Kitabı oku: «Girls of the True Blue», sayfa 14
CHAPTER XXVII. – “WAS THAT THE REASON?”
After breakfast the next morning Miss Roy felt a strong desire to go into Nancy’s bedroom. The fact was, she had dreamt of the starving bird the night before. She quite longed to see for herself that the little prisoner was attended to, that he was bright and cheerful and happy. But she scarcely liked to do this, for it seemed like doubting Nancy.
Nancy was avoiding Miss Roy. She was spending most of her time in the open air, and very often she would go away quite by herself. As she complained of nothing, however, and ate her meals all right, no one remarked on her strange conduct. Miss Roy said to herself that Nancy was repenting of what she had done.
“I shall try to find out from her if she has ever neglected the bird before,” she thought.
The morning pursued the even tenor of its way. The four girls went out on the water with Captain Richmond; and Miss Roy, at last overcome by her desire to see the canary, went into Nancy’s bedroom. She uttered an exclamation when she saw the hook on which the cage used to hang. What could have happened? Where was the bird? She went downstairs to see if it had been removed to the schoolroom. It was not there. She then questioned the housemaid, but beyond the fact that she had not seen the bird when she went to draw down the blinds on the previous evening, the girl could tell her nothing.
“This must be inquired into,” said Miss Roy to herself; and when the girls came in she spoke to Nancy, doing so openly before the others.
“Nancy,” she said, “I happened to go into your bedroom, and I could not see your bird there. What have you done with Sunbeam?”
Augusta immediately fixed her bold eyes on Nancy’s face. The other girls looked up, wondering. They knew how passionately Nancy adored her bird.
“Well, Nancy, why don’t you speak?” said her governess.
Just then Captain Richmond appeared.
“Why, Miss Roy,” he said, “what is this solemn conclave? I heard you ask Nancy something. – What is it, Nancy?”
“You asked me about my bird,” said Nancy, raising her head and speaking bravely. “I have given him away.”
“Nancy! you have given Sunbeam away?” cried Kitty.
“Yes. I took him yesterday to a little girl – you know her, Nora – you remember her, Kitty – Grace Hammond. She wanted a bird, and I gave her Sunbeam. He was my own, and I could do what I liked with him. Don’t keep me, please.”
She pushed past the girls. Her manner was almost rude. Before any one could utter an additional word she had left the room.
“What does this mean?” said Captain Richmond.
“I think it is very generous of Nancy,” here exclaimed Augusta.
But no one else applauded Nancy for her generosity. There was a weight in the air which every one felt.
Immediately after lunch Captain Richmond went away to pay a round of calls. Miss Roy retired to her own room – she happened to have a very acute headache – and the four girls were alone.
Kitty fixed her eyes on Nan. Nan shuffled uncomfortably with her feet.
“Where are you going?” cried Nora. “It is such a lovely day,” she continued, “can we not all go for a ramble on the seashore?”
“I am not going with you,” replied Nancy. Her tone was almost rude. She left the room, slamming the door after her.
Augusta raised her brows. Getting up daintily, she went out by the open window. The two little Richmond girls thus found themselves alone.
“Oh Kit,” cried Nora, “what can be happening? I am quite unhappy; I don’t like this at all.”
“Come out, Nora,” answered Kitty; “we can talk better in the open air.”
They went out, linking their arms round one another, and paced slowly up and down. Augusta was lying lazily in a hammock near by. She watched them.
“How they love each other!” she said to herself. “I never saw such affectionate sisters. But they are a dull little pair all the same. They are the sort of girls who will never do anything very wrong, and perhaps, on the other hand, never do anything very good. I know the sort. They will be medium all their days – medium pretty, too. Even Nan is better fun than Kitty and Nora. Now they are discussing her. I see it by the way Kitty nods her head, and Nora looks at her and then looks away again; and they are twining their arms tighter round each other. They are very sorry for Nan, but they don’t understand her. Even I understand that poor, miserable mite better than they do. I have a hold over my little lady, and I must tighten the knot – and very quickly, too, for Miss Nancy must help me to-morrow night. But now to find out what they are really saying, for Nancy will have to be protected by me in one sense in order that I may use her in another.”
So Augusta slipped out of her hammock, and approached the little girls.
“What a wonderful confab!” she said. “Shall I guess what it is all about?”
“Oh no, Gussie; I wish you would go away,” exclaimed Nora. “Kitty and I are having quite a private talk all by ourselves.”
