Annie's high spirits continued with her during all the somewhat hot
journey from Interlaken to Zermatt. She was, in truth, the life of the
party, and kept every one in the best possible humour. Her charm was
undoubted, and her apparent unselfishness made her invaluable. Even
Parker acknowledged that there never was such an obliging young lady, or
such a thoughtful one, as Miss Annie Brooke. Mabel could groan at the
heat. Lady Lushington grumble and complain, even Parker herself could
give way to insupportable headache, but nothing, nothing daunted the
unflagging good-humour of Annie Brooke. Had she not the eau-de-Cologne
handy for poor Parker's head? Could she not chat cheerfully to Lady
Lushington and make her laugh, and could she not insist on Mabel's
having the seat where she was at once protected from too much draught
and yet not exposed to the full glare of the August sun?
When they reached the hotel, too, it was Annie who chose, without a
moment's hesitation, the one uncomfortable room of the little suite
which was set apart for Lady Lushington's party.
"Nothing matters for me," said Annie. "I have got unflagging health,
and I am so happy," she said. "Every one is so kind to me."
"You really are a dear little thing," said Lady Lushington when Annie
herself entered that lady's room bearing a cup of tea which she had made
from Lady Lushington's own private store, and which smelt so fragrant
and looked so good. "Oh, my dear Annie," continued the good lady--"I
really must call you by your Christian name--I never did find any one
quite so pleasant before. Now if Mabel had not been such a goose as to
get that literature prize, which I verily believe has swamped every
scrap of brain the poor girl ever possessed, I could have had you as my
little companion for a year. How we should have enjoyed ourselves!"
"Oh, indeed, how we should!" said Annie, a bitter sigh of regret filling
her heart, for what might she not have made of such a supreme
opportunity? "But," she added quickly, "you would not have known me
then, would you? You would never have known me but for Mabel."
"It is one of the very luckiest things that could have happened to me--
Mabel wishing that you might join us," said Lady Lushington. "You are
the comfort of my life; you are worth fifty Parkers and a hundred
Mabels. Yes, is the exact right angle for the pillow, my dear. Thank
you so much--thank you; that is delicious, and I think I will have a
biscuit. What a glorious view we have of Monte Rosa from the window!"
"Oh yes," said Annie, "isn't it lovely?"
"By the way, Annie, you are quite sure that Mabel is taking care of
those pearls of hers. We have to thank you too, you clever little
thing, for discovering them. I am quite under the impression that I
have come by a good bargain in that matter."
"I am sure you have, dear Lady Lushington; and the pearls are quite,
quite safe."
"I knew you would see to it, dear; you are so thoughtful about
everything. By the way, I have already seen on the visitors' list the
name of a certain Mrs Ogilvie. If she is my friend I should like to
show her the necklace."
Annie felt her heart nearly stop for a minute. "Of course you must show
it," was her gentle response; "and I will see that dear Mabel takes care
of the precious things."
"Well, you can go now, darling; you have made me feel so nice, and this
room is delicious. Really, the journey was trying. It is horrible
travelling in this intense heat, but we shall do beautifully here."
Annie tripped out of the room and went straight to Mabel's. Mabel's
room was not nearly as good as the one which Lady Lushington occupied,
but still it was a very nice room, with two large windows which opened
in French fashion and had deep balconies where one could stand and look
into the very heart of the everlasting hills. Parker's room was just
beyond Mabel's, and Annie's was at the back. It was arranged that
Parker should be within easy reach of her mistress and her young lady,
and self-forgetful Annie therefore selected the back-room. She had no
view at all; but then, what did views matter to Annie, who was blind to
all their beauty? Mabel was alone. She felt very hot and dusty after
her journey, and had just slipped into a cool, white dressing-gown.
"Let me take down your hair, dear May," said Annie, "and if you sit in
that deep arm-chair I will brush it for you. Isn't it nice here, May?"
"Yes," replied Mabel, "I suppose it is; only you have a horrid small
room, Annie."
"I don't care a bit about that," said Annie. "I am not going to be much
in it except to sleep, and when one is asleep any room suffices. But,
May, I want to talk to you."
"What about?" said May. "Anything fresh?" Annie carefully shut the
door which communicated between Mabel's room and Parker's.
