STINGS FOR BEE.
"And I will look up the chimney,
And into the cupboard to make quite sure."
--AUTHOR OF LILLIPUT LEVEE.
Fixie was not quite well the next morning, as Martha had hoped he
would be. Still he did not seem ill enough to stay in bed, so she
dressed him as usual. But at breakfast he rested his head on his hand,
looking very doleful, "very sorry for himself," as Scotch people say.
And Martha, though she tried to cheer him up, was evidently anxious.
Mother came up to see him after breakfast, and she looked less uneasy
than Martha.
"It's only a cold, I fancy," she said, but when Martha followed her
out of the room and reminded her of all the children's illnesses Fixie
had _not_ had, and which often look like a cold at the beginning,
she agreed that it might be better to send for the doctor.
"Have you any commissions for Blackthorpe?" she said to Miss Vincent
when she, Aunt Edith, came down to the drawing-room, a little earlier
than usual that morning. "I am going to send to ask the doctor to come
and see Fixie."
Aunt Edith had already heard from Nelson about Felix not being well,
and that was why she had got up earlier, for she was in a great
fright.
"I am thankful to hear it," she said; "for there is no saying what his
illness may be going to be. But, Lillias, _of course_ you won't
let darling Rosy stay in the nursery."
"I hadn't thought about it," said Rosy's mother. "Perhaps I am a
little careless about these things, for you see all the years I was in
India I had only Fixie, and he was quite out of the way of infection.
Besides, Rosy has had measles and scarlet fever, and----"
"But not whooping-cough, or chicken-pox, or mumps, or even smallpox.
Who knows but what it may be smallpox," said Aunt Edith, working
herself up more and more.
Mrs. Vincent could hardly help smiling. "I _don't_ think that's
likely," she said. "However, I am glad you mentioned the risk, for I
think there is much more danger for Bee than for Rosy, for Bee, like
Fixie, has had none of these illnesses. I will go up to the nursery
and speak to Martha about it at once," and she turned towards the
door.
"But you will separate Rosy too," insisted Miss Vincent, "the dear
child can sleep in my room. Nelson will be only too delighted to have
her again."
"Thank you," said Rosy's mother rather coldly. She knew Nelson would
be only too glad to have the charge of Rosy, and to put into her head
again a great many foolish thoughts and fancies which she had hoped
Rosy was beginning to forget. "It will not be necessary to settle so
much till we hear what the doctor says. Of course I would not leave
Rosy with Fixie and Bee by herself. But for to-day they can stay in
the schoolroom, and I will ask Miss Pinkerton to remain later."
The doctor came in the afternoon, but he was not able to say much. It
would take, he said, a day or two to decide what was the matter with
the little fellow. But Fixie was put to bed, and Rosy and Bee were
told on no account to go into either of the nurseries. Fixie was not
sorry to go to bed; he had been so dull all the morning, playing by
himself in a comer of the nursery, but he cried a little when he was
told that Bee must not come and sit by him and read or tell him
stories as she always was ready to do when he was not quite well. And
Bee looked ready to cry too when she saw his distress!
It was not a very cheerful time. The children felt unsettled by being
kept out of their usual rooms and ways. Rosy was constantly running
off to her aunt's room, or to ask Nelson about something or other, and
Bee did not like to follow her, for she had an uncomfortable feeling
that neither Nelson nor her mistress liked her to come. Nelson was in
a very gloomy humour.
"It will be a sad pity to be sure," she said to Rosy, "if Master
Fixie's gone and got any sort of catching illness."
"How do you mean?" said Rosy. "It won't much matter except that Bee
and I can't go into the nursery or my room. Bee's room has a door out
into the other passage, I heard mamma saying we could sleep there if
the nursery door was kept locked. I think it would be fun to sleep in
Bee's room. I shouldn't mind."
Nelson grunted. She did not approve of Rosy's liking Beata.
"Ah, well," she said, "it isn't only your Aunt Edith that's afraid of
infection. If it's measles that Master Fixie's got, you won't go to
Lady Esther's party, Miss Rosy."
Rosy opened her eyes. "Not go to the party! we _must_ go," she
exclaimed, and before Nelson knew what she was about, off Rosy had
rushed to confide this new trouble to Bee, and hear what she would say
about it. Bee, too, looked grave, for her heart was greatly set on the
idea of the Summerlands fete.
"I don't know," she replied. "I hope dear little Fixie is not going to
be very ill. Any way, Rosy, I don't think Nelson should have said
that. Your mother would have told us herself if she had wanted us to
know it."
