Miss Hartwell's Dilemma Read Online Free PDF

Amaryllis. It is most unfair, when I have confessed already.” Her pale eyes sparkled with amused indignation.
    “Think how unfair it will be to my aunt if I tell you first. No, you must wait.”
    “Then let us leave at once. I cannot imagine what extravagance you have committed.”
    When they reached home, Ned came out with a gloomy face beneath his ancient cap surrounded by its fringe of snow-white hair. A small, weatherbeaten man of indeterminate age, he was the only male in the establishment and tended to be the butt of the pranks of the livelier damsels. He was never so happy as when they all left for the summer. The prospect of their return was responsible for his present, long-suffering air.
    He carried the parcels up to the private drawing room, muttering about lumbago on the fourth trip up the stairs. Amaryllis tipped him a half crown.
    Still in a teasing mood, she insisted on saving three mystery packages for last. Mrs. Vaux scarce glanced at the piles of histories, plays, and poetry as they appeared but pounced on the novels. She considered them the only literature fit for a lady of fashion, unlike Miss Tisdale, who read them with guiltily defiant enjoyment.
    The room filled with brown paper and tangles of string as they unwrapped their new but practical and dull winter dresses of brown, black, and grey wool. At last Amaryllis relented.
    “This is for you, Tizzy,” she said. “I decided we had more than enough saved in our emergency fund, so I bought something impractical for once.”
    “Quickly, open it,” urged Mrs. Vaux, handing her the scissors as she struggled with a knot. “We have enough string saved, too. Do cut it.”
    The rustling paper parted to reveal a shimmer of lavender silk. “Oh no,” said Miss Tisdale, “you have given me the wrong parcel.”
    “No, that is yours,” Amaryllis assured her. “I stood in the middle of the shop with my eyes closed, picturing you in it. Hold it up and let us see if I was right.”
    “But I have not worn colours in twenty years!” Half reluctant, she drew it out and stroked it with apprehensive fingers. “Lavender!”
    “The colour is perfect,” said Mrs. Vaux decidedly. As arbiter of taste for the household, she always had the last word on such subjects.
    “How well you taught me, Aunt. Here is your reward.”
    Mrs. Vaux’s new gown was deep blue with a light blue stripe, and Amaryllis had chosen a rich moss green for herself. As they were ready-made, none of them fit perfectly, but Mrs. Vaux vowed that the necessary alterations would be no trouble at all.
    “But when shall we wear them?” she wailed. “They are not at all suitable for school.”
    “You know Mr. Majendie always invites us to his Christmas assembly at the castle,” Amaryllis reminded her. “This time we shall be properly dressed for a festive occasion. We shall positively dazzle our neighbours.”
    The widow looked up at her, caught her eye, and glanced at Miss Tisdale, who was still stroking the silk with reverent hands, her face dreamy.
    “The vicar,” she breathed silently. “Of course.”
    Miss Tisdale stood up, hugging the gown to her flat bosom. “‘Vanity of vanities, all is vanity,’” she said. “Ecclesiastes 1, verse 2. But I do not care. Thank you, dear Amaryllis, it is simply beautiful!”
    As she lay in bed that evening, gazing through her open window at the moon-bathed castle, Amaryllis wondered if it would go on forever, this life so drab that a new dress was a great event, a party still four months in the future a cause of excitement.
    All the same, she decided, it was probably better than going to Philadelphia to sell nails and…whatever else ironmongers sell.
    The next day she wrote to her father. She was delighted to hear from him, glad he was doing well, and grateful for his invitation. However, she was too busy at present running a select seminary for young ladies of good family to consider joining him in America. She sent greetings to her