THE WHOLE HOUSE UPSET
The twins arose betimes on the morning after Cicely's flight,
determined, as was their custom, to enjoy whatever excitement, legal, or
within limits illegal, was to be wrested from a long new summer day, but
quite unaware that the whole house around them was humming with
excitement already.
For upon Dick's departure the night before the Squire had thrown caution
to the winds, and be-stirred himself, as he said, to get to the bottom
of things. Not content with Mrs. Clinton's report of Miles's statement,
which was simply that she knew nothing, he had "had Miles up" and
cross-examined her himself. He had then had Probin up, the head
coachman, who would have known if Cicely had been driven to the station,
which it was fairly obvious she had not been. He also had Porter the
butler up, more because Porter was always had up if anything went wrong
in the house than because he could be expected to throw any light on
what had happened. And when the groom came back from Mountfield with
Dick's note to Mrs. Clinton, late as it was, he had _him_ up, and sent
him down again to spread his news and his suspicions busily, although he
had been threatened with instant dismissal if he said a word to anybody.
Having thus satisfied himself of what he knew already, that Cicely had
walked to the station and had taken no luggage with her, and having
opened up the necessary channels of information, so that outdoor and
indoor servants alike now knew that Cicely had run away and that her
father was prepared, as the phrase went, to raise Cain about it, the
Squire went up to bed, and breaking his usual healthy custom of going to
sleep immediately he laid his head on his pillow, rated Mrs. Clinton
soundly for not noticing what was going on under her very nose. "I can't
look after everything in the house and out of it too," he ended up. "I
shall be expected to see that the twins change their stockings when they
get their feet wet, next. Good-night, Nina. God bless you."
So, to return to the twins; when the schoolroom maid came to awaken them
in the morning and found them, as was usual, nearly dressed, they
learned, for the first time, what had been happening while they had
slept, all unconscious.
"Why can't you call us in proper time, Hannah?" said Joan, as she came
in. "We told you we wanted our hot water at half-past three, and it has
just struck seven. You'll have to go if you can't get up in time."
Hannah deposited a tray containing two large cups of tea and some
generous slices of bread and butter on a table and said importantly,
"It's no time to joke now, Miss Joan. There's Miss Clinton missing, and
most of us kep' awake half the night wondering what's come of her."
Hannah had not before succeeded in making an impression upon her young
mistresses, but she succeeded now. Joan and Nancy stared at her with
open eyes, and gave her time to heighten her effects as they redounded
to her own importance.
"But I can't stop talking now, miss," she said. "I'll just get your 'ot
water and then I must go and 'elp. Here I stop wasting me time, and
don't know that something hadn't 'appened and I may be wanted."
"You're wanted here," said Joan. "What do you mean--Miss Clinton
missing? Has she gone away?"
"I'll just tell you what I know, Miss Joan," said Hannah, "and then I
must go downstairs and 'elp. I was going along the passage by the room
last night, jest when they was ready to take in dinner, and Mr. Porter
came along and says to me, 'What are _you_ doing here?' Well, of course,
I was struck all of a 'eap, because----"
"Oh, don't let's waste time with her," interrupted Nancy, "let's go and
ask Miss Bird what it's all about."
"Wait a minute, Miss Nancy," cried Hannah. "I was telling you----"
But the twins were at the door. "Lock her in," said Joan. "We shall want
her when we come back." And they locked her in, to the great damage of
her dignity, and went along the passage to the room which had sheltered
Miss Bird's virgin slumbers for nearly thirty years. They were at first
refused admission, but upon Joan's saying in a clear voice outside the
door, "We want to know about Cicely. If you won't tell us we must go and
ask the servants," Miss Bird unlocked the door, and was discovered in a
dressing-gown of pink flannel with her hair in curl papers. The twins
were too eager for news to remark upon these phenomena, and allowed Miss
Bird to get back into bed while they sat at the foot of it to hear her
story.
"Well, you must know some time," said Miss Bird, "and to say that you
will ask the servants is _not_ the way to behave as you know very well
and I am the proper person to come to."
"Well, we have come to you," said Joan, "only you wouldn't let us in.
Now tell us. Has Cicely run away?"
"Really, Joan, that is a most foolish question," said Miss Bird, "to
call it running away to visit Walter and Muriel her _own_ brother and
sister too as you might say and that is all and I suppose it is that
Hannah who has been putting ideas into your head for I came in to see
you last night and you knew nothing but were both in a _sweet_ sleep and
I often think that if you could see yourselves then you would be more
careful how you behave and especially Nancy for it is innocence and
goodness itself and a pity that it can't be so sleeping _and_ waking."
