Mrs. Molesworth - Lettice

“I was going to answer this letter,” said Mr Auriol – “I could not do so till I had Mr Morison’s permission to tell the whole, which caused some delay – but I was just going to answer it when I got Arthur’s telegram, telling me of her death. You see, the date is very recent;” and he held out the letter to Nina, who leant eagerly forward, while Lettice held herself stiffly aloof. “I managed to see Mr Morison before I came away – had I not done so, my coming would not have been of much use – and got his answers to all I had to ask him. And this is what he says. He accepts the trusteeship of your money unconditionally, for which you cannot be too thankful. The guardianship which he might legally decline – for he is not forced to accept what he had not first been asked about – he accepts, too, but only to a certain extent. He will not interfere with you in any way disagreeable to you, unless positively obliged to do so. He leaves details to me: if I am satisfied, he will be so. At the same time he earnestly wishes to be to you all not only a guardian but an uncle. I am empowered to invite you all, as soon as you can leave here, to go to his country house, and remain there as long as you like – in any case till some definite arrangement can be made for you.”

“ Never !” exclaimed Lettice, interrupting Mr Auriol. “Nina, Arthur, you will support me in this?”

Godfrey waited till she was silent, but then, without giving the others time to reply, he went on. “It is premature for you to give any answer as yet. Allow me to go on with what I have to say, without interrupting me, till I have fulfilled my commission. Mr Morison also wished me to say that, if Arthur has any taste for business, he will give him a position in his firm such as he would to a son of his own, if he had one.”

Arthur’s colour rose, and he seemed as if about to say something, but he checked himself. Not so Lettice.

“Arthur is going into the army, like papa. He is going up for Woolwich next Christmas. That has been decided long ago.”

Again with ceremonious politeness Mr Auriol waited till she left off speaking. Then, without taking the slightest notice of what she had said, he proceeded, “Or, if Arthur chooses any other career, he will do his best to help him. I think that is the substance of what I have to say to you from your uncle. You will give me an answer before I leave – some days before, indeed – the day after to-morrow, suppose we say. It will be the greatest possible satisfaction to me if you accept your uncle’s invitation. If not, there is no time to be lost in arranging something else.”

“We are quite ready to tell you what we intend doing – now at once, if you choose,” said Lettice.

“Not now. I wish you to think it over, and consult together,” he replied. “And I must tell you frankly that what you intend doing is not the question. You may tell me what you wish , with all freedom; and if I can, I will help you to carry out your wishes. But if I do not approve of them, I am bound by every consideration to tell you so, and to forbid them. If this sounds very ungracious, I am sorry for it, but I cannot help it. Having undertaken a very,” – here he hesitated, and evidently substituted a milder word for the one that had been on his lips – “onerous task, I will carry it out to the best of my power. But it rests with you three to make it a painful or pleasant one.”

He rose as he spoke. Nina rose, too, and held out her hand.

“Thank you, Cousin Godfrey,” she said simply, “for all your kindness.”

Mr Auriol turned to Lettice.

“Will you, too, not shake hands with me, Lettice?” he said, with a tone in his voice which touched her a little.

“Of course,” she said, rousing herself as it were by an effort. “I can have no possible reason for not shaking hands with you. I am only bitterly, most bitterly grieved that we should be, and have been, the cause of such trouble to you.”

“Do not be bitterly grieved, then,” he said, smiling. “Give me the satisfaction of feeling I have been, and may be, of service to you. I am your kinsman; it is only natural. Be reasonable, and try to trust those who wish to be true friends to you.”

But at these last words he felt the hand, which he had held for a moment or two, struggle in his grasp, and with an almost inaudible sigh he released it.

“Will you give me the names, so far as you know them, of the tradespeople here, and your landlord, and so on?” he said gently. “I must make up as accurate a statement as I can. There is a great deal more to do at such times than you have any idea of;” and then he went on to explain some details – of which till now she had had no idea whatever – to the rather bewildered girl.

She replied meekly enough; and when he had got the required information, he went out with Arthur as his guide.

“Good nature and good sense must ever join; To err is human; to forgive, divine.”

It was the last evening of the young Morisons being all together at the Villa Martine, for Arthur was returning to England the following day. And a fortnight or so later, the sisters and little Auriol, under the convoy of old Bertha, were to follow him there. Lettice had gone early to her room. She was worn out, though she would not allow it, with all she had gone through during the last week or two. And since Mr Auriol had left, she had put less constraint on herself; she no longer felt the necessity of calling pride to her aid.

“I am so dreadfully sorry for Lettice,” said Nina, as she and Arthur were sitting together unwilling, though it was already late, to lose any of their few remaining hours.

“So am I,” said Arthur. “But I am sorry for ourselves too, Nina. There is no doubt that all our troubles are very much aggravated by Lettice.”

“Arthur!” exclaimed Nina. “What do you mean? How could we ever get on without her?”

“Oh, I know all that,” said the boy – for boy he still was, though nearly seventeen – weariedly.

“I know she is very good, and devoted, and clever, too; but, Nina, if she were but less obstinate and self-willed, how much happier – at least, how much less unhappy – we should be! If she had taken the advice of Godfrey Auriol, and made friends with our uncle – knowing, too, that mother wished it! Of course, I won’t allow to Godfrey that I disagree with her; at all costs, as you and I determined, we must keep together. But it is a terrible pity.”

“I don’t, however, see that for the present it makes very much difference, and in time Lettice may change.”

“Too late, perhaps,” said Arthur moodily. “It is just now that I think it does make such a miserable difference;” and as Nina looked up, with surprise and some alarm, and was just going to ask him to explain himself, he added hastily, as if eager to change the subject, “Do you know the whole story, Nina – the story of the old quarrel between my father and his family? I have heard it, I suppose; but I have got confused about it, though I didn’t like to let Godfrey see that I was so. Lettice has always been so violent about it, so determined that there was only the one way of looking at it, that it was no use asking her. And just these last days it has dawned upon me that I know very little about it. I have accepted it as a sort of legend that was not to be questioned.”

“I don’t know that there is very much to tell – not of actual facts,” said Nina. “Of course, it was all complicated by personal feeling, as such things always are. Mamma told me all; and lately, as you know, she regretted very much having not tried more to bring papa and his brother together. He, our uncle, was perfectly blameless, he was fifteen years younger than papa. Papa, you know, was grandpapa’s only son by his first marriage. His mother died young, and he, as he often said himself, was dreadfully spoilt. His father married again when he was about twelve; and though his stepmother was very good and nice, he was determined never to like her, and set himself against whatever she said, and fancied she influenced grandpapa very often, when very likely she did not. Grandpapa was in business, as, of course, you know, and very much respected, and very successful. He was of very respectable ancestry. His people had been farmers, but not at all grand . And he was the sort of man to be proud of having made his own way, and to despise those who tried to be above their real position. He had always determined that papa should follow him in his business; but, as might have been expected from a spoilt boy, papa wouldn’t