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Pixie O'Shaughnessy

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<h3>Chapter Seventeen.</h3> <h4>Esmeralda’s Wiles.</h4> It was easy to see that if Pixie were the pet, Esmeralda was the pride of her father’s heart, and exercised a unique influence over him. She seated herself by his side at the table, and they teased and joked together more like a couple of mischievous children than a staid, grown-up father and his daughter. The girl was quick and apt in her replies, and Mademoiselle was conscious that the Major kept turning surreptitious glances towards herself, to see if she were duly impressed by the exhibition. He evidently delighted in showing off Esmeralda’s beauty and cleverness, and that in a wider circle than home, for presently he said meaningly— “The hounds meet at Balligarry on Monday, Joan. It will be the best run we have had yet, and the whole county will be there. You’ll arrange to come with me, of course.” “I’d love to, but—” Esmeralda raised her brows, and looked across the table with a glance half appealing, half apologetic—“it’s Bridgie’s turn! I went with you the last time.” “And the time before that!” muttered Miles into his cup; but the Major waved aside the suggestion with his accustomed carelessness. “Oh, Bridgie would rather stay at home. She’ll be too much taken up with Mademoiselle to have any time to spare.” Mademoiselle looked, as she felt, decidedly uncomfortable, but the first glance at Bridgie’s face sufficed to restore her complacency, for the smile was without a shadow of offence, and the voice in which she replied was cheerfulness itself. “Indeed that’s true! We can get hunting for half of the year, but it’s not every day we have a visitor in the house. You go with father, Esmeralda, and don’t think of me! We will have a fine little spree on our own account, Mademoiselle and I! Maybe we’ll drive into Roskillie and have a look at the shops!” Mademoiselle remembered the Rue de la Paix, and smiled to herself at the thought of the shops in the Irish village, but she said honestly enough that she would enjoy the expedition; for would not Bridgie O’Shaughnessy be her companion, and did she not appear sweeter and more attractive with every moment that passed? Nearly an hour had elapsed since breakfast began, and still she sat behind the urn, smiling brilliantly at each fresh laggard, and looking as unruffled as if she had nothing to do but attend to his demands! It was the quaintest meal Mademoiselle had ever known, and seemed as if it would never come to an end, for just as she was expecting a general rise the Major would cry, “What about a fresh brew of tea? I could drink another cup if I were pressed,” and presto! it took on a new lease of life. Last of all Pixie made her appearance, to be invited to a seat on each knee, and embraced with a fervour which made Mademoiselle realise more fully than ever what the child must have suffered during those weeks of suspicion and coldness. “How’s my ferret?” she inquired, with her mouth full of toast, selected from her father’s plate; and Pat seized the occasion to deliver his outstanding account. “Grown out of knowledge! Eightpence halfpenny you owe me now. I had to put on another farthing a week because his appetite grew so big. I knew you would rather pay more than see him suffer. And the guinea-pig died. There’s twopence extra for funeral expenses. We put him in the orchard beside the dogs, and made a headstone out of your old slate. It’s a rattling good idea, because, don’t you see, you can write your own inscription!” “If it was my own slate, and I am to make up the inscription, I don’t see why I should pay!” reasoned Pixie, with a business sharpness which sent her father into fits of delighted laughter, though it left Pat obstinately firm. “Man’s time!” he said stolidly. “That’s what costs nowadays. You look at any bill, and you’ll find the labour comes to ten times as much as the material. You needn’t grudge the poor thing its last resting-place. He was a good guinea-pig to you.” “I don’t care how much I owe, for I have no money to pay with,” returned Pixie, unconsciously echoing her father’s financial principles. “Give Pat a shilling, please, Major, for taking care of my animals while I was away.” And that gentleman promptly threw a coin across the table. “I wish my animals were as cheap to keep! Well, who is coming out with me this morning? I have an appointment in Roskillie at 10:30, but I can’t be there now until 11, so there’s no use hurrying. Put on your cap, piccaninny, and come to the stables with me. The girls will look after you, Mademoiselle, and find some means of amusing you for the day.” “Oh yes, we’ll take care of her!” said Esmeralda lightly; then, as the boys withdrew after their father, she planted her elbows on the table and looked across under questioning eyebrows. “Please, have we to call you ‘Mademoiselle’ all the time? Haven’t you a nice, pretty French name that we could call you instead?” “Thérèse! Yes, please do! I should feel so much more happy!” cried Mademoiselle eagerly, and Bridgie nodded in approval. “Thérèse is charming, and it’s so much more friendly to use Christian names at Christmas-time. I shall begin at once. We want you to help us with the decoration of the rooms, Thérèse! We shall be just a family party, but Jack will be at home, and we will have games and charades to make it lively. We might rehearse something this morning, mightn’t we, Joan dear?” “I mightn’t!” replied “Joan dear” promptly, “because why?