The Three Miss Kings 7

The Three Miss Kings 7

"And very sorry to have given you so much trouble," added Patty, with

the air of a young duchess.

 

He looked at her quickly, and made a slight bow. He did not say that

what he had done had been no trouble at all, but a pleasure--he did not

say a word, indeed; and his silence made her little heart swell with

mortification. He turned to Elizabeth, and, resting his hands on the

door-frame, began to explain the nature of the arrangements that he had

made for them, with business-like brevity.

 

"Your lodgings are in Myrtle Street, Miss King. That is in East

Melbourne, you know--quite close to the gardens--quite quiet and

retired, and yet within a short walk of Collins Street, and handy for

all the places you want to see. You have two bedrooms and a small

sitting-room of your own, but take your meals with the other people of

the house; you won't mind that, I hope--it made a difference of about

thirty shillings a week, and it is the most usual arrangement. Of

course you can alter anything you don't like when you get there. The

landlady is a Scotchwoman--I know her very well, and can recommend her

highly--I think you will like her."

 

"But won't you come with us?" interposed Elizabeth, putting out her

hand. "Come and introduce us to her, and see that the cabman takes us

to the right place. Or perhaps you are too busy to spare the time?"

 

"I--I will call on you this afternoon, if you will permit me--when

you have had your lunch and are rested a little. Oh, I know the

cabman quite well, and can answer for his taking you safely. This is

your address"--hastily scribbling it on an envelope he drew from his

pocket--"and the landlady is Mrs. M'Intyre. Good morning. I will do

myself the pleasure of calling on you at four or five o'clock."

 

He thereupon bowed and departed, and the cab rattled away in an

opposite direction. Patty deeply resented his not coming with them,

and wondered and wondered why he had refused. Was he too proud, or too

shy, or too busy, or too indifferent? Did he feel that it was a trouble

to him to have to look after them? Poor Paul! He would have liked

to come, to see them comfortably housed and settled; but the simple

difficulty was that he was afraid to risk giving them offence by paying

the cab fare, and would not ride with them, a man in charge of three

ladies, without paying it. And Patty was not educated to the point of

appreciating that scruple. His desertion of them in the open street was

a grievance to her. She could not help thinking of it, though there was

so much else to think of.

 

The cab turned into Collins Street and rattled merrily up that busy

thoroughfare in the bright sunshine. They looked at the brilliant

shop windows, at the gay crowd streaming up and down the pavements,

and the fine equipages flashing along the road-way at the Town Hall,

and the churches, and the statues of Burke and Wills--and were filled

with admiration and wonder. Then they turned into quieter roads, and

there was the Exhibition in its web of airy scaffolding, destined to be

the theatre of great events, in which they would have their share--an

inspiring sight. And they went round a few corners, catching refreshing

glimpses of green trees and shady alleys, and presently arrived at

Myrtle Street--quietest of suburban thoroughfares, with its rows of

trim little houses, half-a-dozen in a block, each with its tiny patch

of garden in front of it--where for the present they were to dwell.

 

Mrs. M'Intyre's maid came out to take the parcels, and the landlady

herself appeared on the doorstep to welcome the new-comers. They

whispered to themselves hurriedly, "Oh, she has a nice face!"--and then

Patty and Elizabeth addressed themselves to the responsible business of

settling with the cabman.

 

"How much have we to pay you?" asked Patty with dignity.

 

"Twelve shillings, please, miss," the man gaily replied.

 

Elizabeth looked at her energetic sister, who had boasted that they

were quite sharp enough to know when they were being cheated. Upon

which Patty, with her feathers up, appealed to the landlady. Mrs.

M'Intyre said the proper sum due to him was just half what he had

asked. The cabman said that was for one passenger, and not for three.

Mrs. M'Intyre then represented that eighteen-pence apiece was as much

as he could claim for the remaining two, that the luggage was a mere

nothing, and that if he didn't mind what he was about, &c. So the sum

was reduced to nine shillings, which Elizabeth paid, looking very grave

over it, for it was still far beyond what she had reckoned on.

 

Then they went into the house--the middle house of a smart little

terrace, with a few ragged fern trees in the front garden--and Mrs.

M'Intyre took them up to their rooms, and showed them drawers and

cupboards, in a motherly and hospitable manner.

 

"This is the large bedroom, with the two beds, and the small one opens

off it; so that you will all be close together," said she, displaying

the neat chambers, one of which was properly but a dressing-closet;

and our girls, who knew no luxury but absolute cleanliness, took note

of the whiteness of the floors and bedclothes, and were more than

satisfied. "And this is your sitting-room," she proceeded, leading the

way to an adjoining apartment pleasantly lighted by a French window,

which opened upon a stone (or, rather, what looked like a stone)

balcony. It had a little "suite" in green rep like Mrs. Hawkins's, and

Mrs. Dunn's ideal cedar-wood chiffonnier; it had also a comfortable

solid table with a crimson cloth, and a print of the ubiquitous Cenci

over the mantelpiece. The carpet was a bed of blooming roses and

lilies, the effect of which was much improved by the crumb cloth that

was nailed all over it. It was a tiny room, but it had a cosy look, and

the new lodgers agreed at once that it was all that could be desired.

