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Flaming June

<h3>Chapter Three.</h3> The Lucania was due to arrive in the Mersey early on a Tuesday forenoon, and Miss Briskett expected to welcome her niece on the evening of the same day. The best spare room was already swept and garnished, and nothing remained but to take counsel with Heap the cook, and draw out a menu of a dinner which could most successfully combat the strain of waiting. The spinster’s own appetite, though sparse, was fastidious, and Heap was a mistress of her art, so that between the two a dainty little meal was arranged, while Mason, not to be outdone, endeavoured to impart an extra polish to her already highly-burnished silver. In the seclusion of the pantry she hummed a joyful air. “Praise the pigs! we shall have something young in the house, at last,” said she to herself. “I don’t mind the extra work, if she’ll only make a bit of a stir!” By six o’clock the dinner-table was laid, and Miss Briskett was sitting in state, clad in her newest grey silk gown, though a reference to Bradshaw made it seem improbable that the traveller could arrive before seven o’clock. At half-past six hot water was carried up to the bedroom; ten minutes later Miss Briskett left her seat to move another few yards nearer the window. Streaks of colour showed in her cheeks, her fingers clasped and unclasped in nervous fashion. She was conscious of a quick thud-thud at the left side of the thickly-boned bodice, and realised with surprise that it came from that almost forgotten organ, her heart. She had never experienced this agitation before when awaiting the arrival of her own friends. The old adage was right after all—blood was thicker than water! What would the child be like? Edward was a big fair man, with no special beauty of feature. Sybil had been slight and dainty. It did not seem likely that Cornelia would be specially pretty, her aunt prayed above all things that she was unnoticeable—to be unnoticeable was regarded as the climax of elegance in Norton society!—then with a sudden softening of expression found herself hoping that there would be something of Edward in looks or manner! She was a lonely woman, living apart from her kin. To have someone of her own would be a new and delightful experience. She felt glad, actually glad that Cornelia was coming! Seven o’clock! At any moment now a cab might appear bearing the expected guest from the station. Miss Briskett crossed the room to alter the arrangement of a vase of flowers, and as she did so, the door opened, and Mason entered carrying a telegram upon a silver salver. Miss Briskett tore it open, and read the following message:— <blockquote> “Safe and sound. Staying night in London with friends. Sight-seeing to-morrow morning. Be with you at five. God save the Queen!—Cornelia.” </blockquote> Miss Briskett’s lips tightened. She folded the orange-coloured paper and returned it to its envelope, cleared her throat and said coldly— “Inform Heap that my niece will not arrive until to-morrow evening, and be good enough to serve dinner at once.” Mason’s face clouded with disappointment. In the kitchen Heap banged the saucepan-lids, and wanted to know what was the use of doing your best in a despicable world where you never got nothing for your pains! Mary repaired dolefully upstairs to take away the hot water, and shroud the furniture in dust-sheets; even the tweeny felt a sudden dampening of spirits, while in the dining-room the mistress of her house sat at her solitary meal with anger smouldering in her heart! A delay to the boat would, of course, have been inevitable; if Cornelia had been so fatigued that she felt it necessary to break her journey half-way, that would have been a disappointment pure and simple, but that the girl had chosen to delay her arrival for her own amusement and gratification, this was an offence indeed—a want of respect and consideration well-nigh unforgivable. Staying in town with friends!—Staying where?—With what friends? Doing the sights to-morrow morning! Miss Briskett’s lip curled in disdain. Then that ridiculous ending! What would Miss Brewster, the telegraph clerk at the post-office, think of such frivolity! In this tiny township, everyone was as well acquainted with their neighbour’s business as with their own, and while Emily Brewster at the post-office was keenly interested in the advent of the American visitor, Miss Briskett, in her turn, knew all about Emily’s parentage and education, the nature and peculiarities of the diseases which she had enjoyed, and vouchsafed a patronising interest in her prospects. It was gall and wormwood to feel sure that Emily had laughed and made merry over a message addressed to a Briskett, from a member of her own house! Everyone has experienced the flatness which ensues when an expected excitement is postponed at the last moment, leaving the hours to drag along a slow, uneventful course. It was long since Miss Briskett had felt so consciously lonely and depressed as at her solitary dinner that evening. In the drawing-room, even Patience lost its wonted charm, and she was thankful when the time