COUSIN BECKY TAKEN INTO CONFIDENCE
ALL was bustle and confusion at the Rookery when Edgar was brought
home, for the news of the accident had so frightened Mrs. Marsh that
she had been utterly incapable of giving any instructions to the
servants, and, at the sight of her son's unconscious form, she had
become so completely unnerved that the doctor, seeing that he could not
rely upon her for assistance, had requested her to remain downstairs
until he had satisfied himself as to the extent of Edgar's injuries.
At the present moment the unhappy mother, overcome with grief and
suspense, was pacing up and down the hall, waiting for news of her
boy—Edgar had been conveyed to his own bedroom—and bemoaning her
inexperience of sickness and her lack of self-control.
"It terrified me to see his dear face looking so deathly," she wailed,
when one of the servants ventured a word of consolation. "I could not
help crying out. Who's that? There's someone at the front door."
As she spoke the front door opened, and Cousin Becky and Mr. Trent
entered, their faces expressive of the greatest concern and sympathy.
Cousin Becky had come to know if she could be of any assistance, "for I
have seen much sickness and I am really a capital nurse," she explained
as Mrs. Marsh regarded her more than a little doubtfully.
"How good of you to come!" Mrs. Marsh replied, much touched. "They have
taken my poor boy upstairs, but the doctor will not allow me in his
room because I cannot help crying—I fear I am very foolish. Oh, Cousin
Becky, I am so thankful you are here."
Cousin Becky divested herself of her bonnet and cloak, and handed them
to a servant; then she turned again to Mrs. Marsh, and said: "I am
going upstairs at once to offer my services as a nurse. Your brother
will remain with you, for I know he will not return to Princess Street
until he has heard the doctor's report."
"I will show you Edgar's room," Mrs. Marsh said, and she preceded the
old lady upstairs. On the first landing she pointed to a closed door,
and whispered: "In there."
Cousin Becky nodded; and Mrs. Marsh watched her as she quietly opened
the door and entered the sick room. The next moment the door was closed
again; and, though the anxious mother listened attentively, no sound
reached her ears; so, very sick at heart, she went downstairs and
joined her brother. She was much calmer now, and able to discuss what
had happened; she admitted that Edgar had been forbidden to visit the
clay works.
"Roger was with him and witnessed the accident," Mr. Trent informed
her. "It has been a great shock to him, as you may imagine. It appears
he asked Edgar to accompany him to see a new shaft which had lately
been opened; he did not know Edgar had been told not to go there. Oh,
Janie, thank God your boy was not killed! He might have been, indeed it
was marvellous he was not. Fortunately his fall was broken by a wide
piece of timber which spanned the shaft, and a man who was standing on
the timber at work caught him, or he would have rebounded and fallen to
the bottom of the pit. I heard all about it from another man who was
at work in the same shaft. Come, try not to cry any more, but pluck up
your heart, for there is every reason to hope that Edgar is not very
seriously hurt. He will have the best that human skill can do for him;
and he is in God's care, dear Janie, don't forget that."
Mrs. Marsh's tears continued to flow, but her brother's words comforted
her, and her face brightened as she remarked: "It was very good of
Cousin Becky to come to us in our trouble."
"Cousin Becky is very good and kind," Mr. Trent answered. "Directly
she heard of poor Edgar's accident she thought you would want help and
suggested offering her services to you. You were wise to accept them,
and I am sure she will be a great comfort to you."
Mrs. Marsh did indeed find Cousin Becky a great comfort to her in the
anxious days which followed, for, though it proved that Edgar had not
been dangerously injured, he had slight concussion of the brain and
required careful nursing. And, with the best intentions in the world,
his mother was very incapable in sickness, so that it was upon Cousin
Becky that most of the nursing fell. Cousin Becky was so quiet and
gentle in her ways, her voice was so soft and soothing that it did not
worry an aching head, and she was so unfailingly cheerful, whilst her
skirts never rustled, and her footsteps could scarcely be heard. In
short, she was a perfect nurse.
It was several days after his accident before Edgar was in a fit
condition to think of anything; but, with returning strength, he
remembered many matters to worry about, and he became very troubled
and unhappy. His father visited him every morning before he went to
business; but he never mentioned anything he thought would distress
his little son, so that no word had been said concerning Edgar's
disobedience in going to the clay works, and there was still the
mysterious disappearance of the Calais Noble to be explained. His
mother, too, though she spent hours by his bedside daily now, would not
permit him to talk on any unpleasant subject, and stopped him with a
kiss when he began to say that he was sorry he had been disobedient and
caused everyone so much anxiety and trouble.
"Don't talk about it, darling," she said tenderly. "You were no more to
blame than Roger."
"It was not Roger's fault; mother," he told her earnestly, "I did not
tell him I had been forbidden to go to the clay pits. Roger must not be
blamed."
"Very well, dearie," Mrs. Marsh replied soothingly, "but don't think
about what is past. We want you to make haste and get well."
During the first few days of his illness Edgar had progressed very
favourably; but now the doctor was not so satisfied with him, and was
puzzled to account for his restless, feverish condition. Cousin Becky,
who was a very shrewd observer, thought the patient had something on
his mind, and one afternoon, when she was left alone in charge of the
little boy, instead of discouraging him when he showed an inclination
to become confidential, she sat down on a chair by the bed where she
could watch him, and allowed him to talk.
"Have you seen Roger lately, Cousin Becky?" he asked.
"Not since the night of your accident, my dear," she answered. "You
know the holidays have commenced, and your cousins and your aunt and
uncle have gone to Lynn."
"What, without you?" he cried in surprise.
