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Flaming June

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<h3>Chapter Thirteen.</h3> Mrs Ramsden sent up a box to the Manor that same afternoon, containing a dark linen dress, a blue blouse, and black skirt for evening wear; a supply of underclothing, a grey Shetland shawl, and a flannel dressing-gown. An hour later, conveyed by special messenger, came a second box, accompanied by a note in Cornelia’s handwriting. Elma was resting in her bedroom when it arrived. She opened it, and read as follows:— <blockquote> “Dear Moss Rose,—I guess tight gowns are a bit worrying in hot weather, so I’ve gotten together a few waists and skirts that may aid your recovery, and send them along with my love, wishing you many happy returns of the day. If it isn’t the right day, it ought to be, anyway! I always calculated to be here for your birthday, and I’m about tired waiting. If you send them back, I’ll burn them, as sure as taxes, but I reckon you’re too sweet to hurt my feelings. Put on the one with the ruckings! It’s the duty of every woman to look her best in the eyes of—. What wonderful weather for the time of year!—Your friend, Cornelia. “PS—There’s quite a gale blowing round this corner!...” </blockquote> “It is sweet of her, but I mustn’t, I can’t, I really couldn’t!” was Elma’s comment as she flushed with surprise and embarrassment. It was quite certain that she could not accept the gift, but there was no harm in just looking to see what the box contained! She crossed the room, cut the string, and unfolded the brown papers which covered the cardboard box; lifted fold after fold of tissue papers, and gasped in admiration of each treasure as it was revealed. The daintiest of white lawn morning blouses, with skirt to match; a skirt and bodice of cream net marvellously rucked with ribbons; a blue muslin, afoam with flounces. All were fresh from the maker’s hands, and, as Elma divined, had been selected from Cornelia’s storehouse of garments, with careful regard to her own requirements. The “waists” would fit easily enough; the skirts—she shook out the muslin and held it against her own dress. Just a trifle short, perhaps, but not sufficiently so to spoil the effect. It was a lovely skirt! Elma edged away from the glass with a little jerk of the figure calculated to send the flounces in a swirl round her feet. For three-and-twenty years she had gone through life wearing plain hems, and as Cornelia predicted, the flounces went to her brain. After all, would it not be ungracious to reject so kindly a gift? Her real birthday fell in the middle of July, and Cornelia, being rich and generous, would naturally offer a gift on the occasion. To keep the blue muslin would be only anticipating the remembrance. Yes! she would keep it, and return the other dresses, explaining that she really could not accept so much. But on second thoughts Cornelia had specially desired her to wear the net with the ruckings. ... Elma dropped the muslin on the bed, lifted the net blouse carefully from its wrappings, and held it before her to view the effect. Had mortal hands fashioned it, or had it dropped down ready-made from a fairyland where good spirits gathered pieces of cloud and sea-foam, and blew them together for the benefit of happy girlhood! Elma looked at herself in the glass; looked back at the blue glacé silk and black surah on the bed, and thanked Heaven for Cornelia Briskett! Indeed and indeed she would wear the “rucked net to-night, and look her best in the eyes of...” And she would send back the white lawn, and say—What should she say? Perhaps, after all, it would seem rather queer to keep the two more elaborate gowns, and send back the simplest. It might appear as if she did not consider it worthy of acceptance. She would keep them all; wear them all; enjoy them all; and oh, dear, sweet, kind, and most understanding Cornelia, if ever, ever, the time arrived when the gift could be returned, with what a full heart should it be offered! Pen, ink, and paper lay ready on the writing-table. Elma seated herself, and wrote her thanks:— <blockquote> “You dear Fairy-Godmother,—At first I thought I couldn’t, but I’ve tried on all three, and I simply can’t part from them. I don’t know what mother will say, but I’m living just for the hour. I’m going to wear the net to-night, and if I look my best it will be your doing, and I’ll never forget it! It’s just wonderful up here, but I feel wicked, for really and truly I’m not ill? Captain Guest asked me a hundred questions about you last night, and I told him such nice things, Cornelia! I wonder sometimes whether you are a witch, and upset the cart on purpose, but of course there was the parrot! Madame is most kind, but I don’t really know her a scrap better than the moment we arrived. She wears lovely clothes. If it were not for you I should have to go downstairs to-night in an odd blouse and skirt, and feel a worm! I hope you’ll come up to inquire. Come soon! Everyone wants to see you again. With a hundred thanks.