arrived to sip her tumbler of hot water, and retire to bed. Next day it seemed somewhat flat to make the same preparations a second time over, but as no contradictory message had been received, it did not appear possible that a second disappointment could supervene. The tea-table was set out with special care, and a supply of home-made cakes placed on the three-storied brass stand. Once more Miss Briskett donned her best gown, and sat gazing through the lace window curtains. At last! A cab drove up to the gate; two cabs, laden with enough luggage for a family journeying to the seaside. The door of the first was thrown open and there jumped out—a man! a tall, alert young man clad in a suit of light-checked tweed, who turned and gave his hand to a girl in blue serge, carefully assisting her to alight. They sauntered up the path together, laughing and chattering in leisurely enjoyment; half-way to the house the girl turned round, and stood for a moment to stare at the view, pointing, as she did so, in frank, unabashed fashion. Then they approached the door, held hospitably open in Mason’s hand. “Why, Aunt Soph, is that you?” cried a high, clear voice, with a pronounced American accent, which rang strangely in the unaccustomed ears. “This is me, anyhow, and I’m real glad to see you. I’ve had a lovely ride! This is Mr Eustace C Ross, who crossed with us in the Lucania. He’s brought me right here in case I got lost, or fell over the edge. England’s sweet! I’ve been all over London this morning, and we did a theatre last night. ... Aunt Soph, you have a look of father about the nose! Makes me feel kinder homesick to see your nose. I’m going to kiss it right away?” And kiss it she did, on its thin, chilly tip, with Mason sniggering with delight in the background, and the strange young man chuckling in the foreground. Miss Briskett retreated hastily into the drawing-room, and her niece followed, casting curious glances to right and to left. “You’ve got a real cosy little house, Aunt Soph. It looks real English—not a mite like our place at home. Is that tea? I’m just about dying for a cup of tea, and so’s Mr Ross. Don’t you want a cup of tea more than anything in the world, Mr Ross? I see you do by the way you look!” She sank into an easy chair, and flashed a mischievous glance at the young man by her side. He was a tall, well-built young fellow, with the square shoulders and aggressive chin which to the English eye are the leading characteristics of American men. He had the air of being exceedingly well able to look after himself, but even his self-possession wavered before the frosty nature of his reception. He stood irresolutely, hat in hand, waiting for a repetition of Cornelia’s invitation, but none came, and with an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders, he resigned himself to the inevitable, and announced that it was imperative that he should hasten back to the station to catch a return train to town. He proceeded, therefore, to take leave of his travelling companion, a proceeding characterised on his side by transparent regret, on hers by an equally transparent indifference. “You’ll be sure to let me know when you come home!” “Yes, indeed! I’ll write when I start, and you shall come down to meet the boat. Good-bye! You’ve been real kind! I’m ever so much obliged!” “Oh, I’ve enjoyed it enormously. You must be sure to let me know if there is anything I can do—at any time—anywhere!” repeated the young fellow, ardently. He bowed to Miss Briskett, who extended her hand in patronising farewell, accompanying him to the door of the room, less, it appeared, from motives of kindliness, than to satisfy herself that he had really departed. On her return she found that her niece had taken off her hat, and was leaning back in her chair, sticking hat-pins through the crown with smiling complacence. Miss Briskett surveyed her with not unnatural curiosity, and came to the swift conclusion that she was not at all pretty, but most objectionably remarkable in appearance. The sort of girl whom people would stare at in the street; the sort of girl whom Norton would emphatically disapprove! Her hair in itself was arresting. Miss Briskett had never seen such hair. It was not red, it was not gold, it was not brown; but rather a blending of all three colours. It was, moreover, extraordinarily thick, and stood out from the head in a crisp mass, rippling into big natural waves, while behind each ear was a broad streak of a lighter shade, almost flaxen in colour. No artificial means could have produced such an effect; it was obviously the work of nature. “American nature!” Miss Briskett told herself with a sniff. A respectably brought-up English girl could never have possessed such a head! Underneath this glorious mass of hair was a pale, little face, lighted up by a pair of golden-brown eyes. The eyebrows were well-marked and remarkably flexible; the nose was thin and pointed, a youthful replica of Miss Briskett’s own. The only really good feature was the mouth, and that was adorable, with coral red lips curling up at the corners; tempting, kissable lips, made for love and laughter. For