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Wild Kitty by L. T. Meade

L >> L. T. Meade >> Wild Kitty




"Well, I am really so famished that I am content with anything," said
the good lady. "Pour me out a cup of tea at once, my dear, and just put
the bread and butter where I can reach it."

Carrie did so, winking at her mother as she arranged the tray. The next
moment Mrs. Lewis went out into the passage. Carrie followed her,
closing the door behind their guest.

"Mother, I want you to come with me to the Sign of the Three Balls."

"What in the world for, Carrie?"

"I have got to pawn some things, some beautiful things, and I am to get
ten per cent, on the commission. I shall turn over a nice little bit of
money, and you can have your favorite supper. You will come, won't you,
mother? And I'll give you half a crown into the bargain."

"Oh, dear, dear," said Mrs. Lewis, "I wish she had not come! She never
helps me in any way. All she does is to scold me and make me more
depressed than I am already. And she blames me so for marrying your poor
father, Carrie; as if I could help that now. And what do you think she
is going to do? She says she is going to take Elma from us."

"And a good thing, too," said Carrie.

"Carrie, what an unnatural girl you are! Do you mean to say you would be
glad to part from your sister?"

"I would, because I am fond of her, and she has got into the most awful
scrape at school. Don't you put any spoke in her wheel, mother, for
goodness' sake!"

At that moment the latchkey was heard in the lock, and Elma herself
appeared on the scene.

"Oh, good gracious! Elma," cried Carrie, darting up to her sister, and
beginning to whisper vigorously into her ear.

"What?" said Elma, with a start of dismay. "So soon?"

"Yes, yes; she's been here for nearly an hour. She is devouring rolled
bread and butter and tea in the dining-room at present. She asked for
toast----"

"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Lewis, who now came up and began also to
whisper; "yes, and fresh eggs, and cream, and lamb chops, and cold lamb
and salad. I never heard of anything so unreasonable. My poor head is in
an awful whirl. But she has come about you, Elma. She wants to take you
away with her."

"She wants to take me away with her?" exclaimed Elma, starting, and her
pale face flushing.

"And you had better go, Elma, and be quick about it," said Carrie,
giving her a warning glance.

"I don't know what all this means," said Elma, her heart beating
uncomfortably fast; "but I had better go in and see Aunt Charlotte."

"Yes, my love, yes; and while you are talking to her I--What do you
say, Carrie--you and I might go out upon that little matter of business,
might we not?"

"To be sure, mother; an excellent thought. If you stay here I'll run
upstairs and fetch your bonnet, veil, and mantle in a twinkling. Go in
to Aunt Charlotte, Elma; do, for goodness sake, make yourself of use.
More depends on it than you think. If she hears us whispering and
mattering in the hall she'll be out upon us."

Elma instinctively put up her two hands to smooth back her hair, she
straightened her already perfectly neat little jacket, and, drawing
herself up to her full _petite_ height, entered the little dining-room.

Elma was a perfect contrast to her untidy mother and her frowzy sister.
However poorly dressed, she was always the pink of neatness. She was
full of agitation now and nervous fear, but not a trace of these
emotions could be visible in her manner and appearance. She went up to
her Aunt Charlotte, who for her part held out both her arms and, drawing
the girl down, printed a kiss upon her cheek.

"I am really glad to see you, Elma," exclaimed Mrs. Steward. "Sit near
me, my dear; it is a pity you were not in when I arrived. It was the
least you might have done for your aunt, Elma. You had my letter this
morning. Oh, my poor child, I have gone through a dreadful hour! These
vulgar relations of yours grow worse and worse."

"My mother and sister?" murmured Elma.

"Yes; it is a terrible affliction for you. But, my dear, I am going to
relieve you from the strain. I, your aunt, am coming to the rescue.
There, Elma, pour me out another cup of tea, and I will tell you
everything."

Elma raised the teapot, she filled her aunt's cup with fresh tea, added
a little milk, and brought it to her side.

"Thank you, my dear. Now, Elma, you may consider yourself a made girl."

"Made?" echoed Elma, turning her white face to Mrs. Steward.

"Yes, made. What would you say to going abroad?"

Elma's eyes brightened.

"Do you mean on the Continent?"

