Caroline did not go down to dinner that night. When bedtime came Baby
was restless and seemed inclined to cough. Caroline was anxious.
Mrs. Brenton came upstairs, however, and reassured the girl. She
administered homely remedies, and prophesied that all would be well in
the morning.
Then she tried to persuade Miss Graniger to go down to dinner, but she
failed.
"If you won't mind, I would so much rather stay here," the girl said;
"Baby likes to hold my hand, dear little soul, and I should not be a
bit happy if I went downstairs."
"Well, do as you like, my dear," Mrs. Brenton said; then she added, "I
am so glad you had a lift home this afternoon. Now my party is all
complete except for Camilla. I am very vexed with her."
Caroline looked at her quickly.
"Why?"
"Well, she ought to have come down this evening as she promised," Agnes
Brenton answered impatiently, "she arranged to meet Rupert at a certain
time, kept him waiting about for an hour and a half at the station, and
then, when he supposed she had come on here by some mistake, he follows
her only to find a telegram saying she has gone to Lea Abbey and will
not be here till to-morrow in time for luncheon. I cannot think what
has induced her to go to the Bardolphs," Mrs. Brenton added irritably.
"She says it is because Lady Pamela is ill, and sent for her; but to my
certain knowledge Camilla and Pamela Bardolph have not been seeing one
another for months past."
Caroline followed Mrs. Brenton out on to the landing. She felt subdued,
even saddened, as she listened.
"Of course I am disappointed, but I am not thinking entirely about
myself. I am sure Rupert is far more upset and annoyed than his manner
shows. Ah well! by this time I suppose I ought to know Camilla too well
to be surprised at anything she does! See that you have all you want,
my dear, and if you should be at all anxious about the child, don't
hesitate to send for me."
As she was passing on to the staircase Mrs. Brenton paused.
"Mr. Haverford has brought down a number of things for the children. He
said he was going to send them up to you. I hope they will learn to
grow very fond of him," said Agnes Brenton earnestly. "Do you know that
he has made them two little rich people? He has settled quite a fortune
on Camilla, and on her children. Nothing can touch this money; it is
hers and theirs, whatever may happen. He has asked me to be one of the
trustees for the children."
Once again Mrs. Brenton turned back as she was going, and kissed
Caroline.
"For all reasons," she said, "I deeply regret that Camilla has not come
to us to-night."
It was a long time before Baby would be wooed into slumber, and even
then Caroline did not like to leave her; not until she had assured
herself that the child was sleeping deeply and tranquilly did she go
into the other room.
She only snatched a few moments to eat some supper. There was really so
very much to do.
An enormous parcel of costly things had been sent down by Camilla for
the children, and every one in the house had brought a little offering.
All these had to be ticketed and tied up. No ordinary sized stocking
would hold what awaited the children, so large baskets had been made
ready to put at the foot of each bed.
On inquiring, Caroline found that Mr. Haverford had sent nothing up to
the nursery as yet.
After a while she dismissed the maid to go down to the servant's
supper, and was busy scribbling and tying, when there came a knock at
the door.
"Come in," she called.
As the door opened Rupert Haverford appeared. His arms were full of
parcels as hers had been in the early afternoon. He was smiling, but
Caroline quickly noticed that he looked tired, as if he were worried.
"Mrs. Brenton said I might come up. I hope I am in time."
"Oh yes," said Caroline with a laugh. "I am only just beginning to
arrange things. Won't there be a scene to-morrow morning?"
"Can't I help?" asked Mr. Haverford; "this seems far too much for one
pair of hands to manage."
As he disembarrassed himself of his burden he said, "And I particularly
desire to have my share in making the children's Christmas a happy one
this year, for they belong to me now in a sense."
Caroline coloured.
"Yes, I know;" it was almost unconsciously that she added, "and I am so
glad."
His eyes lit up and his lips took an eager expression.
"Are you?'" he asked; "well, then I ought to be content, for do you
know, Miss Graniger, I have been hearing nothing but delightful things
about you. Mrs. Lancing cannot say enough in praise of you."
