On the following day the children and their governess went down to
Yelverton. There was so much excitement and bustle in getting away that
Caroline had little time to realize that she was tired. She saw nothing
of Mrs. Lancing, who was in her room.
The children were told to keep very quiet because mother had a bad
headache.
It was Dennis who had communicated the news to Caroline that she was to
take Betty and Baby down to Mrs. Brenton's delightful country house by
an early afternoon train.
It seemed to the girl that Dennis was in a great state of excitement
about something. Also it was evident that the gloom that had appeared
to settle so definitely on the little house the day before had been
lifted.
When they were ready to go, the children crept into their mother's room
to say "good-bye," but Caroline remained outside.
Betty brought out a message.
"Mother says we are to be as good as we know how, and to do everything
we are telled."
It was very delightful to be welcomed by Mrs. Brenton so cordially.
Betty had dilated with enthusiasm on the joys that awaited them at
Yelverton, and Caroline quickly realized that the child had exaggerated
nothing.
The little people were installed in a wing of the house where there
were any number of empty rooms and long passages just made to be danced
in and to echo with happy voices--a veritable playground; and Agnes
Brenton, who had studied the art of making people comfortable all her
life, took the children's governess into her first consideration.
There were no guests when they arrived, though plenty were expected for
Christmas.
The mere thought of having her house full, and of arranging all sorts
of treats for the children, made Mrs. Brenton quite happy.
"I am going to keep you tremendously busy," she said to Caroline; "we
must furbish up this old house. This is the first year that Camilla has
let me have the children with me for Christmas. But I intend to make a
bargain with her now. I shall insist that she sends them here as much
as possible. I know Rupert Haverford will join forces with me in this.
I suppose they will be married very soon."
Caroline looked so surprised that Mrs. Brenton laughed.
"Do you mean to tell me you have not heard the great news? It is known
now to everybody," she said, "therefore I am not betraying confidences.
I am so delighted about it, for I confess I have been hoping for this
for a long time past. You know how dear Camilla is to me, and I like
him immensely. Don't you?" Then Mrs. Brenton laughed. "Oh, I forgot you
don't know him! It is funny that you never came across him when you
were with his mother!"
"He used to go very seldom to see Mrs. Baynhurst," Caroline answered.
She spoke slowly, as if her thoughts were occupied.
The engagement between Mrs. Lancing and Rupert Haverford was of course
largely discussed at Yelverton, and was the favourite item of gossip
elsewhere for the moment. As Camilla had prophesied, the world gave
nearly all its congratulations to Haverford's betrothed. Mrs. Lancing
was very delightful, very pretty--in every way a most charming woman;
but there are any amount of charming and delightful and pretty women in
the world, and rich men (rich, at least, in the great way that
Haverford was) are so scarce.
Caroline was sharply startled when she heard that Mrs. Lancing was
pledged to marry Rupert Haverford.
There was a suggestion of anxiety in the way her thoughts worked about
the other woman.
Camilla had ceased utterly to be a stranger to her. If there had been
nothing else to bind them together, that scene in the silence of the
night would have put them into very close touch with one another.
Moreover, it was natural that the girl should sit and weave stories to
herself out of the material that lay to her hands.
There was everything about Camilla Lancing to excite the imagination,
to stimulate the appetite for romance.
Agnes Brenton rejoiced frankly over the enormous material satisfaction
this engagement signified, and Caroline joined with her in this; but
she was unlike Mrs. Brenton in one respect, for whereas the older woman
saw nothing but a certainty of happiness in this marriage, Caroline,
young, unworldly as she was, felt from the very first that there was in
this prospective union a doubtful element; that difficulties would most
certainly present themselves--great difficulties, every whit as great,
as black, and as heart shadowing as any that had belonged to Camilla in
the past.
She needed very little now to convince herself that Haverford would
meet those difficulties in a firm, a straightforward way. But what
about the woman?
