Miss Drummond's Dilemma

Front matter

MISS DRUMMOND'S DILEMMA. Miss Drummond's Dilemma. BY R. RAMSAY. LONDON : RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, PUBLISHERS in ORDINARY to HER MAJESTY. 1896. (All rights reserved.) CONTENTS. CHAE'TEK pACE I. In the English Pension ... ... ... i II. "To Parents and Guardians"... ... 10 III. The Pleasant Country Home ... ... 18 IV. "Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot?" 29 V. Old Friends Together ... ... ... 39 VI. Some Curates and other Things ... 54 VII. A Tea-party ... ... ... ... 69 VIII. An Unusually Bright Idea ... ... 91 IX. Church, and a Garret Expedition, with Results ... ... ... ... ... 10S X. Actresses in the Country ... ... 122 XI. Where Pigeons Coo ... ... ... 134 XII. In Search ok an Aunt ... ... 149 XIII. A Doctor's Prudent Choice ... ... 164 XIV. Some Change of Front ... ... 181 XV. A Coming Home ... ... ... ... 201 XVI.

Fire ... ... ... ... ... 221 XVII. "All is not Gold" ... ... ... 237 XVIII. A Sale ok Work ... ... ... Contents. VI CHAPTER PAGE XIX. Roses and Faded Leaves ... ... ... 271 XX. The Unquiet Past ... ... ... 286 XXI. A Peace-offering ... ... ... ... 302 XXII. The Power of Literature to hasten Things 315 XXIII. And the Power of Mrs. Yool to stop them 332 XXIV. In the Dark 35S XXV. Flight ... ... ... ... ... 370 XXVI. The Clearing of the Fog ... ... MISS DRUMMOND'S DILEMMA.

Chapter I. In The English Pension

was panic on the stair. sUS Middle-aged maidens, solemn matrons, were scuttling up in a heap ; a remarkable thing at any period of the day, but especially so ten minutes after lunch. Julius, the foot man, hurried to lower regions and asked the cook privately if anything unusually virulent had been put into the sauce ; for never yet had so startling an incident taken place in the English pension. At this hour, when the odours of the different courses — lunch was a grandly scattered meal — had joined and grown un distinguishable by the public, when the two o'clock sun blinked searchingly on the board round the corner, with its letters big enough to catch the eyes of homeless arrivals wandering in droschkies ; when the little German sparrows hopped about the spot where Julius threw out British crumbs — at this hour peace managed to descend on the English pension.

It was then that the proprietress took the siesta she called " writing letters ; " the lady boarders looked placidly upon each other, and did not care to fight ; and the disturb ing male element took itself entirely off. Tradition did say that there was once a German doctor who established himself there to study English, and who sat daily in the drawing-room from lunch till tea, with twenty British matrons in the other chairs. He left them sufficiently improved, and smoked off arrears in another place. He was a thing of the past, Sometimes one young American remained indoors. But he sat on the stair with all the newspapers ; and talked to the parrot only, priming him with uncivil speech. His voice used to soak, faintly nasal, through the velvet door-smothering curtain, but did not hurt the universal calm.

This day things were not so. The upper corridor was crammed. But just in front of the door, that all wished to open, there was a blank, untrodden space. In the English Pension. ■3 It was easy to rush up in a body. Not so easy to step out from that body and turn the handle. There was a lull and a listening, and feet edged further instead of closer to the door. Another one opened on the lower flat, and a girl came running quickly into their midst. She had the untidy hair that goes with a headache and wet handkerchiefs, and she held on to the banisters as she hurried up, giddy with lying down. " What is the matter ? " she said breath lessly. The elder ladies, those whose necks were shooting forward, and whose noses pointed to that fastened door, stiffened their backs again ; not caring to be seen, by one who had not shared it, in their present state of curiosity and alarm.

