Back Aa

More About Pixie

<h3>Chapter Sixteen.</h3> <h4>Viva’s Story.</h4> Pixie drove home in state, so puffed up with her own importance that it was a distinct blow to find the curtains comfortably drawn, and hear the echo of laughter from the drawing-room. In all the books which she had ever read, candles were left burning in the windows to guide the footsteps of wanderers from the fold, to say nothing of bellmen parading the streets, and anxious relatives rushing from one police station to another. Here, however, all was peace and contentment, and, incredible as it appeared, no one seemed to have been the least agitated about her prolonged absence. Bridgie was perched on a stool in the centre of the fire rug, relating the history of the day’s shopping to the three brothers, and she nodded cheerily at the little sister as she entered, and saluted her with unconcerned composure. “Well, dear, here you are! Tired after your long day?” Pixie sank down on the corner of the sofa, and yawned with a nonchalant air. If there was one thing which she loved above everything else in the world, it was to make an impression and be the centre of attraction, and it was not likely that she was going to let slip such an opportunity as the present. “’Deed I’m not tired,” she said genially. “Carriage exercise was always more to my fancy than walking about the streets. If we’d been meant to walk, wouldn’t we have had four legs the same as the horses, and if we haven’t, doesn’t it show that they were meant to do it for us? So when he said the butler should get me the carriage, it wasn’t likely I was going to refuse, and up I drove to the very door!” Jack stopped short in the middle of crossing the room, Pat peered round the corner of his chair and twinkled with mischievous enjoyment, Bridgie’s eyes opened as wide as saucers. “Which door? What carriage? What romance are ye telling me? Haven’t you been with Sylvia since I left you?” “’Deed I have not. What made you fancy I had?” “There was nowhere else to go, and you had not come home. I made certain you were with Sylvia!” “It’s a bad thing to be certain about what you don’t know. If any mischief had happened to me, it would be annoying to you to remember how you were laughing with your back to the fire, while I was run over in the street, and having my legs sawed off at the hospital.” Jack frowned at that, and put a quick question. “Have you been walking about by yourself? I won’t have it at this hour of the night. You can find your own way about the neighbourhood in the daytime, but I won’t have you going into town by yourself, or even across the road in the dark. London is not Knock, remember, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to get lost. Don’t let her roam about without you, Bridgie!” “’Twas only a step, and barely four o’clock!” Bridgie’s forehead was fretted with anxious lines, but Pixie nodded back cheery reassurement. “Don’t you repine about me, for I got on famously, and Mrs Wallace is coming herself to see you in the afternoon. I’ve engaged myself as a French lady to amuse the children, and you shall have the money to pay the bills. It was an advertisement in the paper, and you had to call between four and six, so I didn’t want you to know before everything was settled. I don’t know how much it will be, but Mr Wallace said I was worth a fortune, because I made them stop howling. There are only two, but outside the door you would think they were a dozen, and I made them laugh, and they sent me home in a carriage.” “What is she talking about?” Bridgie and Jack exchanged bewildered glances, and stared in incredulous silence at the little figure on the sofa. She had pulled off her hat, and with it the bow of ribbon, and the loosened hair hung down her back; her hands were crossed on her lap, there were dark shadows under her eyes. She looked so small and frail and childlike that Bridgie felt a lump rising in her throat at the thought of help coming from this strange and most unexpected quarter. She rose, and, going over to the sofa, took Pixie’s hand between her own. “Is it the truth that you are telling us?” “It is, then! The solemn truth! Every word of it.” “What made you think there was any need for you to disturb yourself? What put it in your head to answer an advertisement at all?” “Because I didn’t want to be a burden to ye, my dear, after all the money you’ve spent on me education!” “A little midget like you to speak of being a burden! No one would guess you were there if you weren’t so upsetting! It’s no use fifty Mrs Wallaces coming to see me. Some other French lady will have to amuse her children. This one is wanted at home!” Pixie smiled composedly, and squeezed the clinging hands. “I knew you’d say ‘No’ at the start. So did she. She was first cross, and then she laughed, and said it would be a long, long time before I was ready to teach. But she didn’t really want teaching, only someone to be funny in French, and when she heard me telling tales, and the little girls both laughing, she began to think she would love to have me. You remember the stories you used to tell me, Jack, about the Spoopjacks and the Bobityshooties? I made up a new bit, and they simply loved it. It’s two hours every morning, and only ten minutes’ walk, and Thérèse says it’s no use beginning to be proud till you’ve paid your bills. You would like me to help you, wouldn’t you, Jack?” “Shades of Mrs Hilliard!” muttered Jack, and shrugged his shoulders recklessly. “She will have a few volumes to write to me if I say ‘Yes!’ You are bound to help me, Piccaninny, whatever you are about, but I can’t bind myself to allow you to go out governessing before you are out of short frocks. It is Saturday to-morrow, so I shall be home in the afternoon, and see this Mrs Wallace for myself. It’s a bad scheme on the face of it, but it’s just possible it may be more feasible than it sounds.” That was all the length which he would go for the moment, and Pixie was content to drop the subject, secure in her conviction that time and Mrs Wallace would win the victory. She was petted and fussed over to her heart’s content for the rest of the evening, and the story of her various efforts to retrieve the family fortunes was heard with breathless attention. She wondered why the listening faces wore such tender, pitiful expressions, why lazy Pat flushed, and Bridgie went over to her desk and spent a whole half-hour sorting out her bills. It never occurred to her that her earnest effort to take her own share of responsibility was a more eloquent stimulus than twenty lectures! Next afternoon at three o’clock the two sisters and Sylvia Trevor stationed themselves in positions of vantage behind the curtains, and looked out eagerly for the advent of Mrs Wallace. Bridgie could not divest herself of a suspicion that the promise might have been given as the easiest way out of a difficulty, but before the half-hour struck a well-appointed carriage turned the corner of the road, the coachman glanced at the number on the door, and drew up his horses, when a fluffy head peered out of the window, and Pixie cried excitedly— “That’s the thin one! That’s Viva! I expect she howled, and they could not keep her away. That’s Mrs Wallace! Isn’t it an elegant hat?” Bridgie peeped and grew quite pink with excitement, for, truth to tell, mother and daughter made a charming picture as they came up the little path. Mrs Wallace looked almost like a girl herself in her becoming hat and veil, while the golden-haired child wore a white coat and cap edged with fluffy swan’s-down. Sylvia retreated to the dining-room. Pixie ran to meet the visitors at the door, and the voice that exclaimed, “Bon jour, Mamzelle Paddy!” was in itself an augury of friendship. The next moment they were in the drawing-room, and Mrs Wallace was smilingly explaining the title. “I am sure you must have been very much surprised to hear of yesterday’s interview, Miss O’Shaughnessy! ‘mamzelle Paddy,’ as my husband has named your small sister, has made quite a conquest of my little girls, and Viva refused to be left behind when she heard where I was going. I hope you were not very anxious about her absence yesterday?” “Indeed I was not, for I took it for granted she was with some friends near by. Please sit down, and get warm. ’Twas a ridiculous idea of the child’s to suppose for one moment that she could fulfil your requirements; but she’s the baby of the family, and has never been thwarted, and such a kind little creature that she must try to help if there is any difficulty. It is good of you to take the trouble to come and explain, but indeed we have decided already that it is quite, quite impossible!” Mrs Wallace gave a start of consternation, and the smile faded from her lips. She looked first at Bridgie, then across the room to where Viva stood on tiptoe dragging at Pixie’s sleeve, and reiterating, “Mamzelle! Mamzelle Paddy, will you come again to my nursery? Will you tell me more stories about those peoples in the lamp-posts?” “Oh, don’t say it is impossible!” she said softly. “I want her to help me too, and I am so troubled about my children. Could she—could they both go into another room for a few minutes, while we talk it over together?” “Certainly they could!” Bridgie raised her voice a tone higher. “Pixie dear, go to Sylvia in the dining-room and take the little girl with you. Show her some of your treasures!” “I like cake!” remarked Viva pointedly. She skipped to the door, and stared round the hall with curious eyes. “You do live in a poky little house, don’t you? My mamma’s house is much bigger than your house. Where does the dining-room live? Is there a cupboard in it that you keep cake in? Is Sylvia your ’nother sister? Who is the man?” The man was none other than handsome Jack himself, who was enjoying the rare luxury of a tête-à-tête with Sylvia Trevor, and was not too well pleased by this speedy interruption. He frowned when he heard the opening of the door, but when he turned round and saw the vision of pink and white and gold, he smiled in spite of himself, as most people did smile at the sight of Viva Wallace, and held out his hand invitingly. “Hallo, whom have we here?” “Quite well, thank you. How are you?” replied Viva fluently. She paid no attention to Sylvia at the other side of the fireplace, but leant confidingly against Jack’s chair, staring at him with rapt attention. His eyes looked as if they liked you very, very much; his moustache had sharp little ends which stood out stiff and straight, there was a lump in his throat which moved up and down as he spoke—altogether he was a most fascinating person, and quite deserving of attention. “Are you the papa?” she asked enviously. “My papa has got a brown face with lines in it. He is very old. My