Kitabı oku: «Girls of the True Blue», sayfa 17
There she was met by Uncle Peter in his evening-dress, and soon afterwards the three girls joined them.
Nancy looked just as sweet as the genie thought she would when he selected her dress. Her face was pale beside the flaming colour which painted Augusta’s cheeks, but – there was no doubt about it – the little girl possessed the rarer sort of beauty. Nancy’s was of the spiritual order, filling her eyes with sadness and sympathy, and making the expression of her little face unworldly and high in tone.
CHAPTER XXXIII. – THE CROSS
Never had Augusta looked so well as she did that night. She danced quite beautifully, and was really a brilliant young mistress of the ceremonies. Many were the admiring glances cast at her, and loud the admiration she evoked. For the time being Augusta was unselfish. She thought of the comfort and pleasure of her guests. She managed to make the awkward ones feel at ease, and the shy ones feel at home; at the same time she kept the too forward children in order – in short, she was invaluable.
Uncle Peter was especially struck both by her conduct and her appearance.
“She really is a fine girl,” he said to himself. “There is something wonderfully taking about her to-night; and how good she is, and self-forgetful! I shall have more pleasure than I had the least idea of a few hours ago in presenting her with the Royal Cross.”
As these thoughts came to him, he observed that Augusta was standing where the full draught of the open door blew upon her thin evening-dress. She shivered, and sank down on the nearest chair.
Captain Richmond immediately went to her side.
“Augusta,” he said, “have you a dance to spare for me? You haven’t given me one yet.”
“I can give you the present one,” she replied at once, “if you will sit it out with me.”
“With pleasure! Where shall we go? You are in a fearful draught just here, and you look positively cold.”
“I am shivering,” replied Augusta. “Let us go to the conservatory.”
They went there. The conservatory was too hot for many people on this summer’s night, and was comparatively empty. Augusta sank down on a seat.
“I will get you a wrap,” said the Captain. “You ought not to feel cold on a night like this.”
“Oh, I am quite all right,” she answered. “Don’t leave me; let us sit down and talk. You are very fond of Nancy, are you not?”
“Of course; we all are,” he replied.
“I should like to say – ” stammered Augusta.
“What, my dear?”
She paused and looked full at her questioner.
“This,” she said: “you know I am not an especially nice girl, but I can admire goodness when I see it in others. Now, no one was ever half so good as Nancy; and even if appearances seem to have been against her, she was far and away the best of us all. – Oh, what am I saying? What utter nonsense am I talking? Will you take me back to the ballroom, please? I would not miss the next waltz for anything.”
“I will take you back when you have explained your last words.”
“There is nothing to explain – nothing at all. I spoke quite at random. Dear little Nancy! I am as fond of her as you are.”
“Listen, Augusta,” said the Captain. “I didn’t mean to confide in you, but I will. You know of the little ceremony which is to take place to-night when the dance is over. We are to go into the inner drawing-room, and there it will be decided, from what I shall read aloud out of the orderly-book, which of you four girls is to receive the Royal Cross.”
“Of course; I know that,” answered Augusta.
“Yes; but listen. There is an entry in the orderly-book against Nancy’s name which puts her out of the running.”
“Puts her out of the running!” whispered Augusta. Her very lips were white.
Captain Richmond’s eyes seemed like gimlets piercing into her soul.
“There is a charge against Nancy which, made against any child, would condemn her – condemn her so utterly that one could not think of her as a winner of that great prize which means nobleness of conduct, valour, and all the rest. Augusta, you will all know soon, but it does not matter my telling you an hour or so before the others. Nancy Esterleigh is charged with cruelty. Can you, Gussie, help me to throw light upon, in her case, such an unnatural accusation?”
There was a wild beating in Augusta’s ears; her head ached so terribly that she was almost giddy, and a cold chill ran down her back. She turned aside and plucked a geranium blossom from a great flowering bush near by.
“Can you?” said the Captain again.
“No. How is it possible? The accusation has astonished me.”
“There is also that curious thing which happened with regard to her bird. Can you throw any light upon that?”
“No – no; a thousand times no. What do you take me for? Do you think I would let little Nancy suffer if I could help her?”
“Of course not,” said the Captain coldly. “I think the dance has come to an end. May I take you back to the ballroom?”
