Kitabı oku: «Frances Kane's Fortune», sayfa 6

CHAPTER XIV.
"I HATE THE SQUIRE."

It was arranged that Frances should take up her abode at Arden on the following Friday, and on Thursday Fluff was to go to London, to stay – for a time, at least – under the sheltering wings of her late school-mistress, Mrs. Hopkins. With regard to her departure, Fluff made an extraordinary request – she earnestly begged that Frances should not accompany her to Martinstown. She gave no reason for this desire; but she enforced it by sundry pettings, by numerous embraces, by both tears and smiles – in short, by the thousand and one fascinations which the little creature possessed. A certain Mrs. Mansfield was to escort Fluff to London; and Frances arranged that the two should meet at the railway station, and catch the twelve-o'clock train for town.

"I don't want you to introduce her to me, darling," said Fluff. "I can't possibly mistake her, for she is tall, and has a hooked nose, and always wears black, you say. And you know what I am, just exactly like my name; so it will be impossible for us not to recognize each other."

Thus Fluff got her way, and Frances saw her off, not from the railway platform, but standing under the elm-trees where Fluff had first seen her and Arnold together.

When a turn in the road quite hid Frances Kane from the little girl's view she clasped her hands with a mixture of ecstasy and alarm.

"Now I can have my way," she said to herself, "and dear Frances will never, never suspect."

A cab had been sent for to Martinstown to fetch away Fluff and her belongings. The driver was a stranger, and Fluff thought it extremely unlikely that, even if he wished to do so he would be able to tell tales. She arrived in good time at the railway station, instantly assumed a business-like air, looked out for no tall lady with a hooked nose in black, but calmly booked her luggage for a later train, and calling the same cabman, asked him to drive her to the house of the lawyer, Mr. Spens.

The lawyer was at home, and the pretty, excitable little girl was quickly admitted into his presence. Mr. Spens thought he had seldom seen a more radiant little vision than this white-robed, eager, childish creature – childish and yet womanly just then, with both purpose and desire in her face.

"You had my letter, hadn't you?" said Fluff. "I am Ellen Danvers; Miss Kane is my cousin, and my dearest, and most dear friend."

"I have had your letter, Miss Danvers, and I remained at home in consequence. Won't you sit down? What a beautiful day this is!"

"Oh, please, don't waste time over the weather. I am come to talk to you about Frances. You have got to prevent it, you know."

"My dear young lady, to prevent what?"

"Well, she's not to go to Arden. She's not to spend the rest of her days with a dreadful, fanciful old woman! She's to do something else quite different. You've got to prevent Frances making herself and – and – others miserable all her life. Do you hear, Mr. Spens?"

"Yes, I certainly hear, Miss Danvers. But how am I to alter or affect Miss Kane's destiny is more than I can at present say. You must explain yourself. I have a very great regard for Miss Kane; I like her extremely. I will do anything in my power to benefit her; but as she chose entirely of her own free will – without any one, as far as I am aware, suggesting it to her – to become companion to Mrs. Carnegie, I do not really see how I am to interfere."

"Yes, you are," said Fluff, whose eyes were now full of tears. "You are to interfere because you are at the bottom of the mystery. You know why Frances is going to Mrs. Carnegie, and why she is refusing to marry Philip Arnold, who has loved her for ten years, and whom she loves with all her heart. Oh, I can't help telling you this! It is a secret, a kind of secret, but you have got to give me another confidence in return."

"I did not know about Arnold, certainly," responded Spens. "That alters things. I am truly sorry; I am really extremely sorry. Still I don't see how Miss Kane can act differently. She has promised her father now: it is the only way to save him. Poor girl! I am sorry for her, but it is the only way to save the squire."

"Oh, the squire!" exclaimed Fluff, jumping up in her seat, and clasping her hands with vexation. "Who cares for the squire? Is he to have everything. Is nobody to be thought of but him? Why should Frances make all her days wretched on his account? Why should Frances give up the man she is so fond of, just to give him a little more comfort and luxuries that he doesn't want? Look here, Mr. Spens, it is wrong – it must not be! I won't have it!"

Mr. Spens could not help smiling.

"You are very eager and emphatic," he said. "I should like to know how you are going to prevent Miss Kane taking her own way."