"Yes, I do, my dear child. To no less a place than the Harz Mountains. I
have heard of a most charming school, fifty times better than Middleton
School; and you are to go there, my dear Elma, at my expense. You will
go as pupil-teacher, and you thus acquire perfect German. Think what
that will mean for you! I propose to leave you in Germany for two years,
and at the end of that time you will return and go to Girton, I being
responsible for all your expenses. My dear, your fortune is made. I have
further arranged with your poor unfortunate mother that you spend the
holidays with me, as it is not to be expected that you can associate any
longer with such a person, nor with that frowzy young woman who calls
herself your sister."

Elma did not speak. This news which would have delighted her at another
and less harassing moment, was now fraught with perplexity and alarm. At
the same time she thought she saw in it a possible means of escape.
Suppose Aunt Charlotte took her away at once, before Kitty had time to
tell what she knew, before Middleton School had time to ring with the
news of her dishonor. Oh, if so, she might indeed be saved!

"Am I to go immediately?" she asked, choking down a strangled sob in her
throat, "or am I to stay at Middleton School till the end of the term?"

"Well, dear, that is the awkward part, for of course you are working
very hard for a prize, are you not?"

"I am working for a small scholarship," answered Elma. "If I succeed in
my examination I shall obtain a scholarship in English Literature worth
ten pounds a year for three years. That would be a very large sum to me,
Aunt Charlotte."

"A large sum to you! I should think it would be a large sum to anybody,"
said Mrs. Steward in a severe tone. "Ten pounds is quite a fortune for
any young girl. Pray don't begin to speak of money in that disparaging
sort of way, Elma; it ill suits your circumstances, my love. But now,
dear, I am sorry to disappoint you--I have heard of an admirable escort;
a certain Fraeulein Van Brunt is going to the Harz Mountains next Monday;
it will therefore be necessary for me to take you back to
Buckinghamshire to-night, Elma."

"Oh, Aunt Charlotte, I am glad!" burst from Elma's lips.

"Glad to leave your mother and sister?" said Mrs, Steward, looking
severely at the young girl. "After all, they are the last people you
ought to associate with; but still natural ties, my dear Elma."

"Oh, I am sorry to leave them, I am sorry to go; I am both glad and
sorry," gasped poor Elma. "I have been worried, and am glad to get out
of everything."

"Worried! I suppose with that dreadful sister and your poor, muddled
mother. Her unfortunate habit of weeping has reduced the little brain
she possessed to a state of pap. Of course I know she is not well off;
but all she absolutely could offer me in this house was a stale egg, and
not even toast. Oh, I scorn to complain, but--I know this is not your
wish, Elma. Your ideas were always very different, my dear child."

Elma did not say anything; she was fidgeting with her hand, making a
slight noise with the teaspoon which she was tapping against a saucer.
The noise was irritating to Mrs. Steward's easily-affected nerves.

"That calm of manner which I trust you will acquire after you have had
the advantages which I am giving you will soon show you how very
unpleasant those little tattoos and small noises are, Elma," remarked
the good lady, taking the teaspoon severely out of her niece's hand.
"Yes, my dear, you are to come with me to-night; that is, of course--"

"What do you mean by 'of course,' Aunt Charlotte?"

"After I have seen your head-mistress, Miss Sherrard."

"Do you want to see Miss Sherrard?" asked Elma, a note of alarm in her
voice.

"Certainly; and I am going immediately to the school. You will not be
admitted into the admirable school in Germany without a testimonial from
your present teacher; and I am going to Miss Sherrard in order to
secure one. It will, of course be merely a matter of form my asking for
it, for your conduct has always been admirable--admirable in the
extreme. Miss Sherrard has written to me about you from time to time,
and always spoke of you with affection and admiration. She said your
abilities were good; your moral character without a flaw. I will just
step across to the school now, Elma; and, if you like, you can accompany
me."

Elma hesitated. She did not yet know what had taken place; but when she
had last seen Kitty there was a flash in her eyes the reverse of
assuring. She could only hope against hope that nothing had yet taken
place; that Kitty had still kept her miserable secret. If Miss Sherrard
knew nothing she would of course give her an excellent character; and
she herself would leave Middleton School that afternoon and forever.
Then indeed she might snap her fingers at Kitty and her distress. She
would be saved just at the very moment when she thought her ruin most
imminent.