“But do let me guess what it is about,” answered Augusta. “Now then, see if I am not right. You are talking about the little favourite and her pet canary.”
“Yes; but what has that to do with you?” answered Kitty.
“My dear Kit, what a way to speak to your cousin! Now, let me tell you that it has a great deal to do with me. If I were you I would not worry Nancy; she has reasons for what she has done.”
“But why give her canary away?” said Kitty. “Nora and I subscribed together and gave it to her, and she seemed so pleased. It was rather difficult to get enough money, but when we saw how awfully delighted she was, we felt that that made up for everything.”
“It was good-natured of you,” said Augusta. “I forgot that you had given it to her. Poor old Nan!”
“But why do you call her poor old Nan? I don’t see that she is to be pitied at all. We have always been very fond of her, but we cannot see that she has done right in giving away her bird.”
“Dear me,” said Augusta, “what a fuss! If you gave her the bird it was her own, to do what she liked with. She took a fit of pity for that poor sick girl, Grace Hammond, and gave her the bird. Grace wants the bird far more than Nancy does, for she lies on her back most of the day in a shabby little room. I think it was extremely kind and self-sacrificing of Nan, and she ought to be petted, not scolded.”
“I never thought of that,” said Nora. “Of course, Gussie, you are right. Dear old Nan! Yes, it was sweet of her, and I suppose she felt it awfully.”
“Couldn’t you see for yourselves? Why, she scarcely ate any lunch, and ran off to her room soon afterwards. Oh, for goodness’ sake,” added Augusta, “don’t make a mystery out of nothing! She gave the bird because the girl was ill and wanted it, and there the matter ends.”
Augusta ran off, and Kitty and Nora owned that they felt considerably cheered.
When they saw Nancy next, Kitty ran up to her, kissed her, and said:
“We are neither of us angry now.”
“What do you mean?” answered Nancy.
“About the bird, you know.”
“But were you angry with me, Kitty?”
“Why, yes, Nancy; we both were a little. We gave it to you, you know, and we had to save up a good bit to get a really nice one.”
“I forgot about that,” said Nancy.
“But you did quite right, Nancy,” said Nora; “and we are not a scrap angry now. We are so glad that the little girl should have it; she must have wanted it far more than you did. It was very brave of you to give it to her, Nan, and we both love you more than ever.”
“But I didn’t give it to Grace to comfort her – not for a single moment,” said Nancy; and then she stopped short and faced the two little Richmond girls, and said emphatically: “Don’t let us talk any more about Sunbeam, for if you do I shall break my heart. Oh, how you do stare, Kitty! You look quite silly with your mouth open. Come, who will race me to the end of the avenue?”
Away the three went, flying as if on the wings of the wind. They came bang up against Captain Richmond, who was returning from his calls.
“Hullo!” he said. “Well won, Nancy; you are considerably ahead of the others. Is it a race or what?”
The three were now all laughing heartily; but when she got back her breath, Nancy’s face looked paler than its wont. The Captain noticed it, and holding out his hand, clasped hers.
“Come here,” he said. “Are you fretting about your bird? What is wrong?”
Tears filled Nancy’s eyes; she could not speak.
“Don’t question her, please, Uncle Pete,” said Kitty. “She has been quite, quite darling and sweet about Sunbeam. But she must not be questioned. Only if you stoop down I will tell you in a whisper. – Go on, Nancy; walk on with Nora.”
“Please don’t talk about it,” said Nancy in an imploring voice; but she took Nora’s hand and walked on in front.
“Stoop, Uncle Pete; she must not hear,” said Kitty. “She gave her darling Sunbeam, whom she loves so passionately, to that little sick girl in the wood – Grace Hammond – because the little girl wants the bird more than she does.”
“Was that the reason? Oh, how pleased I am!” said the Captain.
CHAPTER XXVIII. – “IS WRONG RIGHT?”
The day arrived when Augusta was to go to the Cinderella dance at the Asprays’. All her plans were made. She was to go unknown to her family. She was to return equally unknown. As far as she was concerned, not a single member of the Richmond family was ever to discover this escapade.
How delicious the whole thing sounded! How she would enjoy herself! She was to be daring and disobedient: she was to defy all the laws which ruled her life. She was to slip away under cover of the darkness, and come back again in the small hours, and no one was to know. She was to wear her prettiest dress, and dance, and be merry; and no one was to find out. And all the time she would pose as the best of girls – the noblest member of Captain Richmond’s battalion – the soldier who on the great day of the prize-giving would be presented with the Royal Cross.