muzzer is old too. She is talking to the lady in the ’nother room, and she said I was to be amused. You are to amuse me!” “No, no, quite a mistake. You must amuse me!” said Jack solemnly. “I have been out all day, and am tired and sleepy, so you must do something to cheer me up. What can you suggest, now, that would be really lively and entertaining?” Viva reflected deeply. “I’m learning the ‘Pied Piper of Hamelin’!” “You don’t say so!” “Yes, I am. I’ll say it to you now, from the beginning right to the very miggle!” “Thanks awfully. I should be delighted—another time. Not to-day, I think, if you don’t mind. I have rather a sore throat.” Viva opened her eyes and stared at the Adam’s apple which showed above the white necktie. She was trying to puzzle out the connection between Mr O’Shaughnessy’s throat and the Pied Piper, but the difficulty was too great. She heaved a sigh, and hazarded another suggestion. “You tell me a story!” “That would never do. I should be entertaining you, and it ought to be the other way about.” “I’ll tell you a story!” “That’s better. Go ahead, then. What is it to be about? Fairies?” “No, it’s not going to be about fairies,—fairies is silly. Giants are more sensibler than fairies, because there was a giant once. There was Golosher!” “I beg your pardon?” “Golosher!” “Don’t know the gentleman.” “Oh, you naughty! And David killed him in the Bible. I’ll tell you a story about giants.” “I don’t think I am interested in giants.” “Princesses, then, beautiful princesses, and cruel people trying to be unkind to them, and princes running away and marrying them, and living happily ever afterwards.” “That’s the style for my money! Fire away, and let us have plenty of adventure. I’ll lean back in this chair and listen to you.” Viva moistened her lips, swallowed rapidly once or twice, and began her story in a shrill, high-pitched voice. “Once upon a long, long time ago, there was a princess, and she was the most beautiful princess that was ever born. Everyone said so, and her face was as white as snow, and her hair as yellow as—” “Excuse me—brown!” “No, it wasn’t brown. Bright, curly, golden, down to her—” “Then she couldn’t have been the most beautiful princess in the world, because I’ve seen the lady and her hair is brown.” Jack stroked his moustache with a look of lamb-like innocence, and Sylvia could have shaken herself with annoyance because she could not help blushing and looking stupid and self-conscious. Pixie’s melodious gurgle sounded from the background, and Viva cried severely— “You couldn’t have seen her, because she lived hundreds and hundreds of years ago, when you were a teeny baby. Golden hair down to her feet, and her teef were like pearls, and all the godfathers and godmuzzers came to the christening and gave her nice presinks, only one wicked old mugian who—” “Pardon me! One wicked old—?” “Mugian! He’s a man what does things. They always have them in stories—that the mamma had forgotten to ask, so he was angry and said she should tumble downstairs when she was grown-up and be lame ever after till a beautiful prince made her better. Oh, but I shouldn’t have told you that jest now. You must pitend that you forget I have told you. So then the beautiful princess—her true name was Mabel, but only I call her Norah because her hair was gold—” Now it was Jack’s turn to gasp and search in vain for the connection between Norah and golden hair! It proved as impossible to discover as that between a sore throat and the Piper of Hamelin, but there was another allusion in the story which was too fortunate to be allowed to pass unnoticed. “The princess was lame, was she? and no one could make her better but the prince? That’s very interesting. Could you tell me, now, how he managed the cure? It might be useful to me someday.” “Was your princess a lame princess?” “I think you had better go on with your story, Viva!” Jack said hurriedly. “Your mother may call you away before it is finished, and I should be disappointed. When did the prince arrive on the scene?” “It doesn’t get to that yet. So the princess lived in a house where there were no stairs. Only one day when she was walking through the wood, there was a little house and she went in, and she said, ‘Oh, what funny things!’ and she went up them, and she tumbled down, and her foot was underneaf, so she was lame. An’ she lay on the sofa, and the queen-mamma cried, and the godfathers and the godmuzzers came flying up, only they could do nothing, and the king said anyone should have the land who made her better, an’ thousands an’ thousands tried, an’ at last the prince came riding along on a white horse, an’ he looked froo the window—” “Jack dear, will you please come to the drawing-room? We want to consult you!” Bridgie’s head peered round the corner of the door, her cheeks quite pink, her eyes shining with excitement. She gripped her brother’s arm as he came to meet her, and whispered, “It’s the most extraordinary thing—she really means it! She is charming, Jack, charming; I can’t say ‘No’ to her. Come and try what you can do!” But Jack was not a good hand at saying “No,” least of all to charming ladies, and Mrs Wallace took his measure at once, and felt that she had gained a friend. “I am trying to persuade Miss O’Shaughnessy to lend your little sister to me for a short time every day, to help me with my children,” she said, smiling at him