RODNEY SQUARE
It seemed a long time till nurse came back again. We had finished our
tea--it was really rather a pretence one, as I said--when we thought we
heard her coming upstairs, and ran out to meet her.
It was her: she was coming up the big front staircase, for she still, as
she told me afterwards, had a half-silly idea that _perhaps_ the two
girls were still hiding somewhere in the drawing-rooms, and might be
going to jump out to surprise her. When we looked over the balusters and
saw it was nurse, we ran down to the first landing towards her.
'Mr. Barstow has gone himself,' she said. 'We've been looking out Rodney
Square in the red book; we found Mr. Barry's--it's No. 37--fast enough,
but we can't say which is the other lady's, as you've no idea of the
name. There's ever so many might do for it; the very next door is a Sir
Herbert Mortimer's.'
'No, it was a short name, I'm sure of that. Aren't you, Hebe?' I said.
'Now, my dears, why didn't you say so before?' said nurse. 'A short name
would have been some guide.'
'But it was far the best to go straight to the Barrys,' said Maud, which
was certainly quite true.
Just then the front bell rang.
'Oh,' said nurse, 'if only it could be the young ladies before your
mamma comes in!'
But no, it was not Anne and Serena. It was mums herself.
She seemed to know by instinct that there was something wrong. She
glanced up and saw our heads all looking over the railing.
'What is it?' she said. 'Are you all there, dears?'
Nurse and we three looked at each other. It was no use hiding it. So we
went on downstairs to the hall.
'It's nothing really wrong, mums, darling,' I said. 'It's only----' but
nurse interrupted me.
'It's Miss Warwick and Miss Serena, ma'am, haven't come in yet,' she
said. 'We hoped it was them when the bell rang.'
Mother looked bewildered.
'Anne and Serry,' she said. 'What do you mean? Didn't they go to the
dancing with the rest of you?'
'Yes, of course; they've been in since then,' said Hebe. 'Miss Stirling
brought us all to the door. But they've gone out again, we're afraid;'
and seeing mother looking more and more puzzled, she turned to Maud.
'You tell mums, Maud,' she said. 'You know most.'
Mother sat down on a chair in the hall. She seemed quite shaky and
frightened. Nurse ran off to get a glass of water, and Maud told her all
we knew or guessed in her quiet little particular way. She told
_all_--about the ornament that had been found, and everything--it was no
use hiding anything.
'Oh,' said poor mums at the end, 'I do wish gran had never thought of
lending me his diamonds,' and she gave a great sigh. 'But after all,'
she went on, 'I don't think we need be very frightened, though it was
exceedingly, really _very_ wrong of Anne to go, whatever her motive was.
I only hope the Barrys sent some one with them to these cousins of
theirs; they must have thought it extraordinary for two little girls to
be out alone so late.'
Still, on the whole, she did not seem so very frightened now. She drank
the water nurse brought, and went into the library, where the lamp was
lit, and the fire burning cheerfully.
'Barstow will be back immediately, no doubt?' she said to nurse.
'He'll be as quick as he can, I'm sure,' said nurse. 'But perhaps--if he
has gone on to the other house--it may be some little time.'
At that moment, however, we heard the area bell ring, and almost
immediately Barstow appeared. His face was rather red, and he seemed out
of breath--poor Barstow is getting pretty fat.
'Are they back?' he exclaimed. Then seeing mother, 'I beg your pardon,
ma'am. I just ran in to see if the young ladies were returned, for
they've not been at Mrs. Barry's--no one there has heard anything of
them. I got the address of the other lady's--Lady Nearn's----'
'Oh yes,' Hebe and I interrupted; 'that's the name.'
----'Just in case,' Barstow continued, 'they hadn't come in. But I
really begin to think we're on the wrong tack. Perhaps Miss Anne has
only gone to some shop, and it seemed making such a hue and cry to go
round to _another_ house, and not of our own acquaintances, you see,
ma'am,' he went on, 'and asking for the young ladies. I quite hoped to
find they were home.'
