Part 9

"But look what you do for him in return--cooking, washing, cleaning, and last, but by no means least, looking after his six children for him. How you manage to do it all I'm sure I don't know! And yet he doesn't even recognize that the work you love most is done up here--here in your studio--at all odd moments of the day. And he calls this 'wasting time.'" Pamela gave a short laugh. "Oh, it makes me so indignant," she said.

But her arguments were always in vain. Elizabeth would never make the smallest attempt toward making her brother respect her art, but would continue to go on as usual after Pamela had left, smiling quietly to herself at Pamela's enthusiasm and indignation.

"She is very young," Elizabeth would say to herself, and then give a sigh at the remembrance of when she herself was young and enthusiastic and indignant, when she had dreamed of doing great things in the world of art--long before her sister-in-law had died, and she had come to keep house for her brother. Then, when she was young, it had been an invalid mother who had claimed all her attention, so that she had never had time nor opportunities to make friends with young people of her own age--young people who had interests in common with herself. She had painted and drawn in her spare time, and had even had a couple of terms at an art school, in the days before her mother had become a helpless invalid. Then, when her mother had died, it had been Elizabeth's intention to take a room in London by herself and set resolutely to work to earn a living by her painting; but before this plan could be put into execution news came that her aunt (Alice Maud) had met with an accident, and Elizabeth was asked to go and nurse her. She went. Elizabeth planned many things during her life, but other people always seemed to step in and alter the plans--and Elizabeth allowed them to be altered, and drifted into the new plans with little or no resistance. That was Elizabeth's chief failing, her inability to strike out for herself. As far as art was concerned it was a loss, but her relatives had certainly gained in having so willing and conscientious a worker to look after them in their illnesses. For it was always somebody who was ill that sent for Elizabeth. First, her mother, then her aunt, and finally, just when her thoughts were once again free to turn toward the room in London, her sister-in-law had begged her to come and look after her house and the children as she was taken dangerously ill. So Elizabeth came. And when her sister-in-law died she could not find it in her heart to refuse her brother Tom's request to stay with him and look after his six little motherless children.

Elizabeth used sometimes to dream about the wonderful room she had meant to have in London--the room where she liked to imagine that she would have painted pictures that would have brought her fame and wealth. As she grew older she began to doubt whether she ever would have painted pictures good enough or marketable enough even to pay for the rent of the room. She began to regret her want of initiative--after she had met Pamela. She regretted that she had all along allowed her own affairs to drift. Why had she always allowed others to rule her life, she wondered. She had worked hard at her pictures--and then done nothing with them when they were finished. There were scores of them packed one on top of the other on the shelves of a big cupboard in her studio.

Having got permission to look through this pile of pictures one day, Pamela discovered that Elizabeth was decidedly clever at portrait painting; the likenesses of one or two of the village folk, whom Pamela knew by sight, and of Tom Bagg, and of several of the little Baggs, were very well done indeed; and she asked Elizabeth why she did not do more of this kind of work.

"I haven't done any portraits for a long time," was all that Elizabeth replied. "I don't know why."

The discovery of this branch of Elizabeth's skill set Pamela thinking. Apart from his annoying indifference to his sister's talent Tom Bagg was a genial, good-natured, and quite likeable man, Pamela thought. She liked him more particularly after discovering him one evening sitting by the fire in his living-room, smoking, and telling a long fairy story to his children, who were gathered around him listening, enthralled. It was only occasionally that Daddy could be got to tell them a story; but when he chose he could tell a very good story indeed. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why he was so popular at the 'Blue Boar.' Ensconced in a chimney-corner seat in the old-fashioned parlour of the 'Blue Boar,' he would puff away at his pipe, and yarn to a few bosom friends and occasional strangers for an hour at a stretch, much to the amusement of his audience. At home he was just as popular as a story-teller, and the children would listen enchanted to his tales of adventure, of fairies, and of pirates--and when he came to the humorous parts, where he always stopped to chuckle and shake before he told them the joke, the children could hardly contain their impatience, and while he paused aggravatingly to take a pull at his pipe and chuckle again, they would shower eager questions upon him, giving him no peace until he resumed the tale.

