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A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL
By L. T. MEADE
Author of "Palace Beautiful," "Sweet Girl Graduate,"
"Wild Kitty," "World of Girls," etc., etc.
A. L. BURT COMPANY,
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Sylvia and Audrey 1
II. Arrival of Evelyn 10
III. The Cradle Life of Wild Eve 25
IV. "I Draw the Line at Uncle Ned" 36
V. Frank's Eyes 43
VI. The Hungry Girl 57
VII. Staying to Dinner 68
VIII. Evening-Dress 78
IX. Breakfast in Bed 106
X. Jasper was to Go 117
XI. I Cannot Alter my Plans 126
XII. Hunger 143
XIII. Jasper to the Rescue 163
XIV. Change of Plans 169
XV. School 184
XVI. Sylvia's Drive 198
XVII. The Fall in the Snow 213
XVIII. A Red Gipsy Cloak 228
XIX. "Why Did you Do it?" 242
XX. "Not Good Nor Honourable" 253
XXI. The Torn Book 264
XXII. "Stick to your Colors, Evelyn" 276
XXIII. One Week of Grace 281
XXIV. "Who is E.W.?" 295
XXV. Uncle Edward 311
XXVI. Tangles 330
XXVII. The Strange Visitor in the Back Bedroom 343
XXVIII. The Room with the Light that Flickered 362
XXIX. What Could it Mean? 368
XXX. The Loaded Gun 377
XXXI. For Uncle Edward's Sake 391
A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL
CHAPTER I.--SYLVIA AND AUDREY.
It was a day of great excitement, and Audrey Wynford stood by her
schoolroom window and looked out. She was a tall girl of sixteen, with
her hair hanging in a long, fair plait down her back. She stood with her
hands folded behind her and an expectant expression on her face.
Up the avenue a stream of people were coming. Some came in cabs, some on
bicycles; some walked. They all turned in the direction of the front
entrance, and Audrey heard their voices rising and falling as they
entered the house, walked down the hall, and disappeared into some
region at the other end.
"It is all detestable," she muttered; "and just when Evelyn is coming,
too. How strange she will think it! I wish father would drop this horrid
custom. I do not approve of it at all."
Just then her governess, a bright-looking girl about six years Audrey's
senior, came into the room.
"Well," she cried, "and what are you doing here? I thought you were
going to ride this afternoon."
"How can I?" said Audrey, shrugging her shoulders. "I shall be met at
every turn."
"And why not?" said Miss Sinclair. "You are not ashamed of being seen."
"It is quite detestable," said Audrey.
She crossed the room, flung herself into a deep straw armchair in front
of a blazing log fire, and took up a magazine.
"It is all horrid," she continued as she rapidly turned the pages; "you
know it, Miss Sinclair, as well as I do."
"If I were you," said Miss Sinclair, "I should be proud--very proud--to
belong to an old family who had kept a custom like this in vogue."
"If you belonged to the old family you would not," said Audrey. "Every
one laughs at us. I call it perfectly horrid. What possible good can it
do that all the people of the neighborhood, and the strangers who come
to stay in the town, should make free of Wynford Castle on New Year's
Day? It makes me cross anyhow. I am sorry to be cross to you, Miss
Sinclair; but I am, and that is a fact."
Miss Sinclair sat down on another chair.
"I like it," she said after a pause.
"Why?" asked Audrey.
"There were some quite hungry people passing through the hall as I came
to you just now."
"Let them be hungry somewhere else, not here," said the angry girl. "It
was all very well when some ancestor of mine first started the custom;
but that father, a man of the present day, up-to-date in every sense of
the word, should carry it on--that he should keep open house for every
individual who chooses to come here on New Year's Day--is past endurance.
Last year between two and three hundred people dined or supped or had
tea at the Castle, and I believe, from the appearance of the avenue,
there will be still more to-day. The house gets so dirty, for one thing,
for half of them don't think of wiping their feet; and then we run a
chance of being robbed, for how do we know that there are not
adventurers in the throng? If I were the country-folk I would be too
proud to come; but they are not--not a bit."
"I cannot agree with you," said Miss Sinclair. "It is a splendid old
custom, and I hope it will not be abolished."
"Perhaps Evelyn will abolish it when she comes in for the property,"
said Audrey in a low tone. Her face looked scarcely amiable as she said
the words.
Miss Sinclair regarded her with a puzzled expression.
"Audrey dear," she said after a pause, "I am very fond of you."
"And I of you," said Audrey a little unwillingly. "You are more friend
than governess. I should like best to go to school, of course; but as
father says that that is quite impossible, I have to put up with the
next best; and you are a very good next best."
"Then if I am, may I just as a friend, and one who loves you very
dearly, make a remark?"
"It is going to be something odious," said Audrey--"that goes without
saying--but I suppose I'll listen."
"Don't you think you are just a wee bit in danger of becoming selfish,
Audrey?" said her governess.
"Am I? Perhaps so; I am afraid I don't care."
"You would if you thought it over; and this is New Year's Day, and it is
a lovely afternoon, and you might come for a ride--I wish you would."
"I will not run the chance of meeting those folks on any consideration
whatever," said Audrey; "but I will go for a walk with you, if you
like."
"Done," said Miss Sinclair. "I have to go on a message for Lady Wynford
to the lodge; will you come by the shrubberies and meet me there?"
"All right," replied Audrey; "I will go and get ready."
She left the room.
After her pupil had left her, Miss Sinclair sat for a time gazing into
the huge log fire.