The rest, who called themselves young women, raised their frizzy brows. " Did you not hear the shriek ? " I heard all your feet above my head. The ceiling shook." So they explained in whispers that ran all together and came out at once — " The strange Mrs. Long " Did not come down to lunch — " And Miss Beecham saw her plate fetched away untouched. And directly after lunch Dr. Long went up " "And then we heard a shriek, and came up to see. But nobody likes to go in " As they spoke the hiss of many whispers was cut across by another cry, one that rang out among them and whitened all their faces, even those that had paid-for colour on. They all looked at the door. But only the girl who had run up last stepped forward. "She must be ill," she said, and opened the door they were staring at so hard.

They could see nothing, for it did not open wide. But before the tail of her skirt was in somebody faced her and put her firmly out. Then the door was shut. "Well?" " Well ? ' " Well ?" But the girl only leaned against somebody, looking very frightened. The shriek pealed out once more, and the blank face of Julius looked up open-mouthed. The ponderous coming of Miss Peach, the proprietress, relieved the tension. She swept through the listeners ; and her Roman nose looked particularly Roman as she knocked sternly on the door. It was locked now ; they had all heard the grinding of the key. In the English Pension. 5 " If I am not admitted I shall send for the polizei," said Miss Peach, and her deep voice filtered grimly through. Then an answer came, given with great agitation and no coherence — " No, no. Immediately.

Pray, pray retire ! " " I shall certainly remain," replied Miss Peach. But she did not send for the polizei. The cries had stopped. She took her stand upon the mat and continued her expostula tions, while everybody else drew back to the stair-head, leaving the matter in her hands. The corridor was draughty, so when at length the watchers perceived a slit in the doorway, and Miss Peach disappearing through it, they drifted otherwhere, to talk it over in warmer places. The parrot, swinging on his perch upon the landing, stopped swearing, and grew gradually calm. Julius retired to wipe his dishes. But the girl who had gone impulsively to the rescue, who had ventured what the others feared to do, she stood, holding by the stair-rail, listening, waiting, and very much afraid. Some days ago Dr. Long and his wife had come to the English pension in Wies baden.

Mrs. Long had won Ranee Drum mond's eyes and heart when she first appeared, wrapped in gloom and a scarlet tea-gown. There had been no room for these two at the long tables where others ate ; Miss Peach had given them a small one in the deep, bay window, and they had sat facingeach other across the little cruet stand until Mrs. Long had asked if there might be some higher thing between them, " That we may not stare into each other's faces ! " she had said ; and Miss Peach had set a big, dark palm upon the table. In the morning Mrs. Long wore black, in the evening scarlet. Her husband took her daily to the Kochbrunnen to drink boiling health. She would come back laden with flowers from every shop in Wilhelmstrasse, and sit with them in her lap sighing softly, and letting them wither. Life seemed with her, the long afternoon of a wet day, very dreary until the lamps were lighted, and she came in a flood of colour down the stair, with glints of flame in the darkness of her eyes.

Ranee, who was not strong, and had many headaches to keep her gentle, took Mrs. Long's part warmly whenever ill was spoken of her — which was often, as no oood was known. She did not like the husband, who was so kind and careful of her, and whose eyes were full of a stifled watchfulness. In the English Pension. 7 He would not let her make friends, or be for one moment alone with man or woman. Once, and once only, he had left her. And Ranee had sat at her feet and looked into the eyes that were so unutterably sad, with all a girl's impulsive friendliness. Then she had felt the thin hand seek her own. " Little girl," Mrs. Long had said, " you are sorry for me." And then there had been silence, and Ranee could hear her breath go quicker, and feel her fingers clasping. She spoke again, with the rush of a river that had been dammed and could not hold in any longer.

" Pray that I may die. It is best that I should. And yet — oh, he would have it so ! " Her voice took a stranger key. "He will help me. Do you understand ? Let me die as others die ; not so, not so ! Roses, roses ; he brings them to me. And they are coffin-flowers ; they are death against my lips. So quietly, so quietly the leaves fold over. Little girl, it is poison ! " Ranee gazed up in speechless fear. Then she saw Dr. Longs on the threshold. He looked at his wife and caught his breath. As his eyes met hers her face changed. She rose, putting out her hand to be supported, and left the room with him. But when she was gone Dr. Long came back. " My wife is — fanciful," he said to the girl. But Ranee felt a great dislike rise in her. What manner of man was this, with the quiet foot, and the rapid eye ? and why had the words been spoken that his coming stopped ?