"Indeed," said a harsh voice behind her, "I don't require a little
chit like you, Miss Bee, to teach me my duty," and turning round,
Beata saw that Nelson was standing in the doorway, for she had
followed Rosy, a little afraid of the effect of what she had told her.
Bee felt sorry that Nelson had overheard what she had said, though
indeed there was no harm in it.
"I did not mean to vex you, Nelson," she said, "but I'm sure it is
better to wait till Aunt Lillias tells us herself."
Nelson looked very angry, and walked off in a huff, muttering
something the children could not catch.
"I wish you wouldn't always quarrel with Nelson," said Rosy crossly.
"She always gets on with _me_ quite well. I shall have to go and
get her into a good humour again, for I want her to finish my apron."
Rosy ran off, but Bee stayed alone, her eyes filled with tears.
"It _isn't_ my fault," she said to herself. "I don't know what to
do. Nothing is the same since they came. I'll write to mother and ask
her not to leave me here any longer. I'd rather be at school or
anywhere than stay here when they're all so unkind to me now."
But then wiser thoughts came into her mind. They weren't "all" unkind,
and she knew that Mrs. Vincent herself had troubles to bear.
Besides--what was it her mother had always said to her?--that it was
at such times that one's real wish to be good was tried; when all is
smooth and pleasant and every one kind and loving, what is easier than
to be kind and pleasant in return? It is when others are _not_
kind, but sharp and suspicious and selfish, that one _has_ to
"try" to return good for evil, gentleness for harshness, kind thoughts
and ways for the cold looks or angry words which one cannot help
feeling sadly, but which lose half their sting when not treasured up
and exaggerated by dwelling upon them.
And feeling happier again, Bee went back to what she was busy
at--making a little toy scrap-book for Fixie which she meant to send
in to him the next morning as if it had come by post. And she had need
of her good resolutions, for she hardly saw Rosy again all day, and
when they were going to bed Nelson came to help Rosy to undress and
went on talking to her so much all the time about people and places
Bee knew nothing about, that it was impossible for her to join in at
all. She kissed Rosy as kindly as usual when Nelson had left the room,
but it seemed to her that her kiss was very coldly returned.
"You're not vexed with me for anything, are you, Rosy?" she could not
help saying.
"Vexed with you? No, I never said I was vexed with you," Rosy
answered. "I wish you wouldn't go on like that, Bee, it's tiresome. I
can't be always kissing and petting you."
And that was all the comfort poor Bee could get to go to sleep with!
For a day or two still the doctor could not say what was wrong with
Fixie, but at last he decided that it was only a sort of feverish
attack brought on by his having somehow or other caught cold, for
there had been some damp and rainy weather, even though spring was now
fast turning into summer.
The little fellow had been rather weak and out of sorts for some time,
and as soon as he was better, Mrs. Vincent made up her mind to send
him off with Martha for a fortnight to a sheltered seaside village not
far from their home. Beata was very sorry to see them go. She almost
wished she was going with them, for though she had done her best to be
patient and cheerful, nothing was the same as before the coming of
Rosy's aunt. Rosy scarcely seemed to care to play with her at all. Her
whole time, when not at her lessons, was spent in her aunt's room,
generally with Nelson, who was never tired of amusing her and giving
in to all her fancies. Bee grew silent and shy. She was losing her
bright happy manner, and looked as if she no longer felt sure that she
was a welcome little guest. Mrs. Vincent saw the change in her, but
did not quite understand it, and felt almost inclined to be vexed with
her.
"She knows it is only for a short time that Rosy's aunt is here. She
might make the best of it," thought Mrs. Vincent. For she did not know
fully how lonely Bee's life now was, and how many cold or unkind words
she had to bear from Rosy, not to speak of Nelson's sharp and almost
rude manner; for, though Rosy was not cunning, Nelson was so, and she
managed to make it seem always as if Bee, and not Rosy, was in fault.
"Where is Bee?" said Mrs. Vincent one afternoon when she went into the
nursery, where, at this time of day, Nelson was now generally to be
found.
"I don't know, mamma," said Rosy. Then, without saying any more about
Bee, she went on eagerly, "Do look, mamma, at the lovely opera-cloak
Nelson has made for my doll? It isn't _quite_ ready--there's a
little white fluff----"
"Swansdown, Miss Rosy, darling," said Nelson.
"Well, swansdown then--it doesn't matter--mamma knows," said Rosy
sharply, "there's white stuff to go round the neck. Won't it be
lovely, mother?"
She looked up with her pretty face all flushed with pleasure, for
nobody could be prettier than Rosy when she was pleased.