Elizabeth Bagg, when she was not upstairs in her studio, would sit in a corner by the fire on these occasions, mending stockings by firelight, and listening to the story, glancing up now and then at the cheerful, ruddy face of the teller, and at the children sitting on the hearth-rug, on the arms of his chair, and on his knees, all listening intently. The story-telling was always done by firelight; directly the gas was lit, it was supper and bedtime.

Pamela was present at more than one of these story-telling evenings. Old Tom Bagg was used to talking before strangers and new-comers, and her presence made no difference to him. He was always polite, and pleased to see Pamela, and never seemed outwardly surprised at her friendship with Elizabeth, though sometimes he would scratch the bald spot on his head and wonder to himself.

The first time Pamela saw the group in the firelit room listening to the story-telling she was struck with an idea, which she afterward communicated to Elizabeth.

"It would make a simply ripping picture--and you're so good at likenesses--I wonder you don't do it," she urged.

And, after a while, Elizabeth Bagg did do it. She set to work up in her studio, and began on a picture of Tom Bagg sitting in a firelit room telling a story to the children around him.

"Get the expression on his face when he's chuckling," said Pamela.

So Elizabeth watched him and caught the chuckling expression and transmitted it to her picture.

"_Absolutely_," was the delighted Pamela's verdict when she saw it; and her enthusiasm roused Elizabeth to put her best work into the painting, although she had no future plans for it when it was finished. Possibly it would have drifted finally into the cupboard in her studio. Elizabeth, with her tiresome lack of initiative, would have taken no further trouble with the picture after it was done.

But Pamela had a plan for the firelight picture which she did not mention to Elizabeth Bagg, but waited eagerly for the completion of the painting.

Meanwhile Isobel, unable to get Pamela or Beryl to join in having dancing-lessons with her, had at length, much to her own surprise, prevailed on Caroline to come to Madame Clarence's with her twice a week. As Caroline sat over her sewing so much, and had very little exercise, these visits to the Dancing Academy probably did her a great deal of good. Not that she enjoyed dancing; but being persuaded that it was good for her health, she took her lessons regularly and solemnly, just as she would have taken medicine twice daily after meals had she thought she should do so. Although Isobel (to use her own expression) was not 'frightfully keen' on Caroline, yet she found her useful in yet another way besides being a companion to travel with to and from Inchmoor.

When Isobel heard that Sir Henry and Lady Prior and family had returned to the Manor House, she lived for a few days in a state of pleasurable expectation, from which state she was presently transported into one of intense joy. For she discovered that the Manor House Priors actually were connected with her--though very distantly, it must be confessed.

And Caroline was the medium through whom she learnt this eventful piece of news.

Finding that Caroline was the only one of the girls likely to get into immediate touch with Lady Prior, through the bazaar work-party meetings which Caroline had begun to attend, Isobel asked her if she would take the first opportunity of speaking to Lady Prior, and informing her that Isobel Prior, who was staying at Chequertrees, would have liked beyond anything to help at the bazaar only she was afraid she was restricted from doing so by the instructions of Miss Crabingway, who had said that none of the girls staying at Chequertrees were to visit or be visited by any relations whatsoever; and Isobel thought it possible that she might be a relation of Lady Prior's. Of course, Isobel impressed upon Caroline that she was to be sure to say that Miss Crabingway did not know that this restriction of hers might apply in any way to Lady Prior, or she would assuredly not have made such a rule. Then Isobel asked Caroline to explain all about Miss Crabingway's whim, and to make matters quite clear to her ladyship. She also wrote down for Caroline all the facts about the Prior family-tree that she knew, giving her father's full name, and age, and profession, and the names of his various brothers, cousins, uncles, and so on.

