Kitabı oku: «The Third Miss St Quentin», sayfa 9
Chapter Ten
An Old-World Shoe
“Our dance, I think, Miss St Quentin,” said Major Frost, when, after searching some time for Madelene, he discovered her at last in the tea-room. “The second polka it is,” and as Madelene acquiesced, “I have been dancing with such a wonderfully pretty little creature,” he went on, “a Miss Wyndham, or Winton, I am not quite sure of the name. A perfect stranger, staying at some house in the neighbourhood they say. I must point her out to you.”
“I wonder who she can be?” Miss St Quentin replied. “Mrs Belvoir did not know of any particularly pretty girl coming – no stranger, I mean.”
“But she is a very particularly pretty girl; I know you will agree with me. If you don’t mind we’ll go into the other room and I will point her out to you. She is dancing with Cheynes, I think.”
Madelene felt but mildly interested in the object of her partner’s enthusiasm, but she made no difficulty. The second room was very crowded.
They danced for a few minutes and then stopped.
“It is too full, really,” said Major Frost. Then suddenly he gave a little exclamation.
“There she is,” he said, and Madelene looked where he directed. It was her turn to start and exclaim.
“What is it?” asked her partner in surprise.
Madelene had recovered herself.
“Nothing,” she said, “nothing except the most – the most extraordinary resemblance. It is not very pleasant here,” she went on, “suppose we go back to the other room. I want to speak to my sister Ermine; she is in there.”
Major Frost was too polite to object, but he was rather disappointed.
“So you don’t admire the stranger?” he said.
“On the contrary – I could only glance at her, but I could see that she is very lovely, as you said. I wonder if my cousin, Sir Philip Cheynes, knows who she is?”
Just then she caught sight of Ermine. She was fortunately not dancing. Madelene made a sign to her.
“Ermine,” she said in a low voice, “I am perfectly bewildered. Do you know I do believe Ella is here?”
“Ella?” Ermine repeated.
“Yes – dancing in the other room with Philip. If it is not she, I never saw such a likeness —never.”
“But,” said Ermine, looking dazed, “if she is dancing with Philip, he would know, he would tell us.”
“He may not know who she is,” said Madelene impatiently, for once grasping the situation more rapidly than her sister. “He has never seen her. And if it is she, she has not come in her own name. Major Frost said she was a Miss Wyndham.”
Ermine looked relieved.
“Then it can’t be she,” she said. “She would never do such a thing. Knowing too that we were to be here – it would have been perfectly absurd.”
But Miss St Quentin still looked dissatisfied.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I feel as if I were dreaming. She is not only the very image of Ella, but her dress is uncommonly like the white tulle frock that I had made for her in case papa had given in. Ermine, if she has done such a thing – such a scandalous thing as to come here by herself trusting to us not to tell – it would be – I don’t know what we should do.”
“Your imagination is running away with you, Maddie,” said Ermine. “Still all the same I shall go and have a look at this remarkable young woman – quietly, you know, without letting her see me. There’s Major Frost looking as if he couldn’t think what’s the matter, and he is rather a gossip. I’ll meet you again in the tea-room after I have made my voyage of discovery.”
So Madelene returned to her partner whose curiosity was not, at that time at least, destined to be satisfied. As soon as the dance was over, she declared herself too tired and hot to attempt the next, and sending Major Frost off to explain matters to a brother-officer of his to whom she happened to be engaged, she found a seat for herself in a corner of the conservatory where she hoped to be able to remain perdue for a few minutes.
Her head was full of Ella – for that Major Frost’s “Miss Wyndham” was not her sister she could scarcely believe. And she felt both uneasy, and indignant. Suddenly a slight rustling close at hand warned her that her retreat was no longer hers alone – a small figure in white was making its way in her direction, and as it seated itself she heard Ella’s voice say lightly to some one unseen.
“Oh, yes, you will find me here. It is very good of you to fetch it for me.”
Madelene rose to her feet. They were alone.
“Ella” she said.
The girl turned her head, then she too got up, and came forward, with a smile on her face, but a somewhat ill-assured and deprecating one.