"It is this," said Annie; "Your aunt Henrietta has been talking to me
about the pearl necklace, and says she hopes you have it safe."
"Well, yes," said Mabel, with a yawn; "it is quite absolutely safe,
isn't it, Annie?"
"Yes; but this is the crux: I thought she would have forgotten all about
it, but she evidently hasn't, and she says she thinks a friend of hers--
a Mrs Ogilvie--is staying in the hotel, and if so, she would like to
show it to her."
"Oh, good gracious!" said Mabel, springing to her feet, and knocking the
brush out of Annie's hand in her excitement; "and if such a thing
happens--and it is more than likely--what is to become of us?"
"If such a thing happens," said Annie with extreme coolness, "there is
only one thing to be done."
"Oh Annie, what--what?"
"We must pretend that we have lost it. So many people are robbed
nowadays; we must be robbed also: that is all Parker is supposed to have
charge of it; you must confess that you never gave it to Parker, but put
it into the lid of your trunk. You must lose one or two other things as
well. You must have your story ready in case Mrs Ogilvie is in the
hotel."
"Oh! I don't think I can stand any more of this," said poor Mabel.
"You seem to lead me on, Annie, from one wickedness to another. I don't
know where it is to end."
"You must obey me in this," said Annie with great determination.
"Oh, we are both lost!"
"We are nearly out of the wood; we are not going to lose our courage at
the supreme moment. Come now, Mabel, don't be absolutely silly; nothing
may happen. But if anything happens, you must be prepared to do what I
tell you."
"You have an extraordinary power over me," said Mabel. "I often and
often wish that I had not yielded to you at that time when Aunt
Henrietta wrote me that letter and I was so cross and disappointed. I
think now that if you had not been present I should be a happier girl on
the whole. I should be going back to the horrid school, of course, and
Priscie would have left; but still--"
"Come, come," said Annie, sitting down determinedly on a low chair by
her friend's side. "What _is_ the matter with you? I really have to go
over old ground until things are quite disagreeable. What have you not
won through me? A whole year's emancipation, a jolly, delightful
winter, a pleasant autumn at the Italian lakes and in Rome and Florence.
I think, from what she tells me, Lady Lushington means to go to Cairo
for the cold weather. Of course you will go with her. Think of the
dresses unlimited, and the balls and the fun, and the expeditions up the
Nile. Oh, you lucky, you more than lucky Mabel! And then home again in
the early spring, and preparations for your great _debut_ taking place,
your presentation dress being ordered, and all the rest. Imagine this
state of things instead of pursuing the life which your poor faithful
little Annie will lead at Mrs Lyttelton's school! And yet you blame me
because you have to pay a certain price for these enjoyments."
"I do blame you, Annie; I can't help it. I know it all sounds most
fascinating; but if you are not happy deep down in your heart, where's
the use?"
When Mabel said this Annie looked really alarmed.
"But you are quite happy," she said. "You are not going to follow that
idiotic Priscie. You are not going to get a horrible, troublesome
conscience to wake itself up and torment you over this most innocent
little affair."
"I will go through it, of course," said Mabel. "It seemed very bad at
the beginning, but the amount of badness it has risen to now shocks even
me. Still, I will go through that, for I cannot go back. As to
Priscie, I am convinced she would rather be apprenticed as a dressmaker
than live as she is doing with that load on her conscience."
"Oh, bother Priscie!" cried Annie. "She is one of those intolerable,
conscientious girls whom one cannot abide. All the same," she added a
little bitterly, "she took advantage of my talent as much as you did,
Mabel."
Mabel sighed, groaned, struggled, but eventually yielded absolutely to
Annie's stronger will, and it was definitely arranged between the two
girls that Mabel was to be fully prepared to declare the loss of her
necklace if Mrs Ogilvie was proved to be in the hotel.
"If she is not it will be all right," said Annie; "for I know your aunt
Henrietta pretty well by this time, and she will have other things to
occupy her mind. We can soon find out if the good woman is there
through Parker."