"It is very good of her," said Caroline, and her voice was not very
steady; "but she has to test me yet. She really knows so little about
me."
Haverford sat down to the table, and began to help her.
They had to untie some of his packages to see which were the presents
for the respective children.
"I think some of these things will have to disappear after to-morrow,"
said Caroline; "already these little people have enough toys to stock a
shop."
It amused her to watch Rupert Haverford pack up and tie and direct as
she commanded. He was so deliberate in all he did. Camilla would have
lost her patience very quickly, but Caroline liked his slow ways. His
parcels were so neat.
Every now and then he stole into the bedroom to see if Baby was still
sleeping.
"I was rather anxious about her," she said to Haverford, "for Dennis
has told me that she gets very heavy colds at times, and she seemed
really rather feverish to-night."
As he remembered the interview with his mother the day before, he found
himself looking every now and then with real interest at Caroline.
"I can't think why you want to bother about Caroline Graniger. I gave
her a fair trial," Mrs. Baynhurst had said fretfully; "but she is a
fool, and I hate fools. Give me a knave any day in preference to a
fool!"
There seemed to be nothing foolish, or weak, or hesitating about
Caroline as he saw her, but in the hours that had followed on his visit
to his mother, he had been able to fill in the empty spaces that she
had left, and he seemed to understand all at once why it was that
Octavia Baynhurst had set herself so resolutely against Caroline, both
as a little child and a growing girl.
Undoubtedly there had been an old and bitter feeling rankling in her
heart for Gerald Baynhurst's sister.
It was inevitable that the love the man had evidently lavished on his
sister had been a source of resentment and misery to such a woman as
his wife.
On Caroline, the helpless child, therefore, had the accumulation of
this bitter anger and jealousy been poured out.
He broke the silence after a long and busily filled pause.
"My mother has a new secretary," he said, and as their eyes met they
both smiled. Caroline found his face very attractive when he smiled.
"I saw her. She is middle-aged and very alarming looking. It is my
impression that my mother is going to be managed for the first time in
her existence. You will be well avenged, Miss Graniger."
When all the little parcels were made ready, and they filled the table,
he got up.
"Well, I suppose I ought to go downstairs again. You are very cosy
here. I am so glad the children are not in London this dismal weather."
Before going he asked permission to look at Betty and Baby as they
slept. When he rejoined Caroline he said--there was a very tender look
in his eyes--
"I feel quite important to-night, for now I have three wards; those two
tiny souls and yourself, and if one can go by tradition, the life of a
guardian is not entirely free from anxiety."
"I don't require a guardian," said Caroline. But she said it shyly, not
sharply. "I have always taken care of myself, and I am sure I can do it
now."
"I am afraid that argument does not move me," he answered, and with a
smile he held out his hand and said, "Good night."
When he was gone Caroline sat down and thought about him. She felt
sorry for him.
"I do wish she had come," she mused to herself. "I wonder why she did
not? He looks miserable when he is not talking. I should like him to
have a happy Christmas; he certainly has helped to give me one, and I
expect I am only one of hundreds.... I remember last year how his
mother grumbled at all his charities; I little thought then that he and
I should be together for this Christmas! So everything is coming with a
rush," Caroline mused on. "To-night I discover that I actually had a
mother and a father, and now I have a guardian," and then she laughed
outright, "and of course Cuthbert Baynhurst is my cousin! That sounds
funny! How pleased he will be!" She reverted again to the subject of
Camilla later on. "Will she come to-morrow? Oh, surely yes!... She
_could_ not let Christmas go without seeing the children!"
And on the morrow, when every one was at church, except Caroline and
Baby, who certainly was not quite her usual brisk little self, Mrs.
Lancing arrived.
She went up at once to the nursery, flung off her furs, and sat down
and took her Baby in her arms.
"She is not really ill, is she?" she queried anxiously.
"Oh, she is ever so much better this morning," said Caroline. "You see,
it has been so damp the last few days, and yesterday the wind was very
keen."