“I was wondering when we should come across each other,” she said. “I meant to go into the other room to look for you and Ermine, Madelene,” and here she tried to smile again, but the effort was rather a failure, and her lips quivered a little. “Madelene, are you very astonished to see me? Had you no idea I – might perhaps come after all? Madelene, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t think you’d be so vexed.”
For Miss St Quentin’s face was growing very stern. She had caught sight of and identified the white tulle frock by this time.
“I cannot say anything till I understand the whole,” she began. “It is your place to tell me.”
Just then steps were heard approaching. Ella started.
“It is the man I am dancing with – he went to fetch me an ice,” she said hurriedly. “I don’t want him to see me being scolded,” and her voice sounded as if she were going to cry.
Madelene hated scenes, and still more did she hate any exposure to strangers of family affairs. She instantly drew back.
“I shall take care that your partner does not see me,” she said. “But I shall look out for you in the tea-room after this dance. Ermine will be there too.”
There was no time for Ella to reply. Miss St Quentin had no difficulty in concealing herself. She just stepped quietly behind a clump of high and thick-growing plants in the corner, where the light was not strong, and her dress being black, no one would have noticed her unless they had been directly looking for her.
A moment after, she heard a voice addressing her sister.
“Here is the ice – at least it is a cup of iced coffee. Will that do as well, Miss Wyn – ?”
It seemed to Madelene that the new-comer rather slurred over the name; it was the case that he did so, for he had heard it but indistinctly, and Ella, in no hurry to be revealed to her sisters, had not cared to set the mystification right. But – Madelene scarcely noticed what he said, in her surprise at recognising Ella’s partner as her cousin Philip! For a moment or two, she could not understand it. Then again she gradually recollected that it was perfectly possible he did not know Ella – he had never seen her; he had probably been introduced to her by some one who had no idea who she really was. Madelene had already seen and talked to Philip, who had hastened his return from the north in order to be present at the Belvoirs’ dance. He was to spend the night with his present hosts and “surprise” his grandmother by appearing at Cheynesacre in the course of the following afternoon, some days sooner than she was expecting him. For neither he nor his cousins had the slightest, the very slightest, notion that such a move on the old lady’s part as she had executed with Ella in her train was possible.
“Thank you, thank you very much. Yes of course it will do – much better than a regular ice, for I can drink it off in a moment, and I do so want to lose no more of this lovely waltz,” Madelene next heard her sister reply.
“She is eager to get out of my way,” she thought, “and what wonder? But I am not going to make a scene, you need not be afraid, Ella. Philip evidently does not know her. It must all be told him afterwards. How disgraceful it seems! And just when we wanted her to have made a good impression on him – he will be utterly horrified. Oh! I wish I could see Ermine.”
The voices had ceased. Ella and her partner had left the conservatory. Madelene made her way to the entrance and then, glancing round to make sure they were not standing about anywhere close at hand, hurriedly crossed the ball-room to the room where Ermine was to meet her.
She was already there, eagerly looking out for Madelene, whom she at once drew into a corner.
“Madelene,” she began, but Miss St Quentin for once was so excited that she interrupted her.
“Ermine,” she said, “it is she – Ella. I have seen her and spoken to her. I never in all my life was so – ”
“Wait, Madelene – do let me speak. Of course it is Ella, but it is all right. She came with Aunt Anna. There is nothing to be vexed about. Aunt Anna took it all upon herself. She persuaded papa to let the poor child come. Really, Maddie,” seeing that no change of expression lighted up her elder sister’s face, “I don’t understand you some times. I thought you would have been quite delighted. You did want her to come.”
But Miss St Quentin’s equanimity had been too thoroughly disturbed for her to recover it quickly. She was, at the bottom of her heart, more seriously vexed with herself than with any one else, vexed with her own hasty and, as she now saw, absurd idea that Ella would have ventured on such an escapade as to follow them by herself. And to one of Madelene’s temperament, mortification is peculiarly bitter. For the moment she yielded to her irritation and allowed herself the questionable relief of venting it on others.