under lifted brows. “I understand that you knew nothing about her application, and when I first saw her I felt, as you must have done, that the idea was preposterous, but Viva and Inda fell desperately in love with her, and have talked of nothing else since she left. I think I followed their example, and I am quite sure my husband did. He thinks Mamzelle Paddy would be the solution of all our nursery troubles, if you could be induced to spare her to us. I would be very careful of her; I promise you that!” Jack looked at Bridgie; Bridgie looked at Jack. “I’d be delighted that she should help you, and it would be an amusement to her to play with the dear little girls. If she might come as a friend—” “Oh, Miss O’Shaughnessy, how cruel of you, when her great idea was to help you! She would be a most welcome friend, but I could not consent to using her time without paying for it.” Mrs Wallace had approached this question before, and had discovered that Bridgie was no more embarrassed by a reference to her poverty than had been Mamzelle Paddy herself. “We should think any sum cheap which ensured our little girls being happy and occupied, instead of crying and quarrelling, as I am sorry to say they do now for the greater part of the day. They are too young for regular lessons, but they already know French fairly well, and would soon be able to speak fluently.” “I can’t judge of Pixie’s French, but her English is so Irish that it was a stroke of genius to offer herself in the character of a foreigner!” said Jack, stroking his moustache, and smiling to himself in whimsical fashion. “Of course, she is quite confident that she could do all you require, but you must not listen to her own account of herself. If you offered Pixie the command of the Channel Fleet, she’d accept without a qualm! If you want the kindest-hearted, most mischievous little ignoramus in the world, Mrs Wallace, it would be waste of time to search any farther, for you have found her already! She will keep your children happy, and never say a word that they wouldn’t be the better for hearing, but it won’t be the orthodox training! I fancy Pixie was a big surprise to the English boarding-school when she first arrived.” “But she left with the prize for being the most popular and unselfish of the girls! Your sister has just shown me the books with the touching inscription. If she can teach my girlies to be as sweet and helpful, I shall not mind a few eccentricities. Two hours in the morning would not take her away too much from home, and she would have plenty of time left for her own music. Her ambition seemed to be to pay for her own lessons, so if I gave her thirty pounds, she could go to a really good master without feeling that she was overtaxing you. It would be such a pleasure to me too, Miss O’Shaughnessy. I feel sure your brother will agree, if you consent. Please say ‘Yes’!” So it was left to Bridgie to make the final decision, and in after years she used to wonder what would have happened if she had refused her consent! It was a difficult problem, for to her old-fashioned notions it was a trifle infra dig for a girl to work for herself, and it hurt her tender heart that the Piccaninny of all others should be the one to go out into the world. What would the dear dead mother have said to such a project? What would the Major have said? What would Esmeralda think now, and, thinking, say, with all the impassioned eloquence of which she was mistress? Bridgie reflected earnestly on the questions, while Mrs Wallace watched her face with anxious eyes. The dear mother had never been able to resign herself to the happy-go-lucky Irish customs, and had died before her time, worn-out with the strain of trying to make both ends meet. When she looked down from heaven with those clear angel eyes, would it seem more noble to her that her baby should preserve a puny social distinction at the cost of a purposeless life, or that she should use the talents which had been given to her for her own good and the good of others? There could be little doubt how the mother would have decided, and as for the Major, Bridgie smiled with indulgent tenderness as she pictured, one after the other, the swift stages of his behaviour if he had been present to-day. Horror and indignation at the possibility that the Piccaninny should be in subjection to anyone but himself; irritated impatience that the O’Shaughnessys should be expected to pay for what they desired, like any ordinary, commonplace family; chuckling delight over the smartness of the child; and finally an even greater inability than his sons to say “No” to a charming woman! Storm he never so wildly, the Major would undoubtedly have ended by consenting to Mrs Wallace’s plea, while Esmeralda’s wrath would be kept within bounds by Geoffrey’s strong common sense. Bridgie sighed and looked across the room to where Jack sat. “If it is left to me,” she said slowly, “if I am to decide, I think I will say ‘Yes’! She shall come to you for a month on trial, Mrs Wallace, and we can see how it works.” Mrs Wallace beamed with relief and satisfaction. “That’s very kind!” she said. “I am truly grateful. I realise that your decision is unselfish, but believe me, you shall never regret it!” And Bridgie remembered that prophecy, and smiled over it many times in the happy years to come. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.