Thus she talked and strove to comfort me, until, after a long drive, we stopped at the door of the Misses Clapperton.
They resided in a detached villa, very Moorish-looking, with windows small enough to satisfy even the jealousy of a Turk, a flat roof admirably calculated for taking cold on, and a turret that threateningly overlooked a classic villa opposite, and gave the whole building a fortified, chivalric, arabesque air, confirmed by its euphonious name-- Alhambra Lodge. I knew the Alhambra through the medium of Geoffrey Crayon, and devoutly hoped it did not resemble this. On the left of the Alhambra arose an imitation old English cottage, with tiny gable-ends and transversal beams artistically painted on the walls; on the right a Swiss chalet told a whole story of pastoral innocence, and made one transform into an English _Ranz des Vaches_ the cry of "milk from the cow" coming up the street; further on arose a Gothic mansion--but peace be to the domestic architecture of England! We were received in a comfortable- looking parlour--not in the least Moorish--by Miss Mary Clapperton. She was short, deformed, grotesquely plain, but had a happy, good-natured face, and intelligent black eyes, of bird-like liveliness. She spoke volubly, called me "a dear," and laughed and chatted at an amazing rate.
We had scarcely sat down, when her sister, Ann Clapperton, entered the room. She proved to be the very counterpart of Mary. There never was such a perfect likeness, even to their voice and their very expressions. As they dressed alike they puzzled every one. All the time I was with them, I never could know which was which; to this day I remember them as a compound individual, answering to the name of Mary-Ann Clapperton.
Everything had been settled beforehand, so Kate only had to bid me good- bye. It was a quiet parting; she promised to come and see me soon, and, in return, made me promise not to fret. So far as tears went, I kept my word. I was not much given to weeping, and pride alone would have checked outward grief in the presence of strangers. I sat looking at the Misses Clapperton, who looked at me very kindly, and conversed about me as much as two persons who never had a separate thought could be said to converse. The only difference I found between them was that one, I believe it was Mary, suggested ideas which the other immediately converted into facts, as in the following whispered dialogue--
"Ann, she looks delicate."
"She is delicate, Mary."
"I fancy she is intelligent."
"I am sure she is."
I did not hear the rest of the conference; it was brief, and ended by one of the Misses Clapperton---I think it was Mary, but I am not quite sure, for in turning about they had, as it were, mingled--asking me if I should not like to become acquainted with my future companions; on my replying "Yes," she took me by the hand, and led me out into a green garden, all lawn and gravel path, where I was formally introduced to, and left alone with, the two Misses Brook.
Jane and Fanny Brook were orphan sisters of fourteen and fifteen; fine, fresh, romping girls, with crisp black hair, cheeks like roses, and ivory teeth. They looked as demure as nuns whilst Miss Clapperton was by, but no sooner was her back turned than they began to whisper and giggle. Then suddenly addressing me as I stood by them, feeling silent and lonely, Jane said--
"Will you run?"
"I never run; I cannot."
"Try," observed Fanny.
They caught me between them and whirled me off, but they were soon obliged to pause. I had stopped short, all out of breath.
"I told you I could not run," I said, a little offended at their free manner.
"Poor little thing!" compassionately exclaimed Jane.
"Will you race?" asked her sister.
"I don't mind if I do."
A laburnum, at the end of the lawn, was fixed as the goal. They made me arbiter. I sat down on a wooden bench to look; they started off at once, reached the tree at the same moment, knocked one another down in their eagerness--then rose all tumbled and disordered, and ran back to me.
"I was first, was I not?" cried Jane.
"Indeed you were not. It was I, was it not?"
"Indeed," I replied, "I don't know which it was. I think you both reached it at once."
This impartial decision displeased them both. They said I was ill-natured and sly, got reconciled at my expense, and began a gentle sport of their own invention, called "the hunt." It consisted in one of the Misses Brook running the other down, which she did most successfully, and then submitted to being run down in her turn. My arrival had converted this into a holiday; so when the hunt was over, Fanny amused herself with a bow and quivers, whilst Jane swung herself to and fro from the laburnum.
I looked on with wonder, and thought I had never seen such odd girls.
The strangeness of everything made the day seem doubly long. So sudden and violent a separation from all I knew and loved was more irritated than soothed by the new objects and new faces to which I was compelled to give my attention, but which could not absorb my thoughts. I welcomed evening with a sense of relief, and a hope that it would bring me silence and comparative solitude. I shared a large, cheerful, airy bedroom with the two sisters, who slept together. At first they were very quiet, but after a while I heard a low rustling sound of paper that seemed to proceed from under their bedclothes; then one whispered the other--
"Do you think she is asleep?"
"Try," was the laconic reply.
"What a beautiful moonlight!" observed the voice of Jane aloud.
"Oh, very!" emphatically answered Fanny.
"Do you like the moonlight?" asked Jane, seeming to address me.
"Yes, I like it." I replied; I could scarcely utter the words, my heart was so full of the lost home, with its quaint garden, sun-dial, and old trees, on which the same moon that chequered the drawn window-blind shone at this hour.
On hearing my reply, the two sisters held a whispered consultation, which ended in Fanny saying in a subdued tone--
"Will you have some sweetstuff?"
"Thank you," I replied, rather astonished, "I never eat sweets; I do not like them."
This answer appeared to produce a very unfavourable impression. The sisters seemed to think me a traitor and a spy, and to repent their imprudent confidence. Of this, though I could not see them, I was intuitively conscious.
"You need not be afraid that I should tell," I observed, somewhat indignantly.
They both said in a breath "they were sure I would not," and very kindly pressed me to share their dainties.
"Don't be afraid," encouragingly remarked Jane, "there is plenty of it."
"A whole bagful," added Fanny, whose mouth seemed to be as full as her bag.
"Oh, Fanny, you greedy thing!" exclaimed Jane, "you promised not to begin until I was ready: I am sure you have taken all the candy."
I am afraid that thus it must have proved on examination, for I suddenly heard a sound slap, accompanied with a recommendation of "Take that,"
which, if it alluded to the slap, was wholly unnecessary, it being not merely received, but returned, with "Take that too," that proved the beginning of a regular battle.
I felt greatly disgusted; the idea of fighting in bed was essentially repugnant to my sense of decorum; but an end was soon put to the contest, by the sound of an approaching step: on hearing it the combatants stopped as if by magic.
"Say as we say," hastily whispered Jane.
I felt something alight on my bed; the door opened, and Miss Clapperton-- I think it was Mary--appeared with a light in her hand, and her ugly good-humoured face wearing an expression of solemn reproof. "Young ladies," she observed, addressing the Misses Brook, "are you not ashamed of yourselves?"
"We were only laughing," glibly said Jane, "weren't we, dear?"
"Yes, dear," replied Fanny.
"We could not help it," continued Jane; "she has some sweetstuff in bed with her, and she said she would give us some, and I said I would have all the candy, and Fanny said _she_ would: didn't you, dear?"
"Yes, dear."
I was amazed at the readiness of their invention, but I could not understand why Miss Clapperton looked at me so gravely. At length it came out: the perfidious Jane, knowing she would not have time to conceal the bag of sweetstuff, had tossed it on my bed, where it lay--a convincing proof of my guilt. Miss Clapperton reproved me very gently.
"She did not allow sweets," she informed me, "but of course I did not know that, although she must say that eating them thus in the dark did not look quite like unconsciousness. Still she would not be severe on the first day. The confiscation of what she could assure me was most pernicious stuff, should be my only punishment."
With this she retired.