“Of course I wanted her to come if the thing had been properly arranged. Papa should have consented when we asked him, or else, it seems to me, kept to his decision. Aunt Anna went to Coombesthorpe, I suppose, and found Ella weeping like a poor little martyr at having been left alone. And her entreaties and Ella’s tears prevailed where my downrightness failed, it seems,” she said cynically.
Ermine looked at her in surprise.
“Well, and what if they did?” she said. “You are not going to begin feeling jealous of Aunt Anna’s influence with papa – that would be too absurd. And as for Ella’s tears – wait at least till we know that she shed any. But, Maddie – I’ve seen Aunt Anna, and it is so absurd. Philip and Ella are dancing together – have been, at least, and neither knows who the other is! Isn’t it fun? Aunt Anna has quite entered into the spirit of it, and she says we are to try to keep it up, and not let either of them speak to her or to us when the other is by. Ella is engaged for every dance – people are all smitten by her, but aunt is going soon, so it won’t be difficult.”
“I don’t see any point in it,” said Madelene, coldly.
“Don’t you! Oh I think it’s Capital – the very thing we thought of at the beginning,” and here, though there was no one to catch her words, Ermine dropped her voice, – “if – if they were to take a fancy to each other, Maddie, it would be such a good thing, such a comfort to papa, too.”
Madelene’s face softened.
“I am afraid Ella is too superficial, if not heartless – ” she said, though with reluctance. “For all Philip’s careless manner, he has really deep feelings. He would be miserable with a frivolous wife.”
“Maddie, you are prejudiced. I don’t think you have any right to think Ella shallow – her deeper feelings may not have been awakened yet, but that is a different matter,” said Ermine. “I think it would be delightful.”
“It certainly would cut the knot of several difficulties,” Madelene allowed.
“And they are far more likely to be attracted to each other, meeting as strangers,” said Ermine. “It is as good as a play! Philip is prejudiced against Ella – he fancies she is a worry to us, and she would have found this out at once, she is so quick! Oh, I think it is too lucky that they should have met like this.” Ermine looked quite ready in her enthusiasm to clap her hands – Madelene could not resist the infection. She smiled at her sister.
“My dear child,” she said, “I had no idea you were such a matchmaker. What would Aunt Anna say to it?”
“Aunt Anna knows what she is about. Don’t trouble about her,” said Ermine. “But we must not be seen whispering together like this. I want to get hold of Major Frost, to prevent his finding anything out, and spoiling it all.”
Miss St Quentin sat still for a moment or two after her sister had left her.
“If I could feel sure that Ella has any real character, real depth,” she thought. “It would certainly be very nice – if her future were assured it might, indirectly, make many things easier. It would surely make papa less morbid.”
And Madelene sighed a little as for once she allowed her imagination to glance backwards on what might have been had cares and responsibilities fallen less prematurely upon her.
Ella meanwhile, but for her disagreeable interview with her eldest sister, had been enjoying herself to the top of her bent. She had not been long of discovering that she was sailing under false colours, as more than one of her partners, imagining he had heard her name correctly, addressed her distinctly as “Miss Wyndham.” And she did not set the mistake right. She would enjoy herself for this one evening, she decided, and Madelene’s unpleasant strictures might be reserved till afterwards.
“I will keep out of their way,” she said to herself, “for if all these men knew I was their sister they would begin cross-questioning me, and it would all seem queer. And godmother won’t mind if from time to time I let her know I’m all right. She wants me to have as much dancing as I can – we shall be leaving so early.”
It all turned out more easy of execution than she could have expected. After her first half-apologetic whisper to Lady Cheynes, at the end of her dance with Major Frost, of “Godmother, I’m so happy, but need I come back to you every time? The dances follow so quickly,” had been met with an indulgent smile, and the words, “No, no, my dear – amuse yourself as much as you can, but remember we must leave at twelve,” she felt quite at ease on that point, and somehow she did not again catch sight of Lady Cheynes at all. And with her partners she took care to keep to generalities, nor was it difficult to do so, seeing that socially speaking she was really a stranger in the neighbourhood.