Although she had only seen him twice, Caroline had been instantly
impressed with the restraint, even the coldness of Haverford's manner.
To her he seemed to be the very last man in the world who would be able
to assimilate himself with Camilla's effervescent nature. Surely her
fanciful inconsequence, her pretty conceits, her irresponsible ways,
would never wed with his seriousness and restraint, his peculiar
gravity?
That spell of definite heart anguish, witnessed and shared by herself,
charged all memory now of the children's mother with pathos. She could
not help associating it with what had occurred.
Knowing nothing definitely, Caroline yet knew enough to assure herself
that the engagement had been forced into existence by that very mental
maelstrom of only a few hours before. And already she felt she
understood Camilla well enough to be sure that this act, born of
expediency, the outcome of intense excitement, would have its aftermath
of judgment, perhaps of condemnation.
But for this sense of clinging anxiety about the woman she had learnt
to love so dearly the girl would have been so happy.
"I want you to run wild," Mrs. Brenton said to her. "You can always
leave the children with me when you want to be alone; they don't bother
me in the least."
So on every possible occasion Caroline was out of the house either with
the children or without them, and day by day she blossomed out a little
more into health and good looks.
"I wonder if you have Irish blood in your veins," Mrs. Brenton asked
her on one occasion when they went for a brisk walk together. "Your
eyes are distinctly Irish, you know."
Caroline had laughed.
"I may be a Hottentot for all I know about myself. Undoubtedly I must
have had some beginning, but what it was I have not the least idea."
Agnes Brenton did not answer at once, and then she said--
"You have never heard from Mrs. Baynhurst?"
The girl shook her head, and then laughed again.
"Oh no, I never expected to. I dare say Mr. Haverford has tried to make
her speak, but I shall be very much surprised if he gets anything out
of her."
"I am quite sure he will have tried," said Mrs. Brenton warmly.
"Oh!" said Caroline, "he must have so many things to think about just
now. I expect he has forgotten all about me."
On Christmas Eve Mrs. Brenton handed over the completion of the
decorations to Caroline. People were arriving all day.
Towards the afternoon Betty fell into a state of great consternation.
They had run out of gold and silver paper, and there were any amount of
other little things that had been forgotten.
Caroline rose to the occasion.
"Look here, sweetheart, I'll tell you what I will do. I will ask Mrs.
Brenton if I may go and get everything for you."
"You will be gone ages, and ages, and ages, and I want it now," said
Betty, who was like her mother in more than one thing. She pleaded to
be allowed to go into the town, too, but the wind was much too cold.
Mrs. Brenton fell in quickly with the arrangement, only suggesting that
Caroline should drive; but the walk did not frighten the girl.
Indeed, a sense of gladness radiated her as she progressed briskly
along the muddy road, and yet perhaps it was inevitable that as she
found herself alone, away from the warmth and the cosy atmosphere of
the busy household, she should drift into comparisons; that she should
awaken to the significance of how really apart she was from these happy
elements of home, and family, and festival.
Oddly enough, it was not for herself as she was this day that she felt
pity, it was for herself as that little, lonely creature left to pick
what sunshine she could out of the bleakest surroundings that her heart
ached.
The very pleasantness of her present circumstances emphasized all she
had missed.
Christmas hitherto had been to her synonymous only with the packing of
boxes and the departure of all of her schoolmates. The last winter she
had spent in that old schoolhouse had, it is true, been less lonely
than most, for two other little children had been left to share her
solitude, and she had made gallant efforts at gaiety. She smiled
faintly now as she recalled all she had done, but she sighed too.
"Yet we were really and truly happy," she said to herself. "At any
rate, it was a hundred times better than last Christmas. Shall I ever
forget that dull, long, miserable, foggy day! It seemed as if it would
never end. My food sent up as usual to my room, and not a soul to say a
kind word! Well, it is a little bit different now!"
