For more than a fortnight, every morning and every afternoon, Cara’s
mother and nurse foregathered by appointment: sometimes at the band on
the Leas, sometimes along the shady Lower Road; and here Letty would
wheel the perambulator. Her admiration for the child was mutual, and
she was terrified, lest the nurse should wonder why the little thing
was always so ready to come to her, and why she invariably called her
‘Mamma.’
“I am sure, you must be like her mother,” said Smithson, “and that
is why little Cara takes to you. Aye, and they do say, that she was
wrapped up in her. Mr. Blagdon, he don’t care a brass farthing about
the child, and was main angry, that miss Cara wasn’t a boy. He never
comes to Sharsley, and the place was that dreary, the old nurse give
notice--_she_ was a vinegar-faced one, if you like, and they do say was
a spy on the lady. It was Lady Rashleigh--Mr. Blagdon’s sister--that
engaged me. She’s a funny one, with a big face and a loud voice; it
was her notion sending the child down here, and later on, maybe,
she’s coming herself. She don’t care for Miss Cara--says we have her
spoiled. What do you say to that, missy? Sometimes, you are a very
naughty little girl, you know” (missy, drowsy and indifferent, closed
her big blue eyes). Then the nurse lowering her voice, proceeded:
“Sometimes she looks like a little angel, doesn’t she? But other times,
I tell you, you’d think it was a little devil you had to deal with! Of
course, there being no lady, it’s a responsible situation, and I’ve no
nursemaid, as you see; it’s a good place, and the wages is first-class.
_Sixty_--only for that, I never would stand the loneliness--and the
child.”
Horrified and indignant, Letty took the part of her offspring, and
replied:
“I have no doubt it _is_ lonely living in the corner of a great big
house, with only Cara for your constant companion: but then the child
is such a darling!”
“Eh, miss, you’ve heard the saying, ‘All is not gold that glitters’?
This one, will give somebody a rare time yet; the best of her is all on
the outside; inside, she is just a greedy, selfish, treacherous, little
monkey!”
“Oh, nurse, how can you say such dreadful things of a poor innocent
baby? I expect, that in your heart you really don’t _care_ about
children. Now do you?”
“Well, of course, miss, it’s only to you, a stranger, I would say
what I do; it’s not likely, I’d tell this to one of her relations,
and her auntie is down enough on her as it is. _She_ sees through her
arts, when we stay with her in Town, and has given her some rare good
smackings, I can tell you! To you, as I say, being a stranger, she
is the most beautiful child in Folkestone--there is not another on
the Leas to touch her; all the nurses envies me, and people crowds
round her, as if she was a show: and she smiles and carries on like
anything--especially to the gentlemen. How she’s learnt such an awful
amount of deceit, in such a short time, puzzles _me_; she’s as sly as
sly, and you’d never think there was so strong a will in that little
bit of a body, and what she’ll be like, when she grows up, I’d be
frightened to say! She’ll grow up soon, I expect; but there’s one thing
I’m sure of, and that is, that, wherever she is, she’ll give trouble!”
These alarming prophecies on the part of nurse held no terrors for
Letty, but only made her all the more determined to snatch her darling
from a woman who did not appreciate her--who was not worthy to wheel
her perambulator. Smithson was a tremendous talker, and, strange to
say, exhibited no curiosity, with respect to her companion. Contented
with the fact that she was a young lady who was rather delicate and
was waiting at the ‘Grand’ for the arrival of a relative. Sometimes,
she vaguely wondered why she seemed to know no one, and seemed so
silent and downcast. However, this sociable stranger was an acceptable
acquaintance, who often relieved her of her duties with Miss Cara;
playing with the child on the beach for hours, wheeling her in the
perambulator, making her daisy-chains, whilst Mrs. Smithson skipped
through library novels, talked incessantly, and, occasionally leaving
the lady in charge, took the opportunity to do a little shopping.
Mrs. Smithson had confided to Letty, that she had a cousin up at
Shorncliffe: a sergeant-major with his wife, and having no nursemaid
had its drawbacks--for she could never leave the child, and have an
afternoon off.
“Now there’s a play on at the theatre I’d give my two eyes to see, and
go to the _matinée_ next Saturday with Carson and his wife; but I ask
you, how can I?”
“You can manage it perfectly well,” rejoined Letty promptly. “I have
nothing to do, and I shall be delighted to take charge of Cara.”
“Oh, miss, you are really too kind! But I couldn’t allow you to do such
a thing.”