—I’ve got something better to do. There is plenty of time still, and you will agree with me later that my business is important. If you put on a cloak, Thérèse, I will come back for you in ten minutes, and take you to the stables to join father and Pixie. It will amuse you, I’m sure.” She left the room without waiting for a reply, and Bridgie heaved a sigh of disappointment. “She’s just mad after horses, that girl. Now she will be off with father, and not a sight of her shall we have until afternoon. It’s easy to say there is time to spare, but to-morrow we must decorate, and look after all the arrangements for Jack’s return, and I do hate a scramble. However, when Esmeralda says she won’t, she won’t, and there’s an end of it. You had better go with her, dear, while I interview the servants.” “I suppose I had,” said Mademoiselle slowly. She thought Esmeralda selfish and autocratic, but she was fascinated, despite herself, by her beauty and brightness, and anxious to know her better; so she obediently went up to her room to heap on the wraps, for the morning was cold, though by this time the sun was struggling from behind the clouds. On the way down she was joined by Esmeralda in riding costume—a most peculiar riding costume, and, extraordinary to relate, most unbecoming into the bargain. Mademoiselle’s critical glance roamed from head to foot, back again from foot to head, while Esmeralda stood watching her with tightened lips and curious twinkling eyes. Then Bridgie appeared upon the scene, and stopped short, uttering shrill cries of astonishment, as she looked at the slovenly tie, the twisted skirt, the general air of dishevelment and shabbiness. “Esmeralda, you’re an Object! Look at the dust on your skirt. You’ve not half brushed it, and everything is hanging the wrong way. It’s a perfect disgrace you look to ride out with any man!” “I’m delighted to hear it! That’s just my intention,” replied the young lady, tugging the disreputable skirt still further awry, and nodding her beautiful head, with an air of mysterious amusement. The blue serge had a smudge of white all down one side, which looked suspiciously as if the powder-box had been spilt over it. A seam gaped open and showed little fragments of thread still sticking to the cloth. If Esmeralda’s intention was to look disreputable, she had certainly accomplished her object; and when the stables were reached she took care to place herself conspicuously, so that her father’s eyes must of necessity rest upon her. “I’m going to ride to Roskillie with you, dad! It’s a fine morning, and I thought you would be the better of my company.” “That’s a good girl!” cried the Major cheerily; then his brow puckered, and he stared uneasily at the untidy figure. He was so unnoticing about clothes that it required a good deal to attract his attention, but surely there was something wrong about the girl’s get-up to-day? He kept throwing uneasy glances towards her while the horses were brought out, and Esmeralda strolled about in a patch of sunshine, and picked her steps gingerly over the muddles, like a model of fastidious care. She sprang to the saddle, light as thistledown, and curved her graceful throat with a complacent toss, as the groom smoothed her skirt, bringing the white stain into full prominence. “You want dusting!” said the Major curtly, and a brush was brought from the stable, and scrubbed vigorously up and down, with the result that the surface of the cloth was frayed and roughened, though there was no appreciable removal of the stain. “It doesn’t seem as if it would come out, does it? but there are plenty more further on,” said Esmeralda innocently. “Have a try at another, Dennis!”—but the Major motioned the man away with a hasty gesture. “Leave the rag alone—it’s past dusting! Is that the best habit you have to your back?” he cried testily, and the dark eyes looked into his with angelic resignation. “It was a very good habit—six years ago! That’s as good as twelve, for we’ve worn it in turns ever since. The bodice is the least thing in the world crinkly, for I’m broader than Bridgie, and stretch it out, and then it goes into creases on her figure. We might try washing the skirt to take out the stains, and then it would be clean, if the colour did run a bit! Ride round by the back roads, dear, and I’ll keep behind, and not disgrace you!” “Humph,” said the Major again, and led the way out of the yard without another word, Esmeralda following, looking over her shoulder at the little group of watchers with a smile of such triumphant enjoyment as took away Mademoiselle’s breath to behold. She looked inquiringly at Pixie, but Pixie and Dennis were in silent convulsions of enjoyment, and only waited until the riders were out of hearing before exploding into peals of laughter. “That bates all for the cleverness of her! Miss Bridgie has been fretting over that old habit for a couple of years, and trying to wheedle a new one out of the Major, but it’s Miss Joan that can twist him round her little finger when she takes the work in hand! That was a funny stain, that got the worse the more you brushed it! She never got that on the hunting-field. Go back to the house, Miss Pixie, dearie, and tell the mistress the new habit is as good as paid for. The Major’s not the man I take him for, if he passes the tailor’s door this morning without stepping inside!” <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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