Mother considered. She kept her presence of mind, but I could see she
was growing really frightened.
'Could they have gone to get cakes for tea, for a surprise,' she said
suddenly, 'and have lost their way coming back? There's that German shop
in ---- Street, where there are such nice cakes.'
It was possible, but after all ---- Street was not very far off, and
Anne had sense enough to ask the way. And as the minutes went on, and no
ring came to the bell, we all looked at each other in increasing
trouble.
'You'd better go to Lady Nearn's, Barstow,' said mums at last, 'though
it seems such a mere chance. How could they have known what house it
was, scarcely having heard the name, and certainly not having been told
the number!'
That was what we all thought.
But Barstow was off--like a shot, I was going to say, but it wouldn't be
a very good description,--as like a shot as a stout elderly butler
_could_ be, we'll say.
And poor mums began walking up and down the room, squeezing her hands
together in a way she has when she's awfully worried.
'If only Alan were at home,' I heard her say. 'Oh dear! is it a
punishment to me for having made too much of the loss of that unlucky
brooch? It would seem less, far less than nothing, in comparison with
any harm to the children. Oh, if only Anne were less thoughtless and
impulsive, what a comfort it would be!'
And I must say, when I saw the poor, dear little thing-- I can't help
calling mums a little thing sometimes, though of course she's twice as
tall as I am, but she's so sweet and soft, and seems to need to be taken
care of--when I saw her, I say, so dreadfully upset, it was all I could
do not to feel _very_ angry with Anne; and yet, you understand, till I
could see with my own eyes that she and Serry were all right, I didn't
_dare_ to feel angry.
And all sorts of things began to come into my head, and I am sure they
were in mother's already. The one that seemed the plainest was that they
had been run over: the streets are not at all well lighted about where
we live; there are no shops, and the London gas is horribly dull. Still,
it wasn't likely that they'd both been run over and hurt so badly that
they couldn't speak to tell who they were or where they lived. There was
some comfort in that. But-- I looked at the library clock, which always
keeps good time: father sees to it himself--it was getting on for two
hours since they had been out! Where _could_ they be?
Suddenly there came a ring at the bell--rather a sharp ring--and as
Alfred flew to open the door, we heard the sort of little bustle that
there always is if it is a carriage or cab arriving--tiny clickings of
the harness and the coachman's voice. Yes, it was a carriage. We ran out
into the hall and saw a footman in a buff greatcoat standing on the
steps, up which came two little dark figures, who ran in past him. Then
the door was shut, the carriage drove off, and we saw that it was Anne
and Serry.
'Oh, children! oh, Anne!' cried mother. 'Where _have_ you been?'
And we all called out in different voice, '_Oh_, Anne! _oh_, Serry!'
But before she said anything else Anne rushed up to mother.
'Oh, mums, it _wasn't_ it after all. It was a star with a pearl in the
middle. I was _so_ disappointed!'
That shows how silly Anne is. She had planned, you know, to say nothing
about it to mother, and then she bursts out as if mums had sent her to
find out about it! Indeed, for that matter, it was only thanks to clever
little Maud that any of us knew where they had been, or had any idea
rather. For as to _knowing_, we had not known; we had only guessed.
'Then you _were_ there, after all,' said Maud. 'I thought so.'
'But how did you get the address without going to the Barrys for it?'
said Hebe. 'We sent there. Barstow went himself. Oh, Anne, you have
frightened us so, especially poor darling mums!'
Then at last Anne and Serry began to look rather ashamed of themselves.
Mother, after the first exclamation, had not spoken. She went back into
the library, looking whiter than before almost, and I felt too disgusted
with Anne's thoughtlessness to ask any questions. Still, I _was_ very
curious to know all about it, and so were we all.
Anne followed mums into the library--she was really frightened by this
time, I think.
