The abrupt disappearance of the new nursemaid had naturally caused
considerable excitement at Ravenshurst, and Lily's story, when she was
asked to repeat what the new girl had said to her, did not throw much
light on the subject. It seemed, however, to be clear that the child
had really picked up a letter in the forest, and that, on its being
shown to Florence, the girl had at once decamped. When Mrs Warren's
note came, promising an explanation, Sir Philip Carleton hummed and
hawed, but told his wife that, as Cunningham's keeper's wife seemed so
respectable a person, she had better hear the explanation. As to taking
the girl back, that was another thing altogether.
Lady Carleton had no idea what the explanation was to be, and when Mrs
Warren appeared at the door of her morning-room with Florence behind,
hanging her head, her reception was not encouraging.
"I hope, Mrs Warren, that you have some reason to give for your niece's
extraordinary conduct. She has behaved in a most unheard-of manner."
"She has, my lady, and I am going to trouble your ladyship with the
excuse for it. Some strangers were seen in the wood, and Florence here
and my little boy took it into their heads, which was none of their
business, to warn the keepers about them. Then, my lady, when Florence
was putting Miss Lily to bed, the little lady showed her a letter which
she said she had found in the wood."
"Yes," said Lady Carleton; "Miss Lily told me something about that
letter, but I had no time to attend to her. Well?"
"My lady, she saw in that letter the name of her own brother, Harry
Whittaker, and perceived it was written by Mr Alwyn Cunningham, whose
story, my lady, she had heard, it seems, from my Wyn. And Florence put
two and two together, and saw that 'twas her own brother and Mr Alwyn
that she had set the keepers upon, and off she ran, without another
thought to send Wyn to warn them. And indeed, my lady, I hardly know
whether it was her place or not; certain sure she ought to have
mentioned that she was going; but her brother met her and brought her
home; and if your ladyship can overlook her behaviour, she'll be a good
girl for the future, I do think."
"But, Mrs Warren," exclaimed Lady Carleton, to whom Florence's conduct
was the least part of the matter, "do you mean to say that Mr Alwyn
Cunningham has returned?"
"Yes, my lady, he has, and Henry Whittaker too; and I may say, your
ladyship, that Henry appears to be a reformed character, and well-to-do
also. And very remarkable things he had to tell us. But those it is
not my business to trouble your ladyship with."
Mrs Warren said no word about the confession and the jewels; that, she
thought, was not her business. And now that Mr Alwyn was once more in
his proper place, she had no call to discuss his character.
"Of course, my lady," she said, "if your ladyship feels that you cannot
overlook such a breach of propriety, I will take Florence back at once."
Lady Carleton looked at the girl for a moment.
"I should like Florence to stay," she said. "Will you please leave her
with me now, Mrs Warren? I see that the case was exceptional." Mrs
Warren thanked her ladyship, and with a discreet hope that Florence
would be grateful and obedient, withdrew at once.
"Come here, Florence," said Lady Carleton in the softest voice Florence
had ever heard. "It was a very serious thing to do, you know, to run
away without leave. It is because I think that you are a good steady
girl in general that I overlook it, as you had a reason."
"I ain't a good girl, Lady Carleton," said Florence. "I ain't steady,
but I wasn't after nothing wrong last night."
"What do you mean by saying you are not steady?" said Lady Carleton,
somewhat taken aback by Florence's town-bred use of her name and by her
queer manner.
"I was always the one to lead the rest," said Florence, "and I've always
liked a bit of fun. But I had to go and try to step them from taking
Harry up for a poacher, and--and he says it ain't no manner of use to
say `Don't care,' and I'm very sorry."
"If you were able to stop the harm you had begun to do, that is a thing
to be very thankful for--to thank God for!" said Lady Carleton with some
emotion in her tone.
Florence looked up with a certain solemnity in her round eyes never seen
there before.
"I did say my prayers in the wood," she said, "when I lost my way, and
then Harry came."
"Tell me about it," said Lady Carleton kindly. Thus encouraged,
Florence volubly, according to her nature, but with a friendliness of
manner which was really the nearest approach to respect that she had
ever exhibited, told her tale.
"And my heart was in my mouth, ma'am, the trees were that black and that
awful. I'd have run back, for I wouldn't have cared if nurse had given
me ever so much of the rough side of her tongue. But there, I couldn't
have it on my mind that I'd set the keepers on my brother and dear Miss
Geraldine's too. But I didn't know one path from another no more than
if there hadn't been none. And then I thought of little Miss Lily's
prayer about setting wrongs right and travellers, and I said it, Lady
Carleton; and there was Harry."
"Did you, Florence? Oh, thank God for it!" said Lady Carleton
tearfully.
"And he took me right back, and he said this morning that the best thing
I could do was to come back here and be trained a bit. And so I've
come, please, ma'am--my lady. Please, aunt said I was to say `my lady,'
and I will, but I forgot; and I'll be a good girl, and not gossip on the
sly, nor answer nurse back, nor make the other girls saucy. And I'll
trim up my hat quiet, if you like, my lady. I--I want to be good."
Florence cried as she finished speaking, and wiped her eyes and blew her
nose noisily. Perhaps, but for the circumstances that appealed so
strongly to her sympathy, Lady Carleton would never have recognised how
real this confused desire "to be good" was in this extraordinary girl,
so unlike any well-trained maiden whom she had ever encountered.
"Well," she said, "you shall try. You had better talk as little about
the matter as possible, and I trust you never will `gossip on the sly,'
or do anything of the kind, for I couldn't have a girl who was not nice
and modest near my little ones. I will speak to nurse."
"Thank you--my lady."
But as Lady Carleton rose to take her back to the nursery, Florence's
round face suddenly beamed all over, and she said sympathetically:
"They've found out who stole the jewels, my lady, and it was not Harry
nor Mr Alwyn. They were as innocent as lambs."
"I think we had better not talk about that just now," said Lady
Carleton; and then, with a sudden inspiration and effort, she added:
"Florence, perhaps you don't know that it was partly my fault that those
jewels were lost, that I helped to put some one in the way of
temptation. It was because I was so silly, that I only thought of what
you call `a bit of fun.' That is why I was so glad you were able to
prevent the mischief you started, and why I taught Miss Lily to say
those prayers. The good God has heard them. You see, I shall be very
glad if you _are_ good."
Lady Carleton had a very simple manner, but Florence looked up at her
with the first sense of real respect--she had begun to have real
likings--that she had ever known.
"I _will_ try," she said softly, with her bold eyes cast down; and Lady
Carleton took her by the hand and led her up to the nursery.
An hour or two later, when Florence, whose reception by the nurse had
not been particularly cordial, was sitting demurely in the nursery
window, putting her best needlework, such as it was, into Miss Lily's
new pinafore, a note was brought to Lady Carleton. "The gentleman was
waiting." Lady Carleton had thought of nothing but the half-heard story
of the returned travellers, of the hint about the jewels, and of the
hope that the consequences of her girlish folly might be undone at last.