"And she always gets cold in the nasty wind, don't you Boodles, my
precious?"
The mother hugged the little figure in her arms, then stretched out her
hand to Caroline.
"A happy Christmas!" she said, and then in the same breath, "how well
you look, and how nice! And oh, what a wonderful lot of toys! Why,
Babsy, Santa Claus must have nearly broken his back bringing all these
things."
With the child nestling in her arms, she leaned back and closed her
eyes.
"I've got a most awful headache," she said wearily. "We were up till
any hour this morning.... Have you some strong smelling-salts,
Caroline? Chris Bardolph brought me over here in the motor." She
sniffed the salts, and lay aback with closed eyes for awhile. Then she
said, "I thought the air would do me good, but I feel quite cracked up.
Where is everybody?" she asked the next moment languidly; and she
smiled when she heard that the whole party had migrated to church.
"Has he gone?" she asked, and then she answered the question herself;
"but of course. I am sure he must sing hymns most beautifully."
"I don't think Mr. Haverford went with the others," Caroline said; "he
said he would take Betty and the maid who has gone with her to mass."
"But he is not a Catholic," Mrs. Lancing observed quickly; "there is
another duty for me! I shall have to try and make a convert of him. Oh
dear, my head!... It feels as if it would come in two! Babsy darling,
mummy must go down and rest in her own room...."
But Babsy clung to her mother, refusing to be separated, and of course
got her way.
Left to herself, Caroline Graniger stood and looked out of the window
thoughtfully. A shadow had gathered on her face.
She felt both pained and irritated, and found herself hoping almost
eagerly that Mrs. Lancing would not speak of Rupert Haverford to others
in that slighting, half-mocking manner.
From where she stood she could see right down almost to the entrance
gates, for the trees were leafless, and the window where she stood was
set high.
Rupert Haverford was walking up the broad drive briskly, and Betty was
dancing beside him.
Caroline studied him attentively for a time, then turned away from the
window and laughed.
"How ridiculous I am!" she said to herself; "why on earth should I mind
if she sneers at him or praises him? Assuredly it is no affair of mine."
Of course Betty went straight to her mother's room on entering the
house, and after a while Miss Graniger went down to fetch both children.
She found Mrs. Lancing on the sofa with one little daughter crouched up
beside her, and the other engaged in softly rubbing her brows.
"I wish I could go to bed," Camilla said. "I do hate these kind of
family functions. And Agnes loves them."
There was a fretful tone in her voice.
"Poor mummy," said Betty, and stooping, she laid her pretty little lips
on her mother's face.
Both children were so happy to be with her.
"Sit down and tell me all you have been doing since I saw you,"
commanded Mrs. Lancing. "How long have you been down here? It seems
like a century to me."
"Have you wanted us very much, sweetie?" asked Betty, and Camilla
turned to kiss the dear little face.
"So much--oh, so much!" and then she moved a little impatiently on the
couch. "Some one is knocking," she said; "it must be Aunty Brenny. Open
the door and bring her in, Betty."
She just flashed a look at Caroline and gave a little laugh.
"Now for my scolding," she said in a low voice.
But Mrs. Brenton did not scold. She greeted Camilla most gently and
affectionately, and was greatly concerned to hear about the bad
headache.
The mere fact, however, that she ignored all mention of the truant act
of the night before stung Camilla into a little show of bad temper.
"Don't for goodness' sake follow Rupert's lead," she said, "and adopt a
martyr-like expression. I know perfectly well, Agnes, that you were
furious with me because I did not turn up last night, now, weren't you?"
"I was not furious exactly," said Mrs. Brenton, "but disappointed, and
rather surprised."
"I couldn't help it," said Camilla, in the same impatient way; and then
the colour flooded her face and her eyes lit up for an instant as she
smiled.
"Don't grudge me my few remaining holidays; I shall not have too many
in the future. Yes, darlings"--this to Betty--"you must go. Caroline
wants to make you ready for lunch. You are going to put on those pretty
new frocks that I sent down and make yourselves ever so smart. Of
course you shall sit next me at luncheon. What an idea! Where else
would you sit? I shall have one of you on each side of me."