—Your loving friend, Elma.” “Why am I a ‘Moss Rose’?” </blockquote> The note was slipped into the letter-box in the hall, as Elma went down to dinner that night, lovely to behold in the “rucked gown,” and the perusal of it next morning was one of the pleasantest episodes which Cornelia had known since her arrival. Truth to tell, she had felt many doubts as to the reception of her fineries, but the mental vision of Elma’s tasteless home-made garments, against the background of the beautiful old Manor, had been distressing enough to overcome her scruples. She dimpled as she read, and laughed triumphantly. Things were going well; excellently well, and those dresses ought to exercise a distinctly hurrying effect. Four or five days—maybe a week. “My!” soliloquised Cornelia, happily; “I recollect one little misery who proposed to me at the end of an afternoon picnic. They’re slower over here, but Mr Greville was pretty well started before this spell began, and if he’s the man I take him for, he won’t last out a whole week with Elma among the roses. Then the fun will begin! Sakes alive, what a flare-up! And how will the ‘Moss Rose’ stand pickling? That’s where I come to a full stop. I can’t surmise one mite which way she’ll turn; but she’s got to reckon with Cornelia E Briskett, if she caves in.” Miss Briskett did not vouchsafe any inquiry as to the contents of the letter which had afforded such obvious satisfaction. She had probably recognised Elma’s writing on the envelope, but made no inquiries as to her progress. Relationships between the aunt and niece were still a trifle strained; that is to say, they were strained on Miss Briskett’s side; Cornelia’s knack of relapsing into her natural manner on the very heels of a heated altercation seemed somehow an additional offence, since it placed one under the imputation of being sulky, whereas, of course, one was exhibiting only a dignified reserve! Miss Briskett set forth on her morning’s shopping expedition without requesting her niece to accompany her, an omission which she fondly hoped would be taken to heart; but the hardened criminal, regarding the retreating figure from behind the curtains, simply ejaculated, “Praise the Fates!” swung her feet on to the sofa, and settled herself to the enjoyment of a novel hired from the circulating library round the corner. For a solid hour she read on undisturbed, then the door opened, and Mason entered, carrying a telegram upon a silver salver. “For you, miss. The boy is waiting for an answer.” Cornelia tore open the envelope with the haste of one separated far from her dearest, took in the contents in a lightning glance, sighed with relief, and slowly broke into a smile. “Well—!” ... she drawled thoughtfully; “Well—! ... Yes, there is an answer, Mason. Give me a pencil from that rack!” She scribbled two or three words; copied an address, and handed it back eagerly. “There! give that to the boy—and see here, Mason, I shall want some lunch ready by half after twelve. Send Mury right along to my room. I’m going away!” Mason’s chin dropped in dismay, but she was too well-trained an automaton to put her feelings into words. She rustled starchily from the room, to give the dread message to Mary, who promptly flew upstairs, voluble with distress. “You never mean to say that you are going to leave us, Miss Cornelia? Why, you’ve only just come! I thought it was to be three months, at the least. You’re never going so soon?” “Only for a few days. I’ll be back again, to plague you, by the end of next week. Don’t you want me to go, Mury?” Mary shook her head vigourously. “I’d like to keep you for ever! The house isn’t the same place since you came. I was saying to my friend only last Sunday that I couldn’t a bear to think of you leaving. Couldn’t you find a nice young gentleman, and settle down in England for good? I’d come and live with you! I wouldn’t ask anything better than to live with you all my days.” “Mury, Mury! what about the friend? What would he say to such desertion?” Mary’s grimace expressed a lively disregard of the friend’s sufferings. “I don’t know how it is, but I think a heap more of you nor I do of him,” she confessed candidly. “I’d come fast enough, if you gave me the chance. There’s lots of good-looking young gentlemen in England, Miss Cornelia!” “Is that so? I hope I’ll meet quite a number of them, then; but I couldn’t settle down out of my own country, Mury! You’ll hev to cross the ocean if you want to tend my house. We’ll speak about that another day; just now we’ve got to hustle round and get my clothes packed in the next hef hour. Just the dandiest things I’ve got. I’m going to have a real gay time in a hotel in London, Mury, with some friends from home, so I must be as smart as I know how. ... Get out the big dress basket, and we’ll hold a Selection Committee right here on the bed.” Mary set to work, unable, despite depression, to restrain her interest in the work on hand. The big boxes were dragged into the middle of the room; bed, chairs, and sofas were strewn with garments, until the room presented the appearance of a general drapery establishment. Cornelia selected and directed, Mary carefully folded up skirts, and laid them in the long shallow shelves. In the height of the confusion the door opened, and Miss Briskett entered with hasty step. Signs of agitation were visible on her features, an agitation which was increased by the sight of the dishevelled room. In a lightning glance she took in the half-filled trunks, the trim travelling costume spread over the chair by the dressing-table, and a gleam of something strangely like fear shone out of the cold grey eyes. Cornelia had no difficulty in understanding that look. Aunt Soph was afraid she had pulled the rope just a trifle too tight, and that it was snapping before her eyes; she was picturing a flight back to America, and envisaging her brother’s disappointment and wrath. Out of