The girl listened and waited, white cheeked, on the stair. Miss Peach came out at length, and proceeded down the corridor, but she had no speech for anybody, only, " Nothing," and " Excuse me !" Later, the dinner-bell rang, shrill and loud. Julius had a bumptious way of letting the outer door stay open, that neighbours might hear the sound, and British passers hail it lovingly ; Julius was very sympathetic, and he liked a noise. But this time he put down the bell in the middle of its jangle. A droschke was stopping at the gate. All were in their rooms, saving Miss Peach, who had already swept the stairs from top to bottom twice with her heavy satin tail. In the hall a heap of leather trunks were resting after sudden packing and descent, and Mrs. Long was coming down with her husband, a long cloak I.Y THE EaXGLISH PENSION. 9 hanging over her scarlet gown.

They passed slowly along the corridor, meeting nobody ; the lights flickered dimly, and all the doors were shut. The whisk of belated skirts was not yet due. Ranee Drummond, kneeling on the floor, pulling her mother's hooks and eyes together, heard the droschke and the steps. She jumped up, and ran out in her crumpled frock, with the carpet-dust all unshaken. Mrs. Drummond looked, startled, after her, and the parrot screeched on the landing. Dr. Long looked sharply at his wife, and then at the hasty shape flying up to her. " Good-bye ! " said Ranee, impulsively, holding out her hands. Mrs. Long stooped suddenly and kissed the girl. Then she let herself be led on silently. Scarlet and black disappeared into the droschke, and Julius closed the door. Directly after a stream of many-coloured gowns blocked up the stairs, hurrying to dinner.

Miss Peach received a telegram, asking for accommodation, and some empty rooms were put in order by the maids, who swept up three shovelfuls of pinks and roses. Tin-: Paying Guest. 10

Chapter II

"TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS." "Erg AM ES!" WM Major Drummond stood in the window, like a lamp-post between two frilled, extensive cobwebs. The lamp was not yet lighted ; at least, his pipe was out. " It is horrid of Alicia," went on his wife, nodding angrily at a photograph before her. The room, being temporarily theirs, was dotted with the heads of relatives and friends, which is one of the ways of making an alien chamber homelike. But somehow none of the real home places are quite as thickly peppered. " Well, poor woman — " Horrid, I say. After promising to take Ranee and coddle her until she were able to join us — after writing so many gushing letters about the dear girl, and the tremendous joy of having her — after all that to pack up her family in a yacht and go off round the world ! Crazy, and inconsiderate !

" Mrs. Drummond began to walk jerkily round the room. She passed the photographs in review — such as were heads of families. " There is Katie. If she had been the sensible woman I always thought, she would not have managed to get smallpox in the house. As it is, she is off the list. Mildred is your sister, James, so I won't enlarge. But I do think it mad of her to summer in Siberia. And if Dick must marry an American wife, I suppose he can't help going over to be trotted out by her relations among the swamps ! As for Helen, you know she is astride some dreadful beast in Asia Minor. Ours is an abominable family ! " I'm sure we never bothered them with the child when she was little. Of course none of them were married then, but still we might have worried them. Now we must start on the 21st, and Ranee cannot come with us yet, in spite of all that Kneipp and tramping-in-wet-grass treatment.

What are we to do ? Mrs. Berry is choked up with new importations. Must we adver tise ?" Tin, Paying Guest. 12 " Hardly time," said Major Drummond. Then Ranee herself came in, with a bright-faced, long-limbed boy, whose laugh was full of mischief as he said — " Heard mother's news ?" "Yes, Charley; and it has driven me crazy. What is to become of poor Ranee ? " said Mrs. Drummond, woefully. "Oh, I've got the jolliest plan! Board her with old Bottercll. We boys are too much for him, and he and Mrs. B. can't keep us down. We are just awful in church, they say ; but what is a fellow to do ? Six of us in one pew, and all the choir girls giggling in front ; how can we keep serene ? For one thing, we have too many legs, and are always knocking up against each other. Ranee and her sober little bonnet perched in the middle would tone us down im mensely.

