standing by with Christian's voluminous luggage piled up on his truck. Miss Neil and he entered into an animated conversation. They moved a little aside. Christian watched them, standing stock-still herself as though she were turned into stone.

Suddenly a wild desire to be going quietly down to Cornwall took possession of her. She considered for a minute how easy it would be for her to abandon her scheme, to stay by Miss Neil's side, to enter the carriage which she had selected, to be conscious of the fact that the luggage was in the luggage-van. There was nothing against her carrying out this sudden wish—nothing at all—except Rosy's disappointment and Judith Ford's annoyance. Christian would be going to the school selected by her father and mother, and all would be well.

"I could send Rosy a letter through nurse," thought the young girl, "and I would send her a whole sovereign in a postal order. She could give some of it to Judith, and there would be an end of the matter. I think I will give it up," was her next thought. "Now that it is so near, it seems too awful to go through."

But just then Miss Neil turned and spoke sharply to her:

"Don't stay back there, Christian; come to my side. And pray, don't stand on one foot in that ugly way. Do hold yourself erect; I hate the manner in which girls hold themselves nowadays. Thank goodness, when you are at Penwerne you will be taught that and other matters! Yes, it is a good thing you are going to that severe school. What did you say?" she continued, turning to the porter. "Over weight? But we have first-class tickets. One pound to pay? Preposterous!"

"Well, madam, I assure you——" began the man.

He and Miss Neil entered into a sharp dispute, while[Pg 62] Christian glided away. She would carry out her scheme; Miss Neil herself had decided it.

Two minutes later she was in the affectionate embrace of Rosy Latimer, while Judith Ford, a rough-looking girl with a freckled face and high cheek-bones, stood near. She wore a showy hat with a lot of cheap red velvet on it. Her jacket was too small for her, and her gloves had holes in them. Christian scarcely glanced at Judith Ford.

"Come, quick!" said Rosy. "Oh, aint you a darling? Aint we going to have a good time? Oh, Christian! you don't know what Judith has done for us."

"Don't you tell," cried Judith. "You always do let the cat out of the bag. We'll let Christian see for herself."

"Christian," thought the young girl, "Christian. Have I come to be called that by a girl of the Judith Ford type?"

The three girls ran down a side street, and a moment later Judith beckoned to the driver of a decrepit-looking cab with a broken-down horse to draw up to the edge of the pavement. They jumped in, and off they went. Christian tried to shut away from her imagination the sound of Miss Neil's excited, terrified voice when she missed her. She tried to shut away from her mental vision the thought of Miss Neil at all; she would forget her now. She would also forget the school at Penwerne, and the cozy first-class carriage. She would even cease to remember her parents, who must now be crossing from Dover to Calais. She would forget everything but the great, marvelous, wonderful adventure itself. Oh, how often during the last few days had she pictured it! Now she was living through it in reality. It was a big, big story—a wild, thrilling thing—she was about to live through it. She had been an imaginary heroine so often; now she would be a real one. Oh, yes, she was safe;[Pg 63] Miss Neil could not possibly find her. She was safe, and it was—yes, delicious.

But as this last thought came to her Judith's very sharp voice sounded on her ears, and Judith's emphatic nudge poked itself into her side.

"Why don't you talk?" cried Judith. "Be you the sulky sort, as hugs their grief to 'em and hasn't a word to say to their kind friends? Oh, won't we have a time to-night! You've got the chink all right, haven't you?"

"The what?" asked Christian.

Judith burst into a loud laugh.

"The chink," she cried. "Why, Rosy, is she such a softy as not to know what chink means? We'll teach her a few things, you and me; won't we, Rosy?"

"Miss Christian knows a lot of things," said Rosy. Her voice sounded quite refined in Christian's ears. "She knows ever so much that we don't know. We've got to treat her with respect," continued Rosy.

"Not a bit of it!" exclaimed Judith, with another loud laugh. "We're all in the same boat now."

Christian looked at her with a growing terror.

"And here we be," continued that young person. "Now then, cabby, look spry. There aint no luggage, so you must let us off cheap. How much is the fare, cabby? Don't you try to humbug me. I know a thing or two; as much as you do."

