Nilda

By Edwin Doidge

In Nilda, Young Tom is burdened with the extraordinary responsibility of getting the news to his mother and father about a new war between two of the most powerful countries in the world. Due to the demands of work, the Horton family decides to hire a young Australian governess to help with the children. Excerpt: "Nilda Constance Chester. Dear me, what an uncommon name," came from Mrs. Horton, as she now, for the first time, noted the full signature. "Hilda is common enough," commented Tom. "Not Hilda, but Nilda," corrected his mother. It's quite a grand-sounding name the gentle Ester thought."

• Language: English
• Publisher: DigiCat
• Release date: Sep 15, 2022
• ISBN: 8596547310341

Book preview

CHAPTER I.

Table of Contents

Where is Ester?

Reading, Ma.

Always reading—tiresome girl! Where is Glad?

Playing in the garden—or was a few minutes ago.

Tom, you will have to run to the store and get a dozen of matches; quite forgot them in the order to-day, and your father will 'perform' if there are no matches.

Tom took his hat, and, with some sort of muttered complaint that he had passed the age for running messages, went out into the garden to look for Gladys, intent upon transferring the order.

Glad, you've got to run down to Pridham's for a box of matches.

Who said?

Mater.

Tom had acquired quite recently certain big-boy forms of expressing himself; he had not long since attained to long pants, and was actually in service in a bank. Hence the indisposition to run messages.

I don't believe it. Mother sent you. You've got your hat on.

You can go without your hat, and the sooner the better. Cut now.

I'm busy. I was put to weed this bed, and it isn't half done yet.

A few weeds on the gravelled path attested the fact that some half-hearted attempt had been made to rid a bed of mixed flowers of the everlasting curse that fell upon the earth some time after Adam was a boy, and about the time Eve spoiled the unparalleled beauties of Eden.

And it won't be half-done in a week,—you wouldn't earn your salt at it.

They are so hard to pull up.

Go on, Gladdy, and I'll weed till you come back.

I don't want to go.

I'll give you a copper if you do, and Master Tom jingled some coins in his trouser pocket, as befitted the big brother, dealing with a junior sister.

Now, I know you were told to go, and you can go, so there.

Grumblingly Tom proceeded on his errand, carelessly whistling, hands in pocket. Crossing a vacant corner allotment, he encountered Dick Conton. Hullo, Dick, who won the match?

Oh, the Pads, easy. Our boys weren't in it. Too light by hundred-weights.

I ought to have been in it.

Go on, you're a 9-stoner, and they wouldn't see yer. 'Sides, you can't run.

Give you a spin to the corner of Pridham's—bet you a tanner I lick you.

The contest did not ensue, nor the rest of the journey to Pridham's. Just at that moment came the startling cry of the newsboy, and more than a dozen papers were already unfurled and being read in the open further down the street.

War declared between England and Germany! Seizure by Germany of New Guinea and other Highlands of the Pacific! Australia to be taken. The British Harmy—'ere yer are, sir, latest 'Star!' Full particulars!

Tom Horton jumped for the paper boy, and parted with the copper he had just proffered Gladys, and became possessed of the extra special 3.45 p.m. edition. Glancing at the heavily-headed cables, there it was in black and white.

"War Declared by Germany Against England!

"Consternation in Every Capital of Europe.

"A Sudden and Unexpected Rupture in Diplomatic Relations.

"The Peace Party in England Outwitted.

"Heavy Falls of Stock on all the Continental Bourses.

"The German Embassy in London Closed, and Ambassador Recalled.

Diplomatic intercourse of last 10 weeks between London and Berlin, which were confidently believed to be about to end satisfactorily to both parties, were suddenly terminated last evening, when, acting on a message from the Emperor of Germany, the Reichstag resolved to terminate further parleys with the British Government, and recall its ambassador from London. Any moment it is expected that the formal declaration of war will be made. There is unprecedented consternation in every capital of Europe. Both in England and the Continent it was generally believed that the German claim in the Pacific would be satisfactorily arranged. The immediate cause of failure in negotiations has not transpired; but it is believed that England would not go beyond the terms offered, which were considered generous by every nation outside Germany and Austria, and which were only secured in the British Parliament as the last concession to the Peace Party.