The wind swept across the open places. It was so strong and cold that
it made her gasp for breath every now and then, but it stung the colour
into her cheeks, and made her dark eyes light up into extraordinary
beauty.
"If only this could go on for ever," she said to herself; "but somehow
I feel so afraid it can't last. She is so sweet, so affectionate"--the
"she" was Camilla--"when we are together, but even now I believe she
has forgotten my existence."
Indeed, though a daily report of the children's doings was sent to
London, Mrs. Lancing had not even scribbled a word to the girl in
reply. She wrote to Mrs. Brenton, she telegraphed, she telephoned, and
she sent all manner of things to her children, but she showed no signs
of remembrance to Caroline.
"And"--then the girl mused--"I am all very well now, but Betty will
want a real governess in a little while. It will be very hard to leave
them. I almost think," said Caroline, a little unsteadily, "that I was
better off when I had no chance of growing very attached to any one. It
cannot hurt to part when one does not know how sweet it is to care and
to be cared for."
Cheerless and yet grey as the country was in its wintry aspect, it had
always a charm and a beauty for Caroline.
Halfway to the town she marked a bush standing high above the hedge,
on which clustered some brilliant red berries.
"Those are just what Betty wants," she said to herself. But she
deferred picking them till her return.
The afternoon light was beginning to fade as she left the town; she was
laden with parcels, her arms were quite full.
She had just passed into the long road that led to Yelverton, when a
cab overtook her. It was an open fly, and a man sat in it alone, with
some luggage piled in front of him.
Caroline just glanced round, and then to her surprise she recognized
Rupert Haverford, who quickly stopped the cab as he in his turn
recognized her.
"Are you walking?" he asked. "But it is getting quite dark, you will
lose your way!"
She laughed.
"Oh, impossible! It is a straight road, one could not go astray."
"Give me some of those things," said Haverford, and he began to unload
her arms. "This looks like Christmas." Then he said, "You will let me
give you a lift?"
Caroline hesitated a moment, and then said, "Thank you. But I must stop
a little way down," she said, "because I want to get some berries for
Betty. I will tell you when we get to the place."
As he sat beside her in the cab, Rupert Haverford put a question to her
rather eagerly.
"Do you know what train Mrs. Lancing came by?"
"Mrs. Lancing? She had not arrived when I left," Caroline answered. "I
think she was expected just before dinner. At least, I heard Mrs.
Brenton arranging that the carriage should go to meet the quick train
down from London. I believe she expected that you would come together."
"It was arranged we were to come together," said Haverford. But that
was all he said; he began immediately to talk about Caroline herself.
"No doubt you will have been expecting to hear from me, Miss Graniger?"
Caroline said "No," in a quiet way.
He looked at her.
"Surely yes. You must have expected to hear from me?"
"Well," said Caroline frankly, "I thought it possible that you might
forget to write, or that you were so annoyed with me you might not care
to bother about me any more."
"I was not annoyed with you," said Haverford quickly.
"Oh! weren't you? I thought you were!"
They drove on for a little while in silence, and then Caroline bent
forward.
"Oh, will you ask the man to stop, please? I must really have those
berries."
Haverford got out with her.
"They are much too high for you to reach," was his observation.
"They are rather high," Caroline agreed, "but I am sure I can reach
them if I give a jump."
He laughed.
"I can get them without a jump."
He mounted the rough ground and reached up to the bush that stood high
above the hedge.
Caroline thanked him.
"Betty will be delighted," she said; "we have been looking everywhere
for those red berries, and somehow we never thought of coming down this
road."
When they were back in the cab and jolting on again Haverford said to
her--
"Although you pretend that you did not expect me to write, I suppose
you will be a little interested in hearing that I have some odds and
ends of intelligence to give you about yourself. I should have written
to you days ago," he went on quickly, "but my mother is rather a
difficult person to handle, as you know, and it was only yesterday that
I managed to corner her on this subject. She knew what was coming, and
shirked me accordingly."