“I assure you I should really like it,” responded the arch-deceiver. “I
am fond of Cara, and I think she is fond of me; so if you care to make
your arrangements, there is nothing whatever to prevent you going to
the _matinée_.”
After some half-hearted expostulations, and protestations, the whole
thing was settled. Nurse Smithson was to have Saturday afternoon all
to herself, from two till seven--so as to have ample time to go up to
the camp to tea with her cousin--and as Letty walked back to lunch, she
felt as if she was treading on air!
Saturday, and this was Tuesday! She had written to Mrs. Hesketh,
who vehemently opposed her scheme; but seeing that Letty was fully
determined to kidnap Cara, reluctantly agreed to assist her.
On Wednesday afternoon, she came down to Folkestone, in the hope of
talking over her friend,--but this expectation was fruitless. The boot
was on the other foot; it was Letty who talked _her_ over! She seemed
changed: to have acquired a consciousness of power, an air of graceful
assurance, and the faculty of making up her mind!
At dinner, there was a truce between their wrestling personalities,
but the new-comer resolved to have it out with her young friend, as
subsequently they walked to the band on the lower Leas.
“Remember, Letty, you lose five hundred a year,” she began, _à propos
de rien_, as they approached the rendezvous of hundreds of crowded
chairs, the brilliantly lit bandstand, and caught the flashes from Cape
Grisnez--illuminating a glassy Channel--starred with the fishing fleet.
“That is true,” assented her companion; “but then, I gain Cara, and, to
_me_, she is worth ten times that sum.”
“Then, my dear, perhaps you will also tell me how you propose to live?”
was the dry enquiry.
“I have saved two hundred pounds. Here are seats--what a crowd! I’ll
pay the collector--it’s only coppers.”
Mrs. Hesketh, not a whit propitiated, went on to state that two hundred
pounds in the hands of a girl who knew nothing of money, would not go
far.
“Though,” she added, “of course _I_ will help you.”
“No, no indeed,” protested Letty, putting down a strange dog that had
sprung into her lap. “By and by I hope to earn my living, and I will
ask you to draw, and to forward the interest on my legacy, and also to
sell my pearls, my mother’s necklace. They are valuable; an Indian
Rajah gave them to my father for something he had done--saved him from
an assassin, I believe.”
“Nonsense! No, I don’t mean about your father,” said her companion
impatiently. “I have a plan; that is to say, if you are bent on
carrying out this act of lunacy?”
“I am--oh, dearest cousin Maudie, I _must_! You are strong and
all-sufficient for yourself. I am a weak, invertebrate creature.”
“Invertebrate--good word!” interrupted her friend.
“And I must have something to live for--something to _love_.”
“You had Lancelot Lumley.”
“That’s different! I would only bring _him_ shame and trouble; but
Cara is mine. I will rescue her, form her character as well as ever I
can,--and make her happy.”
“I wonder if she will make _you_ happy?”
“Of course she will. And now, what is your plan?”
“You can leave your pearls with me in pawn, and I will pay you thirty
pounds a year on them, till you return home, and claim them.”
For a long time Letty combated this suggestion: in fact, all through
the valse ‘Mes Rêves,’ played so seductively by the band.
But Mrs. Hesketh, a practical woman, was determined that her foolish
friend should not fare forth into the cold world, quite penniless, with
the exception of her hoarded two hundred pounds.
“And another thing, I must say, Letty, and that is about the nurse.
Have you thought of the frightful trouble she will get into; and her
state of mind when she returns and finds that you have stolen her
charge?”
“Yes: I am leaving a present, and a letter to clear her entirely. I
fancy she will be surprised when she discovers that, of all people, I
am Cara’s _mother_!”
“She won’t make friends again in a hurry, with pretty strange ladies!
You are a child in the ways of the world; you have never in all
your life had to depend upon yourself, you don’t know the value of
money,--or how far it goes. As to earning it, I’m afraid you will
not have much chance of that in Switzerland, among an untiring, and
industrious people. Seventy pounds a year, will at least keep you from
starvation: for Switzerland is a cheap country to live in--once you
leave the radius of the big hotels--so you will give me your address,
and four times a year I will send you seventeen pounds. And perhaps, if
my health permits, I will go out, and settle myself down somewhere near
you, for a little while.”
“That will be good of you. Oh, if you only _would_!”
“If it were suspected, that I was here with you, abetting and aiding
your criminal act, and arranging for your departure, I should get into
a nice scrape, but you know, my dear, I have always liked you, and I’m
sorry you have made such an awful hash of your life.”