Great scott, here's news for Dad! broke from Tom as he hastened his steps up the street, folding the paper the better to increase his speed.

Hullo, Tom, broke from a boy-mate across the street, what's your hurry? How'd the match come off to-day?

Blow the match—there's a mighty big match on for Australia and the Empire. See this? holding up the paper.

What's up?

But Tom, not now thinking it undignified to run in the street, did not longer stop to explain, and was round the corner in no time.

Has Dad come home? he enquired of Gladys.

You'll get Dad if you slam that gate off its hinges like that—you know it's against the rules, Tom.

Rules be hanged—there's going to be war!

War, Tom! What war? But Tom, realising the importance of his message, must break the burden of it to a more important audience, and quickly ran up the steps of the house.

Mother, listen to this, and Tom, breathless from running, as from the unparalleled importance of the message, gasped out its contents. By which time the whole household were assembled around him and the half-laid tea-table; Mrs. Horton subsided into the nearest chair; Ester, who was next in the order of the family to Gladys, listened open-mouthed and wondering, to the message of long words, and, to her, difficult terminology.

Germany declared war against England! came gaspingly from Mrs. Horton, as she sank back to take in the dreadful news. But what for? What's it all about, Tom?

What's every war all about, frowned Tom, to cover any shortcoming as to his knowledge of the situation. But wiser heads than his were asking that same question, or, like him, failing to answer it. Haven't you been reading the papers? Something to do with New Guinea, I believe.

Where's New Guinea? came in a piping, scared voice from Ester.

Where's your geography? came snappingly from Tom. What do you learn at school, any way, if you don't know the names of the big islands lying round?

Albert, the youngster of this family group chipped in with a merry remark. We'll get another holiday when their big ships come to the harbour.

Little idiot, cried Tom, scathingly, you are more likely to be blown into the harbour in little bits by one of the shells.

What's a shell—I ain't afraid of shells!

Oh, Tom, this is dreadful news, really, Mrs. Horton collected her wits to say. There may be some mistake. Those newspapers are so fond of making sensations.

This is not a sensation they are making—not at this end of the world, anyway, came sagely from Master Tom. I wonder what is keeping your father?

Perhaps this scare news, Tom suggested.

Reginald Horton was employed in the city of Sydney—something in connection with the Exchange, people said, and at that we will in the meantime let it go. He was a man who had plodded his way through many winding paths of colonial life. At one time he had been a banker, and quitted that for something promising more lucrative returns; and ultimately became something on the Stock Exchange. As something on the Stock Exchange, he was in touch, and had some degree of intimacy, with the causes of those fluctuations which occasionally cause panic in the great Stock Exchanges of the world.

It was the sudden news from Europe which had detained Mr. Horton later than usual in and about his office, and also on the way home. For now in every man's mouth was the word of war between the two great Powers of Europe, whose friendliness had never seriously been disturbed in all the long course of European history.

In many cases there were flippant remarks as to what would happen the Germans when they faced the British Bulldogs in their—the Britons'—own pet province, the rolling waters, on which supremacy had so long been conceded to them. But in wiser and more prudent minds, there was wide regret—nay, profound sorrow—that so mad a thing, so gigantic a misfortune, had occurred. Among these, certainly, was Reginald Horton. Eminently a man of peace, and schooled in its arts, educated in the arena where the pulses of great financial houses were felt beating with national and international undertakings, and where Credit was the giant, who lifted his little finger and pressed a button that had greater power than any archimedian lever, while Peace held sway, among the great nations of the world.

In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye as it were, the intricate and delicate clock-work of a mighty mechanism which had been built up between millions of people here, and millions of people there, under the egis of the Angel of Peace and the beneficent Reign of Security, could break and tumble into fragments in a thousand different centres where the tentacles of the Goddess Commerce had reached out as life-wires of a mighty living organism that worked in a myriad wheels and wheels within wheels. Only war, the blind, insensate, unreasoning Brute, had but to sound his first Tocsin note, and this sublime machine, reared with such infinite pains, built up by many patient hands and master minds, trembles and breaks.