"It is not her own way; it is the squire's way."

"Well, it comes to the same thing. How are you to prevent her taking the squire's way?"

"Oh, you leave that to me! I have an idea. I think I can work it through. Only I want you, Mr. Spens, to tell me the real reason why Frances is going away from the Firs, and why she has to live at Arden. She will explain nothing; she only says it is necessary. She won't give any reason either to Philip or me."

"Don't you think, Miss Danvers, I ought to respect her confidence? If she wished you to know, she would tell you herself."

"Oh, please – please tell me! Do tell me! I won't do any mischief, I promise you. Oh, if only you knew how important it is that I should find out!"

The lawyer considered for a moment. Fluff's pretty words and beseeching gestures were having an effect upon him. After all, if there was any chance of benefiting Miss Kane, why should the squire's miserable secret be concealed? After a time he said:

"You look like a child, but I believe you have sense. I suppose whatever I tell you, you intend to repeat straight-way to Mr. Arnold?"

"Well, yes; I certainly mean to tell him."

"Will you promise to tell no one but Arnold?"

"Yes, I can promise that."

"Then the facts are simple enough. The squire owes six thousand pounds to a client of mine in London. My client wants to sell the Firs in order to recover his money. The squire says if he leaves the Firs he must die. Miss Kane comes forward and offers to go as companion to Mrs. Carnegie, Mrs. Carnegie paying her three hundred pounds a year, which sum she hands over to my client as interest at five per cent. on the six thousand pounds. These are the facts of the case in a nutshell, Miss Danvers. Do you understand them?"

"I think I do. I am very much obliged to you. What is the name of your client?"

"You must excuse me, young lady – I can not divulge my client's name."

"But if Philip wanted to know very badly, you would tell him?"

"That depends on the reason he gave for requiring the information."

"I think it is all right, then," said Fluff, rising to her feet. "Good-bye, I am greatly obliged to you. Oh, that dear Frances. Mr. Spens, I think I hate the squire."

CHAPTER XV.
"MR. LOVER."

If there was a girl that was a prime favorite with her school-fellows, that girl was Ellen Danvers. She had all the qualifications which insure success in school life. She was extremely pretty, but she was unconscious of it; she never prided herself on her looks, she never tried to heighten her loveliness by a thousand little arts which school-girls always find out and despise. She had always plenty of money, which at school, if not elsewhere, is much appreciated. She was generous, she was bright, she was loving; she was not sufficiently clever to make any one envious of her, but at the same time she was so very smart and quick that not the cleverest girl in the school could despise her.

When Fluff went away from Merton House the tribulation experienced on all sides was really severe. The girls put their heads together, and clubbed to present her with a gold bangle, and she in return left them her blessing, a kiss all round, and a pound's worth of chocolate creams.

The school was dull when Fluff went away; she took a place which no one else quite held. She was not at all weak or namby-pamby, but she was a universal peace-maker. Fluff made peace simply by throwing oil on troubled waters, for she certainly was not one to preach; and as to pointing a moral, she did not know the meaning of the word.

It was with great rejoicing, therefore, that the young ladies of Mrs. Hopkins' select seminary were informed on a certain Thursday morning that their idol was about to return to them. She was no longer to take her place in any of the classes; she was to be a parlor boarder, and go in and out pretty much as she pleased; but she was to be in the house again, and they were to see her bright face, and hear her gay laugh, and doubtless she would once more be every one's confidante and friend.

In due course Fluff arrived. It was late when she made her appearance, for she had missed the train by which Frances had intended her to travel. But late as the hour was – past nine o'clock – Fluff found time to pay a visit to the school-room, where the elder girls were finishing preparations for to-morrow, to rush through the dormitories, and kiss each expectant little one.

"It's just delicious!" whispered Sibyl Lake, the youngest scholar in the school. "We have you for the last fortnight before we break up. Just fancy, you will be there to see me if I get a prize!"

"Yes, Sibyl, and if you do I'll give you sixpennyworth of chocolate creams."

Sibyl shouted with joy.

The other children echoed her glee. One of the teachers was obliged to interfere. Fluff vanished to the very select bedroom that she was now to occupy, and order was once more restored.