Mrs. Brenton was speaking as the children were going out of the room
with Caroline.
"So it was an excuse," Caroline heard her say, in a strained voice;
"and Pamela Bardolph is not ill?"
"An excuse, of course," Mrs. Lancing answered, with a laugh. "I knew
they were going to have a really lovely time, and when Pamela pressed
me to go just for one night, I really could not resist the temptation.
We had such fun, Agnes, and finished up with...."
Caroline hurried the children out of the room. She always dreaded what
Betty would repeat. The child was very sharp, and her memory was
extremely retentive.
It was difficult to chat lightly with the children as she dressed them
and made them pretty for the big Christmas Day luncheon.
Caroline had said "Good-bye" to all her former isolation.
Though she still stood alone, and had no one on whom she could make a
real claim, her life all at once seemed charged with ties and
privileges; already she had commenced to expand, to weave the tendrils
of her affections, her sympathy, and her tender thought in and about
these people among whom she now lived and moved.
She recognized a great debt of gratitude to Agnes Brenton, but for
Camilla she felt something deeper than gratitude.
In this phase of awakened emotions she would naturally have turned to
some outlet for her feelings, even if she had drifted into touch with
the most ordinary, the most commonplace of individuals; but thrust, as
she had been, suddenly into the stirring atmosphere of life as it was
lived in Camilla Lancing's household, and hemmed about by the beguiling
influences of an absolutely fascinating personality, Caroline at once
lost her heart.
But just because this heart was stirred so strongly, so deeply, she
could not deny herself the right to judge Camilla; and it was an easy
task to judge now.
"Why marry him if she despises him so much?" asked Caroline of herself.
"There is surely no law to make her do this?"
Dennis came up to give her a helping hand, and told her that Mrs.
Lancing wanted to go downstairs with the children.
"She's not fit to stand, that she isn't," said the maid; "but she'll go
through the lunch somehow, and then she'll have to rest." Here Dennis
exhibited, with great pride and excitement, the beautiful watch that
Mr. Haverford had given her.
"There hasn't no one been forgotten," she said; "he is a proper sort of
man! This is a happy Christmas for us, my dear."
Indeed, Dennis's aspect was entirely changed. She seemed to have grown
a little fat, and Betty quickly discovered that she had on a new gown,
apparently an amazing event.
Miss Graniger followed the children and their mother downstairs.
It made her heart thrill to see the way Haverford turned to greet
Camilla. He was evidently sharply concerned about Mrs. Lancing's
indisposition, but he did not fuss her, and she stood with both
children clinging to her as she exchanged a few words with him.
At lunch-time Caroline found herself seated next to him. Betty was on
his other side.
"Look after Miss Graniger, please, Rupert," Mrs. Brenton had said to
him, and he took up the duty in a literal sense.
"This is a typical English Christmas dinner," he said to her once. He
tried to make her smile and talk, but Caroline had no command of words.
She felt dazed with the myriad sensations that encircled her about.
When the plum-pudding, all afire, was brought in with cheers, and every
one stood up to sing "Should auld acquaintance be forgot," Caroline
broke down for a moment. But only Haverford knew this. Almost at once
she had conquered herself, and as he asked her to clink glasses with
him she smiled. Her face moved him sharply; it was quivering with
emotion; her eyes were most beautiful.
She had lost her white, careworn look, and though she was still thin
there was a pinkish glow in her skin; no one would have called her
plain in this moment.
"Suppose you change places with me," he said; "Betty wants to have you
near her."
They effected the change quite quietly, and with the need of looking
after the child, that oppression of emotion slipped gradually away from
the girl's heart.
Long afterwards, when all that was new and strange had grown into a
calm and natural background, Caroline remembered that Christmas
luncheon at Yelverton as one of the pleasantest experiences ever
granted to her.