All this Caroline faithfully related to Lady Prior in due course, and came back from her first interview with the news that Lady Prior was going to consult Sir Henry about it, and would tell Caroline what he said at the next meeting, as she did not know any of the Christian names of the gentlemen Caroline had mentioned, but was quite amused at Miss Crabingway's queer instructions.

Isobel was somewhat chilled by this news, and wondered to herself whether the 'dowdy-looking' Caroline had prejudiced her case in Lady Prior's eyes.

"Of course, never having seen me she may think I'm something of the same class as the friend I choose to act as my deputy," thought Isobel to herself, and eyed the unconscious Caroline with secret disfavour.

However, Caroline returned from the next bazaar meeting with better news. Sir Henry had informed Lady Prior that Mr Gerald Prior of Lancaster Gate and Ibstone House, Lower Marling, was a third cousin of his, whom he had never seen, though he had heard of him. This put fresh heart into Isobel, and she went to church the following Sunday to see what the Priors looked like--though she took care to keep a safe distance in case any unforeseen accident should happen, and she should meet them. She wondered what the mater would do under the circumstances. But, contemplating that when the six months elapsed she would be free to go and visit these new-found relatives, and be fifty pounds the richer for the waiting, she decided that it was wiser to wait, especially as Lady Prior now knew the circumstances and would understand.

So she gazed on the Prior pew from a distance, and noted with pride the rich and fashionable clothes its occupants wore, and the respect the family seemed to awaken in the other members of the congregation.

Though Isobel did not want to own it, even to herself, she was somewhat disappointed in the facial appearance of her father's third cousin and his family. Sir Henry himself was small and pompous, with sandy hair and moustache, and his broad, pinkish face was plentifully besprinkled with freckles; he wore glasses which were rather troublesome to keep on the flat bridge of his wide, short nose. His eyebrows were invisible from a distance, but his gold watch-chain and the diamond in the gold ring on the little finger of his right hand sparkled and glistened in the sunshine that streamed through the stained-glass windows.

Lady Prior was well preserved and had evidently been pretty in her youth, but now she was inclined to be plump, and had developed a double-chin, and a florid complexion; her mouth was too small for the rest of her features, making her nose look too prominent; her eyes were large and good. The two daughters of the house next claimed Isobel's attention; they were upright, pleasant-looking girls with their mother's features, but their father's colouring--freckles included. Nevertheless there was a certain air about them which Isobel could find no more fitting term for than 'distinguished.' She had learnt from Caroline that there was also a son of the house, but he was not present that morning in church.

Isobel gazed from afar, and then went home to Chequertrees feeling rather out of humour with everything and everybody because of the 'silly whim' of Miss Crabingway's which had cut her off from these desirable relations.

When the girls had almost completed the third month of their stay at Chequertrees Martha reminded them that they would possibly receive a communication from Mr Joseph Sigglesthorne shortly, with whom Miss Crabingway had left instructions concerning the replenishing of the funds of the household. Supplies were running out, Martha said, and she hoped they would hear promptly.

But several days went by and no word came from Mr Sigglesthorne (for the very good reason that he had forgotten all about them).

Then one morning a letter posted in Scotland arrived from Miss Emily Crabingway. It was very brief, and merely instructed Pamela, Beryl, Isobel, and Caroline to go up to London with Martha on the day following the receipt of letter, and deliver the envelope which was enclosed to Mr Joseph Sigglesthorne at his rooms in Fig Tree Court, Temple, E.C.

"What can this mean?" said Pamela, after she had read the letter to Martha.

Martha smiled and shook her head. "Unless it is that Miss Crabingway knows what a forgetful gentleman Mr Sigglesthorne is, and wants to give him a shock by sending you all to remind him," she suggested.

It may as well be stated here that this was not Martha's own idea, but one communicated to her in a recent note from Miss Crabingway.