Fluff's name was now in every one's mouth. Didn't she look prettier than ever? Wasn't she nicer than ever? Hadn't she a wonderfully grown-up air?

One day it was whispered through the school that Fluff had got a lover. This news ran like wildfire from the highest class to the lowest. Little Sibyl asked what a lover meant, and Marion Jones, a lanky girl of twelve, blushed while she answered her.

"It isn't proper to speak about lovers," said Katie Philips. "Mother said we weren't to know anything about them. I asked her once, and that was what she said. She said it wasn't proper for little girls to know about lovers."

"But grown girls have them," responded Marion, "I think it must be captivating. I wish I was grown up."

"You're much too ugly, Marion, to have a lover," responded Mary Mills. "Oh, for goodness' sake, don't get so red and angry! She's going to strike me! Save me, girls!"

"Hush!" exclaimed Katie, "hush! come this way. Look through the lattice. Look through the wire fence just here. Can you see? There's Fluff, and there's her lover. He's rather old, isn't he? But hasn't he l'air distingué? Isn't Fluff pretty when she blushes? The lover is rather tall. Oh, do look, Mary, can you see – can you see?"

"Yes, he has fair hair," responded Mary. "It curls. I'm sorry it is fair and curly, for Fluff's is the same. He should be dark, like a Spaniard. Oh, girls, girls, he has got such lovely blue eyes, and such white teeth! He smiled just now, and I saw them."

"Let me peep," said Marion. "I haven't got one peep yet."

But here the voices became a little loud, and the lovers, if they were lovers, passed out of sight behind the yew hedge.

"That's it," said Fluff when she had finished her story; "it's all explained now. I hope you're obliged to me."

"No brother could love you better, nor appreciate you more than I do, Fluff."

"Thank you; I'll tell you how much I care for those words when you let me know what you are going to do."

Arnold put his hand to his forehead; his face grew grave, he looked with an earnest, half-puzzled glance at the childish creature by his side.

"I really think you are the best girl in the world, and one of the cleverest," he said. "I have a feeling that you have an idea in your head, but I am sorry to say nothing very hopeful up to the present time has occurred to me. It does seem possible, after your explanation, that Frances may love me, and yet refuse me; yes, certainly, that does now seem possible."

"How foolish you are to speak in that doubting tone," half snapped Fluff (certainly, if the girls had seen her now they would have thought she was quarreling with her lover). "How can you say perhaps Frances loves you? Loves you! She is breaking her heart for you. Oh! I could cry when I think of Frances's pain!"

"Dear little friend!" said Arnold. "Then if that is so – God grant it, oh, God grant it – Frances and I must turn to you to help us."

Fluff's face brightened.

"I will tell you my plan," she said. "But first of all you must answer me a question."

"What is it? I will answer anything."

"Mr. Arnold – "

"You said you would call me Philip."

"Oh, well, Philip – I rather like the name of Philip – Philip, are you a rich man?"

"That depends on what you call riches, Fluff. I have brought fifteen thousand pounds with me from the other side of the world. I took five years earning it, for all those five years I lived as a very poor man, I was adding penny to penny, and pound to pound, to Frances's fortune."

"That is right," exclaimed Fluff, clapping her hands. "Frances's fortune – then, of course, then you will spend it in saving her."

"I would spend every penny to save her, if I only knew how."

"How stupid you are," said Fluff. "Oh, if only I were a man!"

"What would you do, if you were?"

"What would I not do? You have fifteen thousand pounds, and Frances is in all this trouble because of six thousand pounds. Shall I tell you, must I tell you what you ought to do?"

"Please – pray tell me."

"Oh, it is so easy. You must get the name of the old horror in London to whom the squire owes six thousand pounds, and you must give him six out of your fifteen, and so pay off the squire's debt. You must do this and – and – "

"Yes, Fluff; I really do think you are the cleverest little girl I ever came across."

"The best part is to come now," said Fluff. "Then you go to the squire; tell him that you will sell the Firs over his head, unless he allows you to marry Frances. Oh, it is so easy, so, so delightful!"

"Give me your hand, Fluff. Yes, I see light – yes. God bless you, Fluff!"

"There is no doubt she has accepted him," reported Mary Mills to her fellows. "They have both appeared again around the yew hedge, and he has taken her hand, and he is smiling. Oh, he is lovely when he smiles!"