She danced twice in succession with Sir Philip, the second time immediately following the passage of arms with Madelene in the conservatory. She had not the faintest idea who he was, but she thought him by far the most agreeable of her partners. And he, attracted at first sight by her beauty, was still more captivated by her pretty, half-childish bearing and the little air of mystery about her, which he was quick enough to detect.
“You will give me another dance, I hope?” he said; “though indeed it is perhaps hardly fair of me to ask it, when so many less fortunate than I have been already, must be refused.”
“But you were one of the first to ask me,” she said simply, “you, and Mr – Mr something Belvoir, a son of the house, and a Sir Philip somebody, and Major – Major Frost. You are not Major Frost, are you?” she added quickly, with a slight tone of inquiry.
Philip smiled. He was not going to be trotted out by this charming little person, who knew so well how to keep her own secrets.
“Mr Louis Belvoir, you mean,” he said, calmly ignoring the latter part of her speech. “Ah, yes, there he comes. You are dancing with him? And what about another waltz?”
“It must be soon, then,” she said, “for I am leaving early; at twelve, not a moment later, my god – my chaperone said.”
“What a very strict chaperone she must be,” said Sir Philip, smiling. “It sounds quite like a certain old fairy-story. I wish I could be dancing with you when the clock strikes, to see what would happen.”
To his surprise the girl did not laugh, or even smile. She looked up at him with a curious expression.
“I don’t think I like that story,” she said. “I have never liked it since I was a baby. And yet – somehow – it seems always coming up,” she added in a lower voice.
Philip’s curiosity increased.
“You don’t mean to say,” he said laughingly, “that if I call upon you to-morrow morning I shall find you scrubbing the kitchen pots and pans?”
Ella’s face crimsoned.
“You can’t call upon me,” she retorted sharply; “you don’t know where I live nor anything about me.”
“Except your name – Miss Wyndham,” he repeated, slightly accentuating the last two words.
The girl turned quickly, as just at that moment Mr Louis Belvoir’s voice was heard.
“Our dance, Miss Winton, I think,” he said.
“And I may claim the next but one then, I hope?” Sir Philip hastened to add.
Ella nodded “yes,” as she went off on Louis Belvoir’s arm.
“Who can she be?” thought Sir Philip, as he stood there, looking after them, rather bewilderedly. “She is quite wonderfully pretty, and – what is it? Charming is such a stupid word. She is too simple and naïve to be called charming; her eyes are so honest, too. What or who is it she reminds me of I wonder? No one seems to know. And how odd she was when I alluded to ‘Cinderella.’”
He did not dance the next dance but hung about till he could claim “Miss Wyndham” for the promised waltz, and as he kept her and young Belvoir in view, he had no difficulty in finding her when the time came.
“This is my last dance,” she said, after a turn or two. “Mr Belvoir has just told me the time.”
“And is your chaperone quite inexorable? Would there be no use in trying to melt her – suppose we do?” suggested Philip eagerly.
Ella shook her head.
“No,” she said with a little sigh. “I promised not even to ask her. But oh, I have enjoyed myself so much,” and again came the little sigh.
Sir Philip’s eyes expressed the sympathy he felt, but he dared not venture on any more questions.
“I may meet you at some other dance before long, I hope?” was the utmost he risked.
“It is not likely,” she replied. “I am no – ” and she hesitated.
“Not remaining long in this part of the world?”
“No – not that. I was only going to say I am not supposed to be out,” she said with evident reluctance.
“And yet she is visiting in some house in the neighbourhood evidently without any of her own family,” thought Philip, more and more intrigué, and in his own mind he was considering what observation leading to further revelations he might hazard when he was startled by a sudden move on his partner’s side.
“I must go now; please don’t think me rude,” she exclaimed hurriedly, and before he had time fully to take in the sense of her words she had gone.
“I will find out where and with whom she is staying,” he said to himself, starting forward to follow her, when a hand was laid on his arm, and turning, he saw his cousin Ermine.
“Where have you been hiding yourself all this time?” she said smiling. “Are you not going to ask me to dance to-night?”
“Of course, of course, if you care to,” Philip replied. But his manner was confused and hurried. It was evident he did not want to be detained. “I’ll be back in two minutes, Ermine,” he said, “but excuse me for an instant. Some friends of mine are just leaving, and I want – I just have a word to say to them before they go.”