"Yes dear, _very_ pretty," said her mother. It was impossible to
deny that Nelson was very kind and patient, and Mrs. Vincent would
have felt really pleased if only she had not feared that Nelson did
Rosy harm by her spoiling and flattery. "But where can Bee be?" she
said again. "Does she not care about dolls too?"
"She used to," said Rosy. "But Bee is very fond of being alone now,
mamma. And I don't care for her when she looks so gloomy."
"But what makes her so?" said Mrs. Vincent. "Are you quite kind to
her, Rosy?"
"Oh indeed, yes, ma'am," interrupted Nelson, without giving Rosy time
to answer. "Of that you may be very sure. Indeed many's the time I say
to myself Miss Rosy's patience is quite wonderful. Such a free,
outspoken young lady as she is, and Miss Bee _so_ different. I
don't like them secrety sort of children, and Miss Rosy feels it
too--she--"
"Nelson, I didn't ask for your opinion of little Miss Warwick," said
Mrs. Vincent, very coldly. "I know you are very kind to Rosy. But I
cannot have any interference when I find fault with her."
Nelson looked very indignant, but Mrs. Vincent's manner had something
in it which prevented her answering in any rude way.
"I'm sure I meant no offence," she said sourly, but that was all.
Beata was alone in the schoolroom, writing, or trying to write, to her
mother. Her letters, which used to be such a pleasure, had grown
difficult.
"Mamma said I was to write everything to her," she said to herself,
"but I _can't_ write to tell her I'm not happy. I wonder if it's
any way my fault."
Just then the door opened and Mrs. Vincent looked in.
"All alone, Bee," she said. "Would it not be more cheerful in the
nursery with Rosy? You have no lessons to do now?
"No" said Bee, "I was beginning a letter to mamma. But it isn't to go
just yet."
"Well, dear, go and play with Rosy. I don't like to see you moping
alone. You must be my bright little Bee--you wouldn't like any one to
think you are not happy with us?"
"Oh no," said Bee. But there was little brightness in her tone, and
Mrs. Vincent felt half provoked with her.
"She has not really anything to complain of,"
she said to herself, "and she cannot expect me to speak to her against
Aunt Edith and Nelson. She should make the best of it for the time."
As Bee was leaving the schoolroom Mrs. Vincent called her back.
"Will you tell Rosy to bring me her Venetian necklace to the
drawing-room?" she said; "I want it for a few minutes." She did not
tell Beata why she wanted it. It was because she had had a letter that
morning from Mr. Furnivale asking her to tell him how many beads there
were on Rosy's necklace and their size, as he had found a shop where
there were two or three for sale, and he wanted to get one as nearly
as possible the same for Beata.
Beata went slowly to the nursery. She would much rather have stayed in
the schoolroom, lonely and dull though it was. When she got to the
nursery she gave Rosy her mother's message, and asked her kindly if
she might bring her dolls so that they could play with them together.
"I shan't get no work done," said Nelson crossly, "if there's going to
be such a litter about."
"I'm going to take my necklace to mamma," said Rosy. "You may play
with my doll till I come back, Bee."
She ran off, and Bee sat down quietly as far away from Nelson as she
could. Five or ten minutes passed, and then the door suddenly opened
and Rosy burst in with a very red face.
"Bee, Nelson," she exclaimed, "my necklace is _gone_. It is
indeed. I've hunted _everywhere_. And somebody must have taken
it, for I always put it in the same place, in its own little box. You
know I do--don't I, Bee?"
Bee seemed hardly able to answer. Her face looked quite pale with
distress.
"Your necklace gone, Rosy," she repeated. Nelson said nothing.
"Yes, _gone,_ I tell you," said Rosy. "And I believe it's stolen.
It couldn't go of itself, and I _never_ left it about. I haven't
had it on for a good while. You know that time I slept in your room,
Bee, while Fixie was ill, I got out of the way of wearing it. But I
always knew where it was, in its own little box in the far-back corner
of the drawer where I keep my best ribbons and jewelry."
"Yes," said Bee, "I know. It was there the day I had it out to amuse
Fixie."
Rosy turned sharply upon her.
"Did you put it back that day, Bee?" she said, "I don't believe I've
looked at it since. Answer, _did_ you put it back?"
"Yes," said Bee earnestly, "yes, indeed; _indeed_ I did. O Rosy,
don't get like that," she entreated, clasping her hands, for Rosy's
face was growing redder and redder, and her eyes were flashing. "O
Rosy, _don't_ get into a temper with me about it. I did, _did_
put it back."