"And I hope you will be comfortable," concluded the amiable landlady,

"and let me know whenever you want anything. There's a bathroom down

that passage, and this is your bell, and those drawers have got keys,

you see, and lunch will be ready in half-an-hour. The dining-room is

the first door at the bottom of the stairs, and--phew! that tobacco

smoke hangs about the place still, in spite of all my cleaning and

airing. I never allow smoking in the house, Miss King--not in the

general way; but a man who has to be up o' nights writing for the

newspapers, and never getting his proper sleep, it's hard to grudge him

the comfort of his pipe--now isn't it? And I have had no ladies here to

be annoyed by it--in general I don't take ladies, for gentlemen are so

much the most comfortable to do for; and Mr. Brion is so considerate,

and gives so little trouble--"

 

"What! Is Mr. Paul Brion lodging here?" broke in Patty impetuously,

with her face aflame.

 

"Not now," Mrs. M'Intyre replied. "He left me last week. These rooms

that you have got were his--he has had them for over three years. He

wanted you to come here, because he thought you would be comfortable

with me"--smiling benignly. "He said a man could put up anywhere."

 

She left them, presently; and as soon as the girls found themselves

alone, they hurriedly assured each other that nothing should induce

them to submit to this. It was not to be thought of for a moment. Paul

Brion must be made to remove the mountainous obligation that he had put

them under, and return to his rooms instantly. They would not put so

much as a pocket handkerchief in the drawers and cupboards until this

point had been settled with him.

 

At four o'clock, when they had visited the bathroom, arranged their

pretty hair afresh, and put on the black print gowns--when they had had

a quiet lunch with Mrs. M'Intyre (whose other boarders being gentlemen

in business, did not appear at the mid-day meal), prattling cheerfully

with the landlady the while, and thinking that the cold beef and salads

of Melbourne were the most delicious viands ever tasted--when they had

examined their rooms minutely, and tried the sofas and easy-chairs, and

stood for a long while on the balcony looking at the other houses in

the quiet street--at four o'clock Paul Brion came; and the maid brought

up his card, while he gossiped with Mrs. M'Intyre in the hall. He had

no sooner entered the girls' sitting-room than Elizabeth hastened to

unburden herself. Patty was burning to be the spokeswoman for the

occasion, but she knew her place, and she remembered the small effect

she had produced on him in the morning, and proudly held aloof. In her

sweet and graceful way, but with as much gravity and earnestness as if

it were a matter of life and death, Elizabeth explained her view of the

situation. "Of course we cannot consent to such an arrangement," she

said gently; "you must have known we could never consent to allow you

to turn out of your own rooms to accommodate us. You must please come

back again, Mr. Brion, and let us go elsewhere. There seem to be plenty

of other lodgings to be had--even in this street."

 

Paul Brion's face wore a pleasant smile as he listened. "Oh, thank

you," he replied lightly. "But I am very comfortable where I am--quite

as much so as I was here--rather more, indeed. For the people at No. 6

have set up a piano on the other side of that wall"--pointing to the

cedar chiffonnier--"and it bothered me dreadfully when I wanted to

write. It was the piano drove me out--not you. Perhaps it will drive

you out too. It is a horrible nuisance, for it is always out of tune;

and you know the sort of playing that people indulge in who use pianos

that are out of tune."

 

So their little demonstration collapsed. Paul had gone away to please

himself. "And has left _us_ to endure the agonies of a piano out of

tune," commented Patty.

 

As the day wore on, reaction from the mood of excitement and exaltation

with which it began set in. Their spirits flagged. They felt tired and

desolate in this new world. The unaccustomed hot dinner in the evening,

at which they sat for nearly an hour in company with strange men who

asked them questions, and pressed them to eat what they didn't want,

was very uncongenial to them. And when, as soon as they could, they

escaped to their own quarters, their little sitting-room, lighted with

gas and full of hot upstairs air, struck them with its unsympathetic

and unhomelike aspect. The next door piano was jingling its music-hall

ditties faintly on the other side of the wall, and poor Dan, who had

been banished to the back yard, was yelping so piteously that their

hearts bled to hear him. "We must get a house of our own at once,

Elizabeth--at _once_," exclaimed Eleanor--"if only for Dan's sake."

 

"We will never have pets again--never!" said Patty, with something like

an incipient sob in her voice, as she paced restlessly about the room.

"Then we shall not have to ill-treat them and to part from them." She

was thinking of her little bear, and the opossum, and the magpies, who

were worse off than Dan.

 

And Elizabeth sat down at the table, and took out pencil and note-book

with a careworn face. She was going to keep accounts strictly, as

Mr. Brion had advised her, and they not only meant to live within

their income, as a matter of course, but to save a large part of

it for future European contingencies. And, totting up the items of

their expenditure for three days--cost of passage by steamer, cost of

provisions on board, cab fare, and the sum paid for a week's board and

lodging in advance--she found that they had been living for that period

at the rate of about a thousand a year.

 

So that, upon the whole, they were not quite so happy as they had expected to be, when they went to bed.