“But I must speak to you for a moment,” said Ermine persistently. “Did you not know your grandmother has been here?”
“My grandmother!” ejaculated Sir Philip, so astonished as to forget for an instant his determination to discover some particulars about the mysterious Miss Wyndham, and if possible obtain a glimpse of the chaperone she had alluded to.
“Yes, of course. Aunt Anna – Lady Cheynes. Why do you look so incredulous?” Ermine went on.
“It seems so queer. What in the world put such a thing in her head, and why wasn’t I told? She will be very vexed at my not having gone near her,” he said with considerable annoyance in his tone.
“Not at all. She had not in the least expected to find you here. She had no reason to do so – you know you meant to give her a surprise by walking in to-morrow morning. She told me to tell you she knew you were dancing and she didn’t want to interrupt you.”
“All the same, I wish I had known,” Sir Philip persisted. “I can’t get over the idea of her having been here and my not knowing.”
“She didn’t stay long,” said his cousin. “She was sitting in the small drawing-room all the time, and I assure you she wasn’t in the least, not the very least, vexed at not seeing you. She’s expecting you home to-morrow.”
“It was such an odd fancy of hers to come,” Philip repeated. “Why – it’s years since I knew her go to anything of the kind. Are you sure she’s gone, Ermie? May she not be still in the cloak-room, perhaps?”
“No, I’m sure she’s gone. I wish you’d believe what I say,” said Ermine, looking slightly irritated by his pertinacity.
“Oh, well, I suppose it’s all right. But I shall be too late for the other friend I wanted to say good-night to. Excuse me, Ermie – I’ll be back in two minutes,” and before his cousin could think of any further excuse for detaining him he was gone.
“It will be too provoking,” thought she, “if he goes running against them just as they’re leaving. I wonder who it is he wants to say good-bye to.” Philip hastened as fast as he could to the hall – a sharp rush of cold air told that the door was open, and as he got up to it the sound of wheels announced that some one had just driven away.
“Whose carriage was that?” he inquired of one of the servants standing about. The man was a stranger and did not recognise him.
“Lady Cheynes’s,” he replied. “It was the Cheynesacre carriage, sir.”
With a muttered exclamation of annoyance Philip drew back. He glanced into the cloak-room as he passed – it was quite deserted, no one else seemed to be taking their departure just then. He strolled forward again towards the door, and pushing it open, stepped out on to the drive. Yes, it was a very cold night, much too cold for keeping horses waiting, in consequence of which, no doubt, no horses or carriages were to be seen.
“She must have gone,” thought the young man. “But who in the world is she, and whom can she have come with? Louis Belvoir knows no more than I do, and I don’t want to make myself conspicuous by asking any one else.”
He turned back, but just as he was stepping inside the porch, something glistening on the ground caught his eye.
“By Jove!” Philip ejaculated, “can it be one of my lady’s diamond pins? What a joke it would be – for she always maintains that she never loses anything.”
He stooped as he spoke to pick it up, but the object that met his hand was not at all what he had expected. The sparkle which had attracted him was that of diamonds of a kind, certainly, but the jewel was attached to something else, much more ponderous, though small and dainty enough for what it was – a shoe!
It had lain in the shadow, all of it except the front, on which the old paste buckle had glittered in the moonlight – it had once been a slipper of gleaming white satin, but time had slightly dimmed its brightness. Sir Philip took it into the light of the lamp – there was no servant about just then – and examined it curiously. Gradually a smile broke over his features.
“Ah,” he thought, “my allusion to Cinderella this evening seems to have been prophetic. I shall pocket this treasure. It is Miss Wyndham’s, I know, I remember noticing the buckles when she was dancing, and the rather old-world look of the slippers. Upon my word, it is like a fairy-tale. The shoes must have been too big for her.”
He was quiet and rather absent when he returned to his cousin Ermine, but had evidently got over his annoyance.
“You were in time then to say good-night to your friends, I hope?” asked Ermine with some curiosity.
“No – at least, not exactly,” he replied. “But it doesn’t matter.”