CHAPTER XXII

STUNNED AND COLD.


"Come, Elma, what are you looking so thoughtful about?" asked Mrs.
Steward in an impatient voice.

"Nothing, Aunt Charlotte," replied Elma, rising to her feet. "I am ready
to go," she added. She sighed as she spoke.

"You must give up that unpleasant habit, my dear child. Nothing
irritates me more than hearing people sigh. It always seems as if they
were discontented and ungrateful to Providence. Now, what have you, for
instance, to sigh about? A singularly fortunate girl, a girl who
possesses an aunt who is willing to take a mother's duties upon her
shoulders. If it were that wretched, vulgar Carrie now, or even my poor
sister herself; but you, Elma, don't let me think that you are
ungrateful to me or I wash my hands of you on the spot."

"Oh, I am nothing of the kind indeed, Aunt Charlotte," replied Elma. "I
always have felt that you--you were more than good to me."

"Well, my dear that's as it should be. I honor your feelings. I often
say to myself and to your uncle-in-law--remember he is not your real
uncle, Elma, but your uncle-in-law, my dear husband, the rector of St.
Bartholomew's--'John,' I say, 'if Elma doesn't show gratitude for all I
am doing for her I shall once and for all give up the human race. I
shall never again expect right feeling from any one." But of course you
are grateful, Elma; you will be the comfort of my old age. You will be
as my own child to me. I--I sometimes think, my dear, that when your
education is finished and you are turned into a refined,
highly-cultivated, highly-trained woman, I will keep you with me. You
shall be my companion, my housekeeper, the one who is to read aloud to
me, to sit with me in the long evenings when my sight begins to fail. My
eyes do ache at times, my dear, I have thought of all that. You will be
my adopted child; not that I can leave you anything in my will, but I
would provide a home for you while I am left in this tabernacle of the
flesh. What do you say, Elma, eh?"

"It is too soon to say anything at present," answered Elma, to whom this
prospect was the reverse of charming. To live as her aunt's unsalaried
companion could not be attractive to her; but she wisely concluded that
sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof, and she had yet to be
educated and brought to that calm of spirit and strain of intellect
which would satisfy Aunt Charlotte.

"Come now at once," said the good lady, who suddenly from being in a
very cross temper became in the best of humor. "We have just nice time
to go across to the school, and then after we have seen Miss Sherrard to
return here for you to pack your things. What do you say, Elma, to our
both staying in London to-night? It would be a pleasant treat for you,
and there may be a few little things necessary to add to your wardrobe,
which I shall have much pleasure in providing you with. Elma, you are in
rare luck. When I think of all I am doing for you I feel that you have
indeed much to be thankful for."

"Yes, Aunt Charlotte," echoed Elma, but her voice sounded faint, and she
brought out her words with an effort.

Leaning on her niece's arm, Mrs. Steward now pursued her way to
Middleton School. Alas! her journey there quickly dissipated her lately
acquired good-humor. She had not gone one hundred yards before she
complained of the dust of the roads, she had not gone two before her
anger was great at the length of the way, and when she found that it was
necessary to mount uphill her complaints became loud grievances--in
short, by the time she really arrived at the school she was in as bad a
temper as Elma had ever seen her in.

"What it is to have a great girl like you hanging on to one, dependent
on one!" she cried. "It was most inconsiderate of Caroline to marry as
she did, and she now even complains when I blame her for it. She is an
extraordinary person. If she had remained single she might have been
living comfortably with me at St. Bartholomew's rectory, and you and
Carrie would never have been in the world plaguing your relatives."

"Well, you see we are in the world," said poor Elma, who felt that she
must just show the faintest spark of spirit. "We did not ask to be
born," she added, "so I don't see that we are to be blamed."

Mrs. Steward favored her with a sharp glance.

"Elma," she said, "if you indulge in pertness I shall wash my hands of
you. Now, here we are. Have the goodness to ring the bell."

The great school door was opened presently by a neat-looking
maid-servant, and Mrs. Steward inquired in a tart voice if Miss Sherrard
was in."

"She is, ma'am," replied the girl; "but she is particularly engaged at
this moment. Oh, is that you, Miss Lewis?" she continued. "Miss Sherrard
is just sending for you, miss; but I don't think the messenger has gone
yet. I'll run and stop him. Will you walk inside, ma'am!"

