CONCLUSION
EDGAR had spoken truly when he had said that his mother would be very
glad to hear that Cousin Becky was not poor; but her first sensation on
hearing the news, which she learnt from her sister-in-law's lips, was
one of the deepest humiliation. By her timely assistance during Edgar's
illness, Cousin Becky had won Mrs. Marsh's lasting gratitude; and the
mistress of the Rookery had determined to see a great deal more of the
old lady in the future, and had meant to be very kind to her in return
for kindnesses received.
"The Mill House belongs to Cousin Becky and she is really very
well off!" she cried, after Mrs. Trent had succeeded in making her
understand the disconcerting truth. "Why, I never heard anything so
extraordinary Never!"
"It appears Cousin Becky had considerable property left to her about
ten years ago by a relation of her mother's," Mrs. Trent explained.
"She never thought of mentioning that when she wrote about coming to
Beaworthy, and we all took it for granted that she was badly off. On
her arrival, she saw at once the mistake we had made; but I don't
think we have any right to blame her for keeping her true position a
secret from us. She did not deceive us; as a matter-of-fact, she never
mentioned her affairs at all."
"I always wondered why she did not tell you her exact position," Mrs.
Marsh admitted; "but, of course, she had a right to keep her business
to herself. It is very kind of her to have the children at the Mill
House, and I am pleased to let Edgar stay. By-the-by, I suppose she
will not return here?"
"It is her intention to do so. She wishes to continue living with us. I
think she has become attached to us all, and we are certainly very fond
of her."
"You were always her champions," Mrs. Marsh replied, with a somewhat
regretful sigh; "and I so feared she would prove a burden to you! I
thought it very unwise of Martin to have her here, and I was vexed with
you all for making so much of her. Ah, well, I learnt to value Cousin
Becky at her true worth when she came to us in our trouble and nursed
our boy in his sickness. You have no idea, Mary, how good she was to
him; and he confessed to her what he had feared to confess to his
father or me, all about the Calais Noble, and—and—"
"We won't say anything more about that," Mrs. Trent interrupted gently
as her companion hesitated and looked distressed. "It was a painful
business; but Roger and Edgar are good friends now, and we won't revert
to the past. How do you think your brother is looking?"
"Capital," Mrs. Marsh answered heartily, "and as for you, Mary, you
are actually quite rosy and not nearly so painfully thin as you were a
month ago. Norfolk air has done wonders for you."
When Cousin Becky and the children returned to Beaworthy, in September,
they all brought a fund of health and good spirits as well as the
happiest memories of a pleasant holiday with them. Edgar, who had
left home wan and thin, was "as plump as a partridge and as brown as
a gypsy," so his father declared at the dinner-table on the night of
his arrival when the little boy dined with his parents and entertained
them with accounts of his doings at Lynn. They had heard all about
his experience with Polly when she had sprained her ankle, so he did
not dwell on that story but, on chancing to mention it, his father
remarked: "I was glad to hear my son did not play the coward," and he
met the gaze of his mother's eyes full of a tender, loving light, and
his heart thrilled with happiness, whilst he determined never, if he
could possibly help it, to do anything to grieve his parents or make
them ashamed of him again. That night, ere he went to bed, he sought
and found the cigarettes, which he had secreted so many months before
at the bottom of a drawer in the set of drawers in his bedroom. Whilst
at the Mill House, he had often wondered if they would be discovered in
his absence, and what would be thought of him for having hidden them,
for he had forgotten to get rid of them before leaving home. It was a
weight off his mind to be able to destroy them now; so he tore them to
pieces, which he flung out of the window. That done, he went to bed
happy, glad to be at home once more, and grateful to his parents for
having made no reference to the past.
Within a week of the return of Cousin Becky and the young people to
Beaworthy the Grammar School reopened and work-a-day life recommenced
for Roger and Edgar; whilst Polly, much to her satisfaction, found that
she, too, was to be sent to school.