"I don't think I would consult Parker if I were you," said Mabel. "She
talks a great deal to Aunt Henrietta, and of late, somehow, I have
rather imagined that she is a little suspicious." Annie soon afterwards
retired to her own room, but not like Mabel and Lady Lushington, to
rest. Those who follow crooked ways have seldom time for rest, and
Annie Brooke was finding this out to her cost. She was really
exceedingly tired; even her strength could scarcely stand the strain of
the last few weeks. Priscilla's misery, Mabel's recklessness, Lady
Lushington's anger with regard to Mrs Priestley's bill, the terrible
possibility of being found out--all these things visited the girl,
making her not sorry for her sin, but afraid of the consequences. Then,
too, in spite of herself, she was a little anxious with regard to Uncle
Maurice. There was always a possibility--just a possibility--that Uncle
Maurice might be as bad as that tiresome John Saxon had declared him to
be; and if so, was she (Annie) kind about it all? A great many things
had happened, and Annie had sinned very deeply. Oh, well, she was not
going to get her conscience into speaking order; that mentor within must
be kept silent at any cost.
Still, she was too restless to lie down on her bed, which, indeed, was
not specially inviting, for the room was a most minute one, and looked
out on a wall of the hotel, which, as with most great foreign hotels,
surrounded a court. Not a peep of any glorious view could be seen from
Annie's window, and the hot western sun poured into the little room,
making it stiflingly hot; and she could even smell the making of many
dishes from the kitchens, which lay just beneath her windows.
So she changed her dress, made herself look as neat and fresh as
possible, and ran downstairs into the great, cool hall.
It was delicious in the hall. The doors were wide-open, the windows
also stood apart, and in every direction were to be seen peeps of
snow-clad mountains soaring up far into the clouds. Even Annie was
touched for a minute by the glorious view. She went and stood in the
cool doorway, and was glad of the refreshing breeze which fanned her hot
cheeks.
Business, however, must ever be foremost. She was pining for a cup of
tea, but it was one of Lady Lushington's economies never to allow extra
things to be ordered at the hotel. She had tea made for herself and her
party in her room every day, and therefore kept strictly to the
_pension_ terms. Annie, however, suddenly remembered that she herself
was the proud possessor of eighty pounds. Surely so wealthy a young
lady need not suffer from thirst. She accordingly called a waiter and
desired him to bring her _the complet_. This he proceeded to do,
suggesting at the same time that the young lady should have her tea on
the terrace.
The broad terrace was covered by an enormous veranda, and Annie found it
even more enjoyable outside than in. She liked the importance of taking
her tea alone, and was particularly gratified when several nice-looking
people turned to look at her. She was certainly an attractive girl, and
when her cheeks became flushed she was almost pretty. The waiter came
up and asked her for the number of her room. She gave it; and he
immediately remarked:
"I beg your pardon, madam; I did not remember that you belonged to Lady
Lushington's party."
"Yes; but I wish to pay for this tea myself," said Annie, and she
produced, with considerable pride, a five-pound note.
The man withdrew at once to fetch the necessary change. As he did this
a party of travellers who had evidently only just arrived turned to look
at Annie. There was nothing very special about her action; nevertheless
the little incident remained fixed in their memories. They had heard
the waiter say, "You belong to Lady Lushington's party." The note of
wonder was struck in their minds that a girl of Annie's age and in the
care of other people should pay for her own tea. Annie, however,
collected her change with great care, counting it shrewdly over and
putting it into her purse.
She then re-entered the lounge. When she did so the lady who was seated
near her turned to her husband and said:
"Is it possible that Lady Lushington is here?"
"It seems so," said the gentleman; "but we can soon ascertain, my dear,
by looking at the visitors' list."
"I shall be exceedingly pleased if she is," said Mrs Ogilvie, for it was
she. "I have not seen Henrietta Lushington for two or three years. She
used to be a great friend of mine. But what in the world is she doing
with that girl?"
"Why should not Henrietta Lushington have a girl belonging to her
party?" was Mr Ogilvie's response. "There is nothing the matter with
that fact, is there, Susan?"
"Oh, nothing; and I know she has a niece, but somehow I never thought
that the niece would look like that girl."
"Why, what in the world is the matter with her? I thought her quite
pretty."
"Oh, my dear Henry! Pretty perhaps, but not classy; not for a moment
the style of girl that Lady Lushington's niece would be expected to be.
And then her paying for her own tea--it seemed to me slightly bad form.
However, perhaps the girl does not belong to our Lady Lushington at
all."