Mrs. Lancing ate nothing, but she did her best to be bright; that she
was suffering all the time was, however, clear to both Caroline and
Haverford.
It was a long time before she could escape from the festivities, but
when everybody had trooped to the Christmas tree, she managed to slip
away, and she drew Caroline aside with her.
"Come and help me," she said. "This is one of Dennis's rare holidays,
and I don't believe I can get upstairs by myself."
It was on Caroline's lips to ask if she should call Mr. Haverford; but
glancing back, she saw that he had been summoned by Mrs. Brenton to
officiate at the huge tree, so they passed out together.
"It is a shame to bother you," said Camilla when she got up to her
room. She was trembling as with cold, and her brows and eyes were
contracted with the sharpness of the pain.
"You know I am glad to come," said Caroline in her quietest way.
"I know you are very comforting; just the sort of person one wants
about one when one is ill. Don't go away for a little while."
Caroline made up the fire, and then sat down in an armchair beside it,
just as she had sat on another memorable occasion. She looked ever and
again at Mrs. Lancing, who had crouched on the sofa, both her hands
pressed to her head.
In a little while the tension seemed to relax, and Camilla opened her
eyes.
"Has Rupert told you your own story?" she asked.
"A little bit; not all."
"He says it is my duty to let you leave me if you want to go," said
Camilla, after another little pause.
Caroline looked at her with a little start.
"Why should I want to leave you?"
"Well"--it was a very weak little laugh that Camilla gave--"of course,
now that you are an independent young person, you may not care to
stop." Her brows came together again sharply for a minute, and she held
her hand pressed tightly to her eyes, "Fancy that odious mother of his
cheating you out of your money all this time," she said feebly when she
spoke.
Caroline felt hot, and yet there was a blank sensation about her at the
same time.
"Money?" she said.
"Oh, hasn't he told you? How like him! I suppose it will be a month
before he will let you know everything."
"I think Mr. Haverford meant to speak to me this afternoon," Caroline
said very hurriedly, "but we have had no chance as yet of any private
conversation. He did tell me that I was right in supposing that I had a
claim upon Mrs. Baynhurst, and he told me also a little about my
mother, but that was all."
"Well, there doesn't seem very much to tell," said Mrs. Lancing, after
a pause, "except that you have a certain small income of your own,
which his mother, it appears, has kept entirely for herself all these
years. I don't know that I ought to say very much about that sort of
thing," said Camilla, with her half bitter laugh. "I am not so
wonderfully straight and honest myself, and I hate throwing stones at
anybody else. Still, I don't know that I should defraud a child, and
that is what Mrs. Baynhurst did, and would have continued doing if she
had not been in a bad temper one day, and turned you out of her house."
Caroline sat with her hands locked round one of her knees.
"I expect she did it because of Cuthbert," she said.
This remark seemed to rouse Mrs. Lancing.
"Oh, by the way, he is staying with the Bardolphs," she said; "it is
the first time I have met him. You know he is a very handsome fellow,
Caroline, and how clever! He sings enchantingly. Pam Bardolph is raving
about him. He is painting her portrait. Did you ever know two men more
unlike than he and Rupert?"
"Yes, they are very unlike," said Caroline.
Mrs. Lancing lay still a minute or two, and then she opened her eyes
again and smiled at Caroline.
There was no light in the room, except the strong glow from the flames
which shot up the chimney. From below they could hear the murmur of
voices, and sometimes the excited laughter of the children.
"But you won't leave me just yet, will you?"
"I am afraid you will have to turn me out when you want to get rid of
me," said Caroline. A moment later, in a low and moved voice, she said,
"Do you imagine it would be so easy for me to separate myself from you
and the children?"
The woman on the couch stretched out her hand, and Caroline stooped
forward and took it in hers.
"I should like to think that you would stick to me, that you would
never turn against me," she said, and her lips quivered.
Caroline's only answer was to tighten her hold on that slender hand.
Then she rose and put a warmer wrap over Mrs. Lancing.
"Don't you think if I were to leave you now you would sleep? Perhaps I
had better go downstairs again, and see what the children are doing.