the rest, it was difficult to understand how a plain blue serge gown could possibly contrive to look so smart, or how those tiniest of tiny brown boots had managed to keep so dazzlingly free from dust throughout a railway journey. Miss Briskett sat herself down by the tea-table, and cleared her throat ominously. Her niece had not been ten minutes in the house, yet already an occasion had arisen for a serious rebuke. “Are you engaged to that young man, may I ask, Cornelia?” Cornelia gave a little jump upon her seat, and opened her golden eyes in a stare of amazement. “Mussy, no! What in the land put such an idea in your head?” “Your tone and manner, my dear, and the fact of his accompanying you all the way from town. It is not usual for young men to put themselves to so much trouble for a mere acquaintance.” “He don’t think it a trouble. He loves flying around! He’s a sweet thing,” said Miss Cornelia, with smiling recollection, “but he’s not my Chubb! I’m sorry he couldn’t stay to tea, for he’s real amusing when he once gets started. He’d have made you screech with laughter.” Miss Briskett looked down her nose, in her most dignified and rebuking fashion. “I am not accustomed to ‘screech’ about anything, and in this country, my dear, it is not considered convenable for young girls to accept the escort of a gentleman to whom they are not engaged. No English girl would think of doing such a thing!” “They must have a middling dull time of it,” retorted Cornelia, calmly, “I must teach them a thing or two while I’m over.” She rose to take the teacup from her aunt’s hand, and to help herself to a couple of sandwiches from a dainty heart-shaped dish. “Well—aren’t you pleased to have me, Aunt Soph? I’ve wanted years to come over and see you. It seemed too bad that I knew none of Poppar’s people. And now I’m here!” She wheeled round, teacup in hand, staring curiously around the handsome, over-furnished room; at the big ebony console table, ornamented with bunches of fruit manufactured out of coloured pebbles; at the grand piano in its walnut case; the piano which was never opened, but which served as a stand for innumerable photographs and ornaments; at the old-fashioned sofas and chairs in their glazey chintz covers; at the glass-shaded vases on the marble mantelshelf. “I’m here, and it’s too quaint for words! Everything’s—different! I suppose England is different, isn’t it, Aunt Soph?” “Very different!” Miss Briskett’s tones fairly bubbled with innuendoes. She put down her rolled slice of bread and butter, and added frostily, “Before we go any further, Cornelia, I must really beg you to address me by my proper name. My name is Sophia. You have no intention of being disrespectful, I feel sure, but I am not accustomed to abbreviations. I have never had a nickname in my life, and I have no wish to begin at this late date.” “My! you poor sufferer, how lonesome for you! Nicknames are so homely and cosy. I have about as many as I have toes. One of my friends calls me ‘Corney.’ He’s a bit of a wag—(‘He,’ indeed!)—Another one calls me ‘Nelia,’—‘Neel-ya!’” She threw a lingering sentiment into the repetition, and chuckled reminiscently. “To most of my chums I’m just ‘Neely.’ Life’s too short for three syllables every day of the week!” “Over here in England we are not too hurried to address people in a proper manner. I shall call you by your full name, and expect you to do the same by me.” “All right, Aunt Sophia Ann, just as you please,” cried Cornelia, naughtily. She was standing up, cup in hand, but even as she spoke she subsided on to a footstool by Miss Briskett’s side, with a sudden lithe collapse of the body, which made that good lady gasp in dismay. She had never seen anybody but a professional acrobat move so quickly or unexpectedly, and felt convinced that the tea must have been spilt, and crumbs scattered wholesale over the carpet. But no! not even a drop had fallen into the saucer, and there sat Cornelia nibbling at an undamaged sandwich with little, strong, white teeth, as cool and composed as if such feats were of everyday occurrence. “This is how I sit by Poppar at home; it’s more sociable than right across the room. Poppar and I are just the greatest chums, and I hate it when he’s away. There was a real nice woman wanted to come and keep house, and take me around—Mrs Van Dusen, widow of Henry P Van Dusen, who made a boom in cheese. Maybe you’ve heard of him. He made a pile, and lost it all, trying to do it again. Then he got tired of himself and took the grippe and died, and it was pretty dull for Mrs Van. She visits round, and puts in her time the best way she can. She’d have liked quite well to settle down at our place for three or four months, and I’d have liked it too, if it hadn’t been for you. I wanted to see you Aunt Soph—ia Ann!” She put up a thin little hand, and rubbed it ingratiatingly up and down the shiny silk lap, to the stupefaction of Mason, who came in at that moment bearing a plate of hot scones, and retired to give a faithful rendering of the position to her allies in the kitchen, sitting down on the fender stool, and stroking the cook’s apron in