Meanwhile Annie was doing a little business on her own account in the
great hall. She had got possession of the visitors' book, and was
scanning the names of the visitors with intense interest. Nowhere did
she see the name Ogilvie, and in consequence a great load was lifted
from her heart. She ran up in high spirits to Mabel's room.
"No fear, May; no fear," she said, skipping about as she spoke. "Mrs
Ogilvie is not here at all; I have looked through the list."
"Well, that's a comfort," said Mabel, who was lying on her bed
half-asleep before Annie came in. "But what a restless spirit you are,
Annie! Can you ever keep still for a minute? I was certain you were
asleep in your room."
"You could not sleep much yourself in my room, darling. It is a little
hot and a little--dinnery. Not that I complain; but there is a
magnificent hall downstairs, and such a terrace! And, do you know, I
received a wee present of money a couple of mornings ago from darling
Uncle Maurice, so I treated myself to some tea. I _was_ thirsty. I had
it all alone on a little table on the terrace. I can tell you I felt
distinguished."
"You poor dear!" said Mabel. "Why, of course you ought to have had tea
when we had it. I will say this for you, Annie, that you are the
queerest mixture I ever came across. You have--oh, you know the side to
which I allude; but then, on the other hand, you are the most absolutely
unselfish creature that ever lived. Why, even Parker has been enjoying
delicious tea, and we never thought of you at all."
"Poor little me!" said Annie. "Well, it doesn't matter, for, you see, I
thought of myself. Now I will leave you. Be sure you make an effective
toilet to-night. There are really some very nice-looking people
downstairs; we shall have a jolly time at this hotel. What a good thing
it is we got rid of Priscie! She made us look so odd and peculiar."
"I suppose the poor thing is bored to death at Hendon by this time,"
said Mabel.
"Oh no, she is not quite there yet; she will have plenty of time to
think of her conscience while she is at Hendon. And now you and I will
forget her."
Annie spent the next hour or two on the terrace--where she pretended to
read--and looked at the different visitors as they came in and out of
the hotel. She went up in good time to her bedroom, and Parker, who was
always exceedingly particular with regard to the dress of both the young
ladies, arrayed her on this occasion in a dress of the softest, palest,
most becoming blue _crepe-de-Chine_. This demi-toilet, with its
elbow-sleeves and lace falling away from the young, round throat, was
absolutely the most becoming garment Annie could possibly wear. It
seemed to add to the blue of her blue eyes and to bring out the golden
shades of her lovely hair.
She felt as she entered the great _salle-a-manger_ that she was looked
at very nearly as much as Lady Lushington and Mabel. They had a
pleasant little dinner in one of the great bay windows, which commanded
a glorious view of the Alps; and during dinner Lady Lushington was her
most charming self, and continued to be exceedingly friendly to Annie.
It was not until the meal had nearly come to an end that a remark was
made which caused both girls to feel slightly uncomfortable. Lady
Lushington turned to Mabel.
"My dear Mabel," she said, "I am really rather annoyed."
"What about, auntie?"
"Oh, please don't be annoyed this glorious evening," interrupted Annie;
"we are so happy and you are so sweet. I thought perhaps we might have
coffee on the terrace; I know the very table where we can sit and we can
watch the moon sailing up from behind that great mountain--I cannot
possibly remember its name; I am not good at all at names."
"We will have coffee on the terrace if I wish it, Annie Brooke. In the
meantime I want to say what I have to say."
No one knew better when she was snubbed than Annie. She immediately
retired into her shell and looked very modest and pretty--something like
a daisy when it droops its head.
"I have been asking Parker about the jewels," continued Lady Lushington,
turning to her niece, "and she assures me you did not give her the
necklace to put away with the other things." Mabel coloured.
Annie said at once, "Mabel dear, did you not put it into the tray of
your trunk? You know I asked you to be sure to give it to Parker."
"I was in such a hurry at the last minute, I had not time; but it is
quite safe in my trunk," said Mabel.
"Well, I hope it is," said Lady Lushington; "but it is a foolish and
dangerous thing to do; and, Annie, I thought _you_ would see that Parker
had the necklace. However, no matter now; you will give it, Mabel, to
Parker to-night. It is not safe to have valuable jewels lying about in
these hotels. You know that there is a notice in every room that the
proprietors will not consider themselves liable if they are lost. No
one can tamper with the jewel-case, however, when it is under Parker's
care."