For the rest of that evening Augusta was not still for a single moment. When she was not dancing she was walking about. Her laugh could be heard gay, almost shrill. Her cheeks wore pink with the flush of fever, which those who saw her mistook for health. She was far and away the most successful girl at the dance. Even Nancy, beautiful little girl as she was, and lovely as she looked in the new frock, was not to be compared with her.
But all good things, as well as bad things, come to an end, and by-and-by the ball was over. The party broke up; the young folk put on their wraps, said good-bye to their hosts, and left Fairleigh. The last sound of the last carriage-wheel died away. The four girls, Miss Roy, and Captain Richmond faced each other. It was on the stroke of midnight.
“How tired you all look!” said Miss Roy. “Shall we defer the further ceremony until to-morrow?”
“No,” said Captain Richmond; “this is the appointed day. Come at once, all of you.”
The servants were rushing about, locking up and putting things in order. Captain Richmond conducted his party to the front drawing-room, and turned the key in the lock. The electric light made the room bright as day. The windows looking on to the lawn were wide open. When they all entered the room, Captain Richmond opened the drawer, the lock of which had been injured by Augusta, and took the orderly-book out. At the same moment he put his hand in his pocket and produced a small morocco case, which he laid on the table.
“Now, my little soldiers,” he said, “the crucial moment of our campaign has arrived. You have been under my command, and have also been disciplined by my good ally, Sergeant Roy, for the last few months; and, on the whole, I trust you feel better, morally and physically, for the soldier’s life.”
“Oh yes, indeed!” cried Nora. “We like it awfully. I hope we are not going to cease to be soldiers to-night, Uncle Pete.”
“Certainly not, Nora. In one sense you must always be soldiers, but whether you remain in my battalion will depend a great deal on yourselves. But now to business; you are tired, and we must not linger. This book gives, in a condensed form, the history of your lives from the moment you enlisted under my banner. Now then, soldiers of the True Blue, we will see what it says about you.”
Here Captain Richmond opened the book. He looked quickly down the pages which related to Nora’s life.
“An excellent report on the whole, Nora,” he said when he had finished, “but conduct not immaculate – a few errors, dear, in the form of untidy rooms, lost property, and forgotten duties. Nothing exactly serious, but” —
The Captain’s “but” was emphatic. Nora turned from pink to white.
“I knew it,” she said to her sister. “I never, never expected” —
“Hush!” said Kitty, “Uncle Pete is speaking again.”
“Kitty, on the whole you have done better than Nora. Your industry has been unparalleled, and, in short, I think you are deserving of a prize. If you hadn’t been so inveterately careless, my little girl, there might have been a chance of my giving you the prize. But see here, Kit – here, and here, and here.” The Captain laid his finger against certain marks in Kitty’s record.
Kitty coloured and stepped back.
“I deserve them all,” she said.
“Well, that is something worth hearing,” he answered with heartiness, “for when we know our faults, then is the time when we begin to mend them. – Now then, Nancy.”
Nancy was standing by an open window. Her face looked serene and quiet. She did not for a moment think that she would win the Royal Cross; but, at the same time, she did not think there could be any grave charge chronicled against her name.
“Nancy, I have something sad to say to you,” said the Captain, going forward and taking her hand in his as he spoke. “Even still I think there must be some explanation.”
“What – what,” cried Nancy – “what do you mean?”
“Don’t tremble so, Nancy. Listen. Your conduct has been irreproachable, and your struggle to maintain a high level in morals and intellect very great; but, alas! on one occasion you fell – a good deep fall, Nancy – you fell from a high ladder.”
“I fell from a height! Oh, what do you mean?”
She looked wildly at Augusta, who glanced at Miss Roy. Miss Roy turned aside; Augusta’s bold eyes were fixed upon her face.
“I have fallen from a height! When? Where? How?”
“Here,” said the Captain; “see for yourself. Every one need not know, but you must know; read for yourself.”
Dizzily the little girl bent her head. For a moment she could see nothing. Then she read, as though they were written in letters of fire, the dreadful words, “Guilty of cruelty.”
She read this aloud and flung back her head.
“That I have never been guilty of. It is a lie; it is a black lie. I have never been cruel in all my life.”
The Captain sighed.
“It is in Aunt Jessie’s own handwriting. I am afraid there is no refuge from this storm. You had better not add to” —
“Oh! don’t say any more; I cannot – cannot stand it,” said the child.
She was about to rush through the open window, when Augusta stepped forward and held her hand.