"I've seen Joan asleep and she looked like a stuck pig," said Nancy.
"But what _has_ happened, starling darling? Do tell us. Has Cicely just
gone up to stay with Muriel? Is that all?"
"It is very inconsiderate of Cicely," said Miss Bird, "nobody could
_possibly_ have objected to her going to stay with Muriel and Miles
would have packed her clothes and gone up to London with her to look
after her and to go by herself without a _word_ and not take a _stitch_
to put on her back and Mr. Clinton in the greatest anxiety and very
naturally annoyed for with all the horses in the stable to walk to
Bathgate in this heat for from Kencote she did _not_ go one of the men
was sent there to inquire I wonder at her doing such a thing."
"Keep the facts in your head as they come, Joan," said Nancy. "She
didn't tell anybody she was going. She didn't take any clothes. She
walked to Bathgate, I suppose, to put them off the scent."
"But whatever did she do it for?" asked Joan. "Something must have upset
her. It is running away, you know. I wish she had told us about it."
"We'd have gone with her," said Nancy. "She must have done it for a
lark."
"Oh, don't be a fool," said Joan. This was one of the twins' formulae. It
meant, "There _are_ serious things in life," and was more often used by
Joan than by Nancy.
"Joan how often am I to tell you not to use that expression?" said Miss
Bird, "I may speak to the winds of Heaven for all the effect it has
don't you know that it says he that calleth his brother thou fool shall
be in danger of hell fire?"
"Nancy isn't my brother, and I'll take the risk," said Joan. "Didn't
Cicely tell mother that she was going?"
"No she did not and for that I blame her," said Miss Bird. "Mrs. Clinton
came to me in the schoolroom as I was finishing my dinner and although
her calmness is a lesson to all of us she was upset as I could see and
did my _very_ best to persuade her not to worry."
"It's too bad of Cicely," said Joan. "What are they going to do now?"
"Your brother Dick went up to London by the late train and a telegram
was to be sent the _first_ thing this morning to relieve all anxiety
though with Muriel no harm can come to Cicely if she got there safely
which I hope and trust may be the case although to go about London by
herself is a thing that she knows she would not be allowed to do, but
there I'm saying a great deal too much to you Joan 'n Nancy you must not
run away with ideas in your head Cicely no doubt has a _very_ good
reason for what she has done and she is _years_ older than both of you
and you must not ask troublesome questions when you go downstairs the
only way you can help is by holding your tongues and being good girls."
"Oh, of course, that's the moral of it," said Nancy. "If the roof were
to fall in all we should have to do would be to be good girls and it
would get stuck on again. Joan, I'm hungry; I must go and finish my
bread and butter."
"Thank you, starling darling, for telling us," said Joan, rising from
her seat on the bed. "It seems very odd, but I dare say we shall get to
the bottom of it somehow. Of course we shan't be able to do any lessons
to-day."
"Oh, indeed Joan the very _best_ thing we can do to show we----" began
Miss Bird, but the twins were already out of the room.
They had to wait some little time before they could satisfy their
curiosity any further, because, in spite of their threat to Miss Bird,
and the excellent relations upon which they stood with all the servants
in the house, they were not in the habit of discussing family affairs
with them, and this was a family affair of somewhat portentous bearings.
They kept Hannah busy about their persons and refused to let her open
her mouth until they were quite dressed, and when they had let
themselves loose on the house for the day paid a visit to Cicely's room.
Its emptiness and the untouched bed sobered them a little. "What _did_
she do it for?" exclaimed Joan, as they stood before the dressing-table
upon which all the pretty silver toilette articles lying just as usual
seemed to give the last unaccountable touch of reality to the sudden
flight. "Nancy, do you think it could have been because she didn't want
to marry Jim?"
"Or because Jim didn't want to marry her," suggested Nancy.
But neither suggestion carried conviction. They looked about them and
had nothing to say. Their sister, who in some ways was so near to them,
had in this receded immeasurably from their standpoint. They were face
to face with one of those mysterious happenings amongst grown ups of
which the springs were outside the world as they knew it. And Cicely was
grown up, and she and they, although there was so much that they had in
common, were different, not only in the amount but in the quality of
their experience of life.
They always went in to their mother at eight o'clock, but were not
allowed to go before. They did not want to go out of doors while so much
was happening within, nor to stay in their schoolroom, which was the
last place to which news would be brought; so they perambulated the hall
and the downstairs rooms and got in the way of the maids who were busy
with them. And at a quarter to eight were surprised by their father's
entrance into the library, where they happened to be sitting for the
moment.