dramatic imitation, while that good lady and her satellites went into helpless fits of laughter. “I’d as soon stroke a nettle myself,” said the cook, “but there’s no accounting for taste! You take my word for it, if she goes on stroking much longer, she’ll get a sting as she won’t forget in a hurry!” Upstairs in the drawing-room, Miss Briskett’s fidgeting uncomfortably beneath that caressing hand. In her lonely, self-contained life, she was so unused to demonstrations of the kind that she was at a loss how to receive them when they came. Instinctively she drew herself away, shrinking into the corners of her chair and busying herself with the re-arrangement of the tray, while Cornelia asked one question after another in her high-pitched, slightly monotonous voice. “It’s mighty quiet out here, Aunt Soph—ia Ann! Does it always go on being just as still? Do you live all the year round, right here in this house by your lonesome, listening to the grass growing across the lane? What do you do, anyway? That’s a real smart-looking maid! Will she be the one to wait upon me? Most all my shirt waists fasten up the back, and there’s got to be someone round to fix them, or I’m all undone. I guess you’re pretty tidy by the looks of you, Aunt Soph. I can’t see after things myself, but I fidget the life out of everybody if I’m not just so. I’ve got the sweetest clothes.—Do you have gay times over here in Norton? Is there a good deal of young society? I love prancing round and having a good time. Poppar says the boys spoil me; there’s always a crowd of them hanging round, ready to do everything I want, and to send me flowers and bon-bons. I’m just crazed on bonbons! My state-room was piled full of bouquets and chocolates coming over. I had more than any other girl on board!” Miss Briskett’s lips tightened ominously. “If by ‘boys’ you mean young men, Cornelia, I am surprised that your father allows you to receive indiscriminate gifts from strangers. I fear he hag become a thorough American, and forgotten his early training. In England no young man would venture to send a gift to a lady to whom he was not either related, or engaged to be married.” “My! how mean! Amurican men are for ever sending things, and the girls just love to have them do it. Seems to me, Aunt Soph, it’s about time I came over to teach you how to do things in this benighted isle! Poppar says you’re all pretty mouldy, but, short of an earthquake, he can’t think of anything better calculated to shake you up, than a good spell of me waltzing around. I guess he’s about right. I’m never quiet unless I’m sick. There’s not much of the Sleeping Beauty about Cornelia E Briskett!” Miss Briskett sat still, a pillar of outraged propriety. This was worse than anything she had expected! The girl appeared to have no modesty, no decorum, no sense of shame. She might straighten her back until it was as stiff as a poker, might arch her brows into semicircles, and purse her lips into an expression of disapproval which would have frightened Elma Ramsden out of her senses, but Cornelia never appeared to notice that anything was amiss, and continued her meal with bland enjoyment. When she had finished the sandwiches she rested her left arm more firmly on her aunt’s knee, and raised her pointed chin until it rested, actually rested, upon the edge of the table, the while she carefully scrutinised the different varieties of cake, and selected the piece most to her taste. At this she proceeded to nibble with evident satisfaction, lifting it to her lips in one thin hand, while the other still rested caressingly on that shiny silk lap. Miss Briskett’s dumb swellings of anger gradually subsided to the point when it became possible to put them into words. She cleared her throat with the usual preliminary grunt, whereupon the girl turned her stag-like head, to gaze questioningly upwards, her expression sweetly alert, her eyes—limpid, golden eyes—widely opened between the double line of lashes! Miss Briskett looked, and the remonstrance died on her lips. The scene shifted, and in an instant she had travelled back through the years to a day long, long ago, when she sat, a girl in her teens, talking to the little boy brother who was the dearest of all created things, telling him stories, and watching the wonder in his eyes! Pert, self-sufficient, and presumptuous as she might be, by some contradictory freak of nature, that divine innocence still lingered in this young girl’s eyes. The sight of it arrested the words on the spinster’s lips. She realised with shame that almost every word which she had spoken to the girl since her arrival had been tinged with reproof, and blushed for her own lack of hospitality. The frown faded, and was replaced by a struggling smile. With a half-strained movement she advanced a chilly hand to meet the girl’s warm grasp. Cornelia drew a long, fluttering sigh; a sigh of utter contentment, and laid her russet head on the folds of the stiff grey silk. “Oh, Aunt Soph—ia! you are just as sweet!” she murmured beneath her breath. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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