Judith began to haggle loudly. The cabman answered; Judith overtopped his voice with her screaming one. Poor Christian felt that the most strict-discipline school on earth would be paradise compared to her present surroundings. But, after all, Rosy had tact. She came up to her little companion and whispered in her ear:

"Judith aint going to stay, so don't you think it. She's just showing off, and no more. I've seen the room, and it's quite nice; and if we don't like it we can change, for[Pg 64] we have plenty of money. Don't fret, Miss Christian; I can't abear to see that sort of look on your face."

"Come along now," said Judith, having settled her dispute with the cabman. "I lead; you follow. I'm leader in this game."

She entered a hideous, dirty, tumble-down house. Christian held her skirts tightly round her; she could not bear that they should touch the filthy walls. She scarcely liked to tread on the black and broken stairs.

They went up flight after flight, and at last entered a small attic at the top of the house. Compared to the stairs, it was fairly comfortable, but poor Christian had never imagined that anyone could live in a room of this sort.

"I was thinking," said Rosy, who was watching her little companion earnestly, "that you and me, Miss Christian might go out presently and buy a few things. You see, Judith," she added, turning to the other girl, "Miss Christian has been accustomed to a very different life."

"It will do her a sight of good to know how the poor live," was Judith's remark. "But as to buying things, you and she had better lie low for a day or two, for they're sure to make no end of a fuss, and have the police after her, and all the rest. It wouldn't do to have the police after us," continued Judith, fixing her malicious eyes full on Christian's white face, "for running away is a crime punished by law. You gets locked up for running away, and a pretty long sight of prison too, to say nought of the disgrace. You wouldn't like that, would you, miss?"

"It isn't true," said Christian. "I don't believe it."

"Oh, don't you, miss? Well, I'm sorry for you. There's a woman in the next room—a very nice friendly woman; her name is Mrs. Carter; she helped me to tidy up the room this morning. We'll ask her."

Before Christian could prevent her, Judith bounded into[Pg 65] the adjoining room, and came out accompanied by a tall woman with a head of tousled hair, curl-papers all round her forehead, a broken bodice, and a red skirt. This woman had heard from Judith all about the proposed plan, and thought it a very fine joke indeed.

"This young lady is Miss Christian Mitford—the Honorable Miss Christian Mitford," said Judith, laughing. "You'll have to drop your curtsy to her, Mrs. Carter."

"I aint a-going to drop no curtsies to anybody who lives in this house," said Mrs. Carter.

Christian walked to the window and turned her back on the other inmates of the room. Oh, she was punished! was it true what that awful girl said, that if she were caught now the law of the land would put her in prison? She wished the ground would open and swallow her up. Oh, where was the delight and excitement of the adventure that had looked so fair before it began?

"You just tell her plain out what's the truth, Mrs. Carter," said Judith.

"About what, my dear?" said Mrs. Carter.

"Aint it the case, ma'am, that if you run away from your lawful guardians, you being, so to speak, a minor—that means under age, miss," she added, nodding to Christian—"aint it the case that you are locked up?"

Mrs. Carter looked hard at Judith. She then glanced at Christian. Christian was well dressed; beyond doubt she was rich. She must frighten her and then soothe her, for get money out of her she should, and would and could.

"Miss," she said, "I'm sorry for yer. My heart bleeds for yer, miss. Whoever made yer get into this scrape? It's true, miss; it's true. It happened to my first cousin. She was well born, miss—not like me. Her parents were most genteel. When a child she ran away from school, and for two years she was in a reformatory, miss—a prison-school. She was indeed, miss. She never come[Pg 66] to any good; and she's in prison again now, miss, serving her time for burglarious action."

Christian had not the slightest idea what burglarious action was, but it had an awful sound. Her heart stood still with agony. It was scarcely likely that both Mrs. Carter and Judith were wrong. Mrs. Carter had her facts so glib, and she had such a wicked knowing look.

"I'm sorry for yer, miss, but the only thing for yer is to keep tight in here; and if the police come you can hide under my bed, miss, and you're kindly welcome. And if there's anything I can do for you young ladies in the way of hot water for making a drop of tea, or anything of that sort, you have but to tell me; for it's neighborly we'll be, miss, and you won't regret it so much when you know, so to speak, the in and out of our lives. We may be poor, but we have our good p'ints, and our moments of 'joyment too."