“Some day, perhaps, I will tell them,” she said to herself – “some long, happy, delicious day in the future, when I have been to Paris and got all my fun out of that; when I am engaged to a sort of prince, when my trousseau is being made, when my wedding presents are arriving. When life can scarcely present me with anything more, then, perhaps, I will tell how I slipped out and went to a dance in the dead of night, and came back, and no one ever found out. I will tell then of my pleasure. But, oh, the present fun – the present fun!”
Now, for a long time Augusta had made up her mind that she would tell her secret to no one; but on looking into matters she feared it would be absolutely impossible for her to get back again into the house if she had not a confederate. The right person to share it – the only one, indeed, who could possibly help her – was Nan. Nan must make things possible for her. She thought she knew a way of making her do this.
Accordingly, after breakfast on the auspicious day, Augusta called the little girl into her room.
“Come here, Nancy,” she said. “Come close to me; I want to look at you. Do you know that you are an extremely pretty girl? When you are grown-up you will be very much better-looking than either Kitty or Nora. I only wish I had a face like yours. Such splendid eyes, and such thick hair, and – Why, what is the matter?”
“Only I hate being flattered,” answered Nancy.
“Oh, as to that,” replied Augusta, giving her head a toss, “I am the last person to flatter any one; but you are so strange, Nancy, one doesn’t know how to take you. However, to the point. I am in reality, although you don’t think it, your very good friend. I am always taking your part —always, Nancy. Oh! it is useless for you to shake your head and look so glum and obstinate; it is a fact. And now – Why, child, how you stare!”
“What do you want me to do, Augusta?” said Nan.
Augusta could not help bursting out laughing.
“What a cute young un it is!” she said. “You are quite right, Nancy mine; I do require a little favour, which I hope you will grant – just a tiny thing, Nancy. Will you grant it to your own poor Gussie who loves you so much?”
“Tell me what it is, Augusta.”
“Oh, how downright we are! Well, listen; it is for your private ear, little Nan. Your dear Augusta is disposed to have a bit of a spree – just a tiny morsel of adventure on her own account – something not a bit wrong, but something that no one in the house, except sweet Nancy, is to know about. Will Nancy help Augusta, or will she not?”
“I would rather not, Gussie. I would rather not, really. I know it is not right. I am so tired – oh, so dreadfully tired! – of doing naughty things for you. Please don’t ask me; and please don’t do it, Gussie – please, please don’t.”
Augusta laughed again.
“What a sweet, touching little plea!” she said. “But just too late, my dear. Augusta is going to have her fun, and whether you help or not, she intends to go through with it. You can make things easy for me, and I shall get into no scrape, and be your humble and devoted servant for ever after; or you can refuse, and I shall still do the naughty thing – although, in that case, with a certain amount of risk. Will you subject me to that, Nancy, when you alone can make it quite safe?”
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” replied Nancy. “If you choose to be very naughty, why should I be naughty too?”
“Oh darling, you are quaint; you really are the most naïve creature I have ever come across. Now let me explain. I shall really not be naughty at all. It is not as if my own father and mother or Aunt Jessie were here. I owe no oath of fealty to that delightful model, Uncle Peter; if he disapproves, that is his own lookout. In short, Nancy, this is it (I will let the cat out of the bag): I want to go to-night to a small dance – the most harmless, childish little dance – at the Asprays’. Flora and I have arranged everything, and I am to meet her at the other side of our wood. She drives me to their house in a dogcart, and will bring me back again. And what I want you, sweet Nancy, to do is to open the door for me – the hall door, darling – yes, no less. I shall fling some gravel up to this window – for you must sleep here to-night, Nancy – and when you hear it you must patter, patter, patter downstairs on your ten little pink toes and open the door for your darling, who will slip in and bless you ever after.”
“I am not going to do it,” said Nancy. “It is very, very wicked indeed, and I won’t do it.”
“Oh, come, how high and mighty we are!”
“I won’t do it, Gussie. I won’t tell, of course; but let me go, please. I don’t want to be in the room with you. I don’t like you at all, Augusta. I don’t want to have anything more to do with you.”
Nancy backed away; her eyes were full of fear. Augusta’s eyes flashed with downright anger.