There would be no more storm ing at 'Botterell's boys' from old I'unbury, who can hardly stop to pull his surplice off, before he goes for us." "A fine idea," said Major Drummond, wheeling round. " Splendid, / think. And I could keep a physicking eye on her, as she would keep a moral one on us." " Be quiet, Charley," said Mrs. Drummond. " Go and bring me all the English papers you can find." " All right ; if the Peach has retired to ripen in seclusion, and if Miss Beecham doesn't scream out the regulations. There are rules against carrying them off, as you inhabitants should know," said the boy, getting up to go in search. " Ranee, if Julius Cæsar catches me in the act, and sticks me with a carver, will you wTeep over me and say I died for you ? " He made himself scarce, and came back five minutes later, with his arms full of papers and his chin pressed on the top.

"Enough?" he inquired. Each took a paper and sat down solemnly, Major Drummond looking along a list of schools, for he kept forgetting the figures of Ranee's last birthday. The girl herself studied grown-up columns, and Mrs. Drum mond ran her eyes fussily up and down the Times. " Getting on ? " asked Charley, by-and-by. " There's a capital Home for the Destitute in mine." Mrs. Drummond folded back her paper. " This sounds nice," she said. " ' To Parents and Guardians. Widow lady with one daughter — young — offers pleasant country home to young lady, orphan or with parents abroad. Motherly care. Beautiful scenery, and society "Oh! Beautiful society ? " said Charley. " Hush ! " said Mrs. Drummond. " I think I shall write to that lady. It will take five days to hear. Dear me, I must do it at once."

Charley took up the paper. "Where's this wonderful advertisement ? " said he. " If you're quick, Aunt Jenny, I can post it at the General, on my way to Botterell's, and it will go a mail sooner." Mrs. Drummond began to write, hurrying herself. "Madam, "Seeing your advertisement in the Times, I am writing to you with reference to my daughter. My husband and I arc leaving for India on the 21st, and as her state of health does not permit her to accompany us, I am very anxious to secure a comfortable home for her until she can join us. I should be pleased to have particulars from you as soon as possible." Here Charley looked at his watch. " I must be off if that post is to be caught. Is it ready ?" Mrs. Drummond finished quickly and took up an envelope. " Look up the address," she said. "All right," said Charley, running his finger up the column.

" ' To Parents and Guardians ' — let me see — ' Mrs. Yool ' — awful name — ' Varleyand Kerdem, solicitors, Lincoln's Inn.'" Then he pocketed the letter and went off, putting his head in at the door a minute later to remark — " If you go, Ranee, and the ghoul treats you badly, wire to me, and I'll come and deliver you. I could send you a sausage now and then to keep up your strength, by post." " Thanks," said Ranee. Mrs. Yool answered promptly, sent a sheaf of references, and seemed desirable. Finally all was settled. Ranee and her parents were to travel from Wiesbaden together, and they would take her to Mrs. Yool before they sailed. " Inspect the larder ! " said Charley. He came to the station and saw them off", with as many of Botterell's boys as could be got out together. London was delightful.

There were so many things to do, and so few days to do them in, and Ranee was not strong enough to cram too much together, so the journey to Lincolnshire was put off to the very last, until there was no time for it. Mrs. Yool promptly offered to come up to town ami fetch Ranee. The three who were to part walked up and down the station platform very sadly. Mrs. Yool was to carry a letter in her hand ; and as the time arrived they looked anxiously at the hands of all the elderly persons near. At last a tall, black shape could be seen marching up and down, with none of a lonely female's flurry in her step. She looked like a widow — one of those who never marry twice. Her hands were big and bony under the black silk gloves, and probably her feet were so as well, for her skirt was unusually long.