"A messenger for me!" murmured Elma. She felt terribly uncomfortable;
her face grew whiter than ever.

"Will you have the goodness to tell your mistress that I wish to speak
to her at once," said Mrs. Steward; "that I am in a hurry, and cannot be
kept waiting? Pray mention my name, Mrs. Steward, from St. Bartholomew's
Rectory, Buckinghamshire."

The girl promised to do so, and withdrew. She soon returned to say that
Miss Sherrard would be pleased to see both Mrs. Steward and Miss Lewis
in her private room.

"I wish to see Miss Sherrard alone," said Mrs. Steward. "Remain where
you are, Elma." Mrs. Steward sailed out of the room, and poor Elma sank
down on the nearest chair.

"If Miss Sherrard has sent for me she must know something," thought the
wretched girl. "Oh! how am I to live through it? She will tell Aunt
Charlotte and then all my prospects are over."

Meanwhile Mrs. Steward sailed down the passage with a dignity and
majesty of demeanor which impressed Miss Sherrard's neat handmaid
considerably. The next instant she was ushered into the school-mistress'
presence.

Miss Sherrard looked troubled; she came forward to meet Mrs. Steward
very gravely, and, motioning with her hand to a chair, asked her to seat
herself. Mrs. Steward stared for a moment at the head-mistress, and the
head-mistress stared back at her. At last Mrs. Steward said glibly:

"I am sorry to take up any of your valuable time, Miss Sherrard; but I
think I can explain my errand in a few words. I am about to remove my
niece, Elma Lewis, from the school."

"Indeed, I am heartily glad to hear it," answered Miss Sherrard, visible
relief both in her tone and face.

"What an extraordinary remark for you to make! But I will pass it by,
for I am in a considerable hurry. I have heard of an admirable school in
Germany to which I intend to send my niece. Not that I have the least
objection to your mode of teaching, Miss Sherrard, nor to this very
celebrated school; but of course when it comes to foreign languages you
cannot compare England to the Continent."

"Certainly not," answered Miss Sherrard, who was now staring at the
other lady in some wonder.

"It is my intention to remove Elma to-night," continued Mrs. Steward;
"for although it is not quite the end of term, yet the Harz Mountains
are some distance away, and it would not be possible for a young girl
who has at present no knowledge of the German language to go so far
without an escort. Miss Sherrard, you will be glad to hear that an
escort has been found, a suitable escort, and Elma will leave England
next week. Under these circumstance I propose to take her back to my
husband's rectory in Buckinghamshire to-morrow morning, and she will
leave the school now."

"Indeed! I repeat that this is a most fortunate coincidence. I am glad
to hear it," said Miss Sherrard.

"Your remarks seem to me the reverse of flattering; but I have no time
to ask you to explain them. What I have really come about is this: It is
necessary for Elma to have a certificate from her present mistress in
order to be admitted into the very first-class school in Germany where I
propose to place her. Will you kindly give me a testimonial in my
niece's favor, Miss Sherrard? Just say anything you can to the credit of
her character and general attainments. From your many letters to me I
judge that you have a very high opinion of the dear girl; and I trust,
now that I am doing so much, in starting this young girl in life, that I
shall not go unrewarded. The care of the young is a sad trial, Miss
Sherrard and I doubt not that the looking after Elma will worry me
considerably; but I am not one to shirk my duties, and I am willing to
take all this responsibility, and for the future to regard that young
girl as if she were indeed my own child. But I must have the
testimonial, so will you kindly write it at once."

Miss Sherrard had been sitting with her hands clasped in her lap while
Mrs. Steward was speaking. Once she had lowered her eyes; but during
the greater part of the time they were fixed upon the good lady's face.
A look of consternation, almost akin to despair, flitted now over the
teacher's expressive countenance.

When at last Mrs. Steward ceased to speak, Miss Sherrard still remained
for nearly half a minute quite silent.

"You will perhaps oblige me by writing the testimonial?" said Mrs.
Steward in a very haughty voice. Then she added, perceiving that
something was wrong, and finding it impossible to guess what, "I dare
say you are annoyed at Elma leaving the school so unexpectedly--"

"No, no; nothing of the kind," said Miss Sherrard. "I have told you
twice, Mrs. Steward, that I am glad, very glad of this."