"You clear out now," said Judith, pushing Mrs. Carter towards the door. She shut it, and then came up to Christian.

"You'd best give me a little of the chink," she said, "and I'll go out and buy food for us all. I can show my nose as much as ever I like, for I haint run away; but you and Rose must keep tight, for if you show yourselves it's the reformatory school you'll get into. It's the reformatory school; that's the punishment for you."

[Pg 67]

CHAPTER VIII

PLAY-ACTING

With trembling fingers Christian lifted her skirt and produced the little bag which contained her precious savings. There were still seven pounds ten shillings in the bag, for she had given away the last half-crown of her first ten shillings to Judith in order to settle with the irate cabman. It was in reality only a one-and-sixpenny ride, but Judith, as she pocketed the shilling, assured Christian that it cost half-a-crown and was cheap at that. Christian knew too little about the ways of the poor to make any remark, but she did feel certain that her money would not go far if it was required at so rapid a rate.

"Here," she said, opening her bag and producing half-a-sovereign; "I ought to get a lot of change out of that."

"So yer will," said Judith, snatching it from her; "and I'll bring in all sorts of things. What do you think we'll want, Rosy? You'd best make a list."

"Oh! I wish I could go with you," said Rose, whose eyes glistened at the sight of the gold.

"But you can't," said Christian, "I should die if I were left alone in this awful, awful place."

"Awful, is it?" said Judith. "My word, you be hard to please! I 'ates the ways of your haristocrats, always with their noses in the air, sniffing at everything, pleased at nothing. The sight of trouble I had to get this sweet little room! And I'm sure it's as pretty a place[Pg 68] as can be found. And if that aint a nice, clean bed for the two of yer to sleep in, I don't know where you'll find a better. And there's a fireplace and a table. And oh, my word! here's a cupboard in the wall. What more could the most particular desire? And here's a chest of drawers. Jolly, I call it! And two chairs—one for me, and one atween the two of you. If this room aint spry and cozy, the only thing I can say is that I hope you'll never find yourself worse lodged. Now then, Rosy, tell us what you want."

Rosy began to count on her fingers. She had arranged everything beforehand in her own acute little mind. She knew exactly the food they would require, the matches and the chips of wood for lighting the fire and the coal to fill the grate. She ordered matches and wood and coal now, also red herrings, a little loaf of the best fresh bread, some butter, some tea, sugar and milk.

"You must see about the coal the first thing," said Rosy; "we can't do any cooking until it has come. And, Judith, we must have a saucepan and a kettle and a little frying-pan, and some cups and saucers, and spoons and knives, and a pinch of salt, and wood to light the fire, and half a dozen eggs. Can you remember all those things?"

"That I can," said Judith; "but if you think there will be much change out of ten shillings you're uncommonly mistaken."

"But there ought to be," said Rose, her cheeks growing crimson. "Mother 'ud get all them things and have summat to spare out of five shillings. Look you, Judith, there aint to be any larks with Miss Christian's money. You're to bring back five shillings change, or I'll go out and buy the things myself, whether I'm caught or not."

The smirky, impudent look left Judith's face.

"We needn't stay here at all," continued Rosy. "Miss Christian might so happen to get tired of this here joke.[Pg 69] She might so happen to want to go back to her own people, and we will go back, both of us, even if they are angry, if you play any pranks. Now you understand."

Judith nodded. "It's a nice opinion you have of me, Rose Latimer," she said. "What pranks would a poor girl like me be up to? You needn't fret about me and my morals, Rose Latimer, for I'm as straight as a die, I can tell yer."

She ran downstairs, utterly regardless of the dirty walls and the broken stairs. She flew along, leaping over obstacles, and clearing two or three stairs at a time in her headlong flight.

When her steps had died away Rosy looked at Christian. Christian's back was to her; she was standing by the window. She had not removed her hat and jacket. In her heart was a dull weight—the weight of absolute despair. Even Rosy, as she watched Christian and seemed to guess by a sort of instinct what she was feeling, began to find the adventure less adventurous, and even began to see a certain amount of good in the dressmaker's room where she usually sat, cozy and warm, machining long seams and turning out yards and yards of flouncings. Yes, even the dressmaker's room was better than this attic, with Christian, as Rosy expressed it, in a sulk.

"Miss Christian," said the little girl.

C