As this would be the first journey to town that the girls had made since they came to Barrowfield, they were rather excited and pleased, and set about making plans for the morrow's journey in high good spirits; they recalled for each other's benefit their previous meeting with Mr Sigglesthorne. It was decided to lock up the house, as Ellen said rather than stay at home alone all day she would go and visit some friends in the village, who had been begging her to come and see them for a long time, and would meet their train at the station on their return. This matter being satisfactorily arranged, and time-tables consulted, clothes overlooked and holes in gloves mended, the four girls ended the day with another dance in the drawing-room to celebrate their 'one day's release' from Barrowfield, as Isobel put it.

The next day was fine and warm, though a few mackerel clouds high in the sky made it difficult to dissuade Caroline from putting on her goloshes and taking an umbrella. Poor Caroline, her little fads were always being laughed at by the other three! But she took all their remarks very good-naturedly as a rule. Her umbrella she did eventually abandon, reluctantly, but she took a small canvas bag with her, which she said contained her purse and handkerchief, and some knitting to do in the train. But there was more in it than these things; the bulge at the side of the bag was a very tightly-rolled, light-weight mackintosh, and the bulge at the bottom was the much-ridiculed goloshes. Caroline did not explain the bulges, and the girls were too busy with their own affairs by the time she came downstairs with her bag to bother to tease her any more.

And so the four girls and Martha set out to visit Mr Joseph Sigglesthorne.

*CHAPTER XIII*

*MR JOSEPH SIGGLESTHORNE FORGETS THE DATE*

The journey to town was accomplished swiftly and comfortably, and was enlivened every now and then by Martha's remarks on the changes that had come over the country they passed through in the train since she was a girl. She made a quaint little figure in her black bonnet, trimmed with jet beads, and her best black cape with the silk fringe round it, and her black serge skirt. Her kindly grey eyes and wrinkled face were alight with interest as she sat beaming and chatting with Beryl and Pamela, while Caroline steadily knitted, and Isobel in the farther corner gazed out of the window. Although she liked Martha well enough, she rather wished that Miss Crabingway had sent the four of them to town alone.

When they arrived at Marylebone station the girls learnt to their surprise that Martha had never been in the tube railway in her life, and was somewhat chary and suspicious of this mode of travelling; however, encouraged by Pamela and Beryl, who each linked hold of one of her arms, she was persuaded to enter the lift, which she mistook at first for the train, until matters were explained to her.

They changed at Charing Cross on to the District Railway and were soon at the Temple Station, and after one or two inquiries at length found themselves walking up Middle Temple Lane _en route_ for Fig Tree Court.

It is not one of the prettiest courts, Fig Tree Court, although it has such a picturesque name. There is no fig-tree growing there now, though if there had been one Mr Sigglesthorne would not have been able to see it, as his windows were so begrimed with dust and dirt that nothing was clearly visible through them. The window-cleaners, if ever he employed them, must surely have charged him three times the usual amount to get his windows clean again. As for Martha, directly she set eyes on them her hands itched to get hold of a wash-leather.

Mr Sigglesthorne lived on the first floor, and they were soon outside the door with his name printed on it in large black letters. Pamela knocked with a double rat-tat. All was silent within for a few moments, then the creak of an inner door and a shuffling step could be heard. The latch clicked and the front door was opened just enough for a hand and arm to be thrust out.

The five visitors stood gazing in silent surprise at the open hand--a hand obviously waiting for something to be placed in its grasp. They stood thus, looking first at the hand and then at each other, and Isobel was just about to laugh outright when a voice behind the door exclaimed impatiently:

"Hurry up, milkman! Half-pint, as usual."

At this Isobel could control herself no longer, but burst out laughing, and the others, unable to resist, joined in as well.

This caused the door to be opened wider, and a very shocked and surprised Mr Joseph Sigglesthorne was revealed, who stared open-mouthed in pained astonishment at the laughing group outside.

Pamela was the first to recover herself. "Oh, Mr Sigglesthorne," she said, "I'm so sorry--please excuse us, but Miss Crabingway told us to come and give you this letter."