"Your words surprise me; but of course you will write--my time is
precious, I have not a moment to lose."

Miss Sherrard now stood up.

"I cannot give Elma Lewis a testimonial with regard to conduct." The
words came out quietly, firmly, distinctly.

Mrs. Steward sprang to her feet.

"You cannot give my niece a testimonial with regard to conduct?" she
gasped. "Do you know what you are saying what you are doing, Miss
Sherrard?"

"Perfectly well, Mrs. Steward."

"In your letters to me you have invariably spoken of Elma's conduct as
excellent. Miss Sherrard, you surely forget yourself--you cannot be
well; you must be mistaking Elma for one of your other pupils? She has
always been an exemplary girl. You cannot give her a testimonial with
regard to conduct? Am I to believe the testimony of my own ears?"

"I am deeply sorry; I have seldom been more grieved about anything. I am
told that Elma has accompanied you here--if you will permit me, I will
send for her, and explain how matters really stand in your presence."

"Oh, this is intolerable," said Mrs. Steward, clasping and unclasping
her hands in her agitation. "The wicked girl, what has she done? Pray
send for her at once, Miss Sherrard; if she has done anything really
disgraceful I wash my hands of her. If you, her mistress, cannot give
her a certificate, do you suppose that my husband and I will take her
up?"

"It is impossible for me to say, madam. In this emergency to really help
Elma would be a Christian act. She may have been tempted beyond her
strength, but you will be better able to decide when you know the
circumstances."

As Miss Sherrard spoke she rang the bell. "When the servant appeared,
she desired her to bring Elma immediately into her presence. A moment
later the young girl entered the room. She gave a wild and frightened
glance first at her aunt, then at Miss Sherrard, then stepping forward,
fell on her knees.

"Has Kitty told you?" she gasped.

"Yes, Elma. Get up; you cannot kneel to me."

"Rise this minute you wicked girl!" said Mrs. Steward.

Elma staggered to her feet.

"It is all up, then," she murmured.

"I know everything, Elma," said Miss Sherrard. "The knowledge has come
to me as a painful surprise. Your aunt has just asked me to give you a
testimonial with regard to character. I am bitterly pained to say that I
must refuse to do so."

"But what does it all mean," cried Mrs. Steward, "and why am I to be
kept in the dark any longer? Elma, stop twirling your thumbs; stand
back. Now, Miss Sherrard, I have paid the school fees for Elma Lewis for
the last four years, so I presume I am entitled to know all about her.
Tell me what has occurred. Of what she is accused?"

Miss Sherrard then briefly related the story which had been told to her
by Kitty.

It was exactly the sort of tale which would affect a woman of Mrs.
Steward's caliber disagreeably. She listened with a horror-stricken
face. When the school-mistress had finished, she said abruptly:

"What do you propose to do now?"

"It will be necessary for me to explain the whole circumstances of
Elma's wrong-doing to the entire school to-morrow," said Miss Sherrard.
"This is necessary for the sake of Kitty Malone."

"At what hour do you propose to make this very pleasant exhibition of my
niece?"

"After prayers to-morrow morning--I sent for you, Elma," continued Miss
Sherrard, "to tell you, as I thought you ought to be prepared."

"Thank you," answered Elma, her head bowed on her breast. She felt
stunned and cold. The dreadful blow had fallen; but the acute misery
which was immediately to follow was not at present awakened within
her.

"Come, Elma," said Mrs. Steward. She turned to leave the room. Just as
she reached the door she looked back at Miss Sherrard.

"After you have exposed Elma, and ruined her character for life, you
will doubtless expel her?" she said.

"I hope not--I think not."

"In any case she leaves the school, for I pay no more fees. Come Elma."




CHAPTER XXIII.

STARS AND MOON, AND GOD BEHIND.


During the long walk home to Constantine Road the elder and the younger
lady maintained an absolute silence. As soon as they got to the house
Mrs. Steward turned to Elma for the first time and spoke.

"Find out immediately if your mother is in. If she is tell her I wish to
see her. Go; don't stare at me."

Elma went without a word. Her mother was in, and so was Carrie.

"Mother," said Elma, "Aunt Charlotte wants to see you."