She was a very pretty girl, with a high-bred look about her. She had
received all the advantages which modern education could afford, and at
the age of three-and-twenty had left Girton with the assurance from all
her friends that she had a brilliant future before her. The first step
in that future seemed bright enough to the handsome, high-spirited girl.
Lady Wynford met her in town, took a fancy to her on the spot, and asked
her to conduct Audrey's education. Miss Sinclair received a liberal
salary and every comfort and consideration. Audrey fell quickly in love
with her, and a more delightful pupil governess never had. The girl was
brimming over with intelligence, was keenly alive to the
responsibilities of her own position, was absolutely original, and as a
rule quite unselfish.
"Poor Audrey! she has her trials before her, all the same," thought the
young governess now. "Well, I am very happy here, and I hope nothing
will disturb our present arrangement for some time. As to Evelyn, we
have yet to discover what sort of girl she is. She comes this evening.
But there, I am forgetting all about Audrey, and she must be waiting for
me."
It so happened that Audrey Wynford was doing nothing of the sort. She
had hastily put on her warm jacket and fur cap and gone out into the
grounds. The objectionable avenue, with its streams of people coming and
going, was to be religiously avoided, and Audrey went in the direction
of a copse of young trees, which led again through a long shrubbery in
the direction of the lodge gates.
It was the custom from time immemorial in the Wynford family to keep
open house on New Year's Day. Any wayfarer, gentle or simple, man or
woman, boy or girl, could come up the avenue and ring the bell at the
great front-door, and be received and fed and refreshed, and sent again
on his or her way with words of cheer. The Squire himself as a rule
received his guests, but where that was impossible the steward of the
estate was present to conduct them to the huge hall which ran across the
back of the house, where unlimited refreshments were provided. No one
was sent away. No one was refused admission on this day of all days. The
period of the reception was from sunrise to sundown. At sundown the
hospitality came to an end; the doors of the house were shut and no more
visitors were allowed admission. An extra staff of servants was
generally secured for the occasion, and the one and only condition made
by the Squire was, that as much food as possible might be eaten, that
each male visitor might drink good wine or sound ale to his heart's
content, that each might warm himself thoroughly by the huge log fires,
but that no one should take any food away. This, in the case of so
promiscuous an assemblage, was necessary. To Audrey, however, the whole
thing was more or less a subject of dislike. She regarded the first day
of each year as a penance; she shrank from the subject of the guests,
and on this special New Year's Day was more aggrieved and put out than
usual. More guests had arrived than had ever come before, for the people
of the neighborhood enjoyed the good old custom, and there was not a
villager, not a trades-person, nor even a landed proprietor near who did
not make it a point of breaking bread at Wynford Castle on New Year's
Day. The fact that a man of position sat down side by side with a tramp
or a laborer made no difference; there was no distinction of rank
amongst the Squire's guests on this day.
Audrey heard the voices now as she disappeared into the shelter of the
young trees. She heard also the rumble of wheels as the better class of
guests arrived or went away again.
"It is horrid," she murmured for about the twentieth time to herself;
and then she began to run in order to get away from what she called the
disagreeable noise.
Audrey could run with the speed and grace of a young fawn, but she had
not gone half-through the shrubbery before she stopped dead-short. A
girl of about her own age was coming hurriedly to meet her. She was a
very pretty girl, with black eyes and a quantity of black hair and a
richly colored dark face. The girl was dressed somewhat fantastically in
many colors. Peeping out from beneath her old-fashioned jacket was a
scarf of deep yellow; the skirt of her dress was crimson, and in her hat
she wore two long crimson feathers. Audrey regarded her with not only
wonder but also disfavor. Who was she? What a vulgar, forward,
insufferable young person!
"I say," cried the girl, coming up eagerly; "I have lost my way, and it
is so important! Can you tell me how I can get to the front entrance of
the Castle?"
"You ought not to have come by the shrubbery," said Audrey in a very
haughty tone. "The visitors who come to the Castle to-day are expected
to use the avenue. But now that you have come," she added, "if you will
take this short cut you will find yourself in the right direction. You
have then but to follow the stream of people and you will reach the hall
door."
"Oh, thank you!" said the girl. "I am so awfully hungry! I do hope I
shall get in before sunset. Good-by, and thank you so much! My name is
Sylvia Leeson; who are you?"
"I am Audrey Wynford," replied Audrey, speaking more icily than ever.
"Then you are the young lady of the Castle?"
"I am Audrey Wynford."
"How strange! One would think to meet you here, and one would think to
see me here, that we both belonged to Shakespeare's old play _As You
Like It_. But I must not stay another minute. It is so sweet of your
father to invite us all, and if I am not quick I shall lose the fun."
She nodded with a flash of bright eyes and white teeth at the amazed
Audrey, and the next moment was lost to view.
"What a girl!" thought Audrey as she pursued her walk. "How dared she!
She did not treat me with one scrap of respect, and she seemed to
think--a girl of that sort!--that she was my equal; she absolutely spoke
of us in the same breath. It was almost insulting. Sylvia and Audrey! We
meet in a wood, and we might be characters out of _As You Like It_.
Well, she is awfully pretty, but---- Oh dear! what a creature she is when
all is said and done--that wild dress, and those dancing eyes, and that
free manner! And yet--and yet she was scarcely vulgar; she was only--only
different from anybody else. Who is she, and where does she come from?
Sylvia Leeson. Rather a pretty name; and certainly a pretty girl. But to
think of her partaking of hospitality--all alone, too--with the _canaille_
of Wynford!"