" Looks military," said Major Drum mond. It was the only praise that he could find. Then she stopped short in front of them. "Mrs. Yool ? " "The same." Mrs. Drummond drew her into a waiting room, and began to impress upon her Ranee's delicate health and disregard of the same. She was anxious, fluttered, and upset. But Mrs. Yool was solemn and composed, not to say grim. " You may quite safely leave your daughter in my care," she said. " Have no anxiety whatever ! " " And then— oh, then, good-bye."

Chapter III. The Pleasant Country Home

"iMRITTLE!" \\wp1\ 'j']lc porter's shout awakened, or, at least, enlivened Mrs. Yool. Her sleep had been as that of a dragon, watchful ; and Ranee, shrinking into a corner, and spreading her broadest paper vainly as a shield, felt all the time that she was being scanned. Sleep seemed to be strategy with Mrs. Yool. Would wakefulness develop into battle ? The lady's eye, even when shut, stopped Ranee from feeling independent, impressing her stonily with the sensation of being only an unlucky little girl, who had some months before her to be miserable in, and somebody in front of her to make her so. It was hard ! She had had a glimpse of happiness, and now it had slipped weakly from her in her own untimely weakness. For years, as many years as Ranee knew, personally, anything about, the word " mamma " had been to her a The Pleasant Country Home. 19 black and white thing, like a ghost, ranking among the fairies, and sharing with them the misty vagueness of older toleration ; then, suddenly, two most substantial mortals had come — being too heavy for the clouds — and hugged their unacquainted child.

Was it not hard, just as things began to sparkle, and just as Ranee was beginning to forget that the first hug had been given to the wrong girl in the hall — photographs are so unreliable — just then to fall ill, and get better so tediously that she must be left behind ? These thoughts wandered busily in Ranee's mind, and made her feel very forlorn, and wish that Mrs. Yool had a less grim exterior, and a rounder, kinder look. But the jerk of stopping, and the porter's cry, put an end to the sleep-study opposite. Mrs. Yool got up promptly, and pulled down the shawls, motioning the girl to gather up the papers. " I like to leave them for the railway people," said the girl, who did not care to burden herself with a sheaf of papers that had been read. " They enjoy them," she suggested. 00 " Improving literature may be left," said Mrs. Yool ; " but such as these profit nobody."

And she picked them up herself. There was a fly, a very dusty one, at the station. Mrs. Yool transfixed the driver with her eye before any other traveller could reach it, put Ranee in, and followed her with as many things as would go inside. They clattered along paving that was of that hilly kind that makes the most of every dog-cart, and past the small, thirsty trees that stuck out of the pavement as if planted to save the retiring modesty of the shops behind. Only for a moment did they get into a busier street. Then the houses grew thinner, fewer ; there was an empty road in front, and bare little hills to go cautiously up and down. They did not go down the last hill, for at the top of it was a chilly little village, with flat cottages clustering round a dilapidated church, and above them, very bleak and lonely, a single house.

The fly stopped at the gate. It could go no further in, for the garden-path was very narrow. It was an ugly house — so Ranee told herself as she stood and waited to be taken in. The north wind kept all creepers from ascending, and there were no geraniums in the long, black flower-beds. One rose bush grew beside the gate, but did not in dulge in bud or blossom, seeming to live only for the sake of tearing people's clothes. The Pleasant Colwtry Home. 21 " It is very healthy up here," said Mrs. Yool, which meant that it was very cold. Ranee did not respond. The luggage had been piled up on the path by the driver, and they could not get past until it was removed. She could do nothing but stare up at the grim house in front of her, that was some how so like Mrs. Yool herself. She was not strong, and she was overwrought.

