Chapter VI: News From Violet

PERHAPS Violet's first impressions in connection with her new home and its inmates will be best told in the long letter she wrote to her mother on the afternoon after her arrival at Barford, of which the following is a copy:—

"No. 8 LAURESTON SQUARE," "BARFORD, January 18th, 190—"

"My DEAR MOTHER," "I know Dr. Reed sent you a telegram last night to tell you I had arrived safely, but you will be expecting to receive a letter from me to-morrow; and, as I promised, I am taking the first opportunity I have of writing. I had such a nice journey—after the first hour I really enjoyed it. Please tell father the lady who sat opposite to me was very kind and made me share her luncheon, which was handed in at one of the stations in a basket. I had some of her chicken and ham, and she had some of my sandwiches, which she said were very good and cut just as she liked them—please tell Barbara that. I did not think the lady was a person of any importance, because she was very plainly dressed and seemed quite ordinary in every way, but she turns out to be a very clever lady doctor, called Dr. Elizabeth Ridgeway, and Dr. Reed knows her well and often meets her in consultation, and I find she is very friendly with Mrs. Reed and Ann."

"Dr. Reed met me at the station. I was glad to see him. I drove home with him in his brougham—it was snowing—and he inquired for you all and was so glad to hear that father's cough was gone; and Mrs. Reed came out on the doorstep, though it was so cold, and she kissed me in a way that reminded me of you, dear mother, and that made me feel all chokey and unable to say anything. And then, in the hall, I met Ann, who kissed me, too, but I really have no idea what she said, for everything was so strange that I felt quite bewildered. They led me upstairs to the room which is to be mine, where they took off my hat and jacket, and Ann unbuttoned my boots and lent me a pair of warm slippers; and then they made me sit down in an easy chair by the fire (fancy me having a fire in my bedroom!) and take a basinful of soup, after which I was heaps better—I had been feeling rather queer and shakey before, and would have given anything to be at home, which was silly of me, of course."

"So I sat there and rested, and got beautifully warm, and by-and-by my trunk arrived, and Mrs. Reed unpacked it for me—I expected she would look surprised when she saw how few clothes I have, but she didn't, nor did Ann. My supper was brought upstairs to me; and then I went to bed and slept until ever so late this morning, and now I am only a little tired."

"We have had a great deal of snow during the night, so there will be no going out-of-doors to-day. This is a nice big house and very comfortable, but not at all grand. It is on the south side of the square, and the front door opens into the road. There is no garden— there are stables behind—but there is a large piece of ground in the middle of the square with a croquet lawn, and shrubs, and flower-beds, and the people who live in the square all pay towards keeping this ground in nice condition, so that they all have a share in it and the right to go there whenever they please. Arm says she spends a good bit of time there in the summer, so I expect I shall, too."

"I must not forget to tell you what Ann Reed is like. She is just a little taller than I am. I know because Dr. Reed made us stand back to back this morning that he might see which was the taller, and he said she was by about half an inch—and she has grey eyes like her father's. I don't call her pretty. I don't call Mrs. Reed pretty exactly, either, but she is very nice-looking, and she seems so young to be Ann's mother—of course, I know she can't be young really."

"I find there are three servants in the house—I asked Ann, a cook, a house-maid, and a tweeny-maid who answers the door and is a sort of parlour-maid and puts her hand to anything; you see, this, being a doctor's house, people are always coming and going, so Ann says. There is a waiting-room for patients and a consulting-room close to the front door, and a surgery beyond the consulting-room. The dining-room looks out into the square, like the drawing-room, which is upstairs—it is not nearly such a grand drawing-room as the one in Agnes Hosking's new house, but it is much more homely-looking and comfortable, and I think you, dear mother, would like it."

"I have been talking to Ann most of the morning. She has asked me such a lot of questions about you all, and about Ruth in particular; now she has left me so that I shall not be disturbed in my writing."

"By the way, I find we dine at seven o'clock. Won't it be strange for me to have dinner in the evening? I will write again very soon and tell you how I am getting on. I am longing to see what Barford is like, so I hope the weather will clear up soon."

"My bedroom is next to Ann's. It is such a nice room, rather small, but so cosy; it has been re-done up for me. The wallpaper is very pretty, just what I would have chosen, with little bunches of pink rosebuds on a white ground, and the furniture is enamelled white. Ann says her mother expects her to keep her bedroom very tidy, so I must bear that in mind and keep mine tidy too."

"Oh, dear mother, though everyone is so kind, you cannot think how much I miss you, and last night, after I was in bed, I couldn't help having a little weep when I thought of Ruthie; I expect she missed me, too. Please give her my dear, dear love, and the same to Madge and the boys, and to father and yourself. I hope you will write to me very soon and tell me everything that goes on at home.—I am, dearest mother, Your loving daughter,"

"VIOLET."

"P.S.—Please remember me to Barbara. Ann says she is glad we are not going to school for a few days, and so am I. Tell Ruthie she must not think Ann will ever take her place with me; she isn't quite what I expected to find her, though. Good-bye."

This letter was read aloud by Mrs. Wyndham to her husband and children on the afternoon of its arrival. On the whole it was considered very satisfactory.

"But what does she mean by saying that Ann is not quite what she expected to find her?" said Mr. Wyndham. "She had formed a mental picture of her, I suppose, and the reality has disappointed her," he added with an amused smile.