The girls murmured something, and the subject was dropped. They then
all went out on the terrace. They had not been there more than a minute
or two when a lady was seen to emerge from a shadowy corner and advance
towards Lady Lushington. There was an affectionate interchange of
greetings, and Annie whispered to Mabel to come away.
"How tiresome!" said Mabel. "When once Aunt Henrietta gets hold of an
old friend she is good for nothing. Now she won't take us anywhere and
we shall be as dull as ditch-water."
"Oh, nonsense, Mabel! We will make friends on our own account. What a
good thing the friend is not Mrs Ogilvie!"
"How can you tell that she isn't?" said Mabel. "Why, of course she
isn't; Mrs Ogilvie's name is not on the visitors' list."
The girls paced up and down.
"I got a great fright at dinner," said Mabel after a pause; "but you
helped me out of it as usual."
"Yes; but it was an awkward moment," said Annie. "I didn't for a moment
suppose that your aunt would keep on thinking of that necklace. I hope
she won't insist on seeing it. I am afraid, after all, even though Mrs
Ogilvie is not here, we must manage to lose it."
"Oh! I shall go wild if I have to go through that sort of thing," was
Mabel's answer.
"Besides," continued Annie, "the friend your aunt met may be another of
those women who adore looking at bargains and old-fashioned gems. I am
certain we shall have to lose it; there is no other possible way out."
"And I know I shall die in the process," said Mabel. "I feel myself
quite wasting away."
"You are too silly," said Annie. "You look as bonny as ever you can
look, and there isn't a scrap of any appearance of decline about you."
It was at that moment that Lady Lushington's voice was heard calling in
the darkness, "Mabel, come here!"
"Now what does she want?" said Mabel.
"Come with me, for goodness' sake, Annie! I can't walk a single step of
this tortuous way without your help."
"Really, Mabel," said Annie, "you are using quite a poetic expression.
Your character of a poetess will be established, my dear, if you
continue to speak in that vein."
"Mabel!" said her aunt.
"I will help you through your tortuous way," laughed Annie; and the
girls advanced arm-in-arm.
"Mabel," said Lady Lushington, "I have the pleasure of introducing you
to my dear friend Mrs Ogilvie."
Poor Mabel gave a start; but for Annie's supporting arm, big as she was,
she might have fallen.
The terrace was lighted with Japanese lanterns, which swayed slightly in
the faint breeze. These cast lights here and there, and immense shadows
in other directions. Annie and Mabel had now got into the light. Lady
Lushington moved a step or two, bringing Mrs Ogilvie forward as she did
so, and the four figures were all distinctly visible.
"Which of these girls is your niece, my dear Henrietta?" said Mrs
Ogilvie.
"This is my niece, Susan," was Lady Lushington's response; and Mabel
felt her hand clasped by a kindly but firm palm. She looked into the
eyes of a tall woman with a pleasant expression of face, who was
becomingly dressed in black lace.
This lady had hair turning grey, and a face which did not show the
slightest trace of being made up. She might have been fifty years of
age.
"I must also introduce you," said Lady Lushington, "to our little friend
Miss Brooke. Miss Brooke: Mrs Ogilvie."
Annie's hand was also held for a minute, and Annie instantly remembered
that she had sat next this lady when she was enjoying her tea on the
terrace, and that Mrs Ogilvie had seen her pay for her own meal. But
she could not allow this trifling circumstance to worry her on the
present occasion; there were too many other rocks ahead.
"We will go into the hall in a minute or two," said Lady Lushington;
"and then, Mabel, you will go upstairs, please, and bring down the pearl
necklace which I bought at Interlaken. Mrs Ogilvie is so much
interested in antique gems and old settings that I was telling her about
it."
"You sometimes do pick up good things," said the lady, "in
out-of-the-way places. From what you tell me, Henrietta, you seem to
have hit upon a bargain."
"I must be just," said Lady Lushington. "I should never even have heard
of the necklace but for this dear, clever little girl, Miss Brooke. It
was she who discovered it."
Mrs Ogilvie glanced for a minute at Annie. Annie's eyes were raised and
fixed on the good lady's face.