They may be getting into mischief and I am sure Babsy, dear little
heart, must be nearly worn out."
And with some persuasion Mrs. Lancing assented to this. As she reached
the big hall, Caroline met Rupert Haverford.
"Mrs. Lancing is resting. I have persuaded her to lie down. She wants
to be well for dinner."
Rupert thanked her.
"I was just coming to look for you. The children are clamouring to know
why 'Caroline' has vanished? So I volunteered to find her. Are you
having a happy Christmas?" he asked, with a smile.
"I am happy altogether," Caroline answered him; "it is so wonderful to
find that after all I have a little place of my own in the world, and
that there are people who actually care to know what is passing with
me."
They moved together through the big, comfortable hall to the room from
whence issued a babel of voices and music and laughter.
"I want you to give me five minutes either to-day or to-morrow," said
Haverford, in answer to this; and Caroline coloured hotly.
"Mrs. Lancing has just been telling me a little more about myself," she
said nervously.
The warm colour in her cheeks was reflected in Rupert Haverford's face.
His manner was rather abrupt, and his voice hard, as he said--
"I am sorry Camilla has spoken of this subject, for I particularly
wished to broach it to you myself."
At that moment Betty caught sight of her, and Caroline had no
opportunity of replying. The child rushed towards them; her cheeks were
flaming, and her beautiful little head was crowned with a tinsel cap.
"Oh, you have found her!" she cried. "We have been wanting you ever
such a lot, Caroline. Where have you been congregating to? Baby's
beginning to make a nice noise. She's sitting on Aunty Brenny's knee
now, saying that she feels like to cry." Then eagerly, "Caroline, I
needn't go to bed yet, need I.... Say I needn't?"
Mrs. Brenton looked relieved to see Caroline. In her lap sat a very
tired, a very cross, and much tumbled, lace-trimmed small person.
Caroline held out her arms.
"Come along, sweetheart, and Caroline will tell you a lovely story all
to yourself."
"Shall I carry her?" Haverford asked.
Caroline shook her head.
"Oh no; she isn't a bit heavy!"
She closed her arms round her little charge. Baby rested her flushed
cheek against the girl's pale one, and her tiny arms were tightly
pressed round Caroline's neck.
As Haverford opened the door for her, Caroline gave him a bright little
nod as she passed out.
"I think I shall say 'good night'" she said, "for I shall not come down
again this evening. Baby wants to say 'good night' too, darling, don't
you?"
Rupert Haverford stooped, and the child turned and kissed him fondly.
His head was very close to Caroline; she noticed how crisply his brown
hair curled just at the sides, and what fine brows he had. Baby refused
to let him go--refused to be taken from Caroline's arms, and so, as the
girl walked slowly up the stairs, Rupert Haverford followed close
behind. He had hold of the child's small fingers over Caroline's
shoulder; every now and then she felt the warm touch of his hand and
wrist rest on her shoulder.
When the long corridor was reached, with babyish inconsequence,
Caroline's small burden elected to go to his strong arms, and he
carried her right into the nursery.
"Can you manage quite alone?" he asked, as this haven was reached, so
cosy and quiet and warm. "Won't you have a maid or some one to help
you?"
But Caroline shook her head, and so, with a parting kiss to the child,
he turned away.
At the door he paused.
"If you see Camilla, will you say that I entreat her not to come down
unless she is much better? I understand she sat up nearly all night
with Lady Pamela, and she is not strong enough to do these sort of
things. She wants nursing herself."
Caroline frowned sharply, and made no reply; indeed, she was so silent
during the preparations for the bath that Baby made loud complaint; she
wanted her story and her usual lullaby songs. It was long before the
girl's composure returned to her.
As she sat rocking the sleepy child in front of the fire, she took
herself to task a second time that day.
"This should be nothing to me; it _can_ be nothing," she said. But she
knew they were empty words, even as she whispered them to herself.
Where these two people were concerned, she had passed far beyond the
range of indifference.