"I wish I was grown up," sighed Marion, from behind. "I'd give anything in all the world to have a lover."

"It will be interesting to watch Fluff at supper to-night," exclaimed Katie Philips. "Of course she'll look intensely happy. I wonder if she'll wear an engagement-ring."

The supper hour came. Fluff took her seat among the smaller girls; her face was radiant enough to satisfy the most exacting, but her small dimpled fingers were bare.

"Why do you all stare at my hands so?" she exclaimed once.

"It's on account of the ring," whispered little Sibyl. "Hasn't he given you the ring yet?"

"Who is 'he,' dear?"

"Oh, I wasn't to say. His name is Mr. Lover."

CHAPTER XVI.
SWEETLY ROMANTIC

Mrs. Carnegie could scarcely be considered the most cheerful companion in the world. There was a general sense of rejoicing when Frances took up her abode at Arden, but the victim who was to spend the greater part of her life in Mrs. Carnegie's heated chambers could scarcely be expected to participate in it. This good lady having turned her thoughts inward for so long, could only see the world from this extremely narrow standpoint. She was hypochondriacal, she was fretful, and although Frances managed her, and, in consequence, the rest of the household experienced a good deal of ease, Frances herself, whose heart just now was not of the lightest, could not help suffering. Her cheeks grew paler, her figure slighter and thinner. She could only cry at night, but then she certainly cried a good deal.

On a certain sunny afternoon, Mrs. Carnegie, who thought it her bounden duty on all occasions to look out for grievances, suddenly took it upon herself to complain of Frances's looks.

"It is not that you are dull, my dear," she remarked. "You are fairly cheerful, and your laugh is absolutely soothing; but you are pale, dreadfully pale, and pallor jars on my nerves, dear. Yes, I assure you, in the sensitive state of my poor nerves a pale face like yours is absolutely excruciating to them, darling."

"I am very sorry," replied Frances. She had been a month with Mrs. Carnegie now, and the changed life had certainly not improved her. "I am very sorry." Then she thought a moment. "Would you like to know why I am pale?"

"How interesting you are, my love – so different from every other individual that comes to see me. It is good for my poor nerves to have my attention distracted to any other trivial matter? Tell me, dearest, why you are so pallid. I do trust the story is exciting – I need excitement, my darling. Is it an affair of the heart, precious?"

Frances's face grew very red. Even Mrs. Carnegie ought to have been satisfied for one brief moment with her bloom.

"I fear I can only give you a very prosaic reason," she said, in her gentle, sad voice. "I have little or no color because I am always shut up in hot rooms, and because I miss the open-air life to which I was accustomed."

Mrs. Carnegie tried to smile, but a frown came between her brows.

"That means," she said, "that you would like to go out. You would leave your poor friend in solitude."

"I would take my friend with me," responded Frances. "And she should have the pleasure of seeing the color coming back into my cheeks."

"And a most interesting sight it would be, darling. But oh, my poor, poor nerves! The neuralgia in my back is positively excruciating at this moment, dearest. I am positively on the rack; even a zephyr would slay me."

"On the contrary," replied Frances in a firm voice, "you would be strengthened and refreshed by the soft, sweet air outside. Come, Mrs. Carnegie, I am your doctor and nurse, as well as your friend, and I prescribe a drive in the open air for you this morning. After dinner, too, your sofa, shall be placed in the arbor; in short, I intend you to live out-of-doors while this fine weather lasts."

"Ah, dear imperious one! And yet you will kill me with this so-called kindness."

"On the contrary, I will make you a strong woman if I can. Now I am going to ring to order the carriage."

She bustled about, had her way, and to the amazement of every one Mrs. Carnegie submitted to a drive for an hour in an open carriage.

All the time they were out Frances regaled her with the stories of the poor and suffering people. She told her stories with great skill, knowing just where to leave off, and just the points that would be most likely to interest her companion. So interesting did she make herself that never once during the drive was Mrs. Carnegie heard to mention the word "nerves," and so practical and to the point were her words that the rich woman's purse was opened, and two five-pound notes were given to Frances to relieve those who stood most in need of them.

"Positively I am better," explained Mrs. Carnegie, as she ate her dainty dinner with appetite.