A sob came up her throat. " This will not do," said Mrs. Yool. Ranee found herself being led up to the house — brought in — taken through a dark passage into a room beyond, where she was put into a big chair and left to herself, with the words — spoken softly by a servant in the hall — ringing oddly in her ears, " Poor thing, poor thing ! " and the servant's sidelong look had been peculiar. Mrs. Yool came in again shortly, followed by another. " My daughter, Mary Anne," she said. Ranee lifted her eyes. Miss Yool was no friend for her. She was not young, nor any longer pretty, and she made one think of cold boiled fat. One would also think of her as adhesive, yet limply so. She was always putting her arm in somebody's, and she slipped it into Ranee's now, taking her upstairs. But the action suggested an old habit of forgotten sense.

Once she had had a friend. The friend had left her, taking some one else, and the old caressing way that lingered with her was no longer pleasant. She took Ranee to her room, and advised her to lie down, promising tea. Then she unstrapped the biggest trunk, and set to work to empty it. " Please, don't," began Ranee, faintly, with her hands pressing her aching head, and a great longing for peace in her eyes. But Mary Anne proceeded officiously, hung all her garments orderly from pegs, laid her linen in the chest of drawers, and looked furtively through her books. Now and then she lifted up her voice at some exciting work. " This is hardly a girl's book, is it ? " she would say, and then ask permission to take it down to read. Before she had finished her exploring, Ranee's eyes had closed. Then Mary Anne got up from her knees by the trunk, and came up to the bedside.

She looked down oddly on the white, tired face, bringing her small eyes very close. After that she went back to her unpacking. * * * * On the third morning after her arrival, The Pleasant Country Home. 23 Ranee's returning spirits bubbled up. Mrs. Yool and her daughter had apparently made up their minds about her, and the constant observation that had worried her at first was no longer noticeable. Perhaps she was used to it — perhaps it was reasonably slackened. For one thing, on this third morning she managed to come down the stairs by herself, and Mary Anne did not leave her early dusting to follow her about. Ranee was hungry, and it was not nearly breakfast-time. She had some biscuits in her pocket, the relics of her travelling pro vision ; and she went into the drawing-room, where there was nobody, to consume them privately.

The maid had already seized upon her bedroom. It was an ugly room, very provincial, yet not of the scrappy kind that gets ideas from weekly papers, and has enamelled boots and kettles lying about, and bits of dusty muslin. There were many relations on the walls, people stiff enough to have sat in the chairs below ; vases of yellow everlastings decked the mantelpiece, left over from the funeral wreaths of these relations ; the piano they had played on once was smothered in good books with their names inside, and on the round table in the middle were shells and grasses some of them had gathered, on mats the rest had worked. The whole room looked lugubrious, and had a tomblike feel. Ranee did not dare to make any crumbs, she broke her biscuits cautiously, and swal lowed them nearly whole. Then she looked about her for something to read.

The books were beyond her ; besides, they were so carefully arranged that she hesitated to dis place them. One big album lay all by itself, and she took that up and undid the clasps. More relations, also presumably departed : little boys with pinafores, babies with no thing — would they, grown older, ever dare to open this ?■ — and men with beards. Mrs. Yool and Mary Anne in muslins, and further on, a single page, with some unhappy-looking girls. " Previous boarders ! " said Ranee to her self. One or two were skinny, more were stout, and only one was smiling. She looked at their faces curiously. Were they also lonely young things whose parents had gone away ? Had they choked down their tears as they sat for the photographs that were to be sent abroad ? — and had Mrs. Yool been kind to them ?

Some were only sickly girls : she did not find them interesting. One, the least comely, had a broad, wide The Pleasant Country Home. 25 face, stretched wider by a chronic-looking laugh, that wrinkled up her cheeks and lost her eyes. One other — one dark, lovely face — looked out at her, and seemed to call for recollection. It was sad, yet smiled ; and the eyes claimed all the sympathy Ranee had given Mrs. Long. For it was she. Ranee laid down the album, open at these photographs, and got up impulsively to run and ask Mary Anne for information about her. But her voice came shrilly from the kitchen, and Ranee was not yet familiar with these regions. She would wait. Sitting down on the music-stool, she opened the monumental piano, and began to play a Carnival air that she had picked up abroad.