“Be quiet,” she said – “for my sake.”
Again the extraordinary influence which Augusta had over the little girl made itself felt. Nancy stood still, allowing Augusta to hold her hand within her own hot clasp; she partly turned her back upon the others.
“There is no bad mark against your name, Augusta,” said the Captain after a pause, his voice slightly shaking. “All through these months of training and discipline your conduct has been admirable. You have been industrious; you have been courteous; you have been kind. You have, I doubt not, been also unselfish; therefore I proclaim you the happy possessor of the Royal Cross. Come here and let me fasten it round your neck.”
Augusta came totteringly forward. All eyes were fixed upon her; Nancy’s, no longer gentle, but fierce and defiant, were raised to watch her face, but Augusta would not now look at Nancy.
The Royal Cross was made of deep-blue enamel, inlaid in rich silver. It was in the shape of an Irish cross, and was very beautiful. On it were engraved the words, For valour in the fight. The cross was attached to a narrow silver chain. Captain Richmond slipped the chain round Augusta’s throat, and the deep-blue cross shone on her bare white neck.
Just then, before any one could speak, there came on the air the sound of a tolling bell. It was distinctly audible. It tolled three times and then stopped, three times again and then stopped, and then three times once more.
“Some woman has died, poor thing!” said the Captain.
Then the solemn notes rang out again. They sounded sixteen times.
Augusta uttered a cry.
“It is Connie!” she said. “Oh, what shall I do?”
The next instant the wretched girl had fallen in a dead faint on the floor.
CHAPTER XXXIV. – THE LETTER
The confusion and consternation which followed poor Augusta’s utter collapse can be better imagined than described. The sick girl was tenderly lifted from the ground in Captain Richmond’s strong arms. She was conveyed to a sofa, and the usual restoratives were administered; and when she opened her eyes and cried wildly, “Oh, my head! – oh, my back!” Miss Roy motioned to the other children to leave the room. Nancy was about to follow the example of the two little Richmond girls, when Augusta’s feverish eyes rested on her face.
“Don’t go. I can’t part from you – I can’t – I won’t. – Let Nancy stay, please – please, Miss Roy.”
“Stay for the present, dear,” said Miss Roy, nodding towards Nancy.
“Oh! let her hold my hand; let her kneel by me; no one else comforts me,” almost screamed the excited girl.
“You must control yourself, Augusta,” said the Captain, speaking now in an almost stern voice. “We must get you to your room. If you are too weak to walk I will carry you.”
“No; I can walk,” said Augusta. “I will lean on you if I may. My head feels as if it would burst. Oh, is she dead? Nan – Nan, tell me the truth. Constance can’t – no, she can’t be dead.”
“We don’t know who is dead, dear,” said Miss Roy. “We must only hope that it is not your poor young friend. Now, don’t talk any more; just let us get you to your room.”
It was with some difficulty that Augusta, who was half-delirious with illness, pain, and terror, could be got to her own apartment. At last, however, Miss Roy and the Captain succeeded in doing so. She was got into bed, and, late as it was, Captain Richmond went for the doctor.
Dr Earle happened to be in, and returned at once with Captain Richmond to Fairleigh.
He saw Augusta, took her temperature, examined her very carefully, looked into her eyes, felt her pulse, and then called Miss Roy aside.
“She is very ill, poor girl!” said the doctor.
“Her temperature is high, her pulse rapid, and she is undoubtedly very feverish. If it were not – But no, that is impossible.”
“What do you mean?” said Miss Roy, in great alarm.
“Oh, nothing. I am sorry I alarmed you. Miss Duncan has not been near any infection, has she?”
“No; certainly not.”
“We have a few cases of smallpox; but, of course, if she has not been in the village she is safe. I am not attending poor Miss Aspray; Dr Reynolds is her physician. She was frightfully ill this afternoon; and the other sister, Flora, they say, is sickening. Miss Duncan has not been near them, has she?”
“No; of that I am positive,” replied Miss Roy. “Mrs. Richmond did not wish the children to make any fresh friends during her absence, and Augusta has had nothing to do with those young people for several weeks.”
“Oh! then, of course, it is not that – although some of the symptoms point to it.”
“Dr Earle, you quite terrify me.”
“You need not be frightened; of that I am certain. But don’t let the little girl, Miss Nancy, stay too much in the room; it is never wise in these feverish cases. I will call in early in the morning. I trust by then the fever will have abated.”