An hour later she was seated cosily in the arbor which faced down the celebrated Rose Walk, a place well known to all the visitors at Arden.

"You are a witch," she said to Frances; "for positively I do declare the racking, torturing pain in my back is easier. The jolting of the carriage ought to have made it ten times worse, but it didn't. I positively can't understand it, my love."

"You forget," said Frances, "that although the jolting of the carriage might have tried your nerves a very little, the soft, sweet air and change of scene did them good."

"And your conversation, dearest – the limpid notes of that sweetest voice. Ah, Frances, your tales were harrowing!"

"Yes; but they were more harrowing to be lived through. You, dear Mrs. Carnegie, to-day have relieved a certain amount of this misery."

"Ah, my sweet, how good your words sound! They are like balm to this tempest-tossed heart and nerve-racked form. Frances dear, we have an affinity one for the other. I trust it may be our fate to live and die together."

Frances could scarcely suppress a slight shudder. Mrs. Carnegie suddenly caught her arm.

"Who is that radiant-looking young creature coming down the Rose Walk?" she exclaimed. "See – ah, my dear Frances, what a little beauty! What style! what exquisite bloom!"

"Why, it is Fluff!" exclaimed Frances.

She rushed from Mrs. Carnegie's side, and the next moment Miss Danvers's arms were round her neck.

"Yes, I've come, Frances," she exclaimed. "I have really come back. And who do you think I am staying with?"

"Oh, Fluff – at the Firs! It would be kind of you to cheer my poor old father up with a visit."

"But I'm not cheering him up with any visit – I'm not particularly fond of him. I'm staying with Mr. and Mrs. Spens."

Frances opened her eyes very wide; she felt a kind of shock, and a feeling almost of disgust crept over her.

"Mr. Spens? Surely you don't mean my father's lawyer, Mr. Spens, who lives in Martinstown, Fluff?"

"Yes, I don't mean anybody else."

"But I did not think you knew him."

"I did not when last I saw you, but I do now – very well, oh, very well indeed. He's a darling."

"Fluff! How can you speak of dull old Mr. Spens in that way? Well, you puzzle me. I don't know why you are staying with him."

"You are not going to know just at present, dearest Francie. There's a little bit of a secret afloat. Quite a harmless, innocent secret, which I promise you will break nobody's heart. I like so much being with Mr. Spens, and so does Philip – Philip is there, too."

"Philip? Then they are engaged," thought Frances. "It was very soon. It is all right, of course, but it is rather a shock. Poor little Fluff – dear Philip – may they be happy!"

She turned her head away for a moment, then, with a white face, but steady, quiet eyes, said in her gentlest tones:

"Am I to congratulate you, then, Fluff?"

"Yes, you are – yes, you are. Oh, I am so happy, and everything is delicious! It's going on beautifully. I mean the – the affair – the secret. Frances, I left Philip at the gate. He would like to see you so much. Won't you go down and have a chat with him?"

"I can not; you forget that I am Mrs. Carnegie's companion. I am not my own mistress."

"That thin, cross-looking woman staring at us out of the bower yonder? Oh, I'll take care of her. I promise you I'll make myself just as agreeable as you can. There, run down, run down – I see Philip coming to meet you. Oh, what a cold wretch you are, Frances! You don't deserve a lover like Philip Arnold – no, you don't."

"He is not my lover, he is yours."

"Mine? No, thank you – there, he is walking down the Rose-path. He is sick of waiting, poor fellow! I am off to Mrs. Carnegie. Oh, for goodness' sake, Francie, don't look so foolish!"

Fluff turned on her heel, put wings to her feet, and in a moment, panting and laughing, stood by Mrs. Carnegie's side.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," she exclaimed when she could speak. "I know who you are, and I am dear Frances's cousin, Fluff. I know you would not mind giving the poor thing a chance, and allowing me to stay and try to entertain you for a little."

"Sit down, my dear, sit down. You really are a radiant little vision. It is really most entertaining to me to see anything so fresh and pretty. I must congratulate you on the damask roses you wear in your cheeks, my pretty one."

"Thank you very much; I know I have plenty of color. Do you mind sitting a little bit, just so – ah, that is right. Now we'll have our backs to the poor things, and they'll feel more comfortable."