'Tell me all about it,' said mother.
So they did--Anne first, of course, and Serena putting in her word now
and then. It was just as we had thought about the first part of it. They
had gone to find out about the brooch. Rodney Square wasn't far off, and
Anne was sure she knew the way there, and would be back directly. But
after all, it wasn't so easy to find as she expected. It makes a great
difference when it's dark--the turnings are so like each other,
especially where there are no shops. They did get to Rodney Square at
last, but they must have gone a very roundabout way, and when they
_were_ there, there was a new difficulty: they knew the Barrys' house by
sight, or they thought they did, but they didn't know the number, only
that it was a corner one. They came to one corner, one that looked
something like it, and Anne thought they'd better try. So they went up
the steps and rang the bell, and a footman opened.
'Does Mrs. Barry live here?' asked Anne.
'No,' he said,' that's not our name.' But he must have been
good-natured, for he went on to say he'd get the red book if they liked,
and look for it.
'Bury--was that the name?' he said when he had got the book.
'_Barry_,' Anne was just going to say, when a new thought struck her. It
was no good going to two houses when she might get the information she
wanted at one. 'It isn't really Mrs. Barry's house I need,' she said. 'I
was only going to ask there for another address--Lady Nern, or some name
like that.'
'Oh,' said the man, 'Lady Nearn's!--that's next door, miss. I don't need
to look it up.'
They thanked him and set off again, thinking they had been very lucky,
though _I_ thought if Anne had remembered the name as close as that, she
might have looked it up in our own red book at home before starting.
They rang again next door, and again a footman opened; but he wasn't so
good-natured as the other, and he was stupid too.
'Is Lady Nearn at home? Can I see her?' asked Anne quite coolly. Anne is
as cool as anything when she's full of some idea. Nothing puts her out
or frightens her.
It was rather dark, and of course no one expects little _ladies_ to be
walking about alone so late. So it wasn't much wonder the man thought
they were errand girls, or beggars of some kind possibly.
'No,' he said, 'my lady's not at home; and if she was she wouldn't be to
no tiresome children like you.' (We made Anne and Serry tell us exactly
all that was said.) 'She leaves word if she's expecting any of her
school brats, but she's said nothing this time, so it's no use your
teasing.'
If _I'd_ been Anne I'd have been in a fury, but Serry said she didn't
seem to mind.
'Oh, please,' she said, 'we're not school-children, and we've come about
something very particular indeed. Don't you think Lady Nearn will be in
soon?'
That was Anne all over. She'd no intention of giving up now she had got
so far.
I suppose the footman heard by her voice that she wasn't a common child.
'Can't you leave a message?' he said rather more civilly.
'No,' said Anne. 'It's something I must see Lady Nearn herself about.'
She had the sense not to speak of the found ornament to him. Of course
it would have been no use, as Lady Nearn wouldn't have left it with a
servant.
'We're friends of--at least we know Mrs. Barry's children,' Anne went
on. 'Can't you let us come in and wait, if Lady Nearn will be in soon?'
For it was very chilly on the doorstep, and indeed both Anne and Serry
were very tired by this time--coming straight from the dancing, and
losing their way to Rodney Square, and it being past tea-time and all.
The footman seemed to consider.
'Step inside,' he said at last; 'I'll see what--somebody--says,' They
didn't catch the name.
It wasn't nearly such a grand house as the one next door. The hall was
quite small, and there was no fireplace in it.
'You can take a seat,' said the man, and he went off. 'Somebody' must
have taken a good while to find, for he didn't come back for ever so
long. I suppose once he saw them in the light, he was satisfied they
weren't beggars or anything like that.
They were glad to sit down, and it felt warm in the hall compared to
outside. There was a door close to where they were. It was one of those
houses that have the dining-room at the back and the library to the
front, you know, and the door was the library door.