“So am I,” agreed Letty, with profound sincerity.
“My own marriage was not a success; my husband and I were never
sympathetic, we were always like two goats chained to a log; but we
kept it to ourselves, and I am not sure, after all, that I am a very
easy woman to live with. I am restless and discontented, I expect too
much of life.”
“I should think you were excessively easy to live with, Cousin Maude;
you and I got on together splendidly when we were abroad.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “but then I am growing old, and the fires of life
have died down. I must tell you, Letty, that I do not think, and
never will think, that this step you are taking is a _wise_ one. Of
course, your motherly heart is empty without the child; but you are
expatriating yourself on her account, you have relinquished almost
every shilling in the world on her behalf, you have given up your
friends, and you have given up Lancelot Lumley. I hope, as the years
advance, that you will find that Cara has been worth this sacrifice,
and that when old enough to be a companion, she will return your
devotion four-fold.”
“But, Cousin Maude, I cannot see _why_ you think I am making a mistake?”
“I have longer sight than you: it is unnatural for a girl of
one-and-twenty to cut herself adrift from the world, and devote her
life absolutely to a baby of four. As I said to Blagdon, I have no
doubt these things were done in years gone by,--when a wife’s whole
existence was concentrated on her kitchen, and her nursery; but now we
live in more advanced times; every woman has her place in the world,
her individual life--and, so to speak, her hand to play, and you are
sitting down to take the part of Dummy!”
“Oh, Cousin Maude,” she protested, “how can you say so? I have this
darling child, she will be all in all to me; it will be my pleasure
to devote myself to her, to work for her, and to bring her up to be
_good_. Think if I had left her with Hugo, or Hugo’s sister, to be
educated under their influence. How soon her mind would be corrupted;
what examples she would see before her! I daresay by the time she was
sixteen she would be as bold and boisterous and evil-minded as the
worst--at least, I shall save her from _that_.”
“I hope so, my dear, and I agree with you, that the society of Hugo
Blagdon, his sister, and his friends, would be a deplorable education
for any girl.”
After a pause she continued:
“You are getting back your looks, Letty, and your youth, and are no
longer a stricken, haggard creature of thirty, but once more a girl in
your springtime--you are divorced, and free. Supposing you were to come
across somebody you really love, and were to marry again?”
“Oh, never, never! Besides, I don’t think a woman who has been
divorced, should marry.”
“That is a much-debated question. And what if Lancelot Lumley were to
return, and claim you? He has gone through the furnace for your sake.
His poor old father has entirely lost his memory, and fortunately has
never heard of the great Blagdon scandal. The last time I saw Frances,
it seemed to me that she was changed; there were lines in her face,
and she looked out of spirits, and down on her luck.”
“Poor Frances, I have indeed returned her evil for good. I cannot tell
you what a support she was to me in those days when I was alone at
Sharsley. I was so silly and nervous in that big house; always afraid
to go to bed. My room was by itself in the west wing, and the rats
in the wall, gave me palpitation of the heart, and I used to think
of ghosts too--the blind Scrope lady, who gropes and fumbles outside
doors--but Frances would come up with books and jokes, and insist on my
going for walks with her, and talking me out of my fears. She and you,
are my best, and only, friends.”
“Your best friend should be yourself, Letty--I can only offer you money
and advice--you accept neither. How I wish I could give you what you
want most--a will; a will to keep upon a certain steady path.”
“I am on the right path now,” she answered, “and, to follow your
simile, hand in hand with Cara, I intend to stick to a road that leads
to happiness.”
Mrs. Hesketh muttered something under her breath about a hedonist; then
as the band played ‘God Save the King,’ they rose side by side, and
presently were swallowed up in the streaming crowds returning to their
several hotels; Letty expatiating on the beauty of the moonlit night,
her companion dumb and distrait, in the face of the inevitable.
When the critical Saturday arrived, Nurse Smithson, dressed in her
best, what she called ‘private’ clothes, and a superb hat, went off in
high spirits to the theatre, attended by her friends. Letty collected
the child’s belongings, packed them in a trunk, and took her away in
a cab to the Pavilion Hotel, where she met Mrs. Hesketh, and her own
luggage. By the four o’clock afternoon boat, among hordes of holiday
passengers, was a remarkably pretty girl in blue serge, with a small
fractious child in her charge. The two were sped by a distinguished
lady friend, who waved to them from the end of the pier, as long as a
handkerchief was visible.