"If so her letter does not read as though she is disagreeably disappointed," his wife commented, glancing back over the epistle; "evidently the dear child has been most kindly received. Fancy that lady she travelled with being a friend of the Reeds! What a strange coincidence! Let me see, what is her name? Dr. Elizabeth Ridgeway. You liked her appearance, did you not, Clement?"

"Yes," Mr. Wyndham replied, "I felt quite easy in my mind about Violet when I heard her opposite neighbour was going all the way to Barford, for she had a sensible, reliable face, and I thought she seemed a kindly soul. Events have shown that I read her aright. Violet writes a very good letter for a girl of her age, I consider."

"Ah, she takes after her father in possessing the pen of a ready writer," said Mrs. Wyndham, with a smile; "and she is very sharp and observant. Miss Minter says she shows great ability for acquiring general information. I am sure she will do well at Helmsford College."

"I know what she means about Ann Reed's not being quite what she expected to find her," announced Madge; "I mean I know what she thought Ann would be like—proud, and stuck-up, and selfish."

"What made her think that?" questioned Mr. Wyndham, in amazement.

"She thought so because Ann is an only child, father, like Agnes Hosking," Ruth explained; "and Agnes Hosking is one of the most disagreeable girls at Miss Minter's school; her father is very rich, you know, and once mother in speaking of Ann Reed, called her Prosperity's child, and—"

"I remember I did," Mrs. Wyndham broke in; "but I did not mean to disparage her in any way, I am sure."

"Prosperity's child," Mr. Wyndham said thoughtfully; "yes, she is certainly that, she can know nothing, by experience, of the struggles and privations life brings to so many; but she wouldn't be much like her father if she was proud or selfish, and somehow I don't fancy Andrew Reed's daughter could be either. Dear me, what extraordinary notions children do get into their heads!" he concluded with a laugh.

"I wonder if Violet will be home-sick," said Frank, "I told her she would be, but she wouldn't believe it. You see she admits that she had a 'little weep' when she thought of Ruthie. I say, Ruthie, did you cry when you went to bed by yourself and thought of Violet?" he asked inquisitively.

"I believe she did," declared Billy, staring accusingly at his eldest sister, who appeared embarrassed. "What a couple of cry-babies you and Vi must be!"

"We all cried the morning Violet left," Madge reminded him, "you, too, Billy. I saw you wiping your eyes when you thought no one was looking."

"I am sure it was only natural that we should have all been upset," remarked Mrs. Wyndham, who looked as though it would not take much to reduce her to tears at the present moment; "I cannot bear to think of Violet separated from you others; but, at the same time, I know it is for her benefit, and I have a feeling that she will be happy with the Reeds. We shall be able to glean more from her next letter."

In the course of a few days Violet wrote again. She had been rather home-sick, she confessed, and she missed them all dreadfully; but everybody was most kind and considerate to her.

"Mrs. Reed is much more particular in many ways than you are, mother," she wrote; "and she is rather strict with the servants, I fancy, though they appear to like her. This house is kept as clean as a new pin. Mrs. Reed says she learnt the great virtues of cleanliness and order when she was a hospital nurse. Did you know she had worked for her living? She was at a hospital in London for several years. In some ways she is very particular. She won't allow the least waste, and she is as careful as though Dr. Reed was quite poor. Isn't that odd of her? I call it so. And yet, she's not in the least mean, for Polly— she's the tweeny-maid—told me yesterday that she's been so good to the cook's mother, who has been ill, giving her food-dainties such as sick people like—and money, too."

Violet then went on to say that, as the weather had continued cold and snowy, she had only left the house once since her arrival, which occasion had been on Sunday when, with Mrs. Reed and Ann, she had attended the nearest church, situated only about five minutes' walk from Laureston Square.

"But the weather is clearing at last," she wrote; "it is thawing fast as I am writing, and the sun is beginning to shine, so I hope soon I shall really see something of Barford. Mrs. Reed said this morning that she must try to get out to do some shopping, and that Ann and I might accompany her. I understand there are some fine shops not far from here, for Laureston Square is in what is considered the best part of the town, and many of the people living hereabouts are very rich. I do not see much of Dr. Reed, for he is generally busy all day till evening, although, as you know, he keeps an assistant—Mr. Luscombe. Mr. Luscombe has lodgings not far from here, Ann tells me; he is a little man who wears spectacles, and he is getting bald though he is quite young—young for a doctor, I mean; Ann says she thinks he is about twenty-seven.

"I like Ann. She is very good-natured, and wants to treat me just like a sister; she says she has always wished so much to have a sister. She loves to hear about Ruthie and Madge. I haven't told her what a little house ours is at Streatham, perhaps I shall when I know her better—Dr. Reed may have told her, that I don't know. I wonder what she would think of Barbara. I am certain Mrs. Reed wouldn't keep a servant who is always 'in a rush,' but I don't suppose she knows what one has to put up with if one can only afford a general servant." The letter concluded with many protestations of affection for all the dear ones at home, and requested a speedy answer from Mrs. Wyndham or Ruth.

"She is settling down comfortably and happily," said Mr. Wyndham, when his wife asked him what he thought of this last communication from the absent one, "do you not think so?"

"Yes," she agreed, "but it must be a very great change for her." She glanced meaningly around the sitting-room, as she spoke, and sighed. "I hope she will learn to be orderly," she said, "but I fear she will find it not a little hard."