But it is doubtful if Rosy would have listened to her. She was fast
working herself up to believe that Bee had lost the necklace the day
she had had it out for Pixie, and she was so distressed at the loss
that she was quite ready to get into a temper with _somebody_--when,
to both the children's surprise, Nelson's voice interrupted
what Rosy was going to say.
"Miss Warwick," she said, with rather a mocking tone--she had made a
point of calling Bee "Miss Warwick" since the day Mrs. Vincent had
spoken of the little girl by that name--"Miss Warwick did put it back
that day, Miss Rosy dear," she said. "For I saw it late that evening
when I was putting your things away to help Martha as Master Fixie was
ill." She did not explain that she had made a point of looking for the
necklace in hopes of finding Bee had _not_ put it back, for you
may remember she had been cross and rude to Bee about finding her in
Rosy's room.
"Well, then, where has it gone? Come with me, Bee, and look for it,"
said Rosy, rather softening down,--"though I'm _sure_ I've looked
everywhere."
"I don't think it's any use your taking Miss Warwick to look for it,"
said Nelson, getting up and laying aside her work. "I'll go with you,
Miss Rosy, and if it's in your room I'll undertake to find it. And
just you stay quietly here, Miss Bee. Too many cooks spoil the broth."
So Bee was left alone again, alone, and even more unhappy than before,
for she was _very_ sorry about Rosy's necklace, and besides, she
had a miserable feeling that if it was never found she would somehow
be blamed for its loss. A quarter of an hour passed, then half an
hour, what could Rosy and Nelson be doing all this time? The door
opened and Bee sprang up.
"Have you found it, Rosy?" she cried eagerly.
But it was not Rosy, though she was following behind. The first person
that came in was Mrs. Vincent. She looked grave and troubled.
"Beata," she said, "you have heard about Rosy's necklace. Tell me all
about the last time you saw it."
"It was when Rosy let Fixie have it to play with," began Bee, and she
told all she remembered.
"And you are sure--_quite_ sure--you never have seen it since?"
"_Quite_ sure," said Bee. "I never touch Rosy's things without
her leave."
Nelson gave a sort of cough. Bee turned round on her. "If you've
anything to say you'd better say it now, before Mrs. Vincent," said
Bee, in a tone that, coming from the gentle kindly little girl,
surprised every one.
"Bee!" exclaimed Mrs. Vincent, "What do you mean? Nelson has said
_nothing_ about you." This was quite true. Nelson was too clever
to say anything right out. She had only hinted and looked wise about
the necklace to Rosy, giving her a feeling that Bee was more likely to
have touched it than any one else.
Bee was going to speak, but Rosy's mother stopped her. "You have told
us all you know," she said. "I don't want to hear any more. But I am
surprised at you, Bee, for losing your temper about being simply asked
if you had seen the necklace. You might have forgotten at first if you
had had it again for Fixie, and you _might_ the second time have
forgotten to put it back. But there is nothing to be offended at, in
being asked about it."
She spoke coldly, and Bee's heart swelled more and more, but she dared
not speak.
"There is nothing to do," said Mrs. Vincent, "that I can see, except
to find out if Fixie could have taken it. I will write to Martha at
once and tell her to ask him, and to let us know by return of post."
The letter was written and sent. No one waited for the answer more
anxiously than Beata. It came by return of post, as Mrs. Vincent had
said. But it brought only disappointment. "Master Fixie," Martha
wrote, "knew nothing of Miss Rosy's necklace." He could not remember
having had it to play with at all, and he seemed to get so worried
when she kept on asking about it, that Martha thought it better to say
no more, for it was plain he had nothing to tell.
"It is very strange he cannot remember playing with it that
afternoon," said Mrs. Vincent. "He generally has such a good memory.
You are sure you _did_ give it to him to play with, Bee?"
"We played with it together. I told him stories about each bead," the
little girl replied. And her voice trembled as if she were going to
burst into tears.
"Then his illness since must have made him forget it," said Mrs.
Vincent. But that was all she said. She did not call Bee to her and
tell her not to feel unhappy about it--that she knew she could trust
every word she said, as she once would have done. But she did give
very strict orders that nothing more was to be said about the
necklace, for though Nelson had not dared to hint anything unkind
about Bee to Mrs. Vincent herself, yet Rosy's mother felt sure that
Nelson blamed Bee for the loss, and wished others to do so, and she
was afraid of what might be said in the nursery if the subject was
still spoken about.
So nothing unkind was actually said to Beata, but Rosy's cold manner
and careless looks were hard to bear.
And the days were drawing near for the long looked forward to fete at
Summerlands.