Reginald Horton knew himself to be no more than a very small cog in one of the minor wheels of the Chariot of Commerce, but he knew already that the jarring note had come—had come in that dread cable, and was even at that moment affecting, nay shaking, every great financial centre in the world; for the British nation was, in relation to the finances of the world, almost in the position of the keystone of the arch built to withstand every shock of a normal nature, but not a world-cataclysm. . . . No device or structure of man could withstand Messianic violence in eruption; no triumph of Peace and long-established security could stand, and withstand, the collision of two such mighty forces as the British and German Powers.

Hence it was that fear and anxiety sat upon the brow of Reginald Horton as he returned to his home that evening.

He was met with a fire of questions, in which there was no marked note of anxiety save in that of Mrs. Horton.

Is it true, do you think, Dad? was Tom's first enquiry.

I fear it is too true.

Did any one expect anything of the sort? asked his wife.

Not immediately. It is the suddenness of it that makes one jump. But I'm afraid that is characteristic of Germany. You will remember they were pretty sudden when they jumped at France, when few people supposed them ready.

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CHAPTER II.—THE COMING OF NILDA.

Table of Contents

What exactly does 'fastidious' mean, Popp? asked Gladys of her father at the breakfast table next morning. Where she acquired the colloquialism of Poppa, which is something more American than Australian, never transpired.

Poppa's reply was slowly, but reflectively given, as he raised his eyes for a moment from his morning paper: Means generally scrupulously particular—or, say, over-particular, why do you ask?

It was Mrs. Horton who answered.

Oh, Glad has been reading the note we got from Mr. Summers about the young person who is willing to come as lady-help.

Oh, and Mr. Horton was willing at that to return to his newspaper, for there was much in it that was of more absorbing interest than the engaging of a help in the running of the Horton household. But however much that might be the case, the family interest in this domestic affair was dominant for the moment.

The Horton household had of necessity to be run on lines of reasonable economy. But quite lately the council of economy had decided that a departure should be made, and a lady-help installed. Prudential motives had suggested that if a young lady of good address and some accomplishments could be found who would give some slight assistance in the lighter work of the house, and at the same time take the education of the two girls in hand, with especial regard to music lessons, it would be money well-spent. And so Mrs. Horton had been on the look-out for a young person having such qualifications.

Under the remarkable ramifications of domestic service in Australia, one of the strangest developments is surely found in this connection. Barred from domestic service in the ordinary sense of the word, by some sense of family pride, rendered unfit in a manner by comparatively gentle upbringing, and really in many cases qualified for better things, the superior young person is willing to go out to service as lady-help, who shrinks from service under any other name; though often she does the work of the maid—a homely English phrase that has found its vogue, very fittingly, at last in our own domestic nomenclature.

Her one foible is fastidiousness.

Why does not Mr. Summers write plain English? queried Gladys.

It is plain English—do you take it for German? snapped Tom, whose big brother proclivities, it will already have been noticed, were much in evidence.

Well, then, tell us the exact meaning of 'foible,' if you know, protested Gladys.

The keenness of the discussion got Mr. Horton's attention off the paper.

I'd better see this much-discussed epistle, he rather playfully suggested, and held out his hand for it. This is how the brief note read:—

"Clayton,

March—, 19—.

"My Dear Mrs. Horton.

You have asked me can I recommend Miss Chester to your service. I am glad to reply that I think I can do so with confidence. I have known Nilda since a baby. She is the daughter of one whom I used to see a good deal of. Her general ability to fill the position of lady-help is, to the best of my knowledge, assured. In addition she is a young lady of very prepossessing appearance, and in disposition very winning, not to say charming. Those who know her best say she ought to have been born a great lady. Perhaps her one foible is fastidiousness.

"Yours very sincerely,

JAMES SUMMERS.

Well, said Mr. Horton, that seems an excellent recommendation in its way, and, coming from an old friend, leaves nothing to be desired, I should say.