"How lovely it is here!" said Mrs Ogilvie after a pause. "I think the
peace of nature the most soothing thing in all the world. Don't you,
Miss Brooke?"
Annie said "Yes," uttering the word with a little gasp. She was
wondering in her heart of hearts what to do next. Whatever happened,
she must rush upstairs with Mabel. How could she have overlooked Mrs
Ogilvie's name in the visitors' list? But Mrs Ogilvie's next words
explained the circumstance.
"We too are fresh arrivals," she said. "We must have come by the very
next train after you, Henrietta."
"Oh dear!" thought Annie. "If you only would have stayed away! How one
does get pursued by all sorts of contrary influences when one is just
hoping that one is out of the wood! The peace of nature indeed! Much
peace it gives to me."
"It is getting a little chilly here," said Lady Lushington. "I think,
if you don't mind, Susan, we will go indoors.--Girls, you can follow us
in a few minutes."
Annie gave a deep sigh of relief. Not a word about the necklace.
Perhaps there might be a few hours' reprieve. Perhaps it would not be
mentioned again until the morning.
The two elderly ladies moved slowly together into the house, and the
girls were left alone.
"Didn't I tell you," said Mabel, "that she would be sure to be here?
Isn't it just like our bad luck?"
"We must go through with it," said Annie.
"Perhaps it is best in the end. Of course there will be a commotion and
a great fuss, but nothing ever can be discovered."
"I know what they will do," said Mabel, in an agony of terror. "They
will search all the jewellers' shops at Interlaken, and of course it
will be found. Oh Annie, I am fit to die!"
"You must compose yourself," said Annie; "things are not quite as bad as
that. We should indeed be in a desperate hole if I had sold the
necklace to a jeweller at Interlaken; but I did nothing of the sort."
"Then you didn't sell it at all? You have it all the time?"
"Now, Mabel, what nonsense you talk! Didn't I show you three ten-pound
notes, and didn't I send them to Mrs Priestley?"
"Oh, I am bewildered!" said poor Mabel.
"Why did I ever pose as a genius? I am sure I have no head at all for
the complications of wickedness."
"You are very complimentary to me, I must say," said Annie. "But
listen; I will calm your poor, palpitating little heart. I did a
splendid thing; I sold the necklace to Mr Manchuri."
"Who on earth is Mr Manchuri?" said Mabel.
"Mabel, you really are silly. He is the dear old Jewish gentleman who
took Priscilla Weir home."
"And why did you give it to him?"
"Because, my dear, I invariably use my eyes and my ears and, if
possible, my tongue; and I made a discovery with regard to Mr Manchuri.
He owns a big jeweller's shop in Bond Street; therefore why should not
he have the necklace? So you see it is safe out of Switzerland by this
time."
"And," continued Mabel, "he gave thirty pounds for it?"
"Oh, he didn't think much of it," said Annie. "Still, he gave me that,
and I was glad to close with the offer."
"Well," said Mabel, "it is a certain relief to know that it won't be
found in any of the shops in Interlaken."
"It is a very great relief," said Annie. "And now our object is, if
possible, to make little of it to Lady Lushington. I think I can manage
that; but come upstairs, won't you? I am certain your aunt won't say
anything more about the stupid old thing this evening."
"I hope not, I am sure," said Mabel. "But don't go in for a minute or
two, Annie, for the omnibus has just arrived, and we may as well watch
the fresh visitors."
The girls came forward towards the deep porch. The large green-and-gold
omnibus, with the words `Beau Sejour' painted conspicuously on its
sides, drew up with a clatter and fuss in front of the hotel. Waiters
and servants of different sorts darted out to assist the visitors to
alight. The omnibus was nearly full, and there was a quantity of
luggage on the roof. Ladders were put up to get it down, and the girls
watched the proceedings with intense amusement--the pearl necklace
forgotten, all cares for the moment laid aside. They made a pretty pair
as they stood thus side by side. Annie, in her ethereal blue dress,
might have been taken for that sweetest of all flowers, the blue
forget-me-not; Mabel, in her purest white, for the stately lily.
So thought for a brief instant a certain young man as he alighted from
the omnibus; but the next moment his face changed. A hard expression
came into his eyes. He came straight up to Annie Brooke.
"I have come for you, Annie," he said.