"Well, to be sure! But please excuse me--I was so--if I may say so--taken aback for the moment--" stammered Mr Sigglesthorne. "But please to step inside--step inside." He held the door open wide.

The five visitors stepped inside as requested, almost filling up the narrow little passage from which the two rooms of Mr Sigglesthorne's flat opened. Mr Sigglesthorne closed the front door, and led the way to his living-room, begging them all to come in and be seated. He was still rather bewildered by the suddenness of his visitors' appearance, and was thrown into confusion on finding that there was only one chair in the room that was not too rickety to be used. He handed this with great politeness to Pamela, who promptly passed it on to Martha, who was too respectful to think of sitting down till all the others had found seats.

"It's quite all right," said Pamela. "May I sit on this box? Thanks. It'll do splendidly. You sit down, Martha--you'll be tired."

Finally, an old oak chest being cleared of numberless papers and books and brought forward for Isobel and Caroline, and a pile of six big Encyclopaedias placed one on top of the other serving as a seat for Beryl, Mr Sigglesthorne sat down on the corner of the coal-scuttle, comforting himself with the thought that things might have been worse--although he wished he had not left his bunch of collars on the mantelshelf. Strange that this should have worried him, for on the whole the mantelshelf was the least untidy part of the room.

Martha's neat and tidy soul positively ached when she looked round Mr Sigglesthorne's living-room. One of the first things she noticed was a big round table in the centre of the room on which were stacked books and papers in a litter of untidiness and confusion; there were several bundles of newspapers, and cardboard boot-boxes without lids, containing a variety of interesting articles from press-cuttings and collar-studs to india-rubber and knots of string. On the top of the highest pile of papers reposed Mr Sigglesthorne's top-hat. The table was so littered that it was impossible to think of it ever being used for any other purpose than that of a home of refuge for old papers. Underneath the table, partly obscured by the faded green table-cloth that hung all aslant, was a Tate sugar-box containing--what? Coal, probably--but Martha could not be quite sure of that. Bookshelves lined the walls, and here again confusion reigned. Hardly a single book stood upright; a few, here and there, made a faint appearance of doing so, but for the most part they had given up the struggle long ago and just sprawled across the shelves anyhow--some upside down, some back to front--separated every few yards by some useful kitchen utensil, such as a toasting-fork, a small hand-brush, a pepper-box, a shovel, a couple of saucepan lids, and so on. There were no books at all on one of the shelves, but a mass of letters and envelopes filled the space. A broken rocking-chair beneath one of the two windows that lighted the room held a box of tools and Mr Sigglesthorne's topcoat, and the desk under the other window supported a tray with the remnants of a chop on a plate, a cup half full of cold coffee, and a tin of condensed milk with a spoon sticking out of it; two inkpots and a blotting-pad, and numerous pens, pencils, notebooks, and stacks of papers occupied the rest of the desk. In the hearth were a pair of old boots, a teapot, and three bundles of firewood.

It looked as if Mr Sigglesthorne was in the habit of placing things down just wherever he happened to be at the moment--which was handy at the time, but caused much confusion and delay in the long run; though it may have added a little variety to his life to find his belongings where he least expected them.

Mr Sigglesthorne, with his Shakespearean forehead shining in a distinguished manner, sat on the coal-scuttle polishing his glasses and gazing nervously round at his guests. His black velvet jacket, minus a button, wanted brushing, and his dark grey trousers were creased and baggy; altogether he looked shabby and unimposing--except for his forehead, which just, as it were, kept his head above water.

"Now, if I may be permitted to see Miss Crabingway's note?" he said. "You must excuse my room being slightly untidy--a bachelor's misfortune, you know, Miss Pamela."

"What a lot of books you have," said Pamela.

"Are you a lawyer?" asked Isobel.

"Heaven forbid!" said Mr Sigglesthorne. "No, miss. But I am rather a--bookworm. Ha! Ha! Yes, that's what I am--a bookworm."