"I believe it's Cousin Becky's doing," the little girl said
confidentially to her brother. "And, do you know," she continued in her
most impressive manner, "I'm almost certain it was Cousin Becky who
used to send Sarah Glubb those postal orders when her husband was in
the hospital. I asked her about it yesterday, and she laughed and told
me not to be inquisitive, but I'm sure I'm right."
"I daresay you are," Roger replied. "How amused she must have been to
hear us discussing who Sarah's good fairy could be! It must be nice to
be rich, Polly, to be able to do people good turns like that."
"Aunt Janie said father would rue the day when he took the charge of
an old woman who never had the least claim upon him," remarked Polly,
who had recollected the exact words her aunt had used, and had often
pondered over them; "but she was wrong. She didn't know Cousin Becky
properly then or she would not have said it. Mother says Cousin Becky
has been a real blessing to us, and—"
"And I'm sure she was a blessing to Aunt Janie when Edgar was ill,"
broke in Roger eagerly.
"Yes, that was when Aunt Janie found out what Cousin Becky was really
like," nodded Polly.
Better days were coming for the Trent family; that is to say, days
when good fortune was to shine upon them once more. Shortly before
Christmas, Mr. Trent returned home one evening with the news that the
head clerk in the clay office was retiring, and Mr. Marsh had offered
him the post, which was a responsible one with a very good salary
attached to it; and early in the new year he took a pretty house in the
suburbs of the town, whither, in due course, he removed his family. Of
course, this new abode was in no wise to be compared with the Rookery
in any way, but to the Trents it seemed quite a palatial residence
after the house in Princess Street, and it possessed a small garden
which was a source of endless pleasure to Polly, who, always a lover
of flowers, took up gardening with a will, and retained an especially
sunny spot for her own cultivation.
One Saturday afternoon, in spring time, the little girl was occupied
in her favourite recreation when Mrs. Marsh's carriage drew up at the
garden gate, and Mrs. Marsh herself descended from it. Polly went
immediately to meet her, and returned her kiss cordially, for there was
a better understanding between the two than there had been formerly.
"I'm not going to stay," Mrs. Marsh said as she slipped a small package
into her niece's hand. "Take that, my dear, and give it to Roger, will
you?"
"He's not at home, Aunt Janie," Polly replied; "but I'll give it to him
the moment he comes in."
"It's a present from his uncle and me for his birthday, to-morrow,"
Mrs. Marsh explained. "I hope he will like it. No, I can't stay to come
in, thank you. Give my love to your mother and Cousin Becky." And she
went back to her carriage and was driven away.
Naturally Polly was all impatience till her brother returned, when he
promptly opened the package, and revealed to sight a handsome silver
watch, similar to Edgar's, which he had always greatly admired. His
amazement and delight were unbounded, and he could not understand why
his aunt and uncle had remembered his birthday this year, when they
had never done so before; but his parents rightly conjectured that Mr.
and Mrs. Marsh had awaited an opportunity to make him this present as
a slight amends for the unjust suspicion which had been entertained of
him.
Roger and his cousin were the best of friends with each other now; and
if Edgar was ever tempted to turn away from the path of truth, the
thought of the Calais Noble and all the trouble it had caused returned
to his mind to warn him that deception brings nothing but unhappiness
in its train. Certainly his father was stricter with him than he had
been of old, but he was not less kind; and if his mother was still
over-indulgent, he no longer tried to take advantage of her affection
to gain his own selfish ends as he had once been in the habit of doing.
There remains little else to be told. A few more words about Cousin
Becky and her champions, and then my story is at an end. Cousin Becky
still continues to make her home with those who so hospitably opened
their doors to her when they believed her to be as poor as themselves
and she is still the owner of the Mill House, which she often lends to
those of her acquaintances who, otherwise, would not be able to afford
holidays, and sometimes she visits it herself. She is on excellent
terms with all her relations at Beaworthy, and is always a welcome
guest at the Rookery now; but the warmest, tenderest spot in the old
lady's heart, next to that occupied by her dead brother's children, is
reserved for those who loved "poor Cousin Becky" and proved themselves
her champions without thought of reward.
THE END
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