“It doesn’t matter to me,” she said, “whether you like me or not. Before long now our dealings with each other will be at an end. But I should like to keep in the good graces of the family till after prize-day. Nancy, I could make it worth your while. You have done a good many wrong things since you and I made each other’s acquaintance. You have been unhappy about it. Do you remember that paper you made me write, in which I promised to give you leave to tell your own story when we got back to town?”
“Of course,” said Nancy, “I remember all about it; it is the comfort of my life.”
“I thought so, and that is why I saved it for you.”
“You saved it for me! You! I have it myself in my desk in my room.”
“Once that little desk was left open,” said Augusta, “and a bird of the air came and informed somebody of the fact; and somebody, guided by that mischievous little bird, went to see, and found that the songster was right. Behold!”
As she spoke Augusta opened a drawer and took out a sheet of paper, and held it high above Nancy’s head.
“Oh, how mean and dreadful you are!” said Nancy. “Give it back; give it back.”
“Certainly – to-morrow morning, after you have let me in.”
“Gussie, what am I to do? I cannot” —
“Now listen. I will give this back to you to-morrow morning. I will do more for you – to-morrow morning. You are in trouble about your bird Sunbeam. The supposition all over the house is that you neglected it – forgot its water and its seed – in short, that but for Miss Roy your pretty bird would have died of starvation. Now, I can put that right for you – to-morrow morning. And there is another thing. Has it never occurred to you to wonder why Mrs. Richmond, who is no relation at all, is so good – so very good – to you? I can tell you that story, and I can also explain about something with regard to the Asprays which will put you into such a comfortable position that you will literally have two homes to choose from, having absolute and complete right to live in either. Few girls are as lucky as that. You can hold up your head very high, Nancy Esterleigh, after I have told you what I shall tell you – to-morrow morning. Now, having had several little escapades with your conscience, will you have one more – the last – and so put yourself into such a position that the worries of the past need be worries no longer?”
“Is it true that you can tell me all these things?” said Nancy.
“True as I am standing here.”
“All about Mrs. Richmond?”
“All about Mrs. Richmond.”
“And the true story about my darling, darling bird?”
“I can clear you as regards the charge of cruelty; is not that sufficient? There, Nancy, you are yielding; I thought you were.”
“I don’t know whether I am yielding or not,” said Nancy, “but you are tempting me;” and she ran across the room to the window. She looked out. Kitty was going past with her apron full of corn; she was about to feed the fowls in the farmyard. Seeing Nancy, she called out to her:
“There is a fresh brood of the downiest and sweetest little chicks out, Nancy; won’t you come and see them?”
“Yes,” called back Nancy; “in five minutes.”
“I will wait for you under the window if you will be quick,” cried Kitty.
Nancy turned with an eager face to Augusta.
“Tell me exactly – exactly what you want me to do,” she said.
“Oh, you little duck, you darling!” said Augusta. “How happy you will be this time to-morrow! And how obliged to you I am!”
“Only tell me quick, Augusta.”
“Well, it is this, you little love – this, and this only. You must be pretty loving to me to-day. You must, as it were, fawn on me, come close to me after dinner and snuggle up to me, slip your hand inside my arm, and all that sort of thing – you understand. And you are to say to me before the others – Uncle Peter and all the rest – you are to say, ‘Gussie darling, may I sleep with you to-night?’ And I am to say ‘No;’ and you are to coax and coax me, and in the end I am to yield. You are to do it in your very, very prettiest way, Nancy, and the others are to hear you. Then, to-night I am going to pretend to have a bit of a headache, and go to my room quite early. And you are to say, ‘Poor Gussie, her head is bad; I think I will go and bathe it with aromatic vinegar;’ and you are to slip up to my room, and you need not come out again as far as the others are concerned. Then, after I am gone, if any one comes to the door, you are to say, ‘Hush! Gussie’s head is very bad;’ and of course the some one will go away. And then, oh! you are not to sleep, for that would be fatal; you are to lie awake thinking over the wonderful things I am going to tell you to-morrow. And at about half-past twelve, or perhaps nearer one o’clock, I will throw a little gravel up to the window; and then you are to slip down, softly, softly, and open the door and let me in. Afterwards we will have a time. I will tell you about my partners, and how much Mr. Archer, that distinguished American, admires me; and I will even repeat to you the compliments they have made to me. And then in the morning you will have your reward. This is simple enough, isn’t it, Nan?”