Caroline said nothing. She waited for him to continue. Nevertheless,
her heart began to beat a little nervously.
"It is quite true," Haverford said after that little pause, "my mother
is your guardian, or rather was, for in future I intend to relieve her
of that office. You are her niece by marriage. Your mother was Gerald
Baynhurst's only sister. From what I can gather, this sister must have
been very dear to him. I am really as much a stranger to my mother's
life as yourself, Miss Graniger. Beyond knowing that she married Mr.
Baynhurst after my father's death, I have never been informed, I may
add that I have never cared to inform myself, about anything connected
with this marriage. So I can only give you the bare outline of your
story."
He paused again, and this time Caroline spoke, her voice sounding very
low in her own ears.
"Of course, my mother and my father are dead?"
"Yes; your father died before your uncle," Haverford answered. "Your
mother, apparently a very delicate woman, was left in the charge of her
brother Gerald, and he was also appointed your guardian. When he died
suddenly this charge passed on to my mother."
He ceased speaking abruptly. It would have been difficult to have
grasped from his tone whether he judged his mother harshly or not.
"I hope to get you more details," Mr. Haverford said when he spoke
again. "As a matter of fact, I have brought down with me a quantity of
old letters and other papers which I dare say will throw some light on
your early history. You seem to have been quite a baby when your mother
died, and you came to England when you were a little child between
three and four."
"Then I must have gone immediately to Miss Beamish, my old
schoolmistress," said Caroline.
"Yes; my mother tells me you were placed in a school. She explains this
rather strange proceeding by telling me that Cuthbert was at that time
such a delicate child that her whole thought and care had to be given
to him, and she herself was in such a poor state of health that she was
not in a condition to charge herself with too much responsibility."
Caroline laughed. It was not an unkind laugh.
"No, I am sure Mrs. Baynhurst never did care about responsibilities,"
she said.
She stooped forward to push some of the parcels more securely on the
opposite seat, and the colour rushed to her face as she asked him
another question.
"There is one thing I _should_ like to know," she said, "and that is if
I have been kept by charity all this time. Did you find out anything
about that?"
They were close to the gates of Yelverton now, and Rupert Haverford
answered her hurriedly.
"You touch on a rather important phase of this matter, Miss Graniger,"
he said, "and I have more to communicate to you; but we cannot go into
this properly now. As I shall be here for a day or so I hope you will
afford me an opportunity for speaking quietly with you."
"Of course," said Caroline. Then she thanked him, and, indeed, she did
feel grateful to him. It sent a warm sensation through her heart to
realize that all this time, when she had imagined herself forgotten
(when, indeed, it might have been excusable if he had put her out of
his thoughts), he had been working on her behalf.
Just before they rolled up to the big door she turned to him.
"I want to ask you something. Please let me know that you are no longer
vexed with me for having agreed to stay with Mrs. Lancing. I believe I
am going to answer very well, and you can't think how glad I am to be
with the children. I do see now," Caroline said quickly, "that I ought
to have referred the matter to you, but the circumstances were against
me. It seemed such a wonderful chance for me to find work in such a
moment."
"Of course I am not angry," Haverford said.
He helped her to alight, and carried all her parcels into the house,
and as Mrs. Brenton came forward to greet him, Caroline ran quickly
upstairs to her own room.
She was conscious of a great desire to be alone for a few moments, for
there was a pressure on her heart, and she hardly felt prepared to meet
the children's searching eyes. Betty could ask the most pointed
questions at times.
As she put down her packages in a heap on the table she found she had
carried up with her a large brown glove. It was warm still with the
imprint of the man's strong hand; he had drawn it off to pay the
driver, and it must have fallen among her parcels.
Caroline picked it up and stood a little while holding it; she derived,
quite unconsciously, a definite sense of pleasure from the touch of
this glove; it recalled the owner so clearly.
"I am so glad he did not forget," she said to herself; "it is so nice
to be remembered."