The doctor went away. When Miss Roy returned to the sickroom Augusta was lying half across the bed, her arms flung round Nancy’s neck, who was kneeling by her side. As Miss Roy came in she heard Augusta say:
“Take the cross off my neck, Nancy, and put it on yours. I shall die if I wear it any longer. It is so heavy – so heavy – like lead – it goes through me; it burns through my flesh. Wear it – wear it, to please me – to please me.”
Nancy began to take the cross off with trembling fingers.
“Let me fasten it round your neck, Nan; then I shall feel better. Oh! it is some sort of – some sort of” —
The words gradually trailed away into silence. The miserable girl had fallen into a broken slumber.
“Get up at once, Nancy,” said Miss Roy; “and take that off – do, my dear. And – and go away to bed.”
Nancy rose to her feet looking pale and scared. The dark blue cross with its silver mountings shone up against her white neck. Miss Roy herself removed it, and laid it on the table.
“Good-night, darling,” she said to the little girl.
“Mayn’t I stay?” asked Nancy.
“No; and you are not to come back until I give you leave. Now run away; you are looking tired.”
“It is not being just tired,” said Nan slowly; “it is – the other – it —it kills me.”
“I am very sorry for you, and I don’t understand it,” said Miss Roy. “Perhaps, if you are good and patient, God will give us an explanation some day. Now we are all in trouble about Augusta, and must try to forget ourselves. Goodnight, dear; go to bed.”
“I will,” said Nancy.
She walked feebly out of the room. When she reached the door she turned and looked again at Augusta; but Augusta’s head was buried in the bedclothes. Nancy gave another sigh, and shut the door.
All during the night that followed, Miss Roy did not leave the sick girl. Captain Richmond waited in the anteroom to give what aid he could.
Towards morning Augusta dropped into a more refreshing sleep; but she presently awakened, screaming out that Connie was dead, and that she could not bear it. Miss Roy did all she could to soothe her, and presently called Captain Richmond to the door of the sickroom.
“The day has come,” she said. “That poor child is in a frenzy of grief and terror about Constance Aspray. How could one guess she loved the girl so much? – for they had seldom or never been together. I wish we could find out if the passing-bell was tolling for her. To know that she is still alive would give poor Augusta more rest than anything else.”
“It is nearly seven o’clock,” said the Captain. “I will stroll down towards the village. Doubtless, if it is true, some of the poor people will know.”
He left the house at once. The morning was beautiful. The dew still lay on grass and shrub and flower. The world outside seemed so pure and restful after the miserable and restless night through which he had just lived. But the heart of the young soldier was full of strange, inexplicable fear. He had a dread of something which was close at hand – something intangible. He thought of Nancy’s face of agony the night before; the ring in her voice when she said that the charge against her was a lie – a black lie. The words were the words of injured innocence. It was, in truth, impossible to associate so gentle a child with so strange a crime.
“Who can have done it?” thought the Captain. “Poor little Nancy! I am certain – positive – that she is innocent.”
He had now reached the village. He walked down the street, and at the farther end encountered a somewhat belated milkman hurrying by on his rounds. Captain Richmond called out to him:
“Can you tell me for whom the bell was tolling last night?”
“Oh sir, for that poor girl of Mrs. Sherlock. She’s been given over in consumption for many a day. She died just at midnight, and the ringers went at once to toll for her. She had a fancy for the passing-bell, and begged that it should be tolled the minute the breath was out of her body, poor soul! Yes, sir; God help her, she is out of her misery now.”
Captain Richmond said one or two suitable words, and, with a great sense of relief, continued his walk. There was no use in returning at once to the house, so he struck a path which brought him down to the seashore. The tide was at the full. He walked along by the edge of the shingle. Suddenly he heard his name called, and looking up, saw a lady who appeared to be a total stranger.
“You are Captain Richmond, and you live at Fairleigh?” she said. “I feel certain I am right from the description I have received of you.”
“My name is Richmond,” he answered, removing his hat, “and I am staying at Fairleigh for the present.”
“Now, that is extremely lucky, and will prevent my having to write to the house, which might not have been advisable under the circumstances. Don’t come any nearer, please. You are quite safe with six feet of pure air between us. I am Mrs. Aspray.”
“Oh, indeed!” said the Captain. “Of course, I have heard of you, Mrs. Aspray. We have all been so terribly troubled about your great anxiety. May I ask you how your daughter is?”