But, Poppa, broke in Gladys, please, do tell us just what are we to expect from a governess whose 'foible is fastidiousness?'

That she will be mighty particular with you, Miss,—brother Tom was in a hurry to say—and keep you in your place.

That is easy—I wish you had some one to keep you in your place, was Gladys' sufficiently apt reply, and she still looked toward her father for enlightenment.

We shall have to find the meaning by experience, I expect. It may mean a great many things—she may be over-particular—too scrupulous, perhaps, in regard to her dress, her appearance, her diet, her friends, her conversation, her books, her boots—oh, or 50 other things.

Especially about the lessons, I expect, added the ever-ready Tom, who was not always noted for acerbity, but that was particularly noticeable in his contribution to the breakfast table talk this morning.

Mrs. Horton said that would be an excellent trait, for she never could bear the slipshod and unexacting, and if Miss Chester was very particular, it was a promising feature in any one undertaking the education of her daughters, and lending a hand in the more agreeable work of the house.

Then you think, dear, that I should write to engage Miss Chester? she finally said to her husband.

By all means. I see no reason why you should not. Offer her the sum we agreed upon, and a three months' engagement for a start.

The offer went out by the first post. It promised Miss Chester a comfortable home, as a member of the family. She was to have a small room to herself, cosily furnished. In a full and fair way, Mrs. Horton stated as near as possible what duties were expected of her. She was to rise at 7 o'clock in winter and 6.30 o'clock in summer; dust breakfast-room and lay table for breakfast, assist to clear the things after breakfast, and keep the drawing-room presentable. At 10 o'clock commence teaching the two girls, and continue lessons till 12—five days per week. In the afternoons the duties read light. Three times every week she was to be at liberty to go out for a walk with the Horton girls; but always to return in good time to lend some assistance toward the evening meal, which was the principal one of the day. The reference to the evenings read invitingly. It was hoped Miss Chester's recommended musical ability would be an added cheerfulness to the house, and tend to promote the family happiness. There were some other details which need not be noted; but, generally speaking, Mrs. Horton's remarks, outside the specification of duties, were such as one lady might write to another, and presumably had their effect on the young person whose one foible was fastidiousness.

Generally speaking, the Horton family were unusually moved about the coming of the new governess cum-lady-help. They were making a departure in their domestic economy. And Mr. Summers' letter of recommendation had somehow raised expectations of quite an unusual character.

If Miss Chester had not been an unusual character this story could hardly have been written.

It was a week from the family discussion above recorded that the stranger was to arrive. In the meantime a letter had been received from Miss Chester concluding the engagement, and it was couched in these terms:—

"Ardnum,

April 2nd, 19—.

"My Dear Mrs. Horton,

I am delighted in the prospect of coming to live with you in Sydney. It will all be a very new and strange experience for me, as I have never seen your great city, and am full of curiosity as to what it is like. I hope you will like me, and that your daughters and I shall be great friends. I shall try very hard to please you, and be of service to you in every way I can. Will you be so kind as to meet me by the mail train on Monday morning, as I shall, I am sure, be frightened out of my wits if I am alone at Redfern station.

"Believe me, sincerely yours,

"NILDA CONSTANCE CHESTER.

P.S.—I accept terms offered with thanks, and have carefully noted the duties mentioned in your kind letter.

Nilda Constance Chester. Dear me, what an uncommon name, came from Mrs. Horton, as she now, for the first time, noted the full signature.

Hilda is common enough, commented Tom.

Not Hilda, but Nilda, corrected his mother.

It's quite a grand sounding name the gentle Ester thought.

Gladys, protesting that it must be Hilda surely, requested to see the letter. It was plainly written. Poppa, have ever you heard of Nilda?

Don't remember ever coming across it.

We must ask her how she came by that name; a remark that called forth another snap from Tom to the effect that he supposed Miss Gladys would want to know where Miss Chester bought her boots before she was five minutes in the house.

Mr. Horton brought this small talk to a conclusion by issuing an edict that he would have no impertinent questions asked of Miss