"Why, my dear Elma, what is the matter? How queer you look!"

"Don't mind about me, mother, pray; the expression of my face is not
worth considering. Aunt Charlotte is waiting for you in the
dining-room."

Mrs. Lewis gave a profound sigh.

"How very unreasonable of Charlotte!" she said; "she will doubtless be
expecting more tea and cream and fresh eggs, and other impossibilities."

"Oh, go mother, and stop talking," said Elma.

Mrs. Lewis dragged herself up from the sofa on which she was reclining.

"I really don't know what the world is coming to," she said. "Even my
own children are turning out quite disagreeable to me. Dear! dear! what
it is to be a mother! How little those who are fortunate in not
possessing children understand the burden!"

She went, downstairs slowly, and Elma turned to Carrie.

Carrie was standing with her back to her; she was making up something in
tissue-paper.

"Well, Elma," she said, looking up at her sister, "what is up?"

"Everything is up," said Elma.

"What do you mean?"

"Everything is up and everything is over. What are you doing with that
paper, Carrie?"

"I am folding up the money I have just got for Kitty Malone?"

"The money you have got for Kitty Malone! Has--has Sam Raynes returned
the sovereigns?"

"Bless you, poor Sam can't do impossibilities. No; this money has
nothing whatever to do with Sam. I am folding it up, and giving her a
little account with it. We got exactly eleven pounds eleven shillings
for the clothes and the watch and chain. She can redeem them all within
a month if she likes. Here is the pawnbroker's receipt; tell her to keep
it until she does. She can redeem them whenever she cares to pay back
eleven pounds eleven shillings with interest. My commission at ten per
cent, is one pound three shillings and tenpence--that leaves a balance
of ten pounds seven shilling and twopence; it will doubtless get her
nicely out of her difficulty. She ought to be thankful to me to her
dying day. Look here, Elma, if you are worried about things--and I can
guess what is the matter pretty well; for I happen to know that Kitty
Malone made a clean breast of your secret not long ago--you will be glad
to get out of the house. Here, take this money to her, and be off, can't
you?"

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Turkey is restoring the citizenship of its most famous 20th century poet Nazim Hikmet over 50 years after it branded him a traitor.

Hikmet, a communist who died in exile in Moscow in 1963, was imprisoned in Turkey for more than a decade. He was stripped of his Turkish nationality in 1951 because of his communist views, but despite a ban on his poetry which remained in place until 1965, has remained one of Turkey's best-loved poets. His work, much of which was written in prison, including his masterpiece Human Landscapes, has been translated into more than 50 languages.

"This is very good news," said Richard McKane, Hikmet's English translator. "The restoration of his Turkish citizenship is long overdue: the people of Turkey and his readers are owed that."

Immortalised by Pablo Neruda, with whom he shared the Soviet Union's International Peace Prize in 1950, with the lines "Thanks for what you were and for the fire / which your song left forever burning", Hikmet was also supported by Jean-Paul Sartre and Pablo Picasso. Nobel laureate Orhan Pamuk, when given the editorship for a day of Turkish newspaper Radikal two years ago, used the example of Hikmet in his cover story to criticise the lack of freedom of expression in Turkey. In 2000, 500,000 Turks petitioned the government to restore Hikmet's citizenship rights and repatriate his remains.

Deputy prime minister Cemil Cicek told the Associated Press that it was time for the government to change its mind about Hikmet. "The crimes which forced the government to strip him of his citizenship at that time are no longer considered a crime," the BBC quoted him as saying.

Hikmet, whose remains are currently in Russia, had said that he wished to be buried in Turkey in his 1953 poem Testament, translated by Ruth Christie. "Friends if it's not my lot to see the day / of independence... / if I die before that day / - and it seems I will - / bury me in a village graveyard in Anatolia / and if it's fitting / and a plane tree grows at my head, / then there's no need for a gravestone or anything else."

Cicek said that Hikmet's family would now decide whether to ship his remains back to his homeland.

Hikmet introduced free verse to Turkey in the 1930s, with his themes ranging from war to love. Despite his imprisonment he retained a deep passion for Turkey. "I love my country", he wrote in one of his poems. "I swung in its lofty trees, I lay in its prisons. Nothing relieves my depression like the songs and tobacco of my country."

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