“My daughter Constance has passed the crisis. She was at death’s door all yesterday, but about midnight she fell into a refreshing sleep. I have left her sleeping now. I have gone through a time enough to madden any one, but the doctor is with her at the present moment and says that the danger is practically over. I felt I must get a breath of fresh air before any one else was stirring. You see, I have been with her day and night. Oh, it has been a fearful case – fearful! And now poor Flo is down – took ill yesterday morning; the disease declared itself last night. Poor Flo gave me a message, which I was to convey somehow, in some fashion, to Fairleigh. Providence has brought you here, Captain Richmond.”
“I will take the message,” said the Captain. “Who is it to?”
“To you – to the governess – to whoever has charge of the young people. I understand Mrs. Richmond is away. There is a young girl in your house of the name of Augusta Duncan, isn’t there?”
“Yes.”
“She has been a good deal with my girls. She was invited to a dance, which was to have taken place on the very day that Constance took ill. Without my knowing it, she arrived at our house late that evening. Contrary to my orders, she was admitted and saw Flora. Flora only confessed to it last night. Of course, Miss Duncan ran risk of infection, but it may not be too late – I mean, that you may have time to remove the other girls. At any rate, it is only right that you should know.”
Captain Richmond’s face turned very white.
“I am afraid I have given you a shock,” said Mrs. Aspray; “but perhaps – God knows how I feel this thing! —perhaps I am in time.”
“Alas! no,” he replied. “Augusta is very ill indeed, and another of the children has been much with her. Another child who” – He broke off, and his lips trembled. “From what Dr Earle said last night, there is small or, indeed, no doubt what Augusta is sickening for. But thank you for telling me; anything is better than suspense, and I will do what I can.”
He turned without another word and went back to Fairleigh.
Mrs. Aspray looked after his retreating figure.
“Poor fellow!” she said to herself. “My news seemed to stun him. What an awful pity that Flo kept this thing to herself! I am afraid that Augusta cannot be a very nice girl. I did feel annoyed when those young people were not inclined to follow up our advances, but I would not have one of them in the house under the rose, as it were, on any condition whatever. Flo certainly behaved very badly.”
The anxious and burdened woman went slowly back to the infected house, and Captain Richmond returned to Fairleigh. On his way home he met the postman. Among the letters was one which bore the Capetown postmark. It was addressed to himself. He looked up at the windows of the house where the children, tired out by the excitement of the past day, still slept.
“I may as well read what Aunt Jessie has to say out here,” he murmured to himself.
He sat down on a garden bench and opened the letter, which ran as follows:
“My Dear Peter, – You will want to know all my news, which I am telling Nora and Kitty in the enclosure which goes with this. In the meantime I have something else to tell you. It is extraordinary what tricks memory plays one. During the voyage we had rather a bad storm; we tossed about a good bit, and some of the passengers were considerably frightened. I was not among the number; but as I lay awake I kept recalling different incidents in the happy home-life. My friend was in the berth above mine, and she kept moaning all the time, and talking to herself of her terrible loss. Although I pitied her, my thoughts would keep going back and back to the life at Fairleigh; and, do you know, a sudden quite dreadful memory came to me. You know, of course, the orderly-book. Well, my dear Peter, I am strongly under the impression that in the great hurry of leaving home I turned over two pages when I ought to have turned over one. If that is the case I have put certain marks into Nancy’s entry which ought to have stood against Augusta’s. I feel so uncomfortable about this that I wish you would ascertain for yourself. I don’t know whether you have yet bestowed the great prize, but I rather gather that it is to be awarded in a short time. Well, it so happened that on the very day I was obliged to hurry off to my poor friend I came across Augusta treating Nancy in a very high-handed and cruel manner. I was greatly distressed, and entered into the thing as fully as I could. It is not necessary, and I have no time now, to give you all the circumstances. But the fact is, I had no choice left but to give Augusta that evening a mark for cruelty. Now, it would be too horrible if that mark, through my carelessness, was entered against Nancy. If you have not awarded the prizes, you will look into this matter and put it straight; if you have – But I won’t think of that.
“Long before this reaches you we shall be on our way to Mrs. Rashleigh’s daughter. I shall not make a long stay. I will just remain a night or two, and hurry home by the first boat. With much love to everybody. – Your affectionate sister,
“Jessie Richmond.”