“Yes,” said Nan.
“And you will do it, darling – you will do it?”
“Nancy, Nancy,” shouted Kitty from below, “the five minutes are up.”
“Yes, I’ll do it,” answered Nancy. “It is very wicked – awfully wicked – but I’ll do it;” and she walked out of the room.
“How flushed your cheeks are, Nancy!” said Kitty when the little girl joined her.
“Never mind, Kit,” answered Nancy in an almost cross tone for her. “Come and let us look at the pretty chicks. I am so sick of being flattered!”
“Has Augusta been doing that?”
“Oh yes – no – I mean I don’t know; but don’t let us bother about her.”
“You are getting quite fond of Gussie, aren’t you, Nan?”
Nan opened her eyes very wide. An emphatic “No” was on her lips, but instead she said, “Yes – of course.”
They went to the farmyard and spent an hour of what was perfect bliss to Kitty, examining the birds. Then they each occupied a hammock in the garden. Kitty read a new story-book, and Nancy lay with her eyes shut, thinking of the dreadful thing which had befallen her.
“I was wicked before,” she said to herself, “but never as wicked as I shall be to-night. Oh, how I hate myself! But she has got my paper which has her promise that I may tell. She can put things right about my darling bird; and she can tell me the story which Mrs. Richmond has promised to tell me some day. Oh! she has tempted me, and I will do it; I must, for I am too miserable to stay any longer as I am.”
“Nancy,” said Uncle Peter’s voice at that moment, “will you come for a walk with me? I want to go down to the seashore; will you be my companion?”
“Won’t you go, Kitty?” asked Nancy, for the Captain’s society was by no means to her taste just then.
“I can’t,” answered Kitty, “for I have promised to go to the village with Miss Roy and Nora.”
“Do you refuse me?” asked the Captain, putting on his most quizzical expression.
“No; of course not, Uncle Peter. I shall be delighted,” she answered.
He took her hand and helped her out of her hammock, and they were soon going by their favourite walk in the woods to the seashore.
“How silent you are, Nancy! Are you not going to cheer me up and make my walk pleasant?” asked Uncle Peter.
“I think I have a headache,” replied Nancy. “Anyhow, I feel rather dull.” Then she looked suddenly up at the Captain, and said with eager emphasis, “I know what I really want. I want to ask you a question.”
“Certainly, my dear little girl; what is it?”
“Will you answer it without thinking that it has anything to do with me?”
“I will try, Nancy.”
The Captain’s eyes were dancing as he fixed them on Nancy’s flushed face.
“Oh! please don’t look at me like that; it is just an ordinary question. Perhaps I was reading a book and came to it; anyhow, that explanation will do.”
“Yes, as a preface; now for the question.”
“Is it right,” said Nancy – “I mean, could a boy – say a boy, or perhaps a girl, or a man, or a woman – could they, any of them, be put in the sort of position that they must do wrong to make things come right? Would it be possible?”
“I have never heard of the occasion where wrong could be put right by that means,” said the Captain. “Can you give me an instance? Then, perhaps, I could explain better.”
“No, I can’t give you any instance. I was just thinking about it.”
“And it has made you very grave.”
“It – oh no, it hasn’t made me grave.”
“Nancy, it has troubled you.”
“Please, Uncle Peter, I was telling you, you know, because of the book.”
“The book of your heart, Nancy; why don’t you confide in me altogether?”
“There is nothing to confide; indeed there is not.”
“Only if you had known of such a case you would be quite happy?”
“I should be happier.”
“Then let me tell you quite frankly that I don’t think there is such a case. When people do wrong they have got to turn round and do right in future. But it is impossible, at least to my way of thinking, to do further wrong in order to make the old wrong come right.”
“I see,” said Nancy. Her brow cleared; she took the Captain’s hand and pressed it warmly. “I am very glad I belong to your battalion,” she said – “very, very glad.”
“Has the fight been difficult, Nancy?”
“You don’t know – you will never know – Difficult! Oh yes.”
“I am your captain, and again I say you ought to confide in me.”
“I will, whatever happens, when we go back to town. And thank you so much, Uncle Peter!”
“You will be able to go on reading that book now with a sense of satisfaction.”
“The book is the story of a fight,” said Nancy very slowly. “I think,” she added, “the poor, mangled soldier won’t cave in to the enemy.”