the abundance of her own content the girl vouchsafed a generous compassion. “Yes, I’m off, Aunt Soph! My friends, the Moffatts, are putting up at the Ritz for a week, and want to have me come and fly round with them. They are going to meet me at four o’clock this afternoon, to be ready for a theatre to-night. I’ve got to be off at once. Mason’s getting ready some lunch.” Miss Briskett stood severely erect, considering the situation. Now that the great anxiety was removed, the former irritation revived. “And pray, who are the Moffatts? I must know something more about them before I can give my consent to this visit!” Cornelia handed a pile of cardboard boxes into Mary’s hands. “Take that hat-box downstairs, and pack these on the tray. Don’t muss them about! Then you can come back to finish off.” She waited until the door was safely closed, then faced her aunt across the bed. “I’m pleased to answer your questions as well as I know how. The Moffatts are—the Moffatts! I guess that’s about all their family history, so far as I’m concerned. They came over with me, and Mrs Moffatt was real kind looking after me when I first came on deck, and was feeling pretty cheap. We saw quite a good deal of each other after that, and she said she’d love to have me do the sights with her sometime. She was going straight through to Paris, to get fixed up with clothes. Now it seems she’s back in London. I gave her my address, and she wires me to come.” “You spoke of ‘the Moffatts.’ Who are the other members of the party?” “There’s a husband, of course, but he’s not much account, except to pay the bills. He must be pretty cashy, for she has everything she wants, but it gets on her nerves having him poking round all the while. That’s one reason why she wants me. I could always keep him quiet!” The complacent gurgle, the jaunty tilt of the head were as fuel to the spinster’s indignation. She pressed her lips tightly together before putting the final question. “And your father knows nothing—nothing whatever of these people?” “Well, I guess I may have mentioned their names. He didn’t know anything about them before that.” “And you propose to stay at a London hotel with the casual acquaintances of a few days? You are mad! I cannot possibly allow it. You must wire at once to say that you are unable to accept.” Cornelia stood silently erect. Her chief personal characteristic was that air of hot-house fragility so often seen in American girls, but in that silence her chin squared, her lips set, the delicate brows contracted in a beetling frown. It was no longer the face of a girl of two-and-twenty which confronted the spinster across the bed; it was the face of Edward B Briskett, the financier who had twice over piled up great fortunes by sheer force and determination. “Now see here, Aunt Soph,” said Cornelia, clearly; “this is where you and I have got to come to an understanding. I’ve been used to going my own way ever since I was short-coated, and it wasn’t hankering to be put back into leading-strings that brought me across the ocean. Poppar trusts me, and that’s enough for me. You’ve got a right to boss your own home, but where I’m concerned your authority don’t spread one inch beyond the gate. If I decide to accept an invitation, it’s on my own responsibility, and no matter what happens, you won’t be blamed! I’ve decided to leave this at one twenty-five, and I’m going to leave, if I have to jump out of the window to get away! Now, that’s straight, and we know where we are!” “I shall write to your father to-night, and tell him that you have gone in defiance of my wishes.” “I guess it’s the best thing you can do. Poppar’ll cable back: ‘Give Corney her head; It’s screwed on pretty straight!’ and you’ll feel easier in your mind.” She paused a moment, her features softened into a smile. Despite the force of her words, there had throughout been no trace of ill-nature in her voice. Now she drew slowly nearer her aunt, holding out her pretty, white hands in ingratiating appeal. “See here, Aunt Soph, don’t be mad! I’m sorry you take it like this, for I’ve a feeling that it’s just about the best thing that could happen to both of us, for me to clear out for a spell just now. We’ve been a bit fratchetty this last week; gotten on each other’s nerves somehow—but when I come back we can make a fresh start. In America, girls have more liberty than over here; but there’s not a mite of reason why we should quarrel over it. You’re my own Poppar’s sister, and I came quite a good way to see you. It’s a pity if we ken’t pull it off for the next few months. Don’t you want to kiss me, and wish me a real good time?” Miss Briskett drew back coldly, but the little hands clasped her shoulder, the young face pressed nearer and nearer. Looking down from her superior stature, the girl’s likeness to her father was once more strikingly apparent; but it was not the man she recalled, but the dearer memory of the Baby Edward of long ago, whose clear child’s eyes had seen in “Sister” the most marvellous of created things. As on a former occasion, the remembrance was more powerful than words. Long years of solitary confinement had hardened the spinster’s heart beyond the possibility of a gracious capitulation, but at least she submitted to the girl’s embrace, and made no further objections to the proposed journey. On the whole, Cornelia felt that she had scored a victory. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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