CHAPTER IX.
BARGAINING.
“You see, my love,” proceeded Mrs. Harper, in a smooth, insinuating tone, “it is not every one who would take you back under the circumstances;” and she paused, and peered at the girl over her spectacles with a significant air. (The circumstances of five hundred pounds, thought her listener bitterly.) “Will you give me your word of honour that you have not been doing anything—unbecoming—anything that—that—would reflect on your reputation? My dear, you need not look so red and indignant. I’m only an old woman. I mean no offence.”
“I have done nothing to be ashamed of, or which I shall ever blush for or regret,” rejoined Madeline, impressively; “and to that I can give my word of honour. But, Mrs. Harper, you ask strange questions—and I am no longer at school.”
“Well, well, my dear—well, well; we did hear that you were in the mantle department at Marshall and Snelgrove’s. I believe there are ladies in these establishments;” and then she added craftily, “You have such a nice, tall, slight figure—for trying on things. You were always so graceful, and had such taking manners!”
“I was not there, Mrs. Harper,” returned Madeline; “and I cannot tell you where I was, beyond that I lived with a friend, and that I was very poor.”
“A friend, at Solferino Place?” quickly.
“Yes”—with visible reluctance—“at Solferino Place. And now what do you want with me, Mrs. Harper?” she asked, with unexpected boldness.
“Well, I wish”—clearing her throat—“and so does Letitia, to let bygones be bygones; to allow your father to find you here, as if you had never been away; to hush up your escapade—for though, of course, I believe you—it might sound a little curious to him. No one knows why you left, excepting Selina—Mrs. Murphy. It happened in the holidays. These girls are a new set, and have never heard of you; and, even if they had, they would not meet Mr. West, as he arrives during the Easter term. Do you agree to this?”
“Yes,” replied Madeline, with sudden pallor, but a steady voice, “I agree; it will be best.”
“That is arranged, then,” said the old diplomatist, briskly. “And, now, what about the money?—what about that? Shall we keep the five hundred pounds, and give you the balance?”
In former days Madeline would have assented to this proposition at once; but now her heart beat tumultuously as she thought of Laurence and the baby. She must secure all she could for their sakes, and, feeling desperately nervous, she replied—
“No, I can’t quite see that, Mrs. Harper. To one year’s payment and interest you are, of course, entitled; but the second year I worked for my living—worked very hard indeed. You can scarcely expect to take two hundred pounds, as well as my services—gratis.”
But Mrs. Harper had expected it confidently, and this unlooked-for opposition was a blow. Madeline was not as nice as she used to be, and she must really put some searching questions to her respecting her absence, if she was going to be so horribly grasping about money; and Madeline, blushing for very shame as she bargained with this old female Shylock, reluctantly yielded one hundred pounds for the year she had been pupil-teacher. It was money versus character—and a character is expensive.
Mrs. Harper, on her part, undertook to arrange Madeline’s past very completely, and Madeline felt that it must be veiled from her father for the present—at any rate, until Laurence was better, and able to resume work and a foothold on existence.
She had assured him yesterday that she would steal for him if necessary. Was not this as bad, she asked herself, bargaining and chaffering thus over her father’s money, and dividing it with the greedy old creature at her side? However, she was to have one hundred and eighty pounds for her share. Oh, riches! Oh, what could she not do with that sum?
She was to return to her friends at Solferino Place for three weeks—(she had struggled and battled fiercely for this concession, and carried the day)—was then to return to Harperton, and be subsequently escorted to Plymouth by Miss Harper, who would personally restore her to her father’s arms.
After the morning’s exciting business, Madeline was wearied, flushed, and had a splitting headache. She was not sorry to share Mrs. Harper’s excellent tea, and to be allowed to take off her dress and go and lie down in a spare room upstairs—a room once full, but now empty—and there she had a long think; and, being completely worn out, a long, long sleep.
After dinner—early dinner—she went out with Miss Harper, and the money—her share—was paid to her without delay. She had stipulated for this. Could it be possible that it was she, Madeline Wynne, who stood opposite to the cashier’s desk cramming notes and sovereigns into her sixpenny purse? As they pursued their walk, Madeline recognized a few old faces, and many old places. She purchased a new hat, which she put on in the shop; and she heard, to her relief, that the Wolfertons had left, and gone to live abroad. Some former schoolfellows, now grown up—no young plant grows quicker than a schoolgirl—recognized and accosted her. These had been day-boarders. They mentally remarked that she had turned out very different to what they expected, and that she looked much older than her age. “She was staying at Mrs. Harper’s, was she?”
Before they had time to ask the hundred and one questions with which they were charged, Miss Harper prudently hurried her pupil away, saying, as she did so—
“Least said, soonest mended, my dear. It’s well you had on your new hat! Now you had better get some gloves.”
She was not quite as keen about the money as her mother, and was inclined—nay, anxious—to be amiable. Madeline West, the great Australian heiress, had possibilities in her power. She was resolved to be friendly with her, and to reinstate her at once as the favourite pupil of former days, burying in oblivion the teacher interlude.
The girls Madeline had met walked on disappointed, saying to one another—
“Fancy that being Maddie West! How awful she looks! So seedy, and so thin and careworn; and she is barely my age—in fact, she is a week younger!”
“And so frightfully shabby,” put in another.
“Did you see her dress—all creases?”
“And her gloves!” (The gloves were apparently beyond description.)
“All the same, Miss Harper was making a great fuss—a great deal of her. It was ‘dear’ this, and ‘love’ that. She is never affectionate for nothing. I know the old boa-constrictor so well. Perhaps Maddie has been left a fortune?” hazarded the sharpest of the party.
“Her dress and jacket looked extremely like it,” sneered number one. “As to her hat, I saw it in at Mason’s this morning—I noticed it particularly, marked eleven and ninepence. That looks like being an heiress! Oh, very much so, indeed!”
The price of the hat settled the question!