"My dear, extraordinary, entertaining little friend, what poor things do you mean?"

"Why, Frances and – "

"Frances – my companion – Frances Kane?"

"Yes, your companion. Only she oughtn't to be your companion, and she won't be long. Your companion, and my darling cousin, Frances Kane, and her lover."

"Her lover! I knew there was a love affair. That accounts for the pallor! Oh, naughty Frances; oh, cruel maiden, to deceive your Lucilla! I felt it, I guessed it, it throbbed in the air. Frances and her lover! My child, I adore lovers – let me get a peep at him. Dear Frances, dear girl! And is the course of true love going smoothly, miss – miss – I really don't know your name, my little charmer."

"My name is Fluff – please don't look round. It's a very melancholy love affair just at present, but I'm making it right."

"My little bewitching one, I would embrace you, but my poor miserable nerves won't permit of the least exertion. And so Frances, my Frances, has a lover! It was wrong of her, darling, not to tell of this."

"She gave him up to come to you."

"Oh, the noble girl! But do you think, my child, I would permit such a sacrifice? No, no; far rather would Lucilla Carnegie bury her sorrows in the lonely tomb. Lend me your handkerchief, sweet one – I can't find my own, and my tears overflow. Ah, my Frances, my Frances, I always knew you loved me, but to this extent – oh, it is too much!"

"But she didn't do it for you," said Fluff. "She wanted the money to help her father – he's such a cross, selfish old man. He wouldn't let her marry Philip, although Philip loved her for ten years, and saved all his pence in Australia to try and get enough money to marry her, and was nearly eaten himself by the blacks, but never forgot her day or night – and she loved him beyond anything. Don't you think, Mrs. Carnegie, that they ought to be married? Don't you think so?"

"My child, my little fair one, you excite me much. Oh, I shall suffer presently! But now your enthusiasm carries that of Lucilla Carnegie along with you. Yes, they ought to be married."

"Mrs. Carnegie, they must be married. I'm determined, and so is Philip, and so is Mr. Spens. Won't you be determined too?"

"Yes, my child. But, oh, what shall I not lose in my Frances? Forgive one tear for myself – my little rose in June."

"You needn't fret for yourself at all. You'll be ever so happy when you've done a noble thing. Now listen. This is our little plot – only first of all promise, promise most faithfully, that you won't say a word to Frances."

"I promise, my child. How intensely you arouse my curiosity! Really I begin to live."

"You won't give Frances a hint?"

"No, no, you may trust me, little bright one."

"Well, I do trust you. I know you won't spoil all our plans. You'll share them and help us. Oh, what a happy woman you'll be by and by! Now listen."

Then Fluff seated herself close to Mrs. Carnegie, and began to whisper an elaborately got-up scheme into that lady's ear, to all of which she listened with glowing eyes, her hands clasping Fluff's, her attention riveted on the sweet and eager face.

"It's my plot," concluded the narrator. "Philip doesn't much like it – not some of it – but I say that I will only help him in my own way."

"My dear love, I don't think I ever heard anything more clever and original, and absolutely to the point."

"Now did you? I can't sleep at night, thinking of it – you'll be sure to help me?"

"Help you? With my heart, my life, my purse!"

"Oh, we don't want your purse. You see there's plenty of money; there's the fortune Philip made for Frances. It would be a great pity anything else should rescue her from this dilemma."

"Oh, it is so sweetly romantic!" said Mrs. Carnegie, clasping her hands.

"Yes, that's what I think. You'll be quite ready when the time comes?"

"Oh, quite. More than ready, my brightest fairy!"

"Well, here comes Frances – remember, you're not to let out a word, a hint. I think I've amused Mrs. Carnegie quite nicely, Francie."

Frances's cheeks had that delicate bloom on them which comes now and then as a special and finishing touch, as the last crown of beauty to very pale faces. Her eyes were soft, and her dark eyelashes were still a little wet with some tears which were not unhappy ones.

"Philip wrung a confession out of me," she whispered to her little cousin. "No, Fluff – no, dear Fluff, it does no good – no good whatever. Still, I am almost glad I told him."

"You told him what?"

"I won't say. It can never come to anything."

"I know what you said – you have made Philip very happy, Frances. Now I must run away."