Their surprise was no greater than his, nor was it so effectively
expressed. He saw at once, and said so, that they were up to some
mischief, and he would not have it, did they understand that?
"We were only sitting talking, father," said Joan. "There was nowhere
else to go."
"I won't have this room used as a common sitting-room," said the Squire.
"Now go, and don't let me catch you in here again."
The twins went out into the big hall. "Why couldn't you cry a little at
being spoke to like that?" said Nancy. "He would have told us
everything."
"That's worn out," replied Joan. "The last time I did it he only said,
'For God's sake don't begin to snivel.' Besides I was rather
frightened."
Just then the Squire opened his door suddenly. The twins both jumped.
But he only said, "Oh, you're there. Come in here, and shut the door."
They went in. "Now look here," said the Squire, "you are old enough now
to look at things in a sensible light. I suppose you have heard that
your sister has taken it upon herself to take herself off without a with
your leave or by your leave and has turned the whole house
topsy-turvy--eh?"
"Yes, father," said the twins dutifully.
"Who told you--eh?"
"Miss Bird, father."
"I wish Miss Bird would mind her own business," said the Squire. "What
did she tell you for?"
"Because she wanted us to be good girls, and not worry you with
questions," replied Nancy.
"Oh! Well, that's all right," said the Squire, mollified.
"Now what I want to know is--did Cicely say anything to either of you
about going away like this?"
"Oh no, father," replied the twins, with one voice.
"Well, I'm determined to get to the bottom of it. No daughter of mine
shall behave in that way in this house. Here's everything a girl can
want to make her happy--it's the ingratitude of it that I can't put up
with, and so Miss Cicely shall find when she condescends to come home,
as she shall do if I have to go to fetch her myself."
Neither of the twins saw her way to interpose a remark. They stood in
front of their father as they stood in front of Miss Bird in the
schoolroom when they "did repetition."
"Do either of you know if Cicely wasn't contented or anything of that
sort?" inquired the Squire.
"She has been rather off her oats since Muriel was married," said Joan.
"Eh! What's that!" exclaimed the Squire, bending his heavy brows on her
with a terrific frown. "Do you think this is a time to play the
fool--with me? Off her oats! How dare you speak like that? We shall have
you running away next."
Joan's face began to pucker up. "I didn't mean anything, father," she
said in a tremulous voice. "I heard you say it the other day."
"There, there, child, don't cry," said the Squire. "What I may say and
what you may say are two very different things. Off her oats, eh? Well,
she'd better get _on_ her oats again as quick as possible. Now, I won't
have you children talking about this, do you understand?--or Miss Bird
either. It's a most disagreeable thing to have happened, and if it gets
out I shall be very much annoyed. I don't want the servants to know, and
I trust you two not to go about wagging your tongues, do you hear?"
"O father, we shouldn't think of saying anything about it to anybody,"
exclaimed Nancy.
"Eh? What? There's nothing to make a mystery about, you know. Cicely has
gone up to London to visit Walter and Muriel. No reason why anybody
should know more than that. There _isn't_ any more to know, except what
concerns me--and I won't have it. Now don't interrupt me any more. Go
off and behave yourselves and don't get in the way. You've got the whole
house to yourselves and I don't want you here. Ring the bell, Joan, I
want Porter to send a telegram."
The twins departed. They could now go up to their mother. "Don't want
the servants to know!" said Nancy as they went upstairs. "Is it the
camel or the dromedary that sticks its head in the sand?"
"The ostrich," said Joan. "It seems to me there's a great deal of fuss
about nothing. Cicely wanted to see her dear Muriel, so she went and
_saw_ her. I call it a touching instance of friendship."
"And fidelity," added Nancy.
Their view of the matter was not contradicted by anything that Mrs.
Clinton did or said when they went in to her. She was already dressed
and moving about the room, putting things to rights. It was a very big
room, so big that even with the bed not yet made nor the washstand set
in order, it did not look like a room that had just been slept in. It
was over the dining-room and had three windows, before one of which was
a table with books and writing materials on it. There were big,
old-fashioned, cane-seated and backed easy-chairs, with hard cushions
covered with chintz, other tables, a chintz-covered couch, a bookcase
with diamond-paned glass doors. On the broad marble mantelpiece were an
Empire clock and some old china, and over it a long gilt mirror with a
moulded device of lions drawing chariots and cupids flying above them.
On the walls, hung with a faded paper of roses, were water-colour
drawings, crayon portraits, some fine line engravings of well-known
pictures, a few photographs in Oxford frames. The bedroom furniture
proper was of heavy mahogany, a four-post bed hung with white dimity, a
wardrobe as big as a closet. Nothing was modern except the articles on
the dressing-table, nothing was very old.