[Illustration: 'The door opened a little wider, and two faces
appeared.'--c. v. p. 74.]
After a moment it opened, very slowly and softly, and some one peeped
out; then Anne and Serena heard some whispering, and the door opened a
little wider, and two faces appeared. It was two children--a boy and a
girl, though their heads looked much the same, as they had both short,
dark, curly hair, and they both wore sailor tops. They gradually opened
the door still more till they could be seen quite well. They were about
six or seven, and they stood smiling at the girls, half shy and half
pleased.
'Won't you come in here?' said one of them. 'It must be so cold out
there. We're having tea in here all by ourselves. It's such fun.'
'We're to stay here till mamma comes home,' said the other. 'We've been
by ourselves all day, because Lilly and Tom are ill--we mustn't be in
the nursery to disturb them.'
Anne and Serry walked in. 'They didn't see why they shouldn't,' said
Serry, and these dear little children were so kind and polite. They
handed them the cake and bread-and-butter, and they would have given
them tea, only they hadn't cups enough, and they didn't seem quite sure
about ringing for more.
George, the footman, was rather cross sometimes, they said. But it
wasn't often he was so rude as to leave any one in the cold hall. They'd
tell mamma when she came in.
She did come in very soon. The bell rang, and the children ran to the
door to peep out, and when Lady Nearn hurried in, there she found the
four as happy as could be--Anne and Serry so amused by the children that
they had quite forgotten all about how frightened nurse and all of us
would be getting; indeed, they'd almost forgotten what they had come to
this strange house about at all.
Lady Nearn did look astonished. For half a minute she took Serena for
Flossy Barry.
'Flossy,' she said, 'I wrote to your----' but then she stopped, and just
stared in surprise.
Anne had got back her wits by then, and she explained it all--how it was
partly, anyway, her fault about the brooch being lost, and how pleased
she'd be to find it, and all about what Flossy had told them, and how
she and Serry had come off by themselves, not even knowing the name, or
the number of the house.
Lady Nearn was very kind, but I don't think she quite took in that it
was really naughty of them to have come out without leave. You see, Anne
hadn't got to think it naughty herself, yet. She fetched the brooch just
to show Anne--though, indeed, from the way Anne spoke of it, she was
sure it wasn't it, and of course it wasn't!
Anne could nearly have cried with disappointment.
Then it did strike Lady Nearn to ask how they were going home again. It
was quite dark by now. She couldn't send a servant with them, for the
house was rather upset--three of the children were ill.
'Indeed,' she said, 'I must write to Mrs. Warwick to explain. I hope no
harm will come of it, as you have only seen the twins, who are quite
well, so far, and separated from the others.'
But all the same she seemed anxious to get them away, and she suddenly
rang the bell and told George--who must have looked rather astonished to
see the 'school brats' such friends with his mistress--to run round to
the stables and tell the coachman to call at the house on his way to
fetch Lord Nearn from somewhere or other. That was how Anne and Serry
came home in a carriage.
We didn't hear the whole ins and outs of the story at once, but we made
the girls tell it us over afterwards.
Just now Anne could hardly get through with it; for she began crying
when she understood how frightened mums had been, and begging her to
forgive her.
Mums did, of course--she always does. And then she sent us upstairs to
finish our tea. But as we left the library I heard her say to herself--
'I wonder what Lady Nearn can be going to write to me about.'
Serena was quite jolly, and as hungry as anything.
'All's well that ends well,' she said, tossing her hair.
Anne turned upon her pretty sharply. I wasn't sorry.
'Serry,' she said, 'I know you're not to blame like me, for I made you
come. But you might see now how wrong it was, as I do. And "ends well"
indeed! Why, we've given mums and all of them a dreadful fright, and we
haven't found the brooch.'
And--but I must tell that in a new chapter. No, it wasn't 'ends well'
_yet_, by a long way.
'If only you'd asked _me_, Anne,' said Miss Maud Wisdom.