"Of course," Cousin Becky replied with a soft laugh, "or I should not
be here with you now."
"But I thought you intended going with them?"
"I hope to join them later on when you are better, my dear boy. I have
promised your mother to remain at the Rookery till you are properly
convalescent."
"Thank you so much," he said gratefully, "I—I really don't think I can
do without you yet; that is, unless you want to go very particularly.
Do you know there was a talk of my going to Lynn too? Mother and father
wished it; but Roger didn't want me, and I don't suppose Polly did
either."
"Why not, my dear?"
"Because—because—Roger said I was not to be trusted, and, it's true,
I'm not. You don't know what a bad boy I've been, no one knows except
Roger, I had to tell him."
He raised himself in bed as he spoke and looked at his companion with
feverishly bright eyes. "You found the Calais Noble," he said with a
slight sob, "so you know something about it, but not all. I took it
from father's cabinet to show it to a boy at school, weeks ago, and
I lost it; but I never told father, I was afraid to, because it's a
valuable coin and very rare. Father thought Roger had stolen it, I
heard him tell mother so, and—and I let him believe it. Oh, no wonder
you look so surprised and shocked! Oh, dear, you'll never like me
again!" And the little boy burst into a storm of tears.
Cousin Becky made no response; but she rose and put her arms around his
quivering form, and her silent sympathy soothed and comforted him. He
felt she understood his remorse and his wretchedness; and, by-and-by
when he grew calmer, he told her the whole story of his cowardice, and,
in her pity for his distress of mind, she volunteered to lay all the
details before his parents.
"They will forgive you, I know, for you are so very dear to them both,"
she said earnestly; "but at the same time I am sure they will be very
hurt to think that you allowed them to harbour a baseless suspicion
of your cousin, simply to save yourself from blame. And Roger is so
straightforward, too!"
"Yes!" sighed Edgar. "It has made me dreadfully miserable to know that
father thought badly of him."
"And yet you had not the pluck to acknowledge the truth and clear his
character in your father's eyes! Oh, child, why cannot you be straight
like your cousin? Do you not wish to be honourable and truthful?"
"Oh yes! But—but it's so difficult."
"Do you pray for strength to overcome this moral weakness of yours?"
Cousin Becky asked, her bright dark eyes watching him anxiously.
"No," he admitted. "I—I never thought of doing that."
"It's only by prayer and God's help that you can do it, my dear boy.
You know what is right; and yet, to save yourself punishment and blame,
you deliberately take a crooked path. It is the greatest thing in the
world to be true, for only the truthful soul can ever be happy and
fearless. 'Great is the truth, and it will prevail.' That is a proverb
worth remembering. Do try to bear it in mind, and humbly ask your
Father in Heaven to make you a better—a more truthful boy. God has been
very merciful to you, my dear. Have you thought how very near you were
to meeting a shocking death when you fell down that clay shaft? You had
almost a miraculous escape. Have you thanked God for sparing your life?"
"No, but I will," Edgar responded earnestly. "Oh, Cousin Becky, I am so
ashamed of myself altogether; you do believe that, don't you?"
"Yes, my dear, I do."
"And will, you try to make mother and father believe it also?"
"I will do my best. Now lie down and rest. I want you to get well and
strong as soon as possible, and then I am going to ask your parents a
favour."
"What is that?" Edgar inquired as he sank wearily back upon his pillows.
"I am going to ask them to let me take you with me to Lynn."
"Oh, Cousin Becky, after—after all you know about me?"
"Yes; because I believe you're going to turn over a new leaf and try
to walk a straight path in the future—because I'm going to trust you,"
said Cousin Becky as she tucked the bed-clothes around him. She bent
over him and kissed him affectionately; but he made no reply, he was
too deeply touched. Then she withdrew to the window, where she stood
looking thoughtfully out into the sunlit garden until she heard by the
patient's regular breathing that he had fallen asleep.
That evening Miss Trent told Mr. and Mrs. Marsh the true story of the
loss of the Calais Noble. It was a blow to both of them to learn how
their son had behaved; but it came less as a surprise to Mrs. Marsh
than to her husband, who reproached himself bitterly for his suspicion
of Roger. Needless to say, Edgar was forgiven; but his parents were
deeply grieved and mortified that he should have acted so deceptively
and allowed his cousin to be blamed in his stead, and Mrs. Marsh was
troubled by the remembrance of her last visit to Princess Street, when,
in her surprise at hearing the Calais Noble had been found, she had
spoken as though Roger was the culprit who had taken the coin.
At first Mr. Marsh absolutely refused his permission for Edgar to
accompany Miss Trent to Norfolk when the project was broached to him.
He thought, under the circumstances, that it would be pleasanter for
his cousins to be without him, he said. However, Cousin Becky begged
him to reconsider the matter and to let the boy go with her as a favour
to herself, and, reflecting that they were under a great obligation to
her, he felt he must give in to her wish.
"It shall be as you please," he said at length; "you have been very
kind to us, and it is exceedingly good of you to burden yourself with
the charge of our wayward boy. We are deeply indebted to you, indeed."
"You were in trouble and wanted me," said Cousin Becky simply. "I am
very glad to have been of use."
The colour deepened in Mrs. Marsh's cheeks as, at that moment, she met
the old lady's glance, for she could not help remembering that she had
declined to have Cousin Becky beneath her roof as a guest only a few
months ago, and she felt suddenly abashed. Perhaps memory was busy,
with Cousin Becky, too; if so, her countenance did not show it, and
there was nothing but kindness and goodwill in the expression of her
bright, dark eyes, though there lurked a slight gleam of humour in
their tranquil depths.