Never later than eight o'clock the Squire would rise and go into his
dressing-room, and when Mrs. Clinton had dressed and in her orderly
fashion tidied her room she would sit at her table and read until it was
time to go down to breakfast. Whenever he got up earlier she got up
earlier too, and had longer to spend by the window open to the summer
morning, or in the winter with her books on the table lit by candles.
They were for the most part devotional books. But once the Squire had
come in to her very early one October morning when he was going
cub-hunting and found her reading _The Divine Comedy_ with a translation
and an Italian dictionary and grammar. He had talked of it downstairs as
a good joke: "Mother reading Dante--what?" and she had put away those
books.
She was a little paler than usual this morning, but the twins noticed no
difference in her manner. She kissed them and said, "You have heard that
Cicely went to London yesterday to stay with Muriel. Father is anxious
about her, and I am rather anxious too, but there is nothing really to
worry about. We must all behave as usual, and two of us at least mustn't
give any cause of complaint to-day."
She said this with a smile. It was nothing but a repetition of Miss
Bird's exhortation to hold their tongues and be good girls, but they
embraced her, and made fervent promises of good behaviour, which they
fully intended to keep. Then they read something for a few minutes with
their mother and left her to her own reading and her own thoughts.
The morning post brought no letter from Cicely, and again the Squire
remained standing while he read prayers. Immediately after breakfast he
went down to the Rectory, ostensibly to warn Tom and Grace not to talk,
actually to have an opportunity of talking himself to a fresh relay of
listeners. He expressed his surprise in the same terms as he had already
used, and said repeatedly that he wouldn't have it. Then, as it was
plain that, whether he would or no, he already had had it, he rather
weakly asked the Rector what he would do if he were in his place.
"Well, Edward," said the Rector thoughtfully, "of course it is very
tiresome and all that, and Cicely ought not to have gone off in that way
without any warning. Still, we don't know what is going on in girls'
minds, do we? Cicely is a sensible girl enough, and I think when she
comes back if you were to leave it to Nina to find out what there was to
make her go off suddenly like that--well, how would that be, eh?"
"I can't understand it," said the Squire for the twentieth time. "Nina
knows no more about it all than I do. I can't help blaming her for that,
because----"
"O Edward," said Mrs. Beach, "whoever is to blame, it is not Nina.
Cicely is devoted to her, and so are the dear twins, for all their
general harum-scarumness."
"Well, I was going to say," said the Squire, who had been going to say
something quite different, "that Nina is very much upset about this. She
takes everything calmly enough, as you know, but she's a good mother to
her children--I will say that for her--and it's enough to upset any
woman when her daughter behaves to her in this monstrous fashion."
"How do you think it would be," asked the Rector, "if Nina were to go up
to London and have a talk with Cicely there?"
The Squire hummed and ha'd. "I don't see the sense of making more fuss
about it than has been made already," he said. "I told Nina this
morning, 'If you go posting off to London,' I said, 'everybody will
think that something dreadful has happened. Much better stop where you
are.'"
"If she wants to go," said Mrs. Beach, "I think it would be the very
best thing. She would bring Cicely to a right frame of mind--nobody
could do it better; and you would be at home, Edward, to see that
nothing was done here to complicate matters. I think that would be very
important, and nobody could do that but you."
"So you think it would be a good idea if I let Nina go up to her?" said
the Squire.
The Rector and Mrs. Beach both thought it would be a very good idea.
"Well," said the Squire, "I thought perhaps it would, but I hadn't quite
made up my mind about it. I thought we'd better wait, at any rate, till
we got an answer to my wire to Walter. And that reminds me--I'd better
be getting back. Well, good-bye, Tom, good-bye, my dear Grace. Of course
I needn't ask either of _you_ not to let this go any further."
The non-arrival of an answer to his message had a cumulative effect upon
the Squire's temper during the morning. At half-past eleven o'clock he
gained some temporary relief to his discomfort by despatching another
one, and did not entirely recover his balance until Dick's telegram
arrived about luncheon time. Then he calmed down suddenly, joked with
the twins over the table and told Miss Bird that she was getting younger
every day. He also gave Mrs. Clinton her marching orders. "I think you
had better go up, Nina," he said, "and see what the young monkey has
been after. I'm excessively annoyed with her, and you can tell her so;
but if she really _is_ with Walter and Muriel I don't suppose any harm
has come to her. I must say it's a relief. Still, I'm very angry about
it, and so she'll find out when she comes home."
So another telegram was despatched, and Mrs. Clinton went up to London